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ryosmne · 3 years

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Tattoo Artist! Sukuna x reader (part 3)

Hey there again, I had a few ideas of where i wanted to take the third part, I'm very happy with what I came up with, it's very very fluffy, I hope you have a good time reading 💜.

Series masterlist here

Here's a playlist for fluffy Sukuna

Warnings: Language, suggestive tones, alcohol consumption (everyone is of age here, around 21/22), nudity? Not really described, that's about it.

Saturday was slow for Sukuna, he doesn't really like working away his weekends, but here he is, finishing up a chest piece that looked good if he had to say so himself. Everything was luckluster to him compared to the project he was still drafting for y/n.

Speaking of her she hadn't texted him all day, neither did Sukuna. He told himself he wasn't clingy like that, she texted him before she would do it again surely. Y/n didn't pay much mind to him not making contact, perhaps he was busy. She wasn't wrong, she also had initiated most of their text conversations, she didn't want to seem desperate. Sukuna was going to contact her when he was free.

On the other hand Sukuna was stressed, passing in the hallway between the reception and his work booth, checking his phone every once in a while, he was a bit snappier than usual, not letting Gojo's or Megumi's remarks go, he would answer back, his voice almost dripping with venom, he was very much pissed and it showed.

When closing time finally came he was ready to blow up, Gojo teasing him, only made him more agitated. Gojo knew something was bothering him and he wasn't planning on dropping the subject.

"Hey 'kuna, tell the truth, you took her out and she left because she couldn't stand you, that's why you're so mad."

The white haired man joked, you could see the smoke coming out Sukuna's ears.

"Don't call me that. For your information, me and y/n had a great time, quit being an bumbass I'm not mad." Y/n did enjoy herself right? It sure looked like it. Was Sukuna getting insecure? Yes. Could everyone tell he was lying about not being mad? Also Yes.

"Oh so it's 'you and y/n' now? You were right Geto, he's got it real bad, he's not even calling her 'some girl' or something."

Gojo continued to laugh, he was enjoying every single second of torment he was putting Sukuna through.

He had enough though, he grabbed his jacket and his keys, but just before he left the rest of his crew and Yuuji, who came to eat with Megumi to close, he called to the most rational person inside. "Geto, come on I'll drive you home." Sukuna needed someone to talk to, he needed to know he was in the right and not going totally insane. Nanami was really close to him but relationships wasn't a topic he would really touch on. Gojo was out of the question, the man was a womaniser, not that it was a bad thing but he wouldn't even take Sukuna seriously, he only wanted to annoy him for the time being. Megumi was also a no. He would spill the beans to Yuuji, he already had Gojo on his ass he didn't need two more idiots making fun of him, one was barely tolerable. That only left Geto, who has at least had a few solid relationships and he was trustworthy enough not to give him too much shit.

Geto grabbed the chance not to have to clean for one night, but he was very curious about Sukuna's sudden move to give him a ride home, he has never offered that before. Yuuji had tipped him off, he knew his brother wanted to get all of the attention, if y/n didn't make a move, his brother would go insane. He was surprisingly right, so Yuuji told Geto to try and get his brother riled up. Now Geto didn't exactly agree, but he wanted to give Sukuna a friendly nudge to the right direction.

Sukuna had already been driving for a little while, he couldn't find the courage to open his mouth and talk. Has he gone mad? Its not like he's clueless about girls, he's had many. Why was it different this time?

"So how come you wanna drive me around at night?" The raven haired man asked, eyebrow raised, ready to hear what his friend was so on edge for all day, even though he had an idea. Sukuna wasn't one to share feelings, he never did, he couldn't really tell anyone the reason why not a single word from y/n all day irked him so damn much. "Look, so let's say there's this girl right? You take her out, you have fun, everything is cruising perfectly, but then she doesn't really talk to you the next day." He said with a small pause "hypothetically speaking" He added, just to avoid further questions.

Geto looked at him with a blank face, although he couldn't really believe in his ears, Yuuji was right, he knew his friend was falling face first, it still surprised him. He saw the day that Sukuna was stressed for a girl, if someone told him even two weeks ago that this was going to happen happen, Geto most definitely would've laughed straight in their face.

"Well it depends really, for example did you text her and she didn't answer? Then yeah, she's not interested, but maybe she's busy, or she started texting first and she wants you to initiate." Sukuna blinked "You're right she's busy, she has a test too, maybe she has been studying, she'll come around." He said, the words came fast out of his mouth. Geto looked at him again more serious this time. "Look man, I know for a fact, you haven't texted first, you seem to really like her, don't be a pussy and send her one text." His tone was equally serious. "I'm just fond of her, that's all she's good company." Sukuna tried to brush him off, Geto wouldn't budge. "Call it what you want, I know you like the feisty ones, so do many people and you know how college kids are, one party is all it takes to lead to who knows what. Man up, when you do you can bring her around the shop too, you know we all would love to meet her." By the time Geto finished his sentence, Sukuna had already parked outside of his apartment to drop him off, they shared their good nights.

For the rest of his lonely drive home Sukuna couldn't help but think of that party his brother mentioned a couple nights ago, was y/n going to be there? And Geto's words kept replaying in his head.

Geto was smiling to himself walking inside his apartment knowing he did the right thing giving his friend a slight push.

With her hair just the way she liked it, her make-up done and an outfit that extenuated her best features, y/n was making her way down the street to meet up with Mai outside of Todo's place. The walk wasn't too long and y/n caught a glimpse of her short haired friend, who was also dressed to impress, standing right out of Todo's door.

"You didn't wait long did you?" Y/n asked, Mai smilled and shook her head, she was the late one most of the time, she did make it just a second before y/n arrived.

"Let's go, my sister and Nobara are waiting" she informed y/n, who nodded. "Really, I haven't seen Maki in a while, Nobara rarely shows up in class too." She said full of excitement, the girls were friends for a long while, even before college. Mai and y/n ended up forming closer friendship.

"Yeah they're about to remind us of how single we are." Mai loved her sister with all her heart, she was very competitive though and when Maki got with Nobara before Mai could strike up a boyfriend in college, she took it a bit personally. Then she focused her attention on finding someone for y/n, but that never went well. Hopping right up the stairs both girls were talking about what they would see tonight, more accurately who. "So Yuuji is probably going to be here, I asked Todo" Mai said her eyes hopefull, y/n rolled her's and her companion didn't let it go unnoticed. "I really don't get you, he's cute, you even said so." There she goes again, but y/n wouldn't let it slide this time. "You seem way more giddy to see him, than I do." She said, knocking on Todo's door who was waiting right behind it, answering in seconds. Mai was still dumbfounded, she hardly acknowledged Todo at the door and made her way inside with y/n.

Thankfully the sofa on Todo's living room they usually sat on was only occupied by Maki and Nobara. "Wow sis you made it on time for once without someone dragging you out the house." Maki hugged her sister tightly, "I didn't really have a choice, y/n said she would go home if I was late again." Mai, said with a bit of a whine. Nobara went for y/n. "She's giving you hell huh?" Her comment made the girl laugh. "Nah she's fine, she can be a bit of a baby." That line made Mai slap her arm playfully, even when they made digs at each other, it was all in good fun.

Y/n could see Mai out the corner of her eye scanning the room, it wasn't unusual for her to do that, but it was the fourth time the past 30 minutes they've been here. Something was definitely up with her, and when she raised her hand having finally spotted the one she was looking for, y/n was a hundred percent sure of what was going on.

"Yuuji, over here" Mai called hand in the air, a very friendly smile on her face. Yuuji eagerly walked over offering his greetings, his attention was on y/n "Hey, has my brother texted you at all?" That was an out of the blue question. Mai gave her a look "His brother?" She questioned, then looked back at Yuuji "You've got a brother?" Why did he have to say that infront of Mai, she wouldn't leave her alone until she told her everything about the guy, she was at least thankful he didn't mention a date, Sukuna probably hadn't mentioned anything to him. "Oh yeah, he's the one I went to last week and no Yuuji he hasn't, did something happen?" Mai stayed silent, so did the other girls, they planned on interrogating her later, judging by the looks they exchanged. "Oh it's nothing" Yuuji let out a breathy laugh, knowing he plotted with Geto to get under his brother's skin. Payback for the bagels he baked at 4 am was going to be sweet.

Yuuji took a seat next to Mai, who introduced him to her sister, Nobara already knew him short of and the two of them begun chatting casually. Y/n could see the chemistry between them as he complimented the dark haired girl on the way she looked tonight. She could see their eyes meeting, something more than friendliness resided in the looks they shared.

Y/n let her friend have her fun, at this point Maki and Nobara had adopted her taking shots, talking about the annoying situations that have occurred in the time they hadn't seen each other. Nobara in particular, was sharing her frustrations about men not taking her seriously as Maki's significant other and continuing to make moves on her partner. "I shut them down" Maki said proudly snaking an arm around her girlfriend's waist. "I know you do, I just want them to feel a bit threatened" Nobara's eyes drifted to the floor . "What are you talking about? Remember the time you just looked at that guy eyeing her and he mouthed 'sorry'? You're very threatening." Y/n took another shot laughing with the two girls. Her comment was quite comforting to Nobara and Maki knew that things always went Nobara's way, she just liked complaining sometimes, she was the jealous type.

Todo with Takada in hand, who arrived right after y/n and Mai, answers his door again for the multipluth time this evening, seeing the last person he expected. "I thought you were too old for house parties" he taunted at the grumpy man infront of him. "Screw you I'm 26, and I didn't come empty handed" Sukuna spoke, his tone getting a bit friendlier at the last words in his sentence. He passwd the two bottles of vodka he held to Todo. "Well come on in, Yuuji's brother is also mine" he said giving the pink haired man a friendly hug.

Sukuna's eye scanned his living room untill his eyes landed on the back of y/n's head, he headed straight her way.

Y/n heard a few girls around her making a fuss over some apparently really hot guy who just entered, but she didn't bother turning around. That was until she heard it "Huh, who would've known, you actually have friends" That voice was unmistakably his. Sukuna was here. Y/n's heart was fluttering in her chest but the alcohol in her system made it easy to come up with a comeback. "At least I don't pay mine to hang around me." She said, her voice laced with sarcasm, she still didn't turn to face him, she was frozen in place. Mai's, Maki's, Yuuji's and Nobara's eyes were wide and dancing between the two. There was for sure something going on here. Sukuna took a seat beside her casually draping an arm around the back of the sofa. "You're hurting my feelings doll, I'm not that bad" he spoke so softly, she almost got lost looking into his eyes. He looked way too good for her liking, same jewelry and eyeliner as the last time she saw him, his pink her strategically messed up, a silk black button down with the top two buttons undone, exposing his defined collarbones and the tattoos that extended to his chest and neck, black pants framing his thighs perfectly as he sat. Y/n was staring at this point, her friends were silent, taking in the image that was displayed before them. They had never seen y/n flustered or having difficulty forming words. Even Yuuji was surprised, seems like he was wrong about y/n's taste.

Sukuna was enjoying the look on her face a little more than he cared to admit, he would've taken his teasing further, but he didn't want to embarrass the girl anymore and her friends were already shocked. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" He asked her poking her cheek, and y/n could see Nobara was about to blow up.

"Right, Mai, Maki and Nobara this is Sukuna, he's um my tattoo artist?" What was she even supposed to say at this point? The guy she went on a date with and had the best make out session of her life?

Sukuna gave his hand out to the girls greeting them, he noticed his brother a few seats over who was concealing a laugh "you're here too brat" he briefly egnowledged him, Yuuji hummed back a hello in return, turning to Mai who was very eager to hear the details of y/n's and Sukuna's relationship, he sure as hell didn't look like just her tattoo artist.

"Tattoo artist? Really? you don't even have tattoos y/n" Nobara spoke, she just wanted her friend to be honest with her, if she had someone special, she could have said so, they've known each other for years. Sukuna wasn't surprised to hear that y/n hadn't shared that she got tattooed, he could tell she was a bit of a private person.

Y/n took off her jacket that she still had on from when she arrived, to show off the design to Maki and Nobara, Mai had already seen it and she was busy gossiping with Yuuji anyways. "Right, I forgot to tell you" she said, as Maki and Nobara scanned her upper arm with their eyes, so did Sukuna. He couldn't help himself, y/n looked so beautiful in his work. He wanted to cover every inch of her skin she was willing to give him, she could be his personal work of art, she already was one, but he wanted to decorate her in the best way he could and with the most beautiful art he could make. "That looks so beautiful" Maki spoke in awe, Nobara gave a little laugh "it's creepy, but it's really you. "

She took a look at Sukuna then back at y/n "It's very fitting, I don't know how to explain it." She continued.

Sukuna never took compliments that seriously, but hearing y/n's seemingly bitchy friend praise his work and the perception he had of her made him grin widely.

The four of them continued to speak, Maki and Nobara were very interested in Sukuna's line of work, Mai and Yuuji also took their turns in talking when they weren't too busy with one another. Y/n's friends were doing great with Sukuna, she thought he would be really difficult, he has a very explosive personality. Sukuna was putting in all the effort to make a good impression, both to y/n and the ones around her.

"So, did you miss me that much you came to find me?" Y/n asked once the attention was taken off of them. Mai looked to be having a deep conversation with Yuuji whereas Maki and Nobara got up to dance. "And if I did?" Sukuna spoke, his face dangerously close to hers, when did he manage to get hip to hip with her? Then again y/n had grown so comfortable around him, she didn't notice.

"Well, if that's the case, I'm glad you did come." She replied, Sukuna could tell she was a bit tipsy, else he would be making out with her on that sofa not caring who was watching.

Y/n poured herself another drink, thank god she didn't have to get up to get a refill, but Sukuna's voice stopped her movements. "Maybe you should ease up there" he said watching her fill two cups.

Y/n raised a brow at him "since where are you a party pooper? come on it ain't a party without a drink" her voice was playful as she tried passing one cup to him. Sukuna liked this y/n too, she was a bit more giggly, she smiled a bit more, "I'm driving sweetheart". Y/n was satisfied with his answer and proceeded to gulp down on both the cups she filled before Sukuna could stop her. She laughed pointing at him with her tongue out "too slow". Sukuna could only smile and pat her head. She was something else.

Somewhere along the night, Maki and Nobara disappeared and so did Yuuji and Mai. "You better tell your brother to take good care of my friend" y/n's state was getting worse, or more hilarious, it depended on how you looked at it. Sukuna would straight up laugh with some of the things she said, and he was trying his best to keep all forms of alcohol away from her, for her own good. "I don't think you should worry, Yuuji is much better than me in these kinds of things." He replied honestly, but y/n didn't necessarily see it like that. "There's no way he's that smooth" she trailed, the corners of her lips tugging upward. "Well if I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked me, didn't you think I was a dick?" Sukuna asked "Still do" her smile only grew wider.

One thing was for sure, y/n was very demanding when drunk, Sukuna left her side for the first time all night to get her some water, cause she felt 'like SpongeBob under that lamp drying out'. Not even slightly bothered by her request, Sukuna was on his way back to her, that's when he saw some guy standing infront of her trying to talk to her. Y/n even in her not very conscious state didn't tolerate people who didn't respect her "Just one song, come on it won't hurt, you're alone after all" the guy, y/n didn't care to catch the name of said "look, I don't dance, not unless the company is worth it, and I'm here with someone, leave me alone, this is getting annoying" Sukuna observed laughing to himself. He didn't feel the need to intervene yet. Y/n didn't like getting bossed around that's for sure, nor did she need a knight in shining armour to protect her, not that he would mind doing that. Sukuna casually sat down beside her again, ignoring the guy who was still standing there for some reason. That irritated him, it was enough that he tried to make a move on her, but not leaving while he was right there rubbed him the wrong way, "Here you go sweetheart" He said handing her the glass, praying that she won't drop and break it, he threw a glare at the guy who finally took the hint and left. "Thank you 'kuna." Y/n spoke, in a tone totally different from the one she had moments ago.

The nickname alone made his heart jump. Gojo was quite annoying when he called him that, but hearing the same word rolling out of y/n's tongue was completely different. Sukuna couldn't tell why he was feeling that way, he didn't care though, all he knew was that even the air smelled sweeter, when he was around her.

"You don't dance unless the company is good?" He asked, genuinely curious "well yes, if I feel comfortable I'll dance, but I don't really do it that much" she said, eyes heavy looking all over Sukuna's frame. " I see, how about we dance?" Sukuna suggested, he rarely danced himself, y/n made him want to get out of his comfort zone, hell he's already at a house party thanks to her.

"Only if you take some shots with me." She smilled at him malevolently. "You're playing dirty, who's going to take you home if I'm drunk?" Sukuna just wanted to hear her drunken logic "It probably takes a bottle for you to get drunk, you're clumsy, drunk or not, you're probably going to kill me if I get in your car".

Sukuna was full blown laughing, but she was right, her head was still not gone, she could walk and talk fine, she was just more talkative and cheerful, couple of shots wouldn't hurt, he could walk her home after since she lived close by, he remembered the way and then walk back home himself. She also gave him the cutest look he'd ever seen, how could he deny her?

"Ok you win" he raised his hands in defeat and y/n couldn't be happier. She poured 4 shots for them, which they quickly consumed and they were off to dance.

She never pictured him as a dancer, y/n saw Sukuna as the very cool looking dude standing on the bar, probably drinking whiskey with a bit of ice.

Looks can be deceiving, Sukuna was spinning her around, their bodies were pressed together, guiding each other to the beat. Eyes were meeting, body heat was exchanged, they fit like puzzle pieces even like this. Y/n kept looking at the exposed skin of his neck, why did he have to look like that and be this close, her face only grew warmer once her eyes met his and then dropped to his lips. Its not that Sukuna didn't want to kiss her, he would most certainly prefer her to be sober and remember it clearly the next day.

Those last two shots y/n had, in addition to Sukuna's body against hers, made her vision a bit blurry and her knees weak. "Hey doll, everything ok? You with me?" He shook her lightly by the shoulders, he could tell she was growing tired and he noticed how her demeanor changed. "Mhm, I'm sleepy 'kuna" there she goes again, making his heart skip beats. Y/n would be giving him so much shit had she realised she made him feel like that. "Ok then, how about we take you home ?" Sukuna's voice was so mellow, almost like he was talking to a toddler.

He guided her out of the crowded house, Todo was nowhere to be found, so Sukuna couldn't really let him know he was leaving.

Y/n was leaning on him, walking slowly down the street towards her place, but she abruptly stopped and sat down.

"What's wrong?" Sukuna asked, his sound as mellow as before. She was down right adorable, sitting there with a pout of her face .

"My feet hurt" y/n complained, dramatically throwing her arms around, if it was any other person Sukuna would've droped them to fend for themselves. "Really? That's sad" he replied, dropping down to her level, she only nodded, women's shoes are the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Sukuna scooped her up in his arms and carried her bridal style the rest of the way, he couldn't have her complaining and it wasn't like she would remember much either. With her arms wrapped securely around his neck, y/n could feel the warmth creeping up her neck all the way up to her ears, she didn't see the satisfied smile Sukuna wore.

Today went a lot better than he expected. So well that the tiredness got to y/n before they reached her apartment. Sukuna watched as she fell asleep in his arms. What a strange girl, she had both shyness and attitude, she was dancing her heart out no more than 15 minutes ago yet she still managed to fall asleep as he carried her.

Reaching her building, luckily the main entrance was unlocked. Sukuna took a peek at her, he couldn't bring himself to wake her up, she looked so peaceful, but unfortunately he had to. "Hey, which floor are you on?" He whispered softly, that was enough to shake y/n awake. "Third" she whispered back. Sukuna took the elevator up, and he finally reached her hallway, he only wished she didn't get her floor wrong or it would look like he was trying to break into someone else's house. "Doll, can you point your door for me? I'll put you down for a bit, where are your keys?" Y/n pointed at her door, handed Sukuna her keys and groaned as he set her down to unlock it for her. "You're such a brat" he pointed out swinging the door open, her annoyed face looked even cutter under the barely lit hallway.

Lord knows how Sukuna managed to find the light switches in the dark but he made it, y/n looked completely out of it now. He picked her back up and tried a few doors to find her bedroom. He gently layed her on the mattress. Y/n groaned again and said something about being uncomfortable. Of course she was uncomfortable, with her clothes still on from going out, there's no way she wasn't.

He shouldn't care right? He should just let her be and go home, but Sukuna could already tell she would have an awful nights sleep and he wanted her to rest properly. "Were do you keep sleep clothes" he asked, y/n pointed lazily at some drawer. After briefly digging in the drawer, he took out a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie for her.

He reached her frame again, undoing her shoes, sliding them off, next he prompted y/n with her side resting on the headboard so he could have her sit up with her legs dangling of the side of her bed. His hands found the rim of her shirt, her voice stopped him "don't look ok?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "I won't look"

"Promise?" She asked holding out her pinky

"promise" he stated locking it.

Sukuna averted his eyes from her body and helped her into her comfy clothes. Only one thing remained "Now come on time to get your makeup off"

"Nooo, I want to sleep" she complained loudly, dropping her body backwards on the bed. "Come on, it's not good for your skin, it will just be a minute, just be good for me" he said grabbing her hand, but y/n turned her head away. That's when Sukuna threw her over his shoulder, the most she could do was weakly hit his back and tell at him to put her down.

Sukuna sat her somewhere in her bathroom, while she still mumbled about being sleepy. He got a washcloth wet, and took a look at the products in her cabinet, she surely had an oil cleanser he just had to find it... bingo.

He pushed her hair out of the way and gently applied and massaged the product on to her skin, giving her instructions to keep her eyes and mouth close, he was extra careful not to cut her with his nails, then he used the washcloth to remove all the make-up that melted off. Sukuna also wore liner, not all the time but often enough to know that some things didn't come off with soap and water. He takes care of himself, his skin, his hair, his nails, everything. He knows a bit more than he's willing to share. Next he followed the same steps with her cleaner, y/n was enjoying herself, half asleep under his touch. He finished everything by applying a serum and a moisturizer on her face. "You've got the cheap stuff." He joked. "Hey it works" y/n defended as he picked her up once more.

This time he layed her under the covers, he pulled them up over her body, looking at her with plain adoration, he leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead.

"Sleep tight, I'll text you." He whispered in her ear, turning around to leave. A hand tugged oh his wrist, the same way he had done to her a couple days ago. Y/n was looking at him with pleading eyes "please stay" she almost begged, "are you sure? Its really late" he said, y/n nodded patting the spot beside her, he couldn't say no to those eyes. He quickly got rid of his shoes and dress shirt, he disappeared to the bathroom to take off his eyeliner and got under the covers with her.

Y/n curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest, taking in all his warmth and scent while listening to his heartbeat, his arm was wrapped securely around her.

" Can I ask you something?" Y/n's voice broke the silence. "Didn't you want to sleep?" Sukuna teased, and y/n took the opportunity to ask anyway. "Why do you like me?" What kind of question is this? Sukuna blamed the fact that she was a bit out it. She had no reason to be insecure, she was stunning and she also had a personality to back up her looks. "Let's see... you're kind of a badass, no one really talks back to me like you do, you're quite easy on the eyes too" what he said was very true, but he was falling for the little details too. The way she picked mindlessly at her food as she talked when he took her out, or the way her eyes sparkled when something peaked her interest. Even her drunken self had him feeling things he never did.

"How come you were single? Judging by your friends it's been a while" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, but y/n didn't give any signs of being bothered by his assumption. "Honestly, I don't want someone to fall out of love and leave me behind" Drunken words are sober thoughts. Sukuna didn't want to ask if that had happened to her before, he didn't care, he would do better than whoever hurt her.

More moments passed with him rubbing comforting circles on her back, he was sure she was asleep, her breath was slow and steady against his chest. "I wonder, what would you say if I asked you to be mine?" Sukuna whispered, staring up at her ceiling. "I'd say yes, airhead" y/n mumbled. Sukuna's eyes widened, she wasn't supposed to hear that. "I'll make sure to ask you soon then" he said, y/n looked up at him, this time he couldn't help himself and captured her lips in his, in a very slow passionate kiss. It didn't last long but it was enough to keep y/n's head spinning around with him running through it. "Sleep already, brat"

"okay 'kuna".

The light coming in, beaming through her curtains, woke y/n from a very peaceful sleep, now all she felt was the vodka she consumed the night before. Her head was pounding hard, she reached for her phone on her nightstand. Instead of her phone, her hand made contact with a piece of paper.

Good morning doll.

You're most definitely feeling like shit, but don't worry you didn't do anything too embarrassing. Unfortunately I had to go to work early and you looked cute sleeping, I didn't want to wake you. There are pain killers next to you, you must have a hell of a headache. Don't forget to eat, I made breakfast for you in the kitchen (with all I could manage to find, you should go grocery shopping more often). Text me or I might think you died in your sleep. Have a wonderful day y/n.

- Sukuna

PS I took a peek in one of your notebooks. I was right, your handwriting is really fucking bad.

Of course he had to be his usual smug self, y/n found herself laughing at the words scribbled on the paper that was obviously ripped out of one of her notebooks. His handwriting was as pretty as his drawings, so aesthetically pleasing. He had even taken time to doodle coffee cups, and some trees at the bottom of the page.

The events from the previous night were starting to flood back to her head head. She took the pain killers Sukuna left out for her, he was kind enough to place a glass of water on her nightstand too. Y/n couldn't believe Sukuna not only stayed over, but he also put in so much effort for her, he certainly didn't look like the type to do so.

Walking in her kitchen, what she witnessed, exceeded all her expectations. When she read breakfast she thought he made her a sandwich, which she would've been extremely grateful for. Sukuna had gone all out, from pancakes, to French toast, an omelet and even her coffee served. She just stood there looking at her table, mouth almost hanging.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her sweat pants.

You should've told me you were going out with Yuuji's hot brother. I would've never guessed that's your type.

Mai seemed to be in a mood to tease her.

You're right I should've told you, your turn, where did you and Yuuji run off to last night?

Y/n laughed knowing it was going to take a while to get a response. She sat down looking at all the choices she had, wondering what to pick. It's safe to say everything was as delicious as Sukuna.

I'm impressed. You draw, you cook AND you didn't burn down my house, I'm very thankful for that (breakfast was delicious too).

Sukuna, stared down at his phone, all the stress he had two nights ago long forgotten. Only thing that remained was to get y/n right back in his chair.

Happy to hear you're alive and kicking and you enjoy my cooking. I've got to go through, some dickbag wants me to do a cover-up. I'll talk to you later.

He dealt with this client in an unusually polite manner. Y/n had brighten his morning from the moment he woke up next to her.

Bonus Domain shenanigans: "Yuuji was right, I had to push him" Geto said to an agitated Gojo, who wanted to get under Sukuna's skin for a little longer. "Then hopefully he will bring her over, that would for sure be fun, he's going to get so worked up if we give her any attention." Gojo was rubbing his hands together at the thought. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not that worried about what Sukuna will do to you, we've both seen y/n, she doesn't even take his shit, I think she'd hit you." Nanami pointed out ."Well I haven't yet seen her, Yuuji said she was nice to him." Megumi joined the conversation remembering his friend talking about the girl, he had zoned out for half of it though. "I haven't seen her either, I did hear her though, she doesn't sound like she would let you pull something like that to him" Geto spoke again. "Nah she looked friendly, we can for sure make him foam at the mouth" Gojo plotted. "I can guarantee, she will rip of your head of if you try your shit." Sukuna was sure of it too.

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realisaonum · 3 years

Text

book meme

thank you, jen @det395 !! i feel like this meme got away from me a bit, but no shame! i love talking about books and writing so onward ~under the cut~

1- how many books are too many books in a series?

mhmmmmm i guess it depends on the objective of the series, right? is the plan to have x number of books in the series and if so, when we finally get to the end will it be satisfying considering all the books we’ve read leading up to it? OR is the objective of the premise / characters just to exist doing whatever? both can be done well. i would say a lot rides on how much i trust the author.

2- what do you think about cliffhangers?

so this is meant for cliffhangers in a series like between books? i don’t really care if there’s a cliffhanger as long as i have the next book sitting right next to me. otherwise uh, only if the wait between books is tolerable, because at that point you need to know that the author can clear this mess up, right? there’s this other thing, like you know how if the entire series was already written, then they might release the books a month apart or a quarter apart - that could be alright too. but years in between? not especially a fan. is anyone a fan?

3- hardback or paperback?

jen, you and me are complete opposites here. paperbacks stress me out. i will go out of my way to buy a used hardcover if given the choice. of course, there are some publications i don’t mind in paperback —thinking poetry and super indie books that don’t have a hardcover release OR books where the spines are thin enough they won’t break and i won’t be holding them long enough for them to wear. hardcovers are sturdy and i don’t have to worry i’ll accidentally bend the cover in some damaging way. I am invested in keeping my books nice to the point that i create covers for my books out of kraft paper or brown grocery bags while i am reading them. this is something i started when i was in college and didn’t want these books i was hoping to probably resell get thrashed coming in and out of my bag for all these classes. My home library is probs more half and half paperback/hardcover but if given a choice usually it’s hardcover.

4- least favourite book?

i think it’s good to at least attempt to meet a book on its level. there are lots of books i didn’t like, but i wasn’t meeting them on their level and i know that so we’re ignoring those. i do however have a shelf on my goodreads dedicated to books that i have beef with so i’ll just go off on two of them.....

tana french’s the likeness for being plagiaristic shit. it is essentially poorly concealed alternate universe OC insert fic of the secret history. you’ve got french’s dublin murder squad folks and then this group they are investigating who bear a STRIKING resemblance to the greek students in tsh 🤔. this would be one thing. it is pretty well acknowledged that nothing is original and there are enough changes to The Likeness that MAYBE i could let it slide if not for this other thing: french’s book, the likeness, has lines that are just basically reworded quotes from the secret history and french positions these lines so they are said by the counterpart (essentially same!) character that gave them original life in tsh. i cannot stress this enough: you can HEAR how similar the sentences are and their core intent is always the same. it’s thinly veiled theft! it astounds me that French hasn’t been sued frankly. it is one thing to want to capture some of the genius that tartt’s debut novel holds, but it is completely lazy and disgusting theft to go about it in the way French did with this book. and YES the secret history was published before french’s book. if i could stomach how fucking goddamn boring the likeness was to read it a second time and cite every one of these offenses i would, but that’s yet a third strike against it—it’s too boring to be worth it.

T. Kingfisher’s second book of the Clocktuar War duology : The Wonder Engine. this is a book that i feel violated the contract between writer and reader. the first book feels almost like a YA book. the stakes while described as very high are treated, as actions unfold, as very low. nothing truly irreparable happens until the climax of the second book and the fallout of that action is so off-tone of everything that came before i felt deeply betrayed. no, like, completely betrayed as in it ruined the rest of my afternoon, i am still viscerally angry eight months later, and i will never trust this author again. sure, maybe none of those actions that led to the climax were out-of-character, but there was nothing NOTHING in the proceeding action that even came close to that level of consequence. it’s a pity because right up till that point i was having a really good time. the entire vibe of the rising action to the climax of book one all the way through the rising action of book two was just a quippy fun version of roadtrip/quest - it felt like a comfort read. the abrupt tone shift had all the subtlety of dropping a graphically, brutal murder into Blue’s Clues. you don’t do that - this is a basic tenet of a writer / reader relationship. i’m not touching this bitch’s shit again.

5- Love Triangle, yes or no?

not so much. i like jen before me will scream ‘just be poly.’ love triangles that lead into poly relationships? yes, awesome will be glad i read. but i am at a stage in my life where your standard will-they-won’t-they-love-triangle is just fucking pointlessly frustrating to me. an example: i read a Nic Stone’s book Odd One Out a couple years ago and something about the synopsis or the hype made me think that it would resolve the love triangle that way, so when that did not happen i was incredibly frustrated and immediately wanted to resell the book. it’s the potential of the thing. stone’s book could have been the perfect vehicle for opening up the concept of polyamory to a ya audience but instead just really squandered that potential with weak floundering — in my opinion!

6- the most recent book you just couldn’t finish

uhhhhh i’ve got two and i’m not sure i’ve entirely given up quite yet buuuuuuuut

fucking dune. i got really pissed off with this book. So just…setting aside the whole vaguing at a pedophilically inclined queer coded villain - it’s done so poorly, that it's almost funny? like it doesn’t (as of half way through) actually have any consequence on…anything at all and is tacked on like an afterthought to the end of his scenes. honestly it all could just be cut out entirely with no recourse to the larger story. So my actual beef with this book is the pacing is ATROCIOUS. like yo, not only do you expect me to give a shit about these Atreides cunts, when we just met them and we spend the same amount of time with them IF NOT MORE with the antagonist? but you also expect me to believe Paul was able to just convince the leader of the Arrakis people —the leader of an entire planet!!— with a single fucking sentence??? yeah, not so much. it was not set up for me to believe that Paul could do that! maybe if Kynes hadn’t died immediately after—or at least not died at that moment? baring the fact I thought he was by far the most interesting character, IF he had been convinced by Paul in that scene, it would have been great to see some actual work done around that - with a transfer or a liaise of power between Kynes and Paul and the Fremen. By not having any substantive scene that does it - it begs the question of what the fuck was the point of the character in the first place? unplumbed potential!!! over all there seem to be some key scenes missing to get the reader to where the narrative expects us to be? but the choices made of the characters we spend time with and the moments we see with them, the benefit to the larger story…is not always there. hey herbert, these words you have written aren’t doing what you want them to?? i feel like i should finish it but i reaaaaallly don’t want to :) the only thing i can say is it looks like from the trailer, villeneueve is giving space to these moments so that the viewer can foster a genuine connection with the characters? radical concept.

our lady of perpetual hunger - i started this one optimistically bc i like chef memoirs, but i am at the point where she has just given birth to her son and honestly DON’T CARE. i still haven’t officially given up on it yet since i actually fucking bought it like a dope. i certainly would not have if i knew how much NOT about working the line this was gonna be

7- book you are currently reading

Aside from the failures mentioned above, I am working on the second book in B. Catling’s Vorrh trilogy, The Erstwhile. Also very close to finally finishing Iain Sinclair’s The Last London - there’s a review of his work from the LA Times that goes “One of Sinclair’s greatest skills has always been his ability to take diverse if not chaotic source material and refashion it in a way that sometimes seems downright alchemical” which captures some of the wonder I experience when reading his work. His style and how he creates atmosphere and setting is just unique and astounding.

8- last book you recommended to someone

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Before that I told my brother to read Eat a Peach, as we both love Anthony Bourdain and David Chang talks about him a bit here, plus it’s just a fucking great book. any book that gives insight into Chang’s methodology and paradigm is worth a shot.

9- oldest book you read

I think it might have to be Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (which apparently according to wiki premiered on the stage a whole four months before Hamlet so that’s what we’re going with) and if plays don’t count, I don’t care. I think they count and that’s what we’re going with.

10- the most recent book you read ?

Given the previous question, the most recently published book, right? It’s gotta be the one I just finished: The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic - Revised and Expanded edt., which like just came out this summer. I watched Jessica Hopper’s promo zoom, curtesy of my local indie bookstore, and went ahead and bought it. This was a great decision! It was just what I needed to read these last couple of weeks. i love there’s lots of short pieces that made the read quick and the fact that it’s non-fiction so there was no pressure of a plot or the emotional weight of character investment when I had a lot of big stressors dragging me down irl -it was such a relief. Hopper’s criticism is fun to read and there’s some real art in her appreciation of music here.

11- favourite author?

These are the top in a kind of order but not really: Donna Tartt, Jeff VanderMeer, Megan Whalen Turner, Flannery O’Conner, Chuck Palahniuk, Anthony Bourdain

Other faves very much worth mentioning: Emily O’Neill, Richard Siken, Brandon Sanderson, Warren Ellis, Nathan Englander, Stephen King, Eddie Huang, Carl Hiaassen, Anne Carson, and Iain Sinclair.

12- buying books or borrowing books?

Depends on if my library has it, of course! I nearly always see if my library has a copy first if i have never read it or the author before. If i’ve read the book before or trust the author, I’ll buy it. Like I’ll straight out buy new stuff from Jeff VanderMeer even though with him it’s either this-hits-exactly-and-is-my-new-fave or i-really-disliked-this-but-admire-the-boundaries-you’re-pushing-my-dude - so it’s always a gamble but a worthy one.

12- a book you dislike that everyone else seems to love

a little life (just bc it's torture porn elevated to art doesn’t negate the fact that it’s torture porn. Yanagihara’s project here is repugnant and the fact that this book is lauded as moving lgbt fiction makes my skin crawl)

sharp objects (good writing, compelling story, BUT typographical scarification doesn't work like that - i am not going to get into it but i know from first hand experience how Flynn described it is not accurate)

nesbø’s the snowman (what kinda dumbass detective would think THAT when a woman finds her missing father’s corpse? absolute idiocy - so obviously reverse engineered with that end in mind)

the raven cycle (fuck ronan lynch to start and then fuck him to end as well - there’s some other stuff but mostly he’s a total CUNT and if i don’t say that once a day i have probably died)

14 - bookmarks or dogears?

Bookmarks and sticky notes. Then I can place it pointing directly to the paragraph I last stopped on.

15- The book you can always reread?

This is my question because I reread all the time. ALL THE TIME. Books I reread often: The Secret History, Medium Raw (especially chapter 17 The Fury), Crooked Kingdom, The Violent Bear It Away, and The Goldfinch. Every year like clockwork (since it came out apparently) I will reread Stephen King’s The Outsider.

Other books I feel the urge to reread: VanderMeer’s Acceptance, Englander’s Dinner at the Center of the Earth, Frazier’s Nightwoods, Fresh Off the Boat, the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, the Peter Grant Series (which is queued up for another go here soon I think), any of the stories from A Good Man is Hard to Find, Sanderson’s Wax and Wayne Mistborn books, simon vs the homosapiens’ agenda, and there are two of Alan Morinis’ books on Mussar that I am technically always revisiting—when i need a reminder, i’ll jump around and read specific sections to get centered again.

16- can you read while listening to music?

Yes, but only ambient or near ambient (only usually one track on repeat) or a soundtrack I am extremely familiar with. No new music. I do usually need some audio stimulation or my mind will wander terribly.

17- one POV or multi POV?

Multi pov can certainly be done well (looking at the soc duaology and VanderMeer’s Acceptance) but working a multi-pov means there are more plates spinning, it’s more of a challenge, and some authors pull it off better than others.

18- do you read book in one sitting or in multiple days?

I don’t really do this anymore. that might have something to do with me picking up thicker books? but also i have a full time job now and let’s be real the book has to be hella good if i don’t want to put it down. the last book i attempted to shotgun was the final installment of my favorite series and it still took me two days so....i can get through a lot of books but none of them are ever in one sitting anymore.

19- who to tag:

@sybilius @mouth-rainboy @iwonderifthatisart @phereinnike @magnificentmoose @wambsgangs @moriarteaparty and anyone else if you feel so inclined!

Bonus Question: What’s on your to-read shelf?

As for me, I am excited about one i just picked up, Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines, which i might start tomorrow and I will be taking Paul Madonna’s Come to Light on my trip to see my brother this coming weekend.

#this took a while but was fun #thanks again jen #very excited to read other folks responses #also like a general content warning? i mention/refer to things in the books but nothing's unpacked here #still to be cautious reference to mature themes #the narrator feeling posthumous

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lunetheaveragefan · 4 years

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one day...

Hi! Sorry this is a day late, but I tried my best. Chapter 4 might take a little longer to post since I haven’t started it yet, but I’m feeling super inspired so I’ll probably write some (if not most) of it this weekend. :)

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Some cursing and quick mentions of bullying/making fun of. If you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 1,639

okay, here’s chapter 3!

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

CHAPTER THREE

The rest of the day, Virgil did his best to avoid Roman. He didn’t know if he could face him after the spectacle that morning, not to mention how much he had been thinking about his soft hair and tan skin and beautiful eyes.

Since when have Roman’s eyes been beautiful? Dammit, Virgil, get yourself together. He made fun of you all throughout middle school, nevermind what happened freshman year. People don’t change, you idiot.

That afternoon, he walks, head down, to a nearby coffee shop to meet Logan to study, although Logan usually reads. He already knows everything; it’s Virgil who needs to study, but Logan has told Virgil dozens of times already that it doesn’t bother him.

That day, Virgil opens the door and scans the room for Logan. To his surprise, Logan is sitting at a booth nestled in the corner. Once he gets there, he slides into the seat, back into the curve of the corner.

“Why’d you get this table?” Virgil asks, pulling his folders, notebooks, and pencil out of his bag. “Do we really need all this space?” Logan looks up from his book.

“Uh…well, you see,” Logan stutters. Virgil is more sure than ever that something strange is going on with his friend. Logan takes a deep breath and starts over, “Well, I figured we’d need more space since I also have to do some work.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil tries to keep his voice light, but he’s still skeptical. Logan likes having a schedule, and part of his weekly routine was every Thursday after school, without many exceptions, he got a small table by the window to study. Currently, there’s no one sitting at it, so there’s no reason for Logan to have picked this booth instead.

Virgil forcefully drops the subject from his mind, knowing he needs to get to work. He has an English paper he needs to finish for tomorrow, and he’s barely a paragraph into it. Devoting most of his time to his art projects has made him behind for his other subjects.

Flipping to the page in his notebook with his evidence and reasons, he opens a Google Doc on his computer and gets to work. The quiet is nice; there’s just the sounds of Virgil typing and Logan flipping pages, along with the background noise of the cafe. After working for about 20 minutes, Logan starts acting weird again.

Every few minutes, he’ll pick up his phone, checking the screen. For what, Virgil can’t tell, but he suspects Logan is checking to see if he’s gotten any texts. What Virgil is really wondering is who could possibly be so important or urgent that Logan would stop reading to check his phone, especially so often. It isn’t until a little later that it occurs to Virgil that Logan said he had work to do, but all he’d done up to that point was read. What is going on?

A few minutes later, Virgil gets his answer when the bell above the door chimes. He glances up instinctively. He looks back towards his essay before he can comprehend who just walked in, but when his brain catches up to his eyes, his head shoots up to find that the high schoolers who just walked in are now standing next to Logan and his booth.

“Heya, Logan and Virgil!” Patton says in his usual cheery voice. Virgil gives him a half smile back, although he’s still puzzled as to why he’s here. It could’ve been a coincidence, of course, but with Logan’s strangeness, he doesn’t think it is. It only makes Virgil more sure when he looks over to see Logan smiling from ear to ear.

If Logan really did invite Patton, why is he here too? Virgil wonders.

“Hey, Patton,” Virgil says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Logan invited me!” comes the reply, and Patton smiles back at Logan, filled with his usual unabashed joy. Logan blushes, and Virgil puts a finger to his mouth and pretends to gag. Unfortunately, Logan sees and rolls his eyes, mouthing, “Don’t be a child.”

“You decided to bring a friend, I see,” Virgil states, looking at the boy standing next to Patton.

“Yeah, when I heard it was to study, I figured I’d come along. I haven’t had much of a chance to, with the play and all,” says Roman almost bashfully. His hand rubs the back of his next as he looks at the floor. Virgil nods and turns back to his essay.

“Sit down,” says Logan, gesturing to the booth. “Roman, you can sit next to Virgil, since Patton and I have to work on our chemistry lab.” Virgil snaps his gaze to Logan and glares at him. When the other boy doesn’t react — or even notice — Virgil takes a deep breath and continues working, considerably more stressed than before.

Roman plops down next to him and smartly decides to stay quiet. They all get to work, Patton and Logan chattering about some reaction of some sort from across the table while Roman and Virgil sit in silence, each working on their own homework or projects. Virgil doesn’t mind it; he’s got his headphones in and is therefore pretty much dead to the world, but not quite dead enough for him to miss the fact that anxiety has begun rolling off of Roman.

Attempting to ignore it, Virgil turns up his music, but nothing can block out the awkward tension between the two boys.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Roman blurts out. Logan and Patton remain oblivious on the other side of the table. Hesitantly, Virgil pulls down his headphones. He wishes he didn’t have to, but he figures whatever Roman needs to say is important. “I should’ve looked before I threw my arm out like that. Could you ever forgive me?” He seems so sincere, yet Virgil can’t find it in him to trust him. But those eyes.

“I forgive you,” mumbles Virgil, cursing Roman’s chocolate eyes. He’s like a goddamn wounded puppy. Before Virgil can pull up his headphones again, Roman speaks.

“So, what are you working on?” His smile is bright and friendly. Why does he want to be my friend all of a sudden? He’s never been nice to me before. For a while, he was downright rude, and then he just started pretending I didn’t exist. Not that I minded.

“Just an essay for English,” Virgil replies, forcing himself to stay neutral. Socializing has never been his strong suit, but after a while, he’d learned how to fake it. “Uh...what are you doing?”

Roman frowns before responding, “This stupid algebra homework. I just don’t understand math.” He appears angry for a second before smiling again, almost as if he felt he had to pretend everything was okay. Virgil knew quite a bit about pretending. He did it for years before realizing people did, indeed, give a shit about him. Like Logan, for example.

Virgil glanced over at him, but he was still in deep, animated conversation with Patton. From what Virgil could hear, they had gone quite off task from chemistry. Something’s definitely off. Logan was the most responsible person he knew, and always made an effort to study and work when needed. Virgil had never seen Logan get off task when there was something that had to be done.

But that’s a matter for a different time. Right now, there is a boy sitting next to him that he had to talk to.

“Do you, uh, need any help? I took that class last year, so I should be able to help you.”

“Really?” Roman asks, his face lighting up. Virgil nods, hands dropping from his headphones. “Thanks, Virgil!”

Now, Virgil had never thought of his name much before. He’d always liked it, but he didn’t think much of it. But when Roman said it, so full of happiness and spirit, Virgil realized how cool it was. The sharpness of the ‘v,’ the slow, drawn out sound of the ‘l’ at the end. Quickly, Virgil bent over Roman’s paper to see what exactly he was working on, letting his hair fall in front of his face to hide the blush seeping across his cheeks.

What the hell is going on with me? This is Roman Princeford. He’s arrogant and rude and selfish. He doesn’t think about anyone but himself.

Yet, after Virgil helped him with his algebra, Roman offered to help out with his paper. When he found out it was about Shakespeare, he insisted upon reading it. Surprisingly, the comments he made after reviewing it were pretty helpful. Virgil discovered after a while of small talk about school and typical human topics that he didn’t completely despise Roman’s presence. Sure, his over dramatizing of things was a little annoying, but everyone has their flaws, right?

Virgil didn’t know if he could ever forgive Roman for what happened in middle school or freshman year, but maybe they were on their way to some sort of understanding.

And, although Virgil will never admit it out loud, he can acknowledge that Roman Princeford is a very handsome guy.

Once he gets home, feeling confident that his English paper is the best it’s going to get, and finishes everything else he needs to do, he lies down on his bed. He tries to listen to music, but all he can think about was how much Roman had thrown him off today. He’d seemed to want to help Virgil. There wasn’t a single rude comment or excessive bragging session.

When Virgil realizes he’s smiling while thinking about earlier, he quickly banishes all those thoughts from his mind and rolls over onto his side. Pulling a blanket up to his chin, he burrows under the covers. You are not going to start enjoying hanging out with Roman Princeford. No way. And you most definitely don’t have a crush on him. He starts to think about winter break coming up in a month and a half and wonders what he’ll get his cousins for Christmas. Quicker than usual, he falls to sleep.

The dream Virgil has that night about kissing Roman doesn’t mean anything. Does it?

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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For Those I Love — For Those I Love (September Recordings)

youtube

There’s the Ireland you know. Leprechauns and pan flutes and weathered Celtic crosses and Joyce and Beckett and U2 and Aer Lingus and wistful stories of Charles Parnell and corned beef and cabbage and Kerrygold butter and potatoes, endless potatoes except in the famine, and Guinness and Jameson and names like Sean and Brian and Roisin and Siobhan and hurling and faded IRA murals and St. Patrick driving all the snakes out and Grian Chatten’s fuckin’ diddly-diddly-aye and a great green sweeping countryside washing out to the ocean.

Then there’s the other Ireland, the real one the tourism board doesn’t touch.

The one in the study that showed 49% of women reported being sexually assaulted or harassed, that 31% of adults experienced sexual harassment, that 15% have admitted to being raped at some point. Sex offenses on the rise, residential burglaries on the rise, public drunkenness on the rise, and all of that was before the pandemic. And somebody has to make up that 5.16% unemployment. For a nation it takes five hours to drive one end of the other in, there’s more than enough of the roughest stuff to make hard hearts of the softest souls — and it’s that Ireland, lacerated and flush with those scraping by to the tune of everyday strains, which serves as the backdrop to David Balfe’s nine-track therapy session and debut full-length under the For Those I Love name.

The entire project is fueled by the suicide of Balfe’s best friend. It helps to know that Balfe’s friend in question also happened to be one of Ireland’s most celebrated young poets and performers, Paul Curran. Before his passing in 2018, the songwriter and vocalist from post-punk band Burnt Out was an outspoken advocate of working class youth identity and the forces conspiring against it. “Dear James,” to take the band’s best example (and one that gets namechecked on For Those I Love), was itself a true story about a teen’s public suicide in the early 2000s. “The pressure of merit, valid work, social status and identity” were at the root of Curran’s art. It’s no different with Balfe: Every one of these songs is shot through with local flavor shedding light on similar experiences, most of them painful.

Some of what you hear on For Those I Love cropped up in cruder, briefer forms across the 47-minute mixtape/hodgepodge Into a World That Doesn’t Understand It, Unless You’re From It posted to Bandcamp in August ahead of “For Those I Love” the single — if nothing else, David’s certainly made his intentions clear — which arrived fully formed both musically and visually the following month. So proves the rest: Written and recorded out back at night in his mom’s shed in Donaghmede north of Dublin’s city center, For Those I Love is a wonderfully open-hearted portrayal of young Ireland akin to contemporaries Fontaines D.C. or the Murder Capital.

The method by which he conveys that perspective, however, shares almost nothing in common with those bands. Indeed, the most jarring aspect of For Those I Love might be the music itself: Balfe talks his way through stories and rarely rises above a quiet flooded monotone of weighty thoughts that runs itself dry irrespective of the track beneath it, which often strikes an optimistic note, a positive tone, an upbeat figure. He’s already been slapped with the “Irish Streets” billing, but his homespun productions are a little richer than Mike Skinner’s and wouldn’t sound out of place at an EDM festival or a Night Slugs party a decade ago, full of post-Burial long synth decays, atmospheric vocal samples and house rhythms as the bedrock for his eulogies.

Take “You Stayed / To Live,” which resembles a Caribou castaway as Balfe describes stealing and setting fire to a couch (possibly the one from the “Dear James” video), then veers into a digression about their younger years hanging at each other’s houses, playing in a band and how fire reminds him of Curran now. “To Have You” is similar, assuming the dynamics of a big room build-up with huge piano strikes, thumping kick drum and, improbably, a sample of Bread’s “Everything I Own”; Balfe’s vocals, meanwhile, wrestle with the instrumentation. It’s not always clear exactly what he’s saying (and not just because of the brogue), but you get the point, understand the message.

“Top Scheme” is comfortably the shortest song on the record at less than three minutes, but it’s also the most aggressive. Balfe notches up the intensity by giving the state a proper goodnight/fuck off flip of the fingers. “How can we not feel this rage / When the therapy costs more than half your wage / And you’re turfed back out the same that very day?” Though he doesn’t always go for the throat of the system outright, it permeates all his and his ilk’s tortured actions.

Balfe is at his best when the beats match the gravitas of the subject matter. “The Shape of You” is a raw heartbeat where the music perfectly matches a lighter tale of wasted youth waking up to a Belgian hospital and the joking romp it took to get him back home; its extended outro, better even than the occasional recorded interstitials between tracks, serves as a space to collect yourself. Along with “Birthday / The Pain” (whose Finn remix, it’s worth noting, eclipses the original in its ebullience), it might be the most uplifting song here. The latter is an ode to surviving a world fraught with violence, but it’s the unexpected brass sample that slides in like a herald announcing love’s arrival that really catches you out.

Yet for all of that, there is still no better song to explain what For Those I Love is about than the title-track. It was a smart move to close the album with “Leave Me Not Love,” which interpolates the opener and brings things full circle, but the wordplay at work as Balfe elevates Curran’s memory to nigh holy status remains the album’s best. You can feel the anguish in his own muted way as he runs back through face guards, grief and knaves talking tunes and poems with too much weight for his age. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more open wound in music over the past year.

There have been times when I’ve, say, longed for a good crumb cake and my mom has commented on how it was one of my grandfather’s favorites, or I catch myself watching thermite welding videos on YouTube a little too long and remember I’m my father’s son. A person isn’t just who they are, it’s what they pass on to the rest of us, the little quirks and the stories we tell ourselves to remember who we’ve lost and who we’re losing. Both are inevitable. “I have a love and it’s full of pain” go the last lines of For Those I Love, but I say they’re indistinguishable, that you couldn’t know the grace of one without the other’s suffering. That’s how you know it’ll never fade. Tell all your friends, I’d say.

Patrick Masterson

#For Those I Love #september recordings #patrick masterson #albumreview #dusted magazine #dublin #ireland #house #poetry

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 4 years

Text

genre: college au, teacher/student, dance instructor!hoseok, dance student! y/n, fluff

warning(s)!!!: college stress (duh), y/n waited a couple years after high school before college for fiances, it’s not a college au unless someone works at a coffee shop lol, flirty hoseok, y/n might be a bit ditzy but in a cute way, y/n is also scared of storms

w.count: 5.4k

summary: moving to Seoul, South Korea had been a dream of yours and when you found out that you got accept at one of the best universities, you couldn’t have been happier! That is until you met your dance teacher. He was handsome, but strict and he made you fall for him hard. You never thought he would feel the same until you got locked up one rainy night.

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble | [Rated: PG-13]

a/n: this is my contribution to BangtanIDX Prompt Twist! I got @pjmsgalaxy prompt, so I hope she (and everyone else) enjoys it! Gotta be honest, I’m not sure if I’ve ever written a teacher/student fic and i don’t read much of them dafdlskf, there’s a first time for everything LMAO I hope I did alright asdlfjakj (I also very very sloppily proof read this, or i proofread half of it then got lazy uhoh)

“Where did I-” you muttered to yourself as you dug through the fourth box in your newly moved into studio apartment. You were a reigning champ of procrastination and now you were looking for your gym duffel to place all your dance equipment in.

Not finding it in lucky box number four, you sighed and continued your quest to find the hideously amazing holographic duffel your mother had bought for you just before your move to Seoul. “There you are!” You exclaimed as you saw a small patch of shining, colorful silver before you grabbed it and yanked it out. Small trinkets and pens flew from the box in its rupture out of the cardboard prison.

It had been just two days since you had signed a lease for this single, tiny, cramped apartment in Seoul. But, it was your best choice of living because who would’ve thought that Seoul’s living expenses were through the roof. It would do, however; since you were finally getting ready to enroll in Hanyang University in their department of dance. Part of your subconscious wasn’t able to comprehend the fact that you managed to get into a private university in Seoul, but nonetheless there you were.

You sat on your floor, boxes all around you with your holographic duffel with rainbow striped straps on your lap. You sighed as you felt a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

This was what you have wanted since you realized how much you loved dancing. Graduating, majoring in dance, going to a prestigious school. It was all so much more dazzling than you thought it’d be. Of course, you had to take a couple years off of high school to save up enough money to even begin thinking about college tuition, but now here you were. Two years of hard work finally paid off as you were enrolling into education once more.

“Oh shoot,” you hissed as you placed the duffel aside and made for other boxes. “I need to find my alarm clock. I know I just saw it,” you muttered more as you began to once again dig around. Unpacking fully would need to wait- it was already 7 in the evening. Unpacking your new home would be a tomorrow job and future you’s problem.

It was bright and early the next day as you dragged yourself out of your messy, box filled apartment with a bag of books and folders and your duffel packed full with a water bottle, proper shoes and a change of clothes. Along with your typical dance classes of ballet and choreography (or also called composition) courses, you would be taking your standard classes as well. Dance history and theory for example. Those were more sit down and take notes classes, so your standard textbook and spiral notebook were absolutely a must.

Dressed with your jeans rolled to your calf and your shirt untucked, you walked to sit patiently at the public bus stop just in time to catch the 8 o’clock morning rounds. Getting off with a handful of other college students, you almost halted at the university gates. Those nerves thumping in your chest again before you pulled yourself together and finally took those first steps as a twenty-year-old college student.

You entered the spacious dance studio your choreography class was held in as you gulped. You had just changed into your leggings and sweater with your less than brilliant shoes with just enough grip left on the soles not to slide around.

You ducked your head instinctively as you trotted to the back of the room. The mirrors across the studio tracked your every tiptoed step as some students were stretching. Some were doing warm ups, some doing small numbers of footwork, others just standing talking or keeping to themselves until the instructor came. You were of the latter group. Taking refuge up in a corner as you sat your duffel (that happened to stand out way too much among the others) behind you and took a seat.

As you sat, you opened your legs in front of you and did small stretches just to occupy yourself until the class began. The lump in your throat made it damn near impossible to even try and talk to someone else even though you knew you’d be working and dancing with these people through your major years.

As you were stretching forward to grab around your foot and feel the comfortable pull in your legs, you silently hoped that the instructor you ended up with wouldn’t be a complete nightmare. You’ve seen and read one too many dramatic stories that involve over the top teachers who have the ‘perfect or failing’ mentality. Of course, you knew that it was all for show and production in your books or on your television screen- but nonetheless, it was stressful to think about.

You yelped when someone tapped your shoulder, getting your attention as you were previously too lost in thought about an over dramatic, middle-age crone with a permanent frown as your teacher- may as well imagine Lady Tremaine as the instructor of your nightmares.

When you turned, ready to apologize you nervously chuckled as you saw the handsome red haired man sat beside you with a Puma bag beside him. Wearing gym shorts and a jacket matching his duffel with worn out shoes, he pushed his hair out of the way of his sweat band around his head. He smiled, waving at you.

“First year, huh?” He asked gleefully as you just nodded before clearing your throat.

“Oh, yeah. I just enrolled. I feel a bit awkward since I’m older than the other freshman by a couple years. Guess that's what I get for taking a couple years after highschool though, huh?” You joked back to the stranger as he sat and crossed his legs beside you. He nodded, closing his eyes in a face of understanding.

“Makes since though. This school isn’t cheap, for sure.” With another nod, he opened eyes when he grinned widely again at you. “Don’t worry about it,” he told you with a shoulder pat. “You look young anyways. You’ll fit right in. We twenty-somethings’ need to stick together, huh?” He asked as you looked at him with a small sparkle in your eyes.

“You’re in your twenties?” You gasped lightly. “Oh, jeez that was rude. Sorry,” you awkwardly brush off as you mentally screech into the void. Thankfully, he just laughed at you- but seemed blissfully unoffended.

“I’m definitely in my twenties,” he confirmed. He looked at the watch on his wrist as he silently opened his mouth into an ‘o’ as he started to uncross his legs to stand. He patted your back again. “Thanks for the chat, I’m a lot less anxious now,” he told you as he started moving away. You looked back to your lap and let out a breath. You smiled. If anything- he was the one who worked your anxiety away.

Your attention was grabbed when the studio door was shut and someone clapped from the front of the studio by the wall full of mirrors. Repeated students from previous years were soon sitting down and the freshmen were all sitting rigid- just as you were in your corner.

At the front of the class was the same guy who was just talking to you. Setting his duffel from his shoulder to his feet by the mirror wall on the floor. He turned and placed his hands on his hips as he looked around the room of 20 something students. Some familiar, some not. He just smiled at them all as a group.

“I sure hope this is everyone,” he started speaking when the small murmuring of others died down to focus on him. “I don’t take well to students being late, so make sure to remember that. If you’re not here on time, I’m locking that door and you’re not getting in.” He addressed, pointing to the studio door that was firmly shut. “On with formalities then,” he clapped again as he moved to start pacing back and forth along the mirrors. “As of today, some of you had never seen me before. Why? Well, because you're new of course.” He stopped in his paces before he turned to face the class sitting on the wooden floor. “I’m Jung Hoseok, and I’m this studio’s choreography instructor. Feel free to address me casually if you’d like.”

You nearly threw your head against the wall you leaned back against. You were just chatting it up and talking about age with your teacher?! He was one of very few people who really didn’t need to know your age. Not to mention, the passing thought of thinking he was an attractive man suddenly felt taboo. You’ve heard of teachers and student’s hooking up, but only in stories!

However, by the time the class ended many things were apparent to you. One, this class wasn’t going to have a shortage of difficulty. Hoseok ran through the curriculum and all the points and class topics he wanted to hit and practice through the semesters.

Two, you’d definitely need to start opening up to your classmates for group and duo projects or else you wouldn’t get very far into your college career.

Lastly three, the way Hoseok acted and carried himself like another goofy highschooler who loved dancing more than a fish loves water made him undeniably attractive and maybe- just maybe- your hopeless romantic heart thudded under your hoodie.

It was a week into your college course that you were already feeling tired from all the running back and forth between physical classes and sit down classes. You felt like your legs were screaming, but eventually you knew you’d get used to it.

You were walking as you packed your books into your bag. One thing that Hoseok made clear wasn’t a joke on the first day was his ‘locking the door if you’re late’ rule. He ended up locking 3 students out of the studio on the second day and you made sure that if it was getting close to his classes start time, you were running and weaving past students in the halls and outside in the quad. Rules be damned.

You had just stepped out of the bathroom where you had locked yourself inside a stall to change into your sweats and tee from your jean shorts and sweater when you bumped into your aforementioned handsome dance instructor.

Too busy trying to pry your water bottle out of your duffel mixed with trying to shove your wadded up clothes back into the same duffel and juggling your other class’ bag with books on your shoulder all met in the demise of your shoulder at your rammed into Hoseok’s.

Your metal thermos hit the title in the most unmelodic sound known to man as you jolt and screech in a semi-panic all in an attempt to catch it. Before you could shove your duffel behind you with your sweater hanging half out to reach for your fallen drink in it’s metal prison, Hoseok was already bent at the knees and picking it up instead.

You took the chance to shove your stupid clothes into your duffel completely and zip it when Hoseok was ready to had you your thermos. All while he just stifled a chuckle you could see building in his cheeks.

“In a rush?” He teased, knowing full well his class started in under ten minutes. You bit back the sarcastic reply on your tongue, reminding yourself that this was your teacher- not just another student you could afford to smart off to.

“Well, I don’t want to be locked out, so,” you shrugged, unsure if your tone made you seem snippy. Hopefully not.

“The day I have to lock you out of the studio for being late, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll let it slide.” He teased as he placed your thermos into your palm. “Let’s go if you’re heading that way.”

“You’re walking with me?”

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged. “I’m going to the same place and besides, I did say that we twenty-somethings need to stick together,” he joked in a lop-sided smile that pushed up one of his cheeks.

“I wish you’d forget that I ever mentioned my age to you at all,” you groaned as he started walking and you tailed behind him until he slowed his pace to walk beside you. You rushed into the studio in front of him to make sure you made it before him as you rushed to your designated corner before anyone could notice you walked with Hoseok to his class. Properly tying your shoes, you rotated the ball of your worn dance shoes, listening to them squeak as they tried to grip the floors the best they could.

You really needed a new pair soon. Your new job’s first paycheck will be used more for bills then it seemed, a new pair of shoes seemed to be in your future. As Hoseok started class and got everyone to their feet to work through some simple steps to get warmed up for a proper assignment on the horizon, you could help but once again admire his shift from friendly, giggly Hoseok who teased you in the hall to the strict and passionate dance instructor.

“Y/n, could you run the register for just a couple more minutes? Laura is running late, but she said she’s just around the corner stuck in that traffic jam.” Your boss begged as you were about to clock out from your third day on the job. It wasn’t too hard to learn the ropes since you knew how to work registers as well as you could recite the alphabet. You just smiled, trying to wipe the crease out of her brows. She was clearly hoping you wouldn’t say no.

“I don’t mind,” you told her, her shoulder slackening. “I know the traffic sucks today. I can hang around a bit longer. I don’t have anything else to do tonight anyways.” With a promise to pay you for your overtime from your boss, you re-tied the apron around your waist and rushed back to the front where you joined the floundering staff already there. “What can I help with?” You asked them as they rang up someone.

“Just get me away from this thing,” they half whined in a weak laugh as you stepped up and began taking orders like you were programmed to do. Working through customer after customer, you soon saw Laura rushing into the coffee shop when the bell above the door jingled. She ran to you behind the counter. Apologize for being late, you assure her to take her time and not to worry too much about it.

You finally clocked out when you snagged a muffin from the display and made your way out around the counter. Your boss spoke to you for a moment across the display of pastries as Laura was already hard at work until closing hours. You bit into your muffin as you heard someone call you. Thinking it was a co-worker from the familiar ring it had, you turned immediately only to be met with none other than Hoseok.

He came jogging up to you, a coffee in his hand.

“Oh, Instructor Jung,” you greeted in shock. He cringed as you addressed him so formally. Almost everyone in your class had already reverted to calling him by name as he so kindly requested. You were one of the very few stragglers who still addressed him so formally.

“Instructor Jung? Really? That makes me sound like some old man who hates people,” he shivered. “Just call me by name,” he told you. Your boss tapped your shoulder, asking who this stranger with the round cute cheeks and healthy red hair was. He took a sip of his coffee through the straw of his to-go cup. He reached his hand across the counter-top to your boss once he swallowed the caffeine. “Jung Hoseok,” he introduced. “I actually teach Y/n’s dance choreography class in her major.”

“Well, what a lucky girl she is,” your boss teased you with flickering eyebrows that rose and fell in quick motions. Your face bloomed as you wanted to throw the remains of your muffin at her. You were never so thankful you had so much self-restraint. “I’ll see her tapping her feet or shuffling around in the back during her break, it’s pretty adorable.” Okay, maybe less self-restraint if she kept going.

You cleared your throat, face hot as you were determined to escape. “If you’re done teasing me, I’m going home now.”

“But of course,” your boss mused. “I’ll see you back in a couple days sweetheart,” she waved as she went back to her bossly duties of bosshood.

“It was good seeing you-”

“You're heading home, yeah? I’ll drive you,” Hoseok offered before you could properly attempt to depart.

“What?” You asked in shock, nearly dropping the same muffin you wanted to throw just moments ago. “Drive me? Oh, you don’t need to. I’ll just take the bus.”

“Nonsense,” he told you, stepping beside you and nudging you with a friendly smile. “It’s cheaper this way.” That was true. The word ‘cheaper’ was your favorite among the thousands in the words as a struggling college newby. Ultimately, you ended up in the passenger seat of Hoseok’s jeep as he pulled off the curb and into the awful traffic that had previously made Laura so late to her shift. “So, you dance at work huh?” He asked, his eyes set on the road as his fingers tapped at his steering wheel.

“Oh god, please forget you ever heard her say that.”

Hoseok broke into squawks of laughter that pulled at your own lips and the tension you had built up crumbled as you began to just talk. You had even forgotten he was your instructor as you spoke to him like you were talking to a friend. It wasn't until he was pulling up in front of your apartment building when that reality came back.

“Get some rest tonight,” Hoseok told you before you stepped out of the jeep. “I’m gonna assign drills and dance routines tomorrow in class.” You blinked as you looked at him confused.

“Why tell me this? Wouldn’t it have been better to wait to tell me with the rest of the class?” You asked as Hoseok just laughed lightly back to you, nudging your thigh as you started climbing out of the jeep.

“Have a good evening, Y/n,” he told you, totally disregarding your previous questions, leaving you ever more confused. You just nodded at him, now pursuing the topic any longer than you wanted to. He watched to make sure you got up the set of outside stairs and unlocked your door before disappearing inside before he drove off.

Just as he had told you, the next day he was assigning certain groups of students different routines or tasks to practice. Over the course of the next week you’d be free to practice your assignment given to you before delivering it to Hoseok. The concept of him not particularly instructing this project was to gauge the level of self-teaching. He would supervise and give advice and tips if asked, but he would not be out right teaching just yet.

You were among the group of people given a small little number running just shy of two minutes. Focusing more on footwork and precision rather than graceful nimbleness. A faster paced routine was something you felt wasn’t your strongest set of skills, but you enjoyed the feeling of learning nonetheless.

You often spent your afternoons you didn’t have to work in the studio, or inside the practice rooms off the studio practicing. You had opened up to a few other students given the same routine and gotten their advice as you had given yours in return. Hoseok had already told you a few times things you needed to keep in mind while practicing.

This particular night, two weeks into the curriculum you had stayed just a bit too long practicing you had completely lost track of time. In fact, you would've even stopped to notice the empty rooms and the darkening skies outside if it weren’t for the knocking at the practice room’s door.

You had locked yourself inside one of the private, off studio’s to listen to the track assigned with your routine. Getting a feel for the beat and tapping to it for a rhythm balance over and over again made you lose track of time absolutely. When there was a knock you just barely managed to hear over a small dip in the music track, you looked through the room door’s window to see Hoseok waving at you to come out.

Discarding your headphones, you got up and unlocked the door. Opening it to see your instructor dressed not in his sweats and hoodies for practice, but in jeans and a tee- ready to go home for the day. He looked unfairly well dressed in casual wear.

His brow was dipped as he glanced outside just before he looked back to you in your lamp lit small room. He could hear the faint hums of your music from your headphones you left on the floor behind you.

“Why are you still here, Y/n?” He asked. You blinked at him as if he was asking some asinine question. “Classes ended hours ago and that storm in the forecast is about to hit. You should get home,” he told you. You opened your eyes as you looked over his shoulder outside the window of the main studio.

Indeed the skies were dark and sprinkled with raindrops of the future downpour. How long had you been absorbed in your music? You ran back to your headphones and phone along with your bag and duffel as Hoseok moved to the front of the studio to wait at the door, but with a jiggle of the studio’s door, his face drained of color.

A jiggle was worrisome, two was just as worrisome and three was completely worrisome with a tablespoon of panic. The door was jammed, the knob not turning and the door not budging even when Hoseok yanking or shoving on it.

You had shut off the light in the private room, walking out into the lit studio where Hoseok was fiddling with the door. You could hear the metal of the doorknob rattling under his palm echo in the empty dance room as you got to his side. You already feared what he was going to say when he turned to you with a tense expression.

“Don’t tell me,” you spoke with a fallen face as he just let go of the doorknob. All routes of escape leading to utter failure. Hoseok quickly cleared his throat as he looked around the empty room.

“Don’t worry about it,” he spoke, his voice echoing in the large emptiness. “Someone will make their rounds in the morning and get us out. I have some granola bars in my bag we can eat and extra water bottles in my duffel. We just have to tough it out for one night.”

He tried making light of the situation to ease your tense shoulders. He could understand though. You were busy and lost track of time only to be told to leave by your teacher before some nasty weather hits. Only to be now stuck in that same room he told you to leave with him. You probably wanted to go home, take a bath and sleep in your bed. But, now you were forced to stick around in the studio until morning instead. Talk about an impromptu and unwanted sleepover.

However, it wasn’t the fact you had to stay in the studio that night that made you nervous. It shockingly, it wasn’t fact you’d be sharing the space with your more than handsome dance teacher either. It was the small rumbling you heard outside that made you anxious.

The first ten minutes of your small sit down with Hoseok was rigid and uncomfortable for both parties. You were nervous as you picked at your shirt’s loose threads and Hoseok was nervous because he felt like he was making you nervous. The endless cycle of nerves was suffocating.

“Sorry for the door,” Hoseok broke the nearly nauseating silence as he scratched behind his neck. “I didn’t think it’d be busted. Someone must have slammed it shut and jammed it or something.”

“It’s fine,” was your curt answer.

Hoseok looked into the mirrors, watching your reflection- too afraid of freaking you out if he actually looked at you. He cleared his throat. “So, uh- how’s your routine coming?” He tried again. Maybe a different topic will result in different results.

“It’s coming,” you shrugged. “Clearly I’m focusing on it too much,” you told him, motioning to the current situation.

“At least you don’t work today, right?” Hoseok tried lifting the spirits in the room with a smile. You cracked a smile back to him finally.

“That’s-”

The sky shook with thunder, interrupting your voice as Hoseok looked outside the window. The rain had begun as it pelted against the windows. You could hear the wind blow through the roof and along the window outside as it pushed the rain at an angle. The instructor whistled.

“That’s some nasty weather,” he muttered. When you didn’t respond in agreement, he looked back to you. He sat straighter when he saw you covering your ears with your palms. “Y/n?” He called as you seemed to remember where you were as you lowered your hands immediately and placed them back on your lap. You crossed your legs, bouncing one of them as the rain continued to hit the building and window and the thunder continued to roll.

It was impossible for Hoseok not to see how jittery the weather got you. He slowly scooched closer to your side after reaching for the previous mentioned granola snack he had with him. He offers it to you, hoping to ease you. You accept it, taking anything to keep your mind off the weather blaring outside like sirens in your head.

“Not a storm lover, eh?” He asked, but as lightly as he could. He asked in the same way someone would cover a child with a satin blanket. It was soft and comforting the way he spoke. You shook your head as you bit into the grainy snack. “I don’t mind them so much, but I guess some people really can’t stand storms.”

“‘Can’t help it,” you mumbled after you swallowed a bite. “I’ve been scared of them since I was little and just never outgrew it.”

Hoseok was soon rubbing your back as he sat next to you. You jumped every time thunder sounded and closed your eyes with a small yelp each time you caught a glimpse of lightning. Luckily enough the storm didn’t have nearly the strength to blow out the power, so he wouldn’t need to comfort you in a black out at the very least.

He was sitting beside you for nearly half an hour before he finally thought of something to keep your mind off the storm.

“Y/n, dance with me,” he pitched into the empty room as he continued to rub your back. You shot your head up to look at him, cheeks hot and mouth open in a small ‘huh?’. He just chuckled. “We’re stuck in here anyways, so let’s dance to pass the time!” He told you he was already spinning to his feet before he grabbed your hands and started pulling you up and out of your cross-legged position.

“You can’t be serious!” You squealed as he got you standing. He ran over to the stereo system and hooked his phone up to it before setting a playlist. Soon, music started pulsing through the speakers as you felt the vibrations of the bass through the floor into your bare feet after long abandoning your shoes and socks.

He danced back to you as he grabbed your hands and started dragging you around as he laughed. “Come on! It’ll be fun!” Pretty soon, he was twirling you around every which way he could before he actually started to properly dance. You were reverting back to your dance brain as you started properly doing footwork and taking correct stances.

What started as goofing off to keep your mind off the storm turned into a private study with Hoseok watching your practice the very dance that kept you here in the first place this evening. He had turned on the song assigned to you and the small group of people who were assigned the same thing as it looped over and over again.

Drill after drill with different steps of advice and stance correction was more fun with Hoseok than you thought possible. He would push on your back to fix your stance or twist your calf when you stepped so you wouldn’t trip. He showed you how to dance certain parts as you mirrored him.

You both watched the reflections of yourselves dancing the same quick footwork number side by side over and over again. And each new drill came with bigger smiles and louder laughing. You had actually forgotten about the storm outside over the sound of the music and Hoseok’s laughter.

The storm had subsided well after midnight and you finally fell to the floor, ready for something close to a hardwood nap at nearly three am. Hoseok fell next to you, still in a fit of giggles as you just breathed heavily.

“I don't know if I’ve danced that much ever,” you panted as Hoseok rolled from his back to his stomach to look at you on your back staring at the ceiling. He rested his chin over his crossed arms on the floor as he looked at the side of your face. He finally looked at him, feeling his stares and flinched when you looked into his eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to look away now. “Hoseok?”

He smiled unconsciously bright at your casual calling. “You sound pretty saying my name,” he told you, making your face flush. “You looked even prettier when you blush too,” he teased, kicking his feet up behind him like a five-year-old. You turned your head away from him finally as you looked back to the ceiling, not able to hide your red cheeks as he just kept admiring them. “Hey, Y/n?” He called to which you just hummed, not trusting your voice. “Wanna go get some coffee in the morning with me?”

You whipped your head back to look at him, seeing his smug smile on his head due to your deepening flushed skin. You felt like you were on the brink of sweating, you were so flushed.

“I- uh, huh?”

“When we get freed from the practice room, let’s get coffee. I’ll cancel class so we can. I don’t want to have class after being locked in here all night anyway.”

“I work in the afternoon though,” you lamely told him. He just smiled away, unable to bring himself to feel upset about anything.

“Then I’ll drop you off before work and then pick you up to take you home when you're done.”

“That sounds like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

“Y/n, I’m asking you on a date. Of course I’m flirting.” He deadpanned with a smirk as you shot up from laying down to sitting up. You looked down at him laying on his stomach, that small smirk still painted on his lips as you turned away from him.

“Well, I guess if you’re asking me,” you muttered. “I suppose I could go for some coffee,” you finished. Hoseok had to suppress even more chuckles and teases at the sight of your smile he saw in the reflection of the studio’s mirrors when you accepted his offer.

“Well then, I guess you better get to sleep. We’ve got a date in the morning,” he chided as he shot up to his knees and palms, moved closer to just barely get into your line of sight to wink you. He crawled to his bag he used as a pillow as you lay across the room from him doing the same.

How could you possibly get to sleep now? It didn’t matter, you reasoned; as you’d have coffee later to wake you up.

~END~

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razorblade180 · 4 years

Text

Twin Snowflakes pt 20: Choice Words

“All right everybody, I wanna see some hustle!” Harriet shouted at her students playing basketball. She blew her whistle loudly to get them going for the fourth time. Veronica had learned after the first blow to really dial back her senses if she wanted to avoid ringing in her ears. “Your coach really loves that thing.” Veronica looked down from the bleachers to see Summer stretching on the floor. To no surprise, the girl was pretty flexible, able to get her chest to the floor with her legs spread out into a v-shape. “Make sure to really get around your hips, knees, and lower back. I could tell your body was tight the day I took your measurements.”

Summer looked at the girl annoyed. “I don’t need a peanut gallery. I know how to stretch.” She stood and bent over backwards slowly. The sight of Veronica glaring at her made Summer turn the other way. She wasn’t expecting Valerie to be checking her out. “What the- how long have you been here!?” Valerie started stretching out both arms and wrists. “Well I would’ve been here sooner if I wasn’t waiting for you outside the locker room. You hate going in by your…” Valerie’s attention shifted up towards the bleachers where Veronica sat. “Self… What the hell are you doing here? Come to start trouble?” Valerie cracked her knuckle.

Veronica gave the longest eye roll of her life. “Please don’t make me embarrass you in front of a crowd.” A threat that prompted Summer to point at her while nudging Valerie away in vain. It had been two seconds and Summer was already playing babysitter. She was gonna nip this in the bud right now to avoid an oncoming headache. “No, stop talking to each other. Just shut up. Veronica you’re already on thin ice so don’t antagonize people unless you want actual problems to occur that will involve you being kicked out” Veronica’s attitude got a bit more bored and vexed. “Yeah yeah….” She groaned, annoyed by her situation. “Hard to stay quiet when a loud mouth is just begging to be put in their place.” Summer closed her eyes. Why’d she have to say something like? Valerie moves right past Summer. She wasn’t gonna let that slide. “By all means, what am I asking for?” Her tone was ripe with anger.

Veronica stood up and walked down to get right in the taller girl’s face. “Valerie, you are absolutely stupid. Childish in its purest form; a girl so self absorbed in the opinions of others yet utterly blind to that fact to the point it’s crippling. And for what? Ego? Some distorted sense of pride? It’s pathetic and insulting. I don’t understand why Nicholas is in love with a person like you.” Valerie’s hand swiftly rose half way up to Veronica’s face before Veronica grabbed her wrist. “Don’t ask for something then get made when you can’t handle it. Don’t get triggered by my mention of him if he’s nothing more than a friend. I would think you’d be desperate for him to look at someone that isn’t you.”

“I’d never want that person to be as cold and cruel as you.” Valerie bit back, harshly. “You’re the definition of self absorbed and ego. I can’t even name one time you’ve considered other’s feelings when it didn’t benefit you; besides Nick obviously. You treat Summer like shit.” Summer scrunched her face up as if she had just been called to the front of the class. Why did she have to be the example? Yes, Veronica walked all over and nothing about it ever felt nice, but she didn’t want to be a point of tension. Not right now at least. Veronica burrowed her eyes into her very soul, expecting an answer. “Well? Just gonna let this copper top speak for you?”

Copper top, now Summer knew Veronica was pissed. She wasn’t the person to insult appearance. “I mean you are pretty terrible. That’s putting it mildly. It’s like you always have a thorn stuck in your side, or itching to fight.” Valerie crossed her arms. “Behind that pretty face isn’t anything to brag about. Not even a brain from what I can tell; don’t act like you know. If someone has to watch you so badly then go hassle Nick instead of us. He has patience for it.” Veronica was at a loss for words. She couldn’t help but let out the tiniest chuckle. “Do you not know? Nick didn’t tell you?” Valerie looked at Summer puzzled. “Nick isn’t here Valerie. He’s been sick in bed since the fight yesterday.” Valerie’s face only got more shocked. “Wait, did you know about the fight?” Valerie shook her head. “Nick was in a fight yesterday!? I saw him right before I had to change. We-” Valerie’s words got stuck in her throat. She told Nick that she wanted space, to leave her alone. Did that upset him? No, he’s not the type to lash out. Nick didn’t tell her to honor her request. That idiot! Valerie bit her lip in frustration. She looked at the two girls in front of her. Summer looked concerned while Veronica was enjoying Valerie’s shocked expression. “Gee, it’s shocking Nick didn’t tell you. Can’t imagine why. Well, no I can. What was I saying about pride and being childish? Not sure of what you did but I bet it involves those two things.” Valerie had finally reached her limit with Veronica.”Fuck-”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.”Jordan called out, annoyed by the sight of all three girls. She walked past them with disgust in her eyes and a group of girls in cheerleading uniforms behind her. Suddenly the argument taking place seemed secondary. “Was that attempt at being funny, or racist?” Veronica had to know.”Whatever one you want, fleabag.” That one was easier to figure out. Unlike with Valerie, Veronica did nothing but take a deep breath. Summer had other ideas. “Wanna try saying that for the whole class to hear!?” She shouted with ease. Harriet immediately caught wind of the forming chaos and blew her whistle. “Jordan, hurry up and get your butt over here before I make the cheer team do drills until you can backflip in their sleep!” Jordan picked up the pace.”Fine, nothing of value over here anyways..” she mumbled.

“That takes care of her!” Summer slouched. That plan actually worked! She raised her voice to someone and they didn’t get the chance to do the same. It would’ve been a proud moment if Veronica wasn’t looking at her like she had been the racist. “What? I’m paying you back for yesterday is all. Why are you upset!?” Veronica flicked Summer in the forehead. “Stop assuming. You caught me off guard is all. That bitch is a cheerleader? She definitely has the attitude.” Valerie did her best to hold her tongue on that statement. “Jordan is the leader of the team. Nobody performs as good as her,unfortunately. That alone inflates her ego.” Veronica carefully watched the group of girls get in formation and start doing their routine; specifically watching the way Jordan jumped into a split after doing a handspring. Was that really it? Her posture was good but that landing was far too heavy. She was gonna injure her ankle if she wasn’t careful. Veronica could do way better. In fact….”Hey?” She called out to Summer and Valerie with petty intent. “Want me to deflate her a little?”

xxxx

“Jordan hurt her ankle?” Nick said, clearing space in the messy guest room. “And now you’re taking her spot for the tournament?” Veronica snickered freely. I told her not to attempt an aerial after a back handspring that followed a cartwheel, but she had to prove she was better. Too bad she didn’t have anything to help with balance.” The happy wave of her tail picked up a deck of cards. Veronica opened the box and started shuffling just for the hell of it. This always calmed her mind for some reason. It was a perfect eye graber, displaying how nimble her fingers were and skill in sleight of hand. “So yeah, productive day. Valerie and argued for a moment. Sorry.” Nick nodded, “Nobody threw a punch. I’ll take what I can get.’ He reached for a single card and pulled a joker. The trickster looked like a hysterical skeleton with a sword through him. Nick failed to see what was so amusing. He gave the card back and focused on Veronica’s shuffling. It would be his job to find that card again. “How’d the office conversation go? Must’ve been fine if you’re embarrassing students.”

“Yeah. Your principal is a good man. All I have to do is have a council member by me at all times. Between you and Eliza, it’s basically a slap on the wrist.” Veronica cut the deck in half and started shuffling them separate. The chance of Nick finding that joker was nonexistent unless he caught on to her trick. Every third card her finger grazed was turned intangible and went through five cards before she stopped using her semblance. Finally she held twenty six cards in each hand. “If you can’t find the joker then you go back to bed when I’m done with your measurements.” Those were high stakes. Why couldn’t somebody let him do work!? “And if I find the joker?” Veronica smiled, “I’m at your mercy. You can decide whatever you want me to do.” He didn’t know why but that made him blush. He’d never abuse such power, yet it almost seemed like she expected him to say something outlandish. Veronica waved her hands. “Eliminate half of the deck. You’ll either increase your odds, or make them zero.” Now the pressure was really on. He eliminated the left deck and Veronica fanned out the right. So far so good. The joker was in the spot she always put it, thirteenth card out of the twenty six. She was corny like that. Only her parents and Ruby had ever found the joker when it was the target. All the cards had a reason for their placement. Most people just don’t pay attention through various rounds. Nick finally reached out and picked the tenth card unfortunately, grabbing the ace. “Awww, oh well.” Nick said. “I thought I had this in the bag.”

Veronica picked up all the cards and started grabbing measuring tape. Next was putting her hair in a ponytail and putting on glasses. She barely wore them around others. Being a faunus that couldn’t see in the dark was lame enough. Needing glasses to sew just felt like an extra blow to her fragile faunus pride. “Better luck next time. Anyways, let’s get down to business. Take your jacket off plea-” she had forgotten Nicholas was only wearing a tank top underneath. An audible gulp came from her as she stood in front of him with her tools. Nick spread his arms out for her to start measuring. “Ready.” He said, not realizing Veronica was gawking a little. Her hands studied his shoulders and chest. They had gotten broader. She could tell he’s been putting his all into his training, yet nobody would guess that with the typical close he wore. Slight tension around his right torso intrigued her. Veronica pressed her hands against it to find out that it was actually a little tender. If she remembered correctly, the Paladin had struck this side. Both hands felt their way done to his waistline. It was hard to ignore that his tank top stopped a little about it, revealing a little skin. Veronica’s mind was on autopilot. Half was expecting him to provide helpful advice and get an idea of what to add to his garb. The other half was turned off, logically that is. It was too busy admiring his body. Any designs for him were usually done with previous numbers. Veronica usually doesn’t get the chance to be this close; this intimacy with her clients was always the best way to make something. That’s why she always asks permission to touch them beforehand. Nick realized she had forgotten that rule this time around, but didn’t think he should bring it up. A blush cams across his face. Being looked at like this was a little...intense. Then, Veronica started purring lightly.

Nicholas wasn’t made for this kind of pressure. It was too much! Recent confessions only added to it. Veronica wasn’t looking at him. Veronica was looking at him. “Ummm, Vee?” He said nervously, hoping it was loud enough. Thankfully it was. She snapped out of her daze to meet a blushing boy looking right into her eyes. The overwhelming feeling of insecurity and anxiety was crystal clear in his eyes. Veronica’s face began turning red as her hands left the warmth of his body. She had gotten swept in the moment, choosing to break their gaze by looking away. “Sorry…” her voice now meek, losing any of the commanding confidence it once had.

“It’s okay…” he muttered, unsure of this situation. “I was a caught off guard is all. That kind of attention is pretty new to me.” Veronica went back to taking his measurements appropriately. “New? Girls throw themselves at you all the time. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?” Nick shook his head. “It’s not the same. They throw themselves at me because of what they can get. Status, money, fame; another guy can have those and they’ll move on. Not like I’m bringing anything else to the table.” His voice trailed off. “Physically, what’s to be desired?” It wasn’t meant to be so somber but it was. To Nick, he was nothing more than a runt. An average looking one at that. If a guy had half the money he had and bulky or tall then they were way better off. It’s only natural to want the best choice. “It’s rude to talk about yourself like that.” Veronica said, her tone a bit more stern and upset than before. “Especially in front of someone who thinks you’re handsome and doesn’t care about what’s in your wallet.” She picked up a pen and paper to write down measurements. Nick assumed he could relax his body for the time being. “Thanks. Telling Summer something like that might boost her spirit.”

Veronica chuckled to herself. “Isn’t that her therapist’s job? Not much of a good one if he’s not doing that.” She put the pen down, annoyed by the thought of him. “Yet my parents keep bringing up the magic man himself. Says he’s a good listener if I need anything.” Nick was sorely confused by her attitude. Oscar is great! “What’s wrong with Dr.Os?” He couldn’t fathom anybody not liking a guy like him. Oscar was such a good man! Veronica didn’t seem to share that opinion however. “I just don’t believe listening to a person’s problems for an hour or two for a week does much. Therapy sounds like a big ploy and his smile is a bait.”

“Huh, well that’s an interesting viewpoint to say the least.” Nick wasn’t aware she had such strong feelings about it. “Well it’s a ploy with some benefits. He’s definitely helped me a bunch.” Veronica looked at Nicholas smile softly as he started running his hand through his hair. “Wait, you’ve gone to therapy?” She asked. He’s never mentioned such a thing. “Of course, when I was younger that is. I had a whole schedule along with Summer. Still check in from time to time.” He sounded embarrassed about that last part. “Seeing your family hospitalized for an incident you caused us heavy stuff, especially when you’re a kid. The only thing more daunting is seeing that person’s face become twisted as they try to kill you. Don’t tell Summer, but Shiva has done more than a little to unnerve me.” He laughed, playing off the severity of it to ease himself. It was clear by the frown Veronica wore that she felt sad for him. “What’s with the face? I’m fine, talking about it isn’t a problem for-” Nick was interrupted as two hands were raised in front of his face. “Ten minutes.” Veronica said with a commanding presence. Nick split her hands apart to see her absolute confidence stare at him. “If you ever feel like you need to decompress or rant like there’s no tomorrow, then come to me. Speak your truth unapologetically for ten minutes and I won’t hold or mention any of it. Deal?”

This was surely a change in attitude. The girl was just talking about how a couple of hours isn’t enough time and here she is offering ten minutes. It was so strange. So spontaneous, yet generous. It was so….Veronica. Nick couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture. He clicked his teeth, “only if you do the same with me. I think you’ll find having someone listen to your problems is precious no matter the length of time.” The offer was expected. “Typical Nicholas, taking an act of kindness to help someone else. Learn to be greedy once and a while. Deal.” She removed her hands until Nick held onto them. Veronica’s brain started frying. He was getting closer, leaning closer. “Nick?” She said quickly. His face seemed so calm as he got close enough for Veronica to feel the warmth of his body and breath invade her space. Her own face became hot. She didn’t know what to do! Nick had completely caught her off guard. Was this a dream? Veronica hoped not or else that meant she still might be in school, or worse, that day hadn’t started. “Calm yourself Veronica! You wanted this for years! Just calm yourself and-” Nick’s head suddenly fell down and rested around her shoulder and chest gently. Veronica looked down at him. “Huh…?” She brought her hand to his face to look at him. Not only was it flushed but it was burning hot! His fever went back up! “Nick! Your fever!” He only grumbled, tired and willing to comply with what came next. “Maybe I overdid it a little. Help me back to my bed?” He might’ve asked but it was more of an obligation. His eyes closed seconds later as he drifted off to sleep. Veronica could only remain still, overwhelmed by her own assumptions. A few seconds later and she would’ve stolen a kiss by mistake. Life truly was cruel for teasing her like that. The girl stood up to support his body and started walking. At least he was light. “Can’t believe this. Why is life like this!?” She cried out internally.

xxxx

Long hallways were a dumb idea. Putting Nick to bed would’ve been done sooner if his family didn’t live in a modern day castle. Walking back to her room was worse, now she was alone with nothing to think about but him. She was glad he passed out after all the measuring was finished though. Proper progress could finally start with his outfit. Hopefully he won’t be too sick. Adding a dust of some kind to energize his body or keep him comfortable might be a good idea. Speaking of dust, Veronica knew it was a must for Summer. The way Nick talked about Shiva made Veronica’s skin tense up. Her single encounter with the woman, if you could call her that, was actually unnerving. “It might be best to tell Summer about that after all. Along with asking questions about Shiva in general. My design won’t be any good if it unleashes a frozen hell. Then I’ll really deserve some nasty looks.”

To think time away from Menagerie would be more complex than staying. The only difference was Veronica was now dealing with other people’s problems. A welcome change in her opinion. She kept walking and came across Summer, who was just about to enter her room again. A white guitar with a paw print on it was in the girl’s hand. “Oh yeah, you did have a dog.” Veronica said aloud. Summer finally noticed her. “Huh? Oh this? Yeah, named this beauty Dolt. Just like him.” She strummed a few cords to give a beautiful sound that filled the hall. How such talent could exist within a person like Summer was beyond Veronica’s comprehension.

“So, you tell Nick about my little water works moment?” Veronica looked at the girl as if she had just spoken gibberish. “I don’t care what you do in the privacy of your own room. That is, unless it deals with that strange dust you’re hiding behind your mirror.” Summer’s heart immediately stops. Veronica points to her own nose and crinkles it. “It was only for an instant but I definitely smelled a painfully potent dust when I entered your room. Actually… it was the same sent as Shiva’s” Veronica admitted, watching Summer get even paler. “Y-You saw- when could you have possibly-” Summer couldn’t keep her head in order. Her body began to shake as her mouth became dry. The beating in her heart began to sound like thunder in her eardrums while her chest felt tight. “I was asleep wasn’t I? What did she do!? Who did she- is she why you want me drinking milk!?” Summer shouted, tears welling up and freezing the moment they ran down her cheeks. “What stunt are you trying to pull!? Don’t listen to her! I shouldn’t have listened to you! All you-”

Veronica pressed her hands hard against Summer’s face. The stinging sensation reddened the twin's face and brought attention to the composed look of acquaintance. “ You need to calm yourself.” Veronica said sternly. She inhaled then exhaled repeatedly for Summer to imitate. The shear cold of Summer’s own skin made Veronica’s hands feel numb. Along with the unpleasant smell of peppermint, it was clear to tell that Summer had been losing herself in the panic. Forget musical talent, Veronica couldn’t figure out how a person like her was still alive. That panic attack looked like it was gonna be the final nail in a coffin. Veronica took Summer’s hand and pulled her inside of her questionably hot room. “Summer, relax…”

Summer tried her best. She bit her bottom lip and took one deep inhale through her nose then out of her mouth. “Okay, okay…” her voice trembled, regaining composure. “I’m alright. Just give me a second.” Summer walks to her bed and lays flat on her back. A light layer of sweat ran down her forehead. Things will be okay. Answers, calming down, and a plan. Then she’ll be okay. “When did you see her?”

“The night I got here. Apparently you passed out without turning on your heater or anything. I bumped into her in the kitchen trying to eat, mainly dairy.” That last part didn’t sit well with Summer. Her eyes narrowed from Veronica’s words. “Don’t look at me like that. I was gonna force dairy into your diet anyways because of our arrangement. If anybody seems to be dancing with danger then it’s you.” Veronica took a good whiff of her surroundings. The scent led her to Summer’s vanity mirror. She reached behind it carefully until her fingers ran across two small vials and grabbed them. The dust glowed a beautiful light cyan color. A few seconds into holding them and Veronica started feeling the cold go through her, making her put it down. She had Never felt dust that was constantly active in any form. “Where the heck did you get this?”

“Penny’s lab. I, I stole it…” Summer mumbled. Guilt didn’t begin to describe how she felt about going through with it. “That stuff made Shiva appear so maybe it can unmake her. Nick and I secretly go out sometimes for me to practice controlling her. Not alone typically. If I learn to use her powers-”

“You’re gonna kill yourselves…” Veronica interjected, her voice colder than the dust. “Give me a break. You’d drag your brother into a situation like that? And I do mean drag, because the only reason he’s going alone with it is because you’re his precious little sister. Ugh, it makes me sick; do you ever get tired of being a burden?” Those words cut a little too close to the heart. Of course she was. All Summer ever thinks about is being on her own. The girl rose up to retaliate in anger, only to be shoved back down with ease. Her entire body was trembling again. “What? More water-”

“Fuck off Veronica.” Summer said through clenched teeth. Her forearm covered her weeping eyes. “What makes you think you can just say whatever the hell you want; of course you wouldn’t understand.” Summer refused to lay down and got up again right in front of Veronica. “It must be nice to be so perfect and unbothered by everything. Do me a favor and stay out of my business.” Blue clashed with lilac silently. How many times have they been at odds like this? More than Veronica cared to count. She could remember how many times Summer looked this angry. Everything about her was shaky, including her clenched fist.

“Relieving tension or contemplating swinging hitting me?” Summer didn’t answer. Not even she could trust her response. As angry as she was, Veronica wasn’t the one she wanted to let it out on. “Can’t decide? Guess I’ll choose for you.” Veronica walked away, opening the door to leave. “Tomorrow, seven o’clock, the both of us are going down to Mantle’s forest. Bring one of those stupid viles with you.” Summer finally stopped tensing up. “What…?”

“You’re brother is still sick and won’t be getting better dealing with you pulling stunts like this. Since you clearly aren’t going to change your mind I guess I’ll fill in. Don’t oversleep, and for your sake, bring your sword. Punches aren’t your style.” Veronica left on that note. She immediately went through the ground and went searching for her. Perfect and unbothered? Yeah right. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She found her mother watching a movie in what was probably a theater room. Yang heard the girl barge in. “Hey sweetie. Wanna w-”

“Get your boxing gloves.” Veronica said quickly. She barely understood what she said herself. “I need to vent, badly.” Yang could see the girl’s eyes burn with emotion. The movie was out on pause and Yang stood up. “Okay. Give me your best shot and let’s mix things up too. I’ll meet you in the garden in five minutes.” Veronica nods and walks off. Yang didn’t know what put her daughter in such a foul mood but Yang was determined to find out. But before any of that she needed to call Blake. A lot has happened the last couple of days that she would no doubt want to know. “Hey Bl-”

“VERONICA STARTED A FIGHT!?” Yang went pale. Looks like Blake already knew about a few things. This would definitely take more than ten minutes.

Part 19

#rwby #rwby au #rwby twin snowflakes #nicholas schnee #blake belladonna #summer schnee #val valkyrie #harriet bree #yang xiao long #bmblb #veronica belladonna

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deathgasm00 · 4 years

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Then, so be it. - Izuku Midoriya

Izuku Midoriya x Fem!reader

Warnings: Suggestive themes

Word Count: 3811

A/N: This is my first drabble thing, so i apologize in advance if it’s terrible 😅 I can only get better with practice right? I’m also interested in doing a part two if this gets any attention!

It is a reader x Izuku but i don’t like Y/N so i will name the character.

Mizu Iyashi

Quirk: Hydrokinesis. The ability to control, manipulate and alter the molecular state of water, freeze water, or evaporate water into clouds of mist, steam or fog. Also able to heal wounds using water.

“Okay! How do I look?” Uraraka asks, tugging her pink shirt down a bit to accentuate her...assets.

You examine her from your seat on her bed, a twizzler hanging from your mouth. Tonight was movie night in the common area, more specifically, the last movie night of class 3-a. Three tough, long years have gone by and you loathed not having everyone around anymore, as being with them has become second nature to you.

“Spanks?” You question her outfit of choice, pointing your twizzler at her pale buttcheeks poking out from under the skin tight shorts.

“Yes, why? What’s wrong with it?” She asks you with worry laced in her tone, her hands touching the exposed parts, turning to look in the full length mirror.

“Nothing. It’s just more showy than anything you’ve worn before, I bet he’ll do the thing where he gets all red in the face and stiffens up. But you have to hold his arm. Put it between ya tiddies.” You laugh into your hand at the thought.

“I hope so! I’ll be offended if he doesn’t. I’m gonna go plus ultra tonight!” She grins, puffing her chest out in the mirror.

“Alright love birds, movie is about to start!”

You look at the doorway to see Mina peeking into the room with a smile on her face.

Everybody would be lying if they said they weren’t sad that this is the last movie night. You all had grown so close together, became a family. Sure, it’s not the last time you’re going to see each other, but it’s most likely the last time everyone will be in the same room. Hero work is busy work.

“Alright, we’ll be down in a sec.” Uraraka chirps while sliding on her socks.

“Are you going to make a move tonight?” Mina whispers excitedly, shuffling into the room with her hands clasped in front of her.

You slightly frown to yourself, looking to Uraraka for her response even though you already know what the answer is. But a girl can dream sometimes, right?

“I plan to. If everything goes good!” She giggles, grabbing onto Mina’s hands while bouncing in her spot.

You loved Uraraka. She was your best friend. The first friend you ever made at UA, so of course you wish her nothing but absolute happiness. And if her happiness was Izuku Midoriya, then so be it. But you can’t help but let the thought of them together tug at your heart strings.

You felt a spark with Midoriya the moment you first healed his fingers the best you could, after his fight with Todoroki during the Sports Festival. The way he stared at the glowing water in wonder, then stared into your eyes and told you how grateful he was and how amazing your quirk is. It almost made your heart explode, never having anyone be so sweet to you like that before.

But you know Uraraka felt something for him the moment he saved her life during the entrance exams. And she saved his life in return, albeit smacking him across the face, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

“Alright Iyashi, are you ready?” Mina turns to look at you as you stand up, adjusting your leggings further down your ankles.

“Yup.” You smile and loop your arms in theirs, walking down the hall side by side. “What about you, Mina? Are you going to make a move on Kirishima?” You tease her, leaning your head onto her shoulder.

She huffs and shakes you off her shoulder, her pink skin darkening at your question.

“No! i-i mean...i don’t know?” She sighs “i think so. I don’t want to miss the opportunity and regret it.”

You nod at her answer, understanding completely. Missing your opportunity is one of the worst feelings, and you would know considering you’ve been missing opportunities for three years.

“I know you can do it. He obviously likes you, so. Nothing to lose at this point…” you grumble while stepping into the elevator and pressing the first floor button.

“Iyashi, is there something you want to tell us? You know what’s weird, every girls night we have ever had, you’ve never admitted to crushing on anyone.” Mina points out, looking at you smugly.

“Are you asexual?”

“Maybe.” You shrug at her with a blank expression, biting back the smile threatening to take over your lips.

“Are you serious?” Uraraka touches your shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing, upset that you may have been hiding your sexuality from her this entire time.

You’ve been attracted to others besides Midoriya, but they never seemed to last. Todoroki for example. You were gonna shoot your shot with him but he was too oblivious to notice your advances. So you gave up.

Smiling, you shake your head, putting your hand on Ochaco’s. “No, i’m not serious. I did try to get Todoroki’s attention a few months ago, but he didn’t notice.”

“He’s so clueless it’s embarrassing.” Mina says, rubbing her forehead in thought. “You should try again tonight. I mean look at you, in your little tank top and leggings, are you even wearing a bra?” She squints her eyes at your boobs.

“No, I hate bras. And honestly I’m not that into him anymore. We’re better off as friends.”

“What about Bakugo? He’s easy on the eyes.” Ochaco says with a laugh, the elevator doors opening to reveal the man in question.

“Took you extras long enough. Hurry the hell up already!” He shouts, his signature scowl on his face. You stick your tongue out at him, ready to push every single one of his buttons before tonight is over. “Shouldn’t you be babysitting Kaminari?” You tease him as you walk out of the elevator, preparing yourself for an explosive smack to the side of the head. “Tch...Idiot.” He mutters, a smirk on his lips as he walks away, Mina following behind him to get to Kirishima.

“No.” You respond to Uraraka. Trying to date Bakugo would be like trying to tame a wild rhino. Impossible and a waste of time. “He’s got a temper that’s only good in the bedroom.”

“Not wrong there.” She agrees, eyeing his retreating figure. “I always wondered what that would be like.” She admits to you with a small laugh, a blush dusting her cheeks from the confession.

“I feel like we all have.” You also eye his figure before smirking at Uraraka. “But at least he’s not nearly as angry as he used to be…” You point out, remembering how bad his temper was the first time you met him.

“Well hello ladies.”

You look to the side then down, searching for the voice. Mineta coming into your view as he leans against the wall, a smug look on his face. “Lucky I ran into you, I put on a special shirt today. Wanna know what it is?” He looks up at you and raises his eyebrows. “Boyfriend material.” He answers, not even giving you a chance to speak.

“Oh really? I thought it was a size T3 from Baby Gap.” You retort, popping the P.

“So mean!” He whines, gripping the shirt in his hands.

“There he is. Wish me luck!” Uraraka whispers and rushes past a snot nosed Mineta, making her way to Midoriya who was standing in the kitchen, having a conversation with Sero.

You lean against the wall beside the elevator and shoo Mineta away as you watch their interaction, watching as she grabs his arm and grins at the two boys.

“What are you doing?” A quiet voice mutters by your ear.

You glance behind you at the face hovering over your shoulder, also looking at Midoriya and Uraraka.

“Just lookin’ around...What’s up Iida?” You ask, looking back over to your two best friends. You frown at how red his face is from his arm being in between her breasts, jealousy wafting off of you.

I wonder how his arm would feel between my boobs...or lower.

Shaking your head as if it will make the dirty thoughts disappear, you turn to Iida who’s staring at you with curiosity.

“You like Midoriya, don’t you Iyashi?” He murmurs, a frown tugging at his lips at your messy predicament.

It doesn’t surprise you that he asked. What does surprise you is that he’s the only one that’s noticed. You’ve never been caught gazing at him during training, watching how strong and skilled he is and practically drooling over his muscles. Or how you’re the first person to run and help him during a battle, ready to heal his wounds and watch his back.

“I do. But i can’t.” You whisper, glancing at Uraraka. “She liked him first...It’ll just be easier to get over him once we graduate in a few days...” you explain, your heart dark and heavy at the thought of trying to get over him.

“I’m truly sorry, Iyashi. Why don’t you come sit down with us? Have an amazing time on our last movie night!” He beams, pushing his glasses up his nose.

You smile at him brightly, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course.” you whisper, walking beside him to the vacant couch. “Time went by so fast, It’s hard to believe this is the last movie night.” You say, watching everyone grab their snack of choice and make way to the living area.

Flopping down on the couch, you hug a pillow to your chest and scoot over, making room for him. He sits beside you, a solem look on his face as he glances around at his classmates. “Perhaps we could plan a reunion of sorts further down the line. Maybe try to have one every couple years or so.” He suggests.

You nod your head in agreement, relief washing over you at the thought of reunions. “Great idea Iida! That would be amazing, we’ll have to bring the idea up to everyone.” You grin at him, squeezing the pillow tighter in excitement. You’ve always been a very sentimental person so the idea of having small get togethers every couple of years makes you jittery. Every so often is way better than never.

Soon enough everyone gathers around the TV, blankets and pillow forts all around, people stacked on top of others. Kaminari had squeezed himself between you and Tenya, forcing you to just throw your legs over the both of them. The movie menu sat on the screen but nobody moved to press play, chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls.

“I never did that! No I didn't! BAKUGO DID THAT!” Kirishima playfully defends himself, leaning forward and pointing at the stunned blond across from him. Laughter leaves your mouth making him chuck a pillow at your face.

“BECAUSE HE ANNOYED ME!” Bakugo shouts, a vein protruding out of his neck.

“You blasted him so hard his p-pants flew off!” You cry out, holding onto your stomach for dear life as you recall that day. Kaminari had pissed Bakugo off so badly by saying “get rekt” during training over and over, he eventually blasted his ass.

Kaminari blushes at the memory, moving around uncomfortably at the attention he’s receiving. “Come on, guys. It hurt…and Midnight saw my bare asscheeks...” he mutters in embarrassment, covering his red face.

“I need a picture of all of us. Everyone get closer!” Mina demands, setting her phone up in front of the TV and setting the timer to ten seconds. “TEN SECONDS! PLACES PEOPLE!” She shouts, running towards the couch and jumping on Kirishima’s lap, much to his surprise.

You quickly jump to your feet and run towards Uraraka and Midoriya on the floor, squeezing in between them you wrap your arms around their necks and shove their cheeks to yours, a giant grin on your face.

Her phone snaps the picture as the timer hits zero, a flash lighting up the room. You turn to look at Midoriya to make sure he smiled, your eyes meeting his. You gasp in surprise at the close proximity, close enough to see the freckles scattered across his cheeks and how his eyes always seem to glimmer even in the dimmest lighting. You blush deeply and jerk your face away from him, muttering a small apology while removing your arm from around his shoulders. “You two better have smiled.” You joke, shaking off the awkward moment and give Uraraka’s shoulder a playful squeeze.

Suddenly feeling a little too hot, you stand up and rub your chest to try and calm your rapid heartbeat. “I’m going to get a drink, does anybody want anything?” you ask, walking around the couch and set your hands on the back of it.

You hear a mixture of no and no thank you’s, and a small “you” from Mineta, which you ignore.

You walk to the fridge and open it, a smile on your face while you listen to the shouts and explosions going off, sounding like a normal night to you. You grab a bottle of water and shut the door with your hip before spinning around coming face to face with Midoriya.

You jerk back, slamming the back of your head against the fridge and grab it in pain. “You scared the fuck out of me!” You hiss out, repeatedly rubbing the aching spot for some sort of relief.

He grabs onto your shoulder and holds onto your hand that’s now stiff as a rock on the back of your head, goosebumps traveling all the way down your body.

“I’m sorry! I thought you heard me.” He exclaims, but his apologies fell on deaf ears, the only senses taking over being smell and touch. You’re still up against the cold fridge, eye level with his chest. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you inhale his scent.

Cotton flowers and...bergamot.

You tilt your head back and lean it against the refrigerator, your hand fisting the bottom of your tank top that suddenly feels way too aggravating on your taut nipples which are centimeters away from his rib cage. You slowly open your eyes to meet his beautiful green ones, tears threatening to fall from the frustrating desire flooding your system.

“Did it hurt that bad?” He asks quietly, smoothing your hair on the back of your head in a comforting way, but he doesn’t realize he’s just making it worse.

Tears slide down your cheeks in frustration at your own weakness. You’d do anything to be able to press your lips to his. To run your hands through his soft tresses of hair. At least you think it’s soft…

It looks so soft.

“Yeah, it hurts. It really hurts. I’m sorry but i think i need to go lay down.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, cracking in some spots. He frowns deeply at you, feeling at fault for your pain.

“Let me walk you to your room.” He insists, gently tugging you away from the fridge but you place your shaky hands against his chest and lightly push him back. You can’t allow him to walk you to your room. It’s taking everything in you right now to not cuddle and ride him at the same damn time.

“No. Midoriya...enjoy the movie night please, i’ll be fine. Thank you though.” You say a little stronger this time, ignoring the way his saddened eyes looked you over. You walk past him and towards the elevator, stepping into it once the metal doors open. You click the second floor button before facing the wall and lean your forehead against it, gripping tightly onto the metal bar at your hips.

Finally letting the tears and sobs flow freely once you hear the door close, shutting away your friends laughter. You mentally curse yourself at how weak you’re being. One encounter with him basically had you on your knees. Pathetic.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You whisper.

“You’re not stupid Iyashi.”

You freeze in your spot. Of fucking course he would follow you, what else would Izuku Midoriya do?

“What are you doing here Midoriya? I told you i’m fine.” Your voice is hoarse yet steady. You can’t slip up now, not after three years of trying not to.

“You’re not fine. It’s not your head either Iyashi, now tell me the truth, what is wrong? You’ve been acting funny for the past couple months, did I do something to upset you?” He steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, his heart breaking at the sight of your tear stained face. How broken your eyes look.

“...You did nothing wrong but that’s all i’m going to say. You shouldn’t even be here you should be down there with Ura-“

“Is that what’s making you upset? Uraraka?”

You close your mouth in surprise, averting your eyes to your socks. What are you supposed to say? You can’t lie to him, he knows you too well.

“It is. Why?” He says it more like a demand, your eyes snapping up to his in shock at his change of tone. He takes a step towards you and grabs your shoulder before squeezing it. “Iyashi... Please tell me.” He pleads. His eyes look just as desperate as yours, just as desperate to hear the answer as you are to say it. To finally get it off your chest.

“Midoriya I-“ You take a deep breath before slowly releasing it, your body trembling. You feel like you’re betraying Uraraka by muttering these words. Nothing can go back to normal after you say them... “I’m in love with you. Izuku Midoriya.” You choke out, your blood running cold but your body felt like you just ran through the flames of hell.

His eyes widened in disbelief and confusion, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. “Wait...Wha-“

“This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you! I knew you’d never feel the same. So I stepped back and cheered on Uraraka to go for it...for years I did! But I...I can't anymore Midoriya, it hurts so bad…” You sob, biting the back of your hand to try and silence the pitiful sounds. “To love you, and watch her make constant moves on you, to listen to her say things about you that I could only dream of saying out loud. It kills.”

His eyes fill with tears at the sight. He had never seen you look so broken and it made his heart ache. The need to hold you in his arms grew with every tear that fell down your cheeks and every sob that echoed in his ears.

The elevator doors open and you quickly walk out of them, hastily wiping away your tears, hearing his footsteps follow behind you. You shakily open the door to your dorm room, stopping by the balcony window to stare outside. You wait for him to enter, knowing he’s not going to drop this anytime soon, but terrified to hear what he has to say.

You hear the door click closed and the shuffle of feet getting closer to you. You take a deep breath before speaking up, ready to tell him everything.

“I never told you, because Uraraka, Yes. But also because you work so hard. You’re always occupied with becoming the number one hero, I never want to get in the way of that. You wouldn’t have time for me.”

“How could you possibly know that? Why would you just assume that, Iyashi?” He asks, grabbing your hand gently as if he’s afraid he’ll break it. Caught off guard by his bold move, you turn to him. He’s angry. That much is obvious. His eyebrows scrunch at your silence, reaching forward he grabs your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Answer me.”

“i don’t know Midoriya.” You pout in frustration, knowing you shouldn’t allow him to touch you, but you can’t seem to shake him away. You’re just craving more. “I just do, okay? Am i wrong?”

“You are…-“ He leans his face down to yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Absolutely infuriating.” He mumbles, his voice low and dangerous as he stares deeply into your eyes, a deep blush across his nose and cheeks at how confident he’s being.

You tremble under his gaze, feeling so open and exposed without having to take a single piece of clothing off. You raise your shaky hands to his chest and fist his shirt, your lips parting in a silent plea to be met with his own.

You stand on your toes and try to lean towards him, tired of waiting for something you’ve wanted for so long. “Please Zuku…” you whimper softly.

He tilts his head back slightly in surprise at the nickname, his eyes softening as he admires your beautiful features, your half lidded eyes staring into his own with matching desire but also matching fear. This is so new to the both of you, and deep down you’re still thinking about hurting Uraraka. Neither one of you wanted to hurt her, but you can only ignore your true feelings for so long. And if he didn’t have feelings for her, why push him in that direction?

He grabs your face in his shaky hands, goosebumps igniting along his skin when you grip onto his back in an attempt to bring him closer to you.

“For years we both have done the opposite of what we want, just to please everyone else. Just so we don’t hurt anyone else. But we’ve been hurting ourselves the entire time…” He says quietly, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “You think I didn’t notice you always staring at me? The way you’d always run to fight by my side before anyone else? Or how your hands always got to my wounds before I even noticed they were there? I’ve always noticed you...you’re the only one I’ve ever noticed.” He admits, his eyes searching your face for any signs of anger for him not saying anything sooner.

“I just didn’t want to say anything...I was scared I might’ve been wrong, but now I’m starting to regret not speaking up when i should have.” He adds, a coy look on his face as he averts his eyes from yours, his confidents slowly fading every second you stare at him.

You blush deeply as he spills all the things you thought nobody noticed and at his confession of you being the only one he’s ever noticed. But of course he would notice. He’s the most observant person you have ever met. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed. I figured you wouldn’t or maybe just think I was being a good friend...” You let out a small laugh, your hands absentmindedly rubbing circles on his back.

He smiles softly at you, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Why wouldn’t i notice a beautiful woman giving me special attention?” His voice is shaky. He’s nervous, yet so excited to hold you like this. To have you want him as much as he wants you.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, tears filling your eyes again. You can’t believe he knew everything. You can’t believe he thinks you’re beautiful or that he likes you too. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine as the wall that you built to keep your feelings for him held inside crumble down around you. With just one touch, he destroyed years of hard work. Maybe you could have him…maybe Ochaco would understand. You’ve understood and kept your distance for years. You always put her first. Why can’t you come first?

“You’re right. I want to put myself first for once. I want you, Zuku.” You say gently, pressing your body closer to his. The feeling of his chiseled body pressed against yours was pure heaven, molding together in a perfect fit. But it still doesn’t feel close enough.

He sets his forehead against yours and gazes into your eyes as he gives you a small nod of confirmation, slowly pulling your face closer to his.

“Then just for once...let’s be a little selfish.” He whispers, the feeling of his breath across your heated cheeks making butterflies erupt throughout your stomach. He runs his hands into your hair, fisting it softly as he leans down to your height and lightly brushes his lips against yours. He smiles softly against your mouth before fully pressing his lips to your eager ones.

You sigh into the kiss, the tears that had built up rolling down your cheeks as you close your eyes and pull him closer to you. Your lips move together in a sensual dance, the taste of salty popcorn salivating across your tongue as he gently strokes his tongue against yours. The softness of his lips mixed with the eagerness of his kiss makes you dizzy with lust and deaf to the sound of desperate knocks on your door.

For once it’s just you two together, in your own little bubble. For once you feel absolute happiness...and if your happiness is Izuku Midoriya.

Then, so be it.

#bnha imagines #anime #izuku midoriya fluff #mha #izuku mydoria #bnha angst #izuku midoriya angst #bnha bakugou #todoroki shouto #iida tenya #kaminari denki #ochaco uraraka

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fishfynns · 4 years

Text

Rage

There is nothing quite like the anger of a child. And, nothing quite like the anger of a child, forgotten and lonely.

Read on AO3

An exploration of what Fitzroy Maplecourt probably felt during Clyde Nite’s Knight Night School, along with a character study I guess?

Tags: Brief bullying, mentions of violence

The first day of Clyde Nite’s Knight Night School had Fitzroy Maplecourt so anxious he could barely walk and nauseous enough to throw up. In fact, that’s how he ends up in the toilets- homeroom had been a disaster for him. The teacher had singled him out as an example of a “scholarship” student and how respect needs to be earned, not given out like charity. The sneer that had accompanied the look had almost been enough to send him over the edge of his peers already staring him- but he managed to keep his anxiety at bay until the bell rang.

As he lets out another dry heave, he tries to quiet his crying as he clutches his shirt- old, but well loved. Before today, Fitzroy had found memories of it bringing him good luck. But now, when he glances at the time and winces at the fact that he’s going to be late unless he runs to his first class of the day, he can’t help but think that maybe luck isn’t real.

Three months into Clyde Nite’s Knight Night School, and Fitzroy learns how to use makeup. Not to make himself look better or to try and help any of the girls out at the school- it’s to hide the bruise forming around his eye, a real shiner that would make his mom weep if she saw it. But with a quick and deft hand he covers his face in the makeup and looks at the mirror in his small, satisified that the results of yesterday’s... altercation won’t show up to anyone. Last night he had to ice it, and wrap his knuckles up with gauze from the nurses station. He didn’t bother going to the school cleric- it was better if he dealt with this alone, after all.

When he’s walking around the school, trying to keep a straight face at the snickers and whispering, at the hurried glances to his face as he struggles to open his locker. One of the other students, an elf with hair too long for his face if you asked Fitzroy, leans against the locker adjacent to his, with a smirk and all too knowing look.

“So, where’s the black eye I gave you yesterday Maplecourt? I could’ve sworn I hit your harder than your daddy,” He laughs, and maybe Fitzroy shuts his locker to harshly and maybe he’s clutching his books to tightly, but he turns to him, and a sudden calm washes over him.

“I know you’re an idiot,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear from the crowd gathering around, waiting and watching for another fight. “But I could’ve sworn you never hit me-”

“What’s going on here?” A loud, booming voice calls out. Fitzroy relaxes ever so slightly at the appearance of the sword fighting instructor. “Class is in less than two minutes, get going get going!”

With loud grumbles, the crowd disperses, and the bully sneers at him as he leaves, giving his shoulder a harsh shove. It goes back to normal after that, right up until someone yells “Teachers Pet!” at him as he walks to his classroom. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, letting the words slide deep into his core to be forgotten about. The rest of the day goes by without another incident, and he finds himself filled with relief as he enters his room once more.

It’s that night that he wonders, truly wonders, if all of this is worth it. If putting up with people who look down at him for being a scholarship kid, for not having a fitted uniform or brand new clothes every month. Would it be worth it when even the teachers look at him like they expect him to drop out at any moment?

As he washes off the makeup and winces at the black eye forming, he pushes those thoughts away and gets ready for another night of studying and trying his best. It’s what he can do for now.

He has a month left until he graduates. A fucking month. Four weeks, twenty eight days, seven hundred and 20 long fucking hours until he can graduate. The taunts and insults had gotten worst, and he’s done his best to defend himself. But it’s his last class, and it’s the class with the elf who recently cut his hair who lights and unlights the candle in front of him easily, and the other students are watching him, and maybe his nails are digging into his palms too tightly, and maybe he can hear Silvia Nite and the assistant teacher whispering his name too often, and maybe if everyone stopped fucking staring he could light the fucking candle-

Silvia Nite glances at him, and all the negative emotions he’s felt explodes. He explodes, and the explosion of magic feels good. Now Fitzroy won’t be the only suffering in school, now everyone will know what it feels like to be him, and maybe they’ll finally realize he’s not there to fuck around, that he’s worked harder than some of them to be here, that he’s more than what he appears to be, and that he’ll be greater-

When he finally breathes again, it stops. The feelings drain away, and he can feel the power leave him. But at least he can finally breathe again, and when he looks at Silvia’s face and the faces of his students, a new feeling places itself in his body. It’s a disgusting feeling, and it feels too good to be true. But it disappears in an instant as Silvia finally speaks.

“Maplecourt, we will discuss this later. Class dismissed,” and suddenly anxiety drains him of the feeling as he gets up, still feeling a little smug as people part ways in the hallway to get away from him. But, now all he can think about, is how fucked he is for screwing up his one chance at finally being something. But as he thinks back to the look on Silvia’s face, he finds himself thinking, that maybe, it was worth it.

#'I'm a magic barbarian' are u now Fitzroy :eyes:#fitzroy maplecourt #taz g firbolg #taz bud #argonaut keene #argo keene #taz graduation #taz g spoilers #taz grad spoilers #YALL TALK TO ME ABT THIS LATEST EPISODE I'M SO :EYES: :EYES: :EYES: @ IT YOU KNOW???#'I WANTED THIS TO BE FUN FOR YOU'#WHAT THE F U C K DO YOU MEAN CHAOS #MX CHAOS I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

Text

Liberal cruelty has consquences

This semester is winding down. As I am desperate to avoid grading student papers, I’ve spent the morning reading longish-form online articles. I just came across one that I feel very conflicted about. The online reaction to it as been troubling. So I don’t know if I have anything particularly coherent to say, but I’d like to talk about it.

The anonymously written piece is titled “What Happened After My 13-Year-Old Son Joined the Alt Right.” It documents a young man’s journey from a garden variety, liberal-leaning goon to a frothing neo nazi mutant.

The piece is understandably sympathetic, seeing as it was written by the boy’s parent. The writer’s whiny and heavy handed tone caused me, and most of my e-pals, to dismiss it. If anything, the essay showcases an immense failure of parenting. If my child were to ask me to take him or her to a “Traditional American Culture” rally, I would slap the everloving shit of them. Lord knows how many times the kid’s parents had dropped the ball before it ever got to that point.

But then I re-read the start of the article, in which the parent identifies the trigger point for their son’s downward slide:

One morning during first period, a male friend of Sam’s mentioned a meme whose suggestive name was an inside joke between the two of them. Sam laughed. A girl at the table overheard their private conversation, misconstrued it as a sexual reference, and reported it as sexual harassment. Sam’s guidance counselor pulled him out of his next class and accused him of “breaking the law.” Before long, he was in the office of a male administrator who informed him that the exchange was “illegal,” hinted that the police were coming, and delivered him into the custody of the school’s resource officer. At the administrator’s instruction, that man ushered Sam into an empty room, handed him a blank sheet of paper, and instructed him to write a “statement of guilt.”

No one called me as this unfolded, even though Sam cried for about six hours straight as staff members parked him in vacant offices to keep him away from other students. When he stepped off the bus that afternoon and I asked why his eyes were so swollen, he informed me that he would probably be suspended, but possibly also expelled and arrested.

If Kafka were a middle-schooler today, this is the nightmare novel he would have written.

At a meeting two days later with my husband, Sam, and me, the administrator piled more accusations on top of the harassment charge—even implying, with undisguised hostility, that Sam and his friend were gay. He waved in front of us a statement from the girl at the table and insisted that Sam would need to defend himself against her claims if he wanted to prove his innocence. But the administrator refused to reveal the particulars of the complaint (he had also blacked out identifying details, FBI-style) and then hid the paperwork under a book. He declared that it was his primary duty, as a school official and as a father of daughters, to believe and to protect the girls under his care.

Eck… who edited this? It would have worked so much better without a fucking Kafka reference.

So, maybe it was the tone. I dunno. But most readers seem to regard this section as exaggerated, possibly fabricated. The takeaway was “boo hoo, the nazi kid got punished for sexually harassing a girl.” Heck: If a reader is truly dedicated to the #BelieveAllWomen mantra, then this description doesn’t warrant sympathy even if it’s entirely true. The kid said something that upset the girl. It wasn’t directed to her and it wasn’t about her. But still, he upset her, and she’s a girl, so he is bad and deserved whatever punishment was doled out to him.

And this got me thinking about my experiences in high school, as a student in the late 90s and a teacher in the mid-aughts. Administrators seemed to always be adopting some or other policy of harsh punishment for bad behavior: zero tolerance toward weapons, drugs, hats, disrespectful posture, electronic devices, swearing, Simpsons t-shirts, and mentally unhygenic reading materials. During dances and social gatherings, my middle school allowed students to bring in CDs from home. That was a decent policy, but anyone who attempted to play a “hip hop” track would receive an immediate suspension for “endorsing violence,” regardless of the track’s lyrical content. My high school adopted a firm anti-bullying policy, but once a boy came to school wearing a gothic dress as some kind of vague transgressive statement, and two separate male teachers called him a fag--out in the open, in front of everybody, as part of the official business of teaching.

Once, in 8th grade, two kids were caught taking over-the-counter caffeine pills. They didn’t get sick or anything; a girl saw them and she narced. They were arrested by the school resource officer, taken in a cop car to the hospital to have their stomachs pumped, and then summarily expelled, their young lives effectively ruined over 50 milligrams of a safe and legal stimulant. At an emergency assembly held the next day, the frog-faced principal croaked out a dire warning that the use of such drugs was strictly forbidden and we would all be subjected to the same fate, should we attempt to sneak in any No Doz. As he issued his stern warning, he slurped gluttonously from a 22-ounce mug of gas station coffee.

The point is, zero tolerance never really means zero tolerance. Rules are always--always, literally always, without exception in the whole of human history--enforced arbitrarily. Harsh policies rarely make anyone safer. They are employed instead to further humiliate and brutalize those who have already been rejected by the system. In my last two paragraphs, I cited the dumbest and most conspicuous examples of arbitrary cruelty that happened to pop into my head. This doesn’t cover the everyday, petty cruelties that teachers and administrators would exact upon kids they simply didn’t like. Without exception, these were the kids who were already marginalized: effeminate boys, masculine but unathletic girls, kids who dressed poorly, kids who spoke with accents, black kids, kids with learning disabilities or behavioral problems. These kids would be given detentions or even suspensions for minor infractions--looking away from the chalkboard, slouching, sneaking in candy, laughing at importune times, etc. It wasn’t the teacher’s fault, of course: zero tolerance and all that. But, strangely, the zero tolerance policies never seemed to apply to the popular, athletic, and/or well-connected kids. If Suzie Creamcheese was caught sneaking some Starburst during Algebra--well, she’s probably hungry, seeing as she works so hard. If Raul, Roofus, or Sheena were caught doing the same? God help them.

Some teachers were nicer than others, of course. Some were downright supportive. Others were simply evil. There was one, when I was in 7th grade, who was particularly repulsive and cruel--no kidding, his admiration of Rush Limbaugh was formative in my early-adopted hatred of American conservatives. He had matted red hair and teeth like a cracked picket fence and would wear a leather jacket out to lunch. Anyhow, he would prattle on about his hatred of kids who “Just. Refuse. To. Learn.” These kids were almost always black. Pure coincidence, I’m sure. He’d make a show of tossing them out of class--sometimes physically--for infractions as minor as getting an answer wrong when called upon. One time, a twitchy white kid who wore the same t-shirt every day called him out: It’s unfair, he said, that I’m getting thrown out of class for getting an answer wrong, when right before me another kid got several chances to respond.

The teacher turned beet red. He got on his knees and put his face two inches in front of the twitchy kid’s eyes.

“I’m not throwing you out because you got the answer wrong,” he explained. “I’m throwing you out because you are you.”

Again, these are the conspicuous examples. The everyday stuff is harder to describe twenty-five years after it happened. Most people were not brutalized and they didn’t have a single moment that ruined their life, but they were still exposed to a deeply unfair and cruel system, and such exposure naturally engenders feelings of betrayal, hopelessness, and anger.

Here’s my story--it’s particularly stupid. 9th grade. One day, I walked into Spanish class, and the large woman who teaches in that classroom before my section grabbed me by the collar, physically lifted me out of my chair, and shoved her moist biscuit of a hand into my face. “What is this,” she demanded.

This was all very sudden. I could see nothing but her hand, which had a distinct fecal aroma.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She removed her hand. I looked down toward desk. She stood silently. I had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

“You’re gonna tell me what you did, right now, or I’m gonna double the detentions.”

I was still silent. Seriously, no idea what was going on. This enraged her. She began to count upward, starting at 3 detentions and stopping at 10, by which point tears were welling up and my face was flushed. I said I seriously did not know. She pointed to a small pentagram someone had engraved into the desktop. The desks, by the way, were movable. Anyone could have done it. She blamed me because she didn’t like me. I served 10 detentions and had to pay over a hundred dollars (a shitload of money for a 13-year-old) to get the desk refinished.

This isn't the end of the world, obviously. But it really, oddly broke me. Before, I had thought that so long as I did was I supposed to and didn’t break any rules, I’d be okay. Now I realized that was bullshit, that any vindictive cunt with a few ounces of power could punish me for any reason, at any time, and I wouldn’t be allowed to mount a defense. That’s the sort of thing that fucks with a kid’s head. I mean, christ--it’s 23 years later and I’m still kinda pissed about it. I hope that woman is dead.

I regained a sense of control by stealing books from the woman’s classroom. A few times a week, I would grab a textbook when I came in, use it during class, and walk out with it. At the end of the school year, some friends and I burned them in a glorious bonfire along the banks of the Mississippi.

My response was petty and destructive, but I don’t feel any pengs of guilt or shame in remembering it. I had to do something to reassert agency, to feel like I had some control, and I managed to find a way to go about doing it that didn’t hurt anybody or get me into trouble. Regardless of the morality of my particular response, we can agree that kids are now much more surveilled than they were 20-odd years ago, and that minor mischief is now much more harshly criminalized. If a kid finds themself on the outs within their school, there’s really no way they can push back. Their only available avenue of asserting control over their lives is to wander into welcoming communities elsewhere…

One more anecdote then I’m done….

My sister was in high school during 9/11. The attacks were on a Tuesday, and the whole rest of the week was assemblies and talking circles and other such activities meant to assuage fear and gin up the hatred of the dirty brown bastards that done this. Two of my sister’s friends, older boys, were the sort of kids who read Howard Zinn and listened to Jello Biafra’s spoken word records. During one meeting, they expressed exasperation at a girl who was sobbing because she just, like, didn’t know why anyone would do that. The boys certainly didn’t approve of the attacks, but they tried to explain the whole concept of the US being an unhinged and murderous imperial power that had done much worse stuff all over the globe. The audience gasped. The boys were hauled into the principal’s office. They were charged with verbally assaulting the crying girl. One was suspended. The other expelled.

So, I dunno… go ahead. If you think due process is evil, that all victimhood claims are valid and should be taken at face value, and that kids of lesser social status should be demonized and made into criminals for upsetting members of the fair sex, then you do you. That’s fine if that’s what you believe. But please don’t be so naive as to think that the bulk of these newly criminalized behaviors are going to actually be malignant, or that the genuinely malignant behaviors of secure kids will be curbed in any way. Please respect yourself enough to realize that school admins aren’t magic sages with mature moral compasses--a plurality of them were business majors in college, for fuck’s sake. And most importantly, don’t be surprised if the kids you dismiss wind up doing some crazy or awful shit in response.

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tanadrin · 4 years

Text

The Vault

[Attention conservation notice: 6800 words, SF]

The car trundled uneasily over the stony road toward the dig site. Idalrea was a bleak landscape at the best of times: glacier-scoured barrens, lowlands inundated by cold seas, here and there thin expanses of soil in which mosses and bits of grass could occasionally thrive, and, of course, all of this under the unremitting polar sun. It should be hotter, Mazal thought. He always expected Idalrea in the summertime to be warm, and perhaps further inland, away from the moderating effect of the polar currents, it was. But here, even in the sheltered fjords of the northern isles, it was cool and overcast, a perpetual pale gloom. He remembered something vague from a book once, about evolution. They had arisen here, not in the isles, but to the south, in the sheltered place between Idalrea’s mountains and the coast. No wonder most of their species had sailed the world’s oceans in search of new homes in the millennia since. There was little to love in this gray land.

Of course, it could just have been that Mazal was in a bad mood. The car had a roof, but no sides, and he was cold and miserable, and the bouncing up and down was starting to make him feel sick. He looked over at the driver, one of Asala’s students.

“How much longer?” he asked.

“We’re just about there. Over this next rise, you’ll see it.”

Mazal did his best to stay calm. To keep his expectations measured, reasonable. He had dreamed of a day like this since he was a young man, since his earliest days as a botanist. And while he had always tried to couch his theories in the most cautious terms, to present only the narrowest and most thoroughly justified conclusions in the papers he published, he had to admit to himself that he nonetheless still nursed the wild, youthful dreams of those early years. He still hoped for some firsthand evidence of what he knew in his heart to be true--but he could wait.

The car climbed a low hill, a shoulder of a low moraine that abutted a stony outcropping, and turned a corner. Suddenly the view up the beach toward the head of the fjord was laid bare, and Mazal could see at the far end small figures in brightly-colored jackets moving around the beach. The gray rocky sides of the hills swept down almost to the water’s edge here, and where they met up ahead there was an immense pile of rock.

“There, you see it?” his driver said. “That’s the dig site. The door is just there, where the boulders are.”

Mazal leaned forward and peered through the dirty windshield. “I just see some people standing around,” he said.

“You’ll see it when we get closer, then.”

There was a hard bump as they went over some rocks, and Mazal gripped the side of his seat tightly.

“So are you the geologist?” the driver asked.

“What?”

“The geologist. Professor Asala said we’d be getting someone from the geology department down here in a few weeks. You’re just earlier than we expected, is all.”

“No, I’m not a geologist,” Mazal said, a little irritated. “I’m a botanist. An agronomist, by training.”

“What, like you study farms?”

Mazal sighed. “Yes. Something like that.”

“Oh.”

There was a short, awkward silence.

“What are you doing here, then?”

Mazal laughed a short, low laugh. “I don’t know yet. I expect Professor Asala will tell me soon enough.”

It was true. It was a long, long way to come for something that did not, on its surface, appear to have anything to do with botany. Asala was a biologist herself, originally, and sometimes a friend--sometimes a rival--from long ago. But she had taken a turn toward archeology later in her career, and paleontology, and as far as Mazal knew, was happy enough to leave genetics and her impatient, late-night arguments with Mazal far behind. Then, he got a message from her.

The message had arrived when Mazal was in the Deserts with his students, on the ninth day of a genetic surveying trip that was supposed to last four weeks. It said simply: “Come to Bilaik’s Fall at once,” it said. And, “You were right about everything.” That was all. But it was enough for Mazal to call for an airlift to the coast, at considerable expense to himself, and then to arrange a flight south. It could only be about one thing, one argument, the only real argument he had ever had with her, the one that had contained everything she admired about him and that also infuriated her. It was, really, a question of time.

Every year, Mazal had a new crop of incoming students sit down in one of his classrooms, and every year he would stand up in front of them, and project a series of images on the big white screen in the front of the room. Two, or three, or sometimes four plants--roots, stems, leaves, fruit, flowers--side by side. And he would ask his students, what do these have in common?

This year, it had been an eager young man who had responded at once. “They’re all closely related,” he said. “Different versions of the same tree.”

“Correct,” Mazal said. “You wouldn’t know it to look at it, but each of these plants is in fact part of the same species; they’re just ordinary apple trees. Not hybrids, not genetically modified. The apple tree is very widely distributed, and different farmers in different countries have, over time, developed varieties better-suited to the local climate, or to whatever use they intend to put their apple crop. As you might do with any food crop, or any kind of livestock, or even decorative plants like garden flowers.”

“Which one is the original one?” a student sitting a row or two back asked.

Mazal smiled. The question anticipated the next point he wanted to bring up. “The one on the far right,” he said. “Found only in a single valley on the Gaderun coast. It is very nearly extinct. Alas, the wild plant seems to have evolved for cooler, wetter conditions than now prevail in the region; it is only its more specialized offspring that survive, although they flourish in many different regions.”

He brought up a new image.

“Now look at these,” Mazal said. Closeups of the heads of stalks of wheat. He pointed to the one on the left. “This is a large-kerneled grain, with a slightly shiny outer covering. A tetraploid strain--it has double the amount of chromosomes its ancestor had. This one, here, is single-grain, an ordinary diploid species, with hard outer husks. And this one, one of the most commonly cultivated grains in the world, is hexaploid. Rather uniquely, each of its three sets of chromosomes seems to come from a different ancestor; it is a remarkable example of hybridization.

“This class will be about genetics, so let me ask you a genetics-based question: if I asked you how you might go about figuring out which of these was the original species, how would you do it? Obviously, the hybrid is out.”

“So are the polyploids,” the eager student at the front said.

“Yes, so are the polyploids.” He touched another button; a dozen new species appeared on the screen.

“These are a selection of diploid varieties. There are many more. How would you go about sorting them?”

“The most common one?” someone suggested.

“All that means is that it grows well, or that people like the taste. No, that has nothing to do with it. What else?”

“Compare it to wild varieties?”

“You could do that, if you had any wild wheat to compare it with. As it happens, we don’t. Whatever grass wheat originally derives from is now extinct.”

“Then compare them to each other,” a woman in the back said.

“Go on.”

“Find out what genes are common across all of them. Find out what genes are common to one or two or three. Try to group them together. Create a taxonomy.”

“Yes. Yes, that would work quite nicely,” Mazal said. He flipped to the next slide. A tree-shaped diagram. “This, as it happens, is a reconstruction of the taxonomy of diploid species of wheat. There is some fussing about the margins with the details; plants can hybridize, which can create problems for creating clean family trees. Can you think of any other use for a diagram like this?”

Quiet. It went on long enough a couple of students started shifting in their seats.

“Find out… how old they are?” the woman in the back said tentatively.

“How might you do that?”

“Well… developing new varieties of a plant takes time. You would have to, I don’t know, guess how long. Try to judge how many differences in the genome accumulate over how long. I guess it would be easier in wild plants, since people aren’t constantly trying to breed different strains.”

“Indeed. And genetic chronology is used to great effect in the study of non-domesticated organisms as well. It is not a precise method of measurement; sudden environmental change can drive rapid bursts of diversification in nature just as the intentional creation of new breeds of plants or animals can among domesticated species. But rough approximate bounds can be given. It is those that are my particular area of research.”

The next slide was a map of the world.

“As it happens, genetics and cladistics are not the only line of evidence we have to rely on. Geographical distribution can indeed be of some help, as long as we take care to make sure we are comparing more basal varieties rather than less. It was just such a technique that helped an earlier generation of botanist track down the wild apple, deep in Deserts no one had ever settled.

“A conundrum arises with wheat, however, one I think you will all appreciate. We have no wild variety to study, nor even any good candidates. The most basal strains are all rather similar to one another genetically, and it’s not clear which came first, if, indeed, any did. One or two show startling adaptations that we struggle to explain from an evolutionary standpoint: for instance, a species naturally resistant to certain phosphonic-acid-based herbicides which only entered common use about forty years ago. One strain, found only on a small island in the Garral Sea, and which is otherwise genetically unremarkable, glows in the dark. No convincing explanation for this adaptation has been advanced.

“That leaves us only the technique of genetic chronology, to at least attempt to determine when these species diverged.”

“When did they?” another young woman asked.

Mazal smiled a small half-smile. He reached over and switched off the projector, and walked slowly to the podium. He leaned against it for a second, gathering his thoughts.

“This is where I must be honest with you all,” Mazal said. “I have, as you are no doubt aware, a bit of a reputation both in this college and in my field, as someone with rather… unorthodox ideas. My methods are not the problem. My methods are all strictly by the book, and I go only where they take me. Unfortunately, they have, in the past, led me to conclusions others have regarded as absurd or impossible; and where they have concluded that therefore the methods we rely on must in some way be faulty, I have, instead, preferred to ask: what if they are not?”

Mazal folded his arms and looked at his class intently.

“I will, so long as you are taking one of my classes, endeavor to make sure you learn the skills and information necessary to excel in your chosen area of study. I will, without reservation, present to you scientific consensus and refrain from injecting my own heterodox opinion--unless asked. And I shall most certainly highlight that my own conclusions are not shared by the majority. This is not because I do not have faith in them; it is because I would be doing you all a disservice to pretend that my perspective is the only correct one. With that rather elaborate caveat, I will now answer the question I was just asked.

“The orthodox answer is this: we do not know. Genetic chronology methods are uncertain at best, and due to the fact that some easily hybridized species have convoluted genetic histories, and that among plants more horizontal gene transfer is always a possibility than among animals, some families, like that of wheat, cannot have their genetic histories clearly reconstructed from the evidence we currently have available. If you encounter an exam question on this topic in six months, that is the answer you will be expected to give.

“If, however, you use the formulae and the other lines of evidence normally pursued for this kind of reconstruction, you arrive at a rather remarkable conclusion: that wheat was domesticated about five hundred thousand years ago. You will no doubt object that our species did not exist five hundred thousand years ago; nevermind build cities, conduct agriculture, or domesticate crops. To which my response would be, as it has ever been: yes. The only possible answer, then, is that it is not our species that did the domestication.”

The reaction that year was very subdued. Some students were amused by the provocative argument. More than a few were skeptical. No one, of course, took it at face value. Mazal, they all knew, had crazy ideas. Mazal believed in aliens. If Mazal weren’t a well-respected geneticist, with dozens of solid accomplishments under his belt, they’d have shipped him off to the loony bin ages ago; but his crazy was confined, his crazy could be controlled, and set aside when it had to be. He could be trusted to teach the undergraduates, anyway. And that was the compromise Mazal had always made with himself: he would yield. When confronted, he would back down. But it had taken its toll on him over the years. So when Asala had said, “You were right,” what else could he do? He set a course for Idalrea. As fast as he could possibly go.

The car came to a halt in front of a knot of tents, temporary structures, and big earthmoving machines, all the normal signs of intense paleontological activity. Mazal had seen Asala’s travel pictures before; this was nothing new. What was new, was the soldiers. They were doing their best to be unobtrusive, carrying only pistols, hiding their uniforms under dull windbreakers. But they still stuck out. He looked over at his driver. She motioned to Mazal to wait; as soon as they saw the car, two of the soldiers had started walking nonchalantly over to them.

They greeted the woman with a nod, and one of them asked Mazal for his ID in as friendly a tone as he could manage. Mazal took it out.

“You’re Dr. Asala’s friend?” the man said.

Mazal nodded.

“Very good. She told us you were coming. Right this way, sir.”

Mazal followed them through the camp, to the place where the rubble-covered slope met the beach. Between two great boulders there was a deep, dark cleft; the passage of many feet had worn a path leading into it, and the soldiers stopped just outside. One of them took out a radio and spoke into it.

“Dr. Mazal is here. Can someone come out and meet him?”

There was a scratchy, indistinct response that apparently made sense to him; a few minutes later, the graying head of Asala emerged from the crevasse. When she saw Mazal, she smiled.

“You made it,” she said.

“I did,” Mazal replied. “Now, would you kindly explain what I’m doing here?” He eyed the soldiers on either side of him.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Asala said hurriedly. She waved him forward, toward the crevasse. “I think someone in the government got spooked when we mentioned what we’d found. They’re just here to keep an eye on things.”

“I thought you dug up bones for a living?” Mazal said.

“Yes. And sometimes, I find other things.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Well… no, not exactly. Come on, come on. You’ll be glad you came, I promise.”

Mazal followed Asala tentatively; as they moved underneath the rocks, he realized that the summer sun outside had made it seem darker than it was. Someone had strung some lights along the floor, illuminating the mouth of a large cave. More light shone from inside, and cables snaked out to a generator humming away by the entrance. Asala strode confidently forward, and Mazal followed.

“The whole coast is dotted with caves like these,” she said. “We’re pretty far south, but we’re not so far from the Basseron Islands, the place where our species probably first evolved. So we were here looking for bones, early tools, anything that would tell us more about our place in the tree of life, about what sort of hominids might be our closest ancestors.” Beyond the entrance was a large chamber that seemed to branch off in several directions. Only one was lit up, though, and that was the way Asala went.

“Yes,” Mazal said. “I’ve read that that’s a rather persistent mystery in your field.”

“Quite. One I’ve always been interested in. But the genetics angle bore no fruit, so I had to get my hands dirty.”

“So you’ve said. Why am I here?”

“Because,” Asala said, “I think we’ve finally found something. Not the answer, maybe, but an answer. An important one. And I think it’s one that backs up something you’ve been saying for years.”

“You don’t mean my work on drought-resistant potatoes, do you?” Mazal said dryly.

Asala laughed. “No. I mean the one we used to fight about.”

“What was you said when we were still students? You’d never heard such a stupid idea in your life before?”

“Something along those lines, anyway. I don’t think I was that harsh.”

“You were pretty harsh, as I recall.”

“And you were always so sensitive.”

If he were a younger man, Mazal might have been offended; instead he rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Asala said. “We’d been exploring caves along the coast. We found this one six weeks ago, and we were pretty excited. There was some evidence of fire-building near the entrance, something that might have been the remains of cave paintings. We thought we’d do some digging around, to see if we could find any stone tools or animal remains that looked like they’d been butchered. Maybe some bones, if we were lucky. We did find some. Watch your head.”

They ducked through a low passage in the back of the chamber, coming into a small, roughly cylindrical room. It might have been cut by the passage of water, or hewn very patiently by many hands working over many years, but the thing in the middle stopped Mazal short. Dirt from the cave floor had been dug away, and a perfect, rectangular hole revealed beneath it. A hatch.

“The difficult was this,” Asala said. “We carbon-dated the bones. They’re about fifty thousand years old. Definitely some ancient cousins of ours. But they were found in the dirt six inches above that. Which means, that hunk of metal you’re staring at is older than that.”

Mazal wanted to laugh. “And older than any city or any known civilization on the planet.”

Asala nodded. “Unless the historians are really holding out on us.”

Mazal squatted down to peer at the hatch more closely.

“Is this steel?”

“No,” Asala said. “We’re not sure what it is. It looks like metal, but it might not be. We haven’t sampled it yet, but it seems to be some kind of high-strength alloy or advanced metamaterial. I have an engineer acquaintance coming to look at it.”

“So you haven’t opened it?”

“What? Of course we have. There’s a button.”

Asala reached down and pressed something in the dirt; there was a metallic clang, and the hatch swung open. There was more light below; Mazal could see a ladder.

“Come on,” Asala said. “Down you go.”

Mazal began to clamber down rather warily. “You know,” he said as he climbed, “the bones could have been moved. This could be a hundred-year-old bunker from the Polar Wars. Or somebody’s idea of a practical joke.”

“We thought about that,” Asala said, “because we’re not idiots.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“No, I get it. Don’t worry. You’ve always been cautious, in your own way. You want to exclude all the mundane possibilities. Well, look, nothing in this life is certain. But if it is a hoax, or a secret cult hideout or something, it’s one that’s had every inch of dirt on top of it carefully arranged to look as authentically old as possible. It has had more dirt and bones and even some dessicated ancient plant seeds that corroborate reconstructions of the local climate from tens of thousands of years in the past scattered down the first hundred feet or so of hallway.”

They reached the bottom; Mazal could indeed see that the floor of the corridor here was rather dirty; someone had carefully marked out survey grids all down its length, and a very narrow footpath had been cleared down the middle.

“Watch your step, by the way,” Asala said. “You never know, we might have missed something. This way. So yes, it might be a hoax. A very, very good hoax. One that involves some dedicated conlanging, no less.” She pointed out something on the side of the corridor, barely visible in the rust and the darkness. Definitely letters, letters that Mazal could not read.

“They’re all over the place down here. Other things, too. What might have been books once. Also carbon-dated, by the way.”

There was a feeling in Mazal’s arms and shoulders and chest that he had not felt in a long time. A feeling like electricity, or pure heat. A feeling of ridiculous, childlike excitement. He did his best to ignore it. They continued down the hallway; after only a few dozen meters, the floor became merely rusted, here and there exposing small patches of bare rock. Whatever this place was, most of it was subject to ordinary decay.

“How big is it?” Mazal asked.

“Not sure. Some cave-ins have blocked of some parts. There’s a lower passage that’s flooded. A shaft that was probably an elevator once, but a lot of the ancient machinery is either non-functional or rusted into a single giant lump.”

“Not all of it?”

“Not all of it. To your left.”

They turned, and the corridor began to slope gently downward. Mazal could hear voices ahead; the corridor opened into a large, round room, the size of a lecture theater. Lights had been set up on stands, to illuminate the walls, which were covered in intricate figures and dense markings. People were milling around, taking photographs, making notes. At the far side of the room was a single immense monolith, with a surface that seemed to have been polished to a shine. Mazal inhaled sharply.

“Gods above and below,” he said quietly. “What is all this?”

Asala smiled. “Something intended to last. It’s built out of the same stuff as the hatch.”

Mazal walked over to the wall to get a closer look. The markings were clearly writing of some kind. He had no idea what. He ran his fingers over the surface. They were deeply engraved. Geometrically precise letters. Intended to be read. But by whom?

“Come here,” Asala said. Mazal followed her to a section of the wall that was recessed slightly, with different markings than the rest. She put her hand on one, and pressed; the wall slid slowly to the side, revealing a high, narrow passage behind it. She stepped just inside, and pulled something out, handing it to Mazal.

“Careful,” she said. “It’s very cold.”

She was right; Mazal had to grip it in the ends of his jacket sleeves to hold it. He turned it over in his hand. It was a long, thin metal plate, the length of his forearm and perhaps three fingers wide. On one end, etched into it, was an image of a plant: the head of a stalk of wheat. Beside it, a series of small pictures he didn’t recognize. And in holes, down the length of the plate, small glass vials, deeply set into the metal. Inside them were seeds.

“Seeds of wheat,” Mazal said.

“Not just wheat, if the pictures are anything to go by. Other crops, too. Soy. Rice. Some fruits. And what look like genetic samples from animals. It’s like a library.”

“A library that’s fifty thousand years old?”

“Much older than that, if we’re right. Some of the illustrations on these walls are star charts. Mazal, this place could he hundreds of thousands of years old.”

Mazal leaned against the wall, his mind spinning.

“You probably can’t germinate the seeds after all this time,” he said to himself. “But if they’ve been kept cold enough, dry enough… you could sequence their DNA. You could recover the species. If they’re unknown species. Ancient cultivars. Oh, goodness.”

“Mazal!” Asala said. “Don’t you understand what this means?”

“What?”

“You were right, you idiot! There were people on this planet before… well, before people! Before our kind of people, anyway! They built this place. I don’t know why. Maybe some kind of safeguard against disaster. It didn’t work, if that’s what it was. But you were right!”

Mazal smiled. “Yes, I was, wasn’t I? My wife will be so happy.”

Asala laughed. “You should be gloating right now.”

“I’ll do that later,” Mazal said. “I want to know everything first. Everything you’ve found out.”

“Asala!” someone called from the far end of the room.

“I promise you, Mazal, I will be happy to share. Let me take care of this, and we’ll go up. I can show you the notes and video we’ve taken so far.”

Mazal nodded, still leaning against the wall for support. Asala went to go see what the fuss was about.

After a few minutes, he felt like he could stand again; his limbs still felt weak, like a rush of adrenaline had just worn off, but he couldn’t stay still. He paced back in forth in front of the walls, trying to will some sudden understanding to leap out at him. Finally, he came to the monolith in the middle; he ran his hand over the surface. Smooth and cold, like everything else. He bent down to examine where it met the floor; only the tiniest crack showed. The same near the wall; it seemed to pass back, into whatever lay behind it. He went around to the other side. That was curious; there was a depression there, a little niche he couldn’t see inside of. He looked back over his shoulder; Asala was talking energetically to two young men. He shrugged, and stuck his hand in the hole, feeling around.

The sides were smooth, but the bottom was slightly rough. There was something there, and with his fingertips he could trace out five troughs, radiating from a central depression. Like a handprint. He pressed his hand into the hand-shaped hole, expecting nothing. He nearly fell over with shock when a cool blue light shone from within. He jumped back, and looked up at the monolith.

Nothing happened. Well, that was a relief. He turned and walked quickly over to Asala. She was saying something to her colleagues about work schedules; then when she saw Mazal, she paused.

“Mazal, what’s that? Over your shoulder.”

Mazal turned around. “What’s what?”

“I could swear--is something different with the pillar?”

“The pillar?”

“That’s what we’ve been calling the big metal thing. No idea what it is. I thought for a second it was moving.”

“That’s odd.”

Then there was a noise like an enormous machine stirring to life, and the monolith--the pillar--lurched forward. Mazal yelped; someone dropped something. As they stood there entirely uncertain about what to do, the smooth metal surface opened in a hundred places, unfolding like a flower; inside, surrounded by the same blue glow, was an immense figure.

It was held nearly in the standing position by the cradle it lay in. It was at least twice as tall as Mazal; its body nearly hairless, its limbs long and delicate; but the hair on its head was dark, and shot through with gray like his own, and something in the cast of its features was still recognizable to him. And was it Mazal’s imagination, or was it… breathing? After a moment, everything was still again, and the light faded; and Asala turned to the two men.

“Go get a doctor,” she said. “And find Kolek. Now! Go now!” They scurried off. Mazal and Asala approached the figure slowly; when its eyes opened, they froze. They were brown, and bright; and they looked from Mazal to Asala and back; and then the figure moved--and collapsed, gasping, to the floor. Asala rushed forward to help it stand. It looked up at her and spoke in a deep, rolling voice, words that Mazal could not understand. He approached more cautiously, and laid his hand on the giant’s shoulder.

“Erm… it will be ok. You’re safe,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “You are in Idalrea. Underground. But everything is fine. I think.”

The giant spoke again; but all Mazal could do was shrug. It reached up with a hand, and touched him on the back of the neck; Mazal felt a sudden, sharp pain go through his head, and he fell to his knees.

“Mazal! Are you all right?” Asala said.

The pain passed as quickly as it had come; and then the giant spoke to them in their own language.

“Forgive me,” he said. “That is a dangerous technique. But I wanted to tell you--I mean you no harm. You are safe.”

“Funny,” Mazal said. “I was about to say the same. You--you understand us now?”

The giant nodded.

“I am Mazal. This is Asala. Do you know where you are?”

“Yes,” the giant said. “I recognize this place. Though a great deal of time seems to have passed. Tell me, are the glaciers gone? Have the seas swallowed all our cities? Is anyone left besides me?”

Asala looked at Mazal nervously. Mazal felt as though an immense weight of time was suddenly bearing down on him; as though he was staring into the darkness of the deepest sea. You old fool, he thought to himself. Did you ever really think about what it would mean, if we were the second, the inheritors, the after-race? Did you ever think about the ghosts that we left behind?

“You are… perhaps alone. We do not know of any others like you. We did not know of you, until you… appeared before us.”

The giant nodded. “The sarcophagus was not a technology my people had much affection for. My willingness to endure it was considered strange by many. Tell me, how long has it been?”

Asala shifted nervously. “We don’t know,” she said. “We didn’t know this place existed until a few weeks ago. We have only just begun to study it. Perhaps you could tell us what you remember from before?”

The giant nodded. “It was winter. The skies were dark. It was so bitterly cold. We took several days to cross the ice, until we came to land. This continent we called Antarctica. Most of it still covered in ice. A desert, hidden beneath a glacier. We descended until we came to the vault; the others with me, they had some records they wished to add to it, in case our people returned. In case the danger passed, and they could begin to rebuild. I did not have so much faith. I wished to remain behind. So I did. I thought… in truth, I thought I was choosing death. But I was afraid to die; and better, I thought, to lie down with the hope, one day, of resurrection, than simply to throw myself into the sea. I did not really think this day would ever come.”

“Your people built this place?”

“It is one of several. Three in the south, two in the north. A place of records. A place to keep the seeds of life, if we should ever be able to bring back what was lost.”

“The records are intact,” Asala said. “You succeeded.”

Tears formed in the giant’s eyes. “If the records are intact, then we failed.” He shifted to a sitting position, and leaned back against his sarcophagus. “My people never came.”

Mazal did not know what to do; he sat down next to the giant and laid his small, hair-covered hand on the giant’s bare palm.

“What were your people called?”

“We had many tongues. In my own, we were called human.”

“We--in our tongue--we call ourselves the Padirek.”

“Padirek. Yes. I would have known you under another name. How long ago, I wonder.”

“If the glaciers still covered Idalrea,” Asala said, “many hundreds of thousands of years.”

The giant--the human--nodded. “That would make sense.” He sighed. “Even then, I think, we knew that we were doomed.”

“What happened?” Mazal asked.

“Many things. But most of all, the world changed around us. The side effects of our technologies--the exuberance of our collective youth, I suppose--came far more swiftly than we anticipated. By the time we marshaled the determination to confront that change, we could not stop it. Only hope to alleviate the worst of its consequences. The ice was beginning to melt here even then. The glaciers were retreating. They had vanished almost everywhere else; this was one of the last places cold enough to keep the vault, at least for a few hundred years. If the glaciers are gone, then so are the cities of my people.”

“Forgive me, but I thought… I have long speculated, anyway, that there once existed a people on this world with very advances sciences,” Mazal said. “Knowledge of genetics among them. Your people, they must have been. I am surprised that so powerful a people as yours could not adapt.”

“Are you?” the human said. “We tried. Some of us. Some of us preferred to hide away in their arcologies. Others, I heard, sought the stars. We had lost so much by then already. The seas were rising, our farmlands were drying out, so many kinds of bird and beast vanishing around us… many simply preferred to let our people dwindle away. To go quietly.”

“Why would they ever choose that?”

The human smiled. “You did not see the Earth in her younger days, Mazal. You did not see the green plains of Africa, where my people were born. You did not see the shining cities of the east, or the great engines we built to work our will, and you did not see us lose all these things, as the deserts came, and the seas rose, and life became harder, year after year. By the time I lay myself down here, our world had been diminishing for a long, long time. Long before I was born. I suppose… I suppose we all felt like the world had grown old. That our time was done.”

“But… but that can’t be,” Mazal said. “It isn’t. At all. The world is young. The universe is young. There is so much to build, to see, to do…”

The human touched Mazal’s cheek. “You have no idea how much joy it gives me to know that you feel that way. I said I knew your people once. When I was a young man, I visited the colonies on the Antarctic Peninsula. The place that was a refuge for one group of scientists working on their hope for the future. A new hominid. A new kind of mind in the world--one very like us, but, they hoped, perhaps with fewer of our faults, and more of our virtues. None of them expected to see their work bear fruit. Perhaps it never did, while our people still lived. Perhaps it was only thousands of generations later that the work they began bore fruit. Or perhaps it was only nature, and not them, responsible for your birth. But you live! You are here, speaking to me! And you still hope, and you still dream, as we once did. I hope that you do so forever. Ah!”

The human seemed to contort momentarily with pain. After a few seconds the agony passed, and his body slowly relaxed.

“Are you all right?” Asala said. “I sent for a doctor. Perhaps he can help, I don’t know.”

“Perhaps,” the human said. “There is a reason that the others shunned the sarcophagus. I think I was not one of the lucky ones.”

“Don’t worry,” Mazal said. “You’ll be all right. We’ll make sure of it. You have no idea what it means to me, to have wondered for so long if there was another people that was first… and now to meet one of you.”

“What makes you think we were first?”

“Weren’t you?”

“God no. Oh, perhaps we built the first cities. I don’t know. But we weren’t the first users-of-tools. We weren’t the first masters-of-fire. We weren’t the first hunters, or the first speakers-of-words.”

“Who was first?”

“We had cousins. You had cousins. Older kinds of human. The ones of the Neander. The Upright Ones. The Cunning.”

“These are your names for them?”

“Yes. Something like them, anyway. Your tongue… is very different from mine.”

“There is so much we can learn from you,” Asala said. “If you are willing to teach us.”

“I am afraid that will not be possible,” the human said.

“I know your world is gone,” Mazal said. “I know… I know this is a very hard grief for you. I can’t imagine what it’s like, to wake up after all this time and know that everyone you ever loved, everything you ever valued, is so… forgotten. But our people would welcome you, if you wished to live among us. Not just for what you can teach us. Not just for what you represent. We know what loss is like, even if we do not know yours.”

“You are kind, little Padirek,” the human said. “And I would happily share the legacy of my people with one like you, but I am afraid--ah!”

The human cried out this time, louder, and bent over double; when the pain passed, he spoke with ragged breath.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that my time is short. That it was only ever my fate to be a ghost in your world.”

Now Mazal’s eyes began to fill with tears; he took the human’s hand in his, and gripped it tightly.

“Help is coming,” he said. “Very soon. You are not a ghost. You are a man who lives and breathes, who has lost much, but who may yet gain many things. There is no grief above or below the sky so immense, that it precludes joy forever. Not even grief for a whole world. Even if we are the only legacy of your people, your people did not live in vain. I promise you that. I will show you. I will show you what we have done while you have slept. I will show you the great city, which sits above the immense falls, whose streets are filled with rainbows. I will show you the university where I work, where we study the earth and the stars and the secrets of life. I will show you our libraries, our paintings, our poetry. If we are your children, then these are your legacy, too.”

“Don’t cry, Mazal,” the human said. “Not for me. You don’t understand--you don’t know what this means to me. I thought the world would be silent, when we were gone. I thought--ahh! I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter.” He leaned back, and closed his eyes; his breaths were now short and ragged. Mazal worried he could no longer talk over the pain; but after a moment, he spoke again.

“There may be other testimonies besides this place. Look in the mountains to the south. And on the Moon. And perhaps the planet beyond. More records of who we were--of what we did--than one man. I hope they are still there. I hope you find the answers you are looking for in them.”

“We will seek them out together,” Mazal said quietly.

“Yes,” the human said. He began to breathe more slowly; Mazal reached up and wiped the thin film of sweat from his brow.

It was only a few minutes ents later that they heard voices from further up the corridor; then the sounds of many feet, running their way. But the human was still; and when Mazal released his hand, it fell limply to the floor.

#tanadrin's fiction

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nora-theteawriter · 4 years

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10 Questions Tag

I was tagged by @sophielovesbooks, thank you! Loved your answers, like about your wip’s aesthetic (pastels, shooting stars, and girls holding hands sounds so good!) and the kill your darlings dislike (I think it’s supposed to mean sometimes you have to “kill your darlings” if they don’t work with the rest of the story, not in every case). But yeah, thank you so much for tagging me, I love answering these things even though I’m not always good at doing it on time because school.

Rules: Answer 10 questions, ask another 10, then tag 10 people

1. Which of your characters would you most like to have as a friend?

Oo, that’s tough, because I’d gladly be friends with most of them. Maybe Maya (Link to character intro) because she’s so passionate about fashion and design and so creative and I love gushing with friends over things they’re passionate about, fashion being something I could understand better than others. Also Maya is super kind (to a fault) and I feel like we could relate to some level about our struggles in figuring out our orientations (romantic and sexual).

2. Where do you usually go to write?

When I’m back home in Seattle, there’s a tea shop called Friday Afternoon that I frequent. The atmosphere is friendly and calm, and there are two comfy chairs, one of which is almost always open, so it works perfectly for a writing environment. When I’m at school, it switches between my room, the common space, and the Mount Holyoke library.

3. Why do you write?

Uff da, you’re right this is a hard one. Ever since I was old enough to form coherent thought, I’ve been inventing worlds, and I started writing them down as soon as I could do that. I guess it’s a combination of escapism - creating fantastical worlds better than yet reflective of our world - and fun - it comes naturally to me and I love it so why wouldn’t I do it?

4. A trope you hate?

Been thinking about this recently cause I watched some of The Bachelor with my modmates: the protective dad trope. Like, a dad can be generally protective, that’s fine, but when it’s the stereotypical dad suspicious of any boyfriend his daughter introduces to him, that has so many toxic and gross implications.

5. Which genre do you most like to write?

Fantasy! Specifically, as I like to call it, queer fantasy. Sometimes sci-fi (almost by accident since the two can be similar), and very occasionally realistic/historical fiction. I don’t like being constrained by this world’s rules.

6. Do you write only original work or also fanfiction?

I do write fanfiction, though I’m horrible at keeping up with it, since I get so sucked in to my original works. Link to ao3 if you’re interested, I’m in the middle of two, but might not get back to them until summer.

7. If you could switch places with one of your characters and live their life instead of yours, would you do it? If yes, which one and why?

Definitely (sounds kinda sad now that I read that lol). Out of my The Witch University characters, I would most want to switch with either Sam or Seraphina based on where I plan their stories to go. Sam appeals to my romantic side since her love interest is totally my type, but I might end up hurting her later in a way that I wouldn’t want to happen to me. Seraphina is able to do a lot more than I might be brave enough to do, but if I fully switched places maybe I’d also have some of their courage. Also I want magic powers.

8. Do you think characters have to suffer for a book to be good?

No. I think characters have to go through struggles, overcome obstacles, but suffering is a whole other level of that. Not necessary, but works for some cases. Example: no one really suffers in Pride and Prejudice (I’d argue), but characters face challenges and that’s a very good book.

9. Planner or pantser?

Ha, I was a pantser for my current wip and I regretted it, so I’m trying to change my ways. In the past I’ve mostly been a plantser (combination of the two), but I feel like I’ll be able to craft better structured stories if I plan in the future, and that’s what I’m doing with the next two books in the trilogy.

10. If you plan your stories, where do you plan them? In a special project folder,a word document, a physical notebook…?

Mostly on various word documents. For the next two books in the series, I have a single word doc with bullet points of things that will be covered, which I’ll organize later (planning to do @jennamoreci‘s method link). For my current book, I have an excel spreadsheet that lines up date, time of day, scene, and chapter; a powerpoint for my characters, each getting three slides; and a word document with notes on things like Sam’s class schedule, deleted bits that are also worldbuilding, a place to structure new chapters, and little notes on characters that don’t need a whole bio. It’s a lot

Ok! That was fun! Here are my questions:

Do you read the genre(s) you write?

Have you ever thought of creating an expanded universe with your stories?

Did you, or would you, study creative writing or something similar in school?

How much do you draw from your life in your writing?

Best piece of advice on writing you’ve ever received?

Who’s an author you look up to and why?

What is the best writing environment for you?

Dream project? Are you already working on it?

What are your plans/thoughts for publishing, if you have them?

What’s an interest of yours besides writing and do you ever combine the two?

I’m tagging... @raevenlywrites, @drowsy-quill, @jc-shay, @serenewrites, @adashofplot, @sapphic-spirit-writes, @violet-galaxies, @alcego, @lyssthewriter, @radley-writes

Enjoy!

#10 questions tag #tag game #writing #writeblr #writeblr community #the witch university #tropes #planning #characters

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lillaxtrigger · 4 years

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Young Hope: Chapter 27

The twinkling night sky glistens over the metropolis of Townsville, the Spicer manor lighting through the darkness as the sound of applause escapes its walls. Within the living room of the abode itself, a small crowd of friends and family applaud and cheer surrounding the oldest son of the estate; Kingsley holding what looked to be a gold medal in the palms of his hands. The cheers of the small crowd dying down, the boy genius reads the words engraved in the medals reflective gold; saying: “1st place in the Townsville national gadgeteers competition.” After reading the engraving aloud, Kingsley turns back to the welcoming crowd behind him, announcing to them all that: “An award that I couldn’t have begun to imagine winning these past few days. I can’t thank everyone enough for their love, their smart thinking, and their endless support. I sincerely mean it when I say I couldn’t have won this without all of you. Thank you.” “I was all you, Kingsley. You earned that reward.” Persi compliments. “You did such a fantastic job sweetie.” his mother applauds. “Way to go, Spicer.” Cayenne simply cheers.

Despite the almost overwhelming ovation the boy genius gets, only one among the cheering circle outright refuses to join in; Kingsley younger sister glaring through the crowd with her bleak and contemptuous gaze. Chloe’s sour mood only worsens when she witnesses their father approach her smiling brother take the golden medal from him and claim that: “Beating out the entire gadgeteers expo on the first try ain’t something any genius can do. How bout we put this somewhere everyone can see.” Venturing out to the bookshelf on the side of the living room, the father perches the golden reward right in the middle of the shelf; taking center stage next to a collection of various other award owned by his son. “Aw dad, that hunk of gold ain’t nothing. Its the people that helped me along the way that matter more.” Kingsley’s cheesy line causes the crowd to erupt in a whale of applause and laughter, the cheering proving to be the last straw that his red headed sister can take before taking her leave in a bitter huff; her mother being the only one to notices her departure.

In her stomping huff through the living room, Chloe fails to catch the emergency news broadcast playing on their television; the reporter warning that: “-advise everyone to stay inside their homes for the night. The coma epidemic that has been plaguing the entire city this past week is still ongoing and a plausible source has not been identified. Again, our station advises everyone listening to stay in their homes and lock any and all ways in.”

Reaching the front door of their home, Chloe readies to head out; her hand on the knob right when she hears her mom grab her attention with: “Where are you going, honey?” “I’m...I’m going over to Serena’s for a bit. I promised to help her out with her potions.” “Alright, sweetie. Are you going to be okay?” “I’ll be fine mom. I just need to go.” the red head states before making her exit. As she watches her only daughter close their door behind her, the mother can’t help but let out a worrying groan; knowing full well that Chloe is not as fine as she claims to be.

Strolling down the lonesome darkened streets of Townsville, the young red head can’t help but rant aloud to herself about on: “Stupid Kingsley and his stupid rewards and his stupid accomplishments. Its not like I don’t have any kind of rewards that I earned over the years, no. It’s always just about Kingsley, isn’t it. Of course everything I do just winds up getting swept out of the spotlight. I win the national spelling bee, he wins the science fair project. I take home the gold in the school athletic olympics, Kingsley gets all the praise for his portable fusion reactor. I get an actual A+ on my science test, my brother gets rewards on teaching the whole damn class on fission experiments! It’s not fair! It’s just not fair!” Despite her self pitying cries ringing through the entire block, not a single soul around is there to hear her plea; her screaming eventually dying down into apathetic silence. “You’re right. It certainly isn’t fair.”

The unexpected voice echoing nearby suddenly makes the young girl jump, Chloe’s gaze swiftly scanning through the immediate streets in attempting to find who has shared their sympathy; alas finding nobody else around. “Just keep it together, Chloe. You’re probably just hearing things. Nothing but your own imagination.” “Oh contraire, my young budding rose; I’m no mere illusion conjured by your young adolescent mind. Nay, you’ve been humbly graced by a being from the very heavens themselves; here to free you from your woes and ease your mind.” Despite shaking in her shoes, the young lady stands still in the midst of this new disembodied voice; questioning on with: “Why are you so worried about me?” “Because, dear Chloe; your brother isn’t the only special one in the family. You boast so much more potential than you realize. So much so that it could surpass your own brothers feats, leaving you the shining star in everyone eyes.” “Really...how?” “All that you need is already is already around your little neck.” The voice in her head revealing such, Chloe pulls out the amazon crystal tucked underneath her dress; its pink glow permeating through the surrounding darkness. “My crystal?” “Indeed. That little trinket you have holds underneath its silky smooth shell the awesome power of the gods, awaiting for you to unleash its raw energy into this world.” “It has that much?...I was only able to fly and make such small things with it.” “It can do far more than just that. That stone can do far more than you can possibly imagine. Such potential around your neck could surpass even gods, much less, your own brother. I can show the kind of woman you could truly be with such power under your control, all you have do is open your heart...to me...” Such a golden promise echoing in her head, the red heads entire body ceases to tremble as she stares upon the glimmering sheen of her amazon crystal; the consuming shadows around her fleeing from its growing pink light.

As the afternoon sun bakes down the rooftop of the blue boys abode, both Tore and Mally stand at their mothers own bedside underneath; their eyes locked to her motionless, sleeping body. The dark purple dressed witch doctor slides her hands across the moms body, gliding her finger towards her eyes to open them; the mothers pupils bleak and soulless. “Hmm...this definitely isn’t good. How long has she been like this?” Serena questions. “Mom’s been in bed for a day and half straight. I thought she was just tired, but she been out cold this morning too. We tried everything to snap her awake; shake her, cold water, smelling salt, nothing worked.” Mally explains. “We thought she might’ve been hurt on the inside or something; but no matter how much I heal her, she just won’t wake up.” Tore adds. “We tried phoning for every hospital in town, but they’re too busy to even tell us to fuck off.” “I doubt any of them would be much help anyway. Her body isn’t the problem here.” the witch doctor informs. “Its her soul, isn’t it?” all of them hear from behind.

All in the room glance to the door to find the purple merc leaning against the doorway, Roy staring to the mothers unconscious body. “Roy! You’re back!” Mally exclaims. “How’d your date with Roxy go?” Tore asks. To his blue brothers question, the merc can’t bare to make direct eye contact with either of them; his gaze drifting to the corner of the room. “Oh...that bad huh?”

Fixing his eyes back to the three, the purple merc continues to asses the situation at hand by claiming that: “Her souls isn’t there, is it?” “That’s right on the mark. Even with her body at its healthiest; without her soul dwelling within her, she’ll never wake up.” “No problem then, we just find her soul and put it back in. Should be easy enough.” Tore simply states. “If only it were. You say a day and a half has passed since her souls been taken. If it doesn’t get back to her with two more, then her physical body shall become malnourished and she’ll eventually… she’ll eventually die.” The witch doctors harrowing warning sends the trio in a frightening scare; all three of them gazing upon the comatose body of their literally soulless mother. “Roy, can you tell where mom’s soul flew off to?” the blue boy questions his purple brother. “I might. A few sweeps around the city might give us the clues we need.” “The hell are we standing here like idiotic asshats here? Let’s get lookin!” Mally declares. “First, we need to contend with a couple of migraines ready to bust through our door.” Roy warns. “What migraines?” Right on questioning such, all of them hear a loud crash echoing out from the living room; the sound of wood breaking filling the house before somebody scream: “Knock knock, fuckers! We in the house!” “Cayenne! Why’d you break the door down!? We could’ve just knocked!” “Those migraines.”

Racing into the living room, everyone discovers both Kingsley and Cayenne standing before them; chunks of the front door scattered beneath their feet. “Hey guys, you couldn’t have come at a better time.” the blue angel greets. “Mind if I kindly ask what kind of drugged enchilada dipping sauce you ate urged you two to reduce our front door into an example of cheap wood craftsman ship?” the merc question. “It was me.” Serena points out. The trio glancing to the witch doctor behind them, they find Serena with her phone out; claiming that: “I told them to meet me here.” “This is perfect. We could really use your help, I-” Before the blue boy could finish asking for their aid, Cayenne pushes Tore aside as she approaches Serena; soon questioning her if: “Chloe said she was crashing at your place last night. You seen her?” “What? I’ve just been sorting through potions in my basement the other night. I didn’t hear her say anything about coming over.” “Did something happen to her?” Mally asks. “She went out during a little party we had last night and hasn’t come back home since.” Kingsley informs. “You try reaching her through her cell?” Tore wonders as he rises, dusting off the splinters stuck to his clothes. “We’ve tried everything. Phone, voicemails, e-mail, social media accounts; nothing comes up. She’s never been off the radar on her social for this long before, my parents are going insane; they launched a full blown police investigation just to find her.” “And you sure she’s just not passed out in a ditch crying somewhere, cause a full night toiling in your own overblown teenage drama bullshit can do that to a kid?” Roy wonders. “It doesn’t matter what happened to her now. All that matters now is that you hustle your asses outta here and help us find her. Got it?” the spice queen demands. “Yeah, not to sound like a veiny throbbing cock here; but fuck that. We got our own problems to deal with.” the merc turns down. “Sorry guys, but Roy is right. We don’t have the time. We gotta save our mom before she withers away.” Mally adds. “Its alright guys. We get it. Hope you guys can save her in time.”

Out the broken down doorway, Tore, Roy, and Mally all glide out towards the west side of the city; leaving behind them their three visitors. As they stroll away from the broken down door frame, the witch doctor turns her attention to the boy genius and asks if: “Now Kingsley, do you happen to have anything on you that your sister might’ve worn before she disappeared.” “Uh, yeah. Gimme a sec...” After confirming such, Kingsley digs through his jean pockets to pull out a lone diamond earring; claiming that: “This is what she was wearing the night before the party. Its one of her favorite earrings.” “Kingsley, why did you bring that with us?” Cayenne wonders. “I figured bringing it to police could help them track her down. Couple of sniffs from their German shepherds noses would’ve gotten them running after her trail in no time.” “I can assure you that my magic is far more efficient then any dogs the police may use.”

Taking the small accessory from the genius, Serena clasps the earring in the soft palms of her hands; a soft pink glow leaking out from the cracks of her fingers. This enchanting glow soon ventures ahead through the suburban air, the trio witnessing the pink trail drifting towards the city ahead; the witch doctor declaring that: “This aura trail should reveal to us the path Chloe had taken in the last 24 hours. Hopefully, she hasn’t strayed into a bad part of town and-” Before Serena could explain any further, she feels herself rising from the concrete pavement; glancing to her side to witness the spice queen sweeping her off her feet. Ascending from the roadway herself, Cayenne grabs hold of the boy genius beside her; tossing both him and the witch doctor on her back as she declares that: “The hell we standing around like a couple of jack offs here for then? Lets getting moving!” All three of them left on the clock, the spice queen whisks both of them away from the calm suburban neighborhood and towards the deep urban jungle of downtown Townsville.

The trio flying past the countless towering skyscrapers, the boy genius is left stuck on his phone; quelling the incoherent blubbering sounding out on the other end with: “Mom...mom...mom…please calm down. I’m sure if the police are too busy to help us, then I’m sure we can handle it ourselves. We already have Chloe’s trail and are following it as we speak...Yeah...Yeah...love you too...Bye.” As Kingsley puts his phone away, the spice queen underneath him grabs his attention with: “Think that might take more time then you think.” “Why?” the boy genius questions as he gazes to the skyline ahead of them. Before the airborne trio, they discover another of the red heads aura trail venturing out in a different direction; Kingsley questioning the witch doctor with them if: “Uh Serena, this wouldn’t happen to be part of your spell, would it?” “It certainly looks that way. Maybe Chloe took a little detour.” “Doesn’t matter what the hell she’s doin; we just gotta pick one. Thinkin that the new trail can get us to her faster?” “I don’t think so. For all we know, it could be a route she took before hand. Lets stay on the one were following just to be on the safe side.” Kingsley claims. “Whatev.” Their course fixed, all of them keep to the aura trail they were following; the trio continuing to glide deeper into the urban jungle.

Following the red heads pink aura eventually has them reach Townsville’s city square; Cayenne stops in the middle of the air right before the square, causing her two passengers to nearly fall. “Ah, Cayenne! What happened? Why’d you stop?” her best friend questions. Once getting their grips back on the spice queens back, both Kingsley and Serena gaze out to the site that caused her to halt in her tracks; their collective jaws going agap. Woven throughout the entire city square like a bright pink spiders web, Chloe’s trail venture in and out its countless twist and turns; rising and falling across both its streets and skyline. “Chloe flew this much in just one night? That-That’s insane. What was she even doing going through here like this?” “The fuck is this clusterfuck? How the hell are we supposed to figure out where she went with this horseshit?” Cayenne barks. “This is quite the troubling predicament! I’m not sure any spells I can do right now can sort through this mess.” Serena admits. “You got any that might?” the boy genius questions. “I could whip up a concoction that would be more than up for the job, though it may take some time for me to brew.” “Just give us a call when its ready.” The boy genius suggesting such, the witch doctor leaps off the spice queens backside; dissipating in a wave of sparkles. After Serena leaves them, both Kingsley and Cayenne continue forth with their search; following one of the many aura trails woven through the city square.

Flying out from around the neighboring corner, Tore, Roy, and Mally continue their own search through the depths of the urban jungle; the purple merc concentrating as they glide across the city skyline. “You getting any kind of read yet, bro?” Mally questions. “Nrr...Still nothing…I’m starting to think whoever took moms soul might’ve dragged it outta town by now.” A frustrated growl escapes from their orange haired sisters teeth; the skater claiming on how: “We don’t have that kinda time! If they really did ditch town, then we’ll never find them like this. We need a lead or something to give us an edge in this investigation.” “More like a whole damn police report.”

While both of his siblings continue flying forth, Tore breaks right in front of the massive TV screen beside them, the screen broadcasting the news network as its reporter states how: “The coma epidemic plaguing the city this past week has exploded last night. Cases of over 6 dozen people left comatose in their homes coming in from every corner of the city.” Before straying too far ahead, Mally glances back to discover their blue brother left staring to the city square television; grabbing her purple brother with: “Roy, hol up. Think Tore might be falling behind.” “Dammit, again? Swear to Hera, if he thinks he sees a crack in the road that looks like a third world country again; I’m gonna smack him into it.” The duo retreat back towards their brother’s side, finding him captivated by the massive monitor perched over the town square; the black winged merc claiming that: “Christ sake, man; we’re on the job. Get yer sorry blue ass in gear and-” “Hang on, Roy. Look.” their sister implores; pointing to the oversized TV itself. As all of them gaze upon the ongoing news report, they hear the reporter herself continue her story with: “Hospitals all over town are crowded with all the countless comatose victims coming in, and the increasing numbers not giving them a single break. Even as the police are unfortunately still at a loss on who might be behind these escalating attacks, the boys in blue vow to not to rest until they catch the culprit responsible. I’m Jessie Blankman, signing off.” After the news broadcast comes to a close, a commercial for pine scented baking soda comes on; Mally talking over the commercial by questioning if: “You think all that might be related to our moms soul getting snatched?” “Could be a good place to get a lead at least.” the blue angel claims. “It ain’t like we got anything else to go off of.” the purple merc reminds them. A destination in mind, the trio rocket away from the jumbo sized monitor and further above the skyline; gliding north away from the city square.

“Yeah, no. You guys ain’t getting in.” Out at the front entrance of the hospital itself, a lone police officer prevents the trio from barging inside; standing against the entrance doors. “What!?” Tore shouts. “Fuck off!” Roy bark. “Why not!?” Mally questions. “Its cause the staff and police in there are way too busy taking care of all the comatose patients coming from all over the city. So unless any of you have sustained any life threatening injuries or know any victims inside for visiting hours, I’m afraid I can’t let you all in.” “As a matter of fact, officer, we do know somebody inside and we oh so desperately want to see them in their hour of need.” the blue angel dramatically feigns. “Oh really, mind giving a last name?” “Of course, dear police woman of the law. Its...uh...” While attempting to conjure from the bowls of his mind a plausible last name, the blue boy gazes around for whatever he could for reference; first catching a passing truck with buttered corn on a kob. “Corn...” The next to enter is field of vision be an open manhole, several worker attempting to redirect traffic as one of them accidently falls in. “hole...a...” He manages to craft the final piece of his faux last name by glancing to a sign on the wayside, finishing with: “Sign...” Turning back to the officer with a smile, the blue angel takes in a deep breath and claims to her that: “You’re not really buying this, are you?” “Obviously not.”

“Even if you don’t believe that bullshit, we actually do have somebody that has medical treatment.” Roy suddenly protest. “And that would be-” Before the police woman could finish questioning the merc, everyone proves shocked to witness the young purple teenager slug himself right in the kidney; the self inflicted punch causing Roy to double over in pain. After coughing out pint of blood from his mouth, the merc looks up to the officer as he moans and wheezes if: “Now you mind letting us in.” The officers shock swiftly deflates before the downed purple merc, the police woman dead face demanding that: “Please leave before I have you all arrested.”

Along the opposite side of the hospital behind the dumpster, Tore has his hand firmly placed along his purple brother’s side; a soft white glow enveloping the part of his waist as he screams: “What a big blue bitch! Practically spilling out my own insides on the hot concrete and she won’t ask if I was alright. Outta have her sorry sexy ass fired for turning down somebody in need like that. Fuck her with a barbed cattle prod.” “Since just busting through the front door is obviously not an option, how else are we supposed to get inside?” Mally ponders. “I don’t get it. Can’t we just sneak inside through the roof?” the blue angel wonders. “And have a ton of people wonder who we are. And why we’re there? Face it. There’s way too many staff on hand right now to sneak inside reliably.” “Not to mentions it would eat too much of our time up. Unless we happen to have a police uniform on hand, getting through would be next to impossible.” Right in that moment does the sharp sound of a brief siren horn penetrate their ears; all of their eyes drawn to the nearby corner. Peeking beyond the hospitals brick corner, all three of them find the back of a lone cop car parked along the side of the building; housing only a single police officer inside. “Guess we found our uniform. Now we just have to find a way to get it.” Tore claims. “I think I might know how.” Roy claims with a devious grin. “Does it involve beating the crap outta that cop?” Mally questions. “Yees.”

From the comfort of his heated cop car, the lone policeman peels back the paper lid of his steaming cup of noodles; the aroma of vegetables and pork filling the inside of the vehicle. He digs his fork into a bit of the soft noodles dwelling within the cup, pulling them up towards his mouth as the steam escapes from within. Mere seconds before he could savor their flavor, a desperate plead for help penetrates the shell of his cop car; the officer hearing somebody cry out: “Officer, help!” Glancing to the side, the policemen discovers an orange haired girl right outside his window; hearing her further plead on how: “My brothers bleeding out behind the hospital. I can’t carry him by myself.” Hearing this, the upstanding officer swiftly puts his cup of noodles away and rushes out the door; promising the girl that: “Don’t worry. I’ll help you carry your brother inside. Where is he?” “He’s around the corner! Hurry!” Claiming such, the kind officer follows the young girl out beyond the corner of the hospital; rushing out to the other side as he informs how: “Hang on, son. The docs inside will patch you right...uh...” Perplexing the policeman, he finds not a single soul awaiting behind the corner; not even so much as a body to discover. “Hold on, where is you broth-” Just before the officer could finish questioning the girl, he soon feels the brunt of the purple angels knuckles punch him square in the face; the blunt strike proving more than enough to knock the man in blue clean out.

Hog tied and stripe of his uniform, the unconscious officer is tossed right in the dumpster; the blue angel shutting the lid and turning to his siblings to ask if: “So, you think he’s gonna be okay in their while we “Borrow” his clothes.” “Ah don’t worry. I’m sure the dozens of diseased ridden rats and cockroaches’ll keep him plenty busy.” Roy claims as he dusts off their freshly pilfered uniform. The merc then tosses the blue uniform over to his blue brother and demands that he: “Now get dressed, you’re sneakin in.” Catching the uniform in his arms, Tore wonders: “Me? Why can’t either of you do it.” “Reason Mally can’t do it is cause nobody’s gonna reliably believe that a cop would be that damn short.” This passive aggressive comment gets the purple merc a hockey stick to the head, alongside his sister claiming that: “I’m still growing, asshole!” “And the reason you can’t?” Tore persists. “Agh! Cause strolling around as an officer with one arm is just asking to get ya stopped constantly with: “Oh, how did you lose your arm?” or “You must have been some hero willing to sacrifice your limb to save someone else.” Like “Bitch, I ain’t got any of yo time for your curious bullshit! I’m on the fuckin clock! Move yo sexy ass’s aside; I got shit to do.” I’d just be that kinda Saturday night show on repeat the entire god damn time.” “Alright, fine. Just gimme a couple minutes to get dressed and get in there.” Requesting this, the blue angel ascends to the roof of the hospital with the uniform in hand; parts of his clothes fluttering down to his awaiting siblings.

Coming out from the doorway leading to the rooftop, the blue angel enters the polished white halls of the city’s hospital; tucking in his blue hair underneath the signature police cap. Passing by a hallway mirror, the officer impersonator stops to take a good look at himself in uniform; realizing that he pulls off blue like a beast. Still, that ain’t much of a surprise. We’re talking about the guy that combos with a blazer pretty damn well. Wonder if this uniform comes in white. Interrupting his self reflecting be the harsh sound of a child’s cry; the disguised angel’s eyes drifting off to the nearby door. Glancing through the doors window, he discovers a woman and her child at the beside of a comatose patient; the little boy left sobbing in tears from his fathers unconscious body. A saddening site that further drives the blue boys determination, though urges him to look somewhere else to let his siblings inside.

While venturing away from the occupied patients room, the disguised boy in blue hears a sudden voice underneath him filtered by static; Tore glancing to his belt to find the police radio going off and broadcasting another officer that says: “Officer Barbrady, come in. Do you copy?” Despite his initial nervousness, the indigo angel detaches the radio from his pilfered belt and opens communications with: “Uh...Y-yes ma’am. Just stationed at the Northwest hospital; attempting to interview the families visiting the comatose patients.” “Good. Stay stationed there to keep us updated on how many vacancies are left. Lord know’s there are only so many they can take.”

“Right, I’ll keep you updated with all that. B-Barbrady out.” With her fellow officer hanging up, the police woman puts her radio away as she gazes to the site of the break in before her and her crew; a pair of paramedics carrying an unconscious man out of their home via a stretcher from the broken doorway. Passing the pair of medics carrying the poor man away, the officer takes a good look at the door lying on the porch; taking note the untouched hinges along its side. A peculiar site indeed, especially counting no signs of blunt force or evidence of tools; almost as if somebody was inside and slide the hinges right off and put them back on. The question in mind being why exactly somebody would go through this much trouble just for a break in. As the police woman ponders such, she turns her attention to the other officers exiting the home; questioning them if: “You guys find any else to report? Any prints inside yet?” “Aside from the victims prints, we got nothing. You think with a seamless break in like this, they’d at least steal some loose change from the couch cushions; but absolutely nothing was stolen. No money, no tech, no jewels, no valuables; not even a single cent.” Hearing all this, a small growl escapes from between the police woman's teeth; the officer then claiming how: “That’s over the 50th case like that this week. We practically got the entire city’s force spread thin over this epidemic. Worse off, the docs back at the hospitals ain’t reporting anything wrong with them. It’s just not making any sense.”

Watching their investigation from along the roof of the building across the street, both the spice queen and her boy genius bitch witness something that the police fail to see; the site of their red headed sisters trail leading inside the very home they stand in. “And that would be the forth broken in house her trail has lead us towards. You wanna start assuming the worst or should I?” Cayenne questions. “It’s just not making any sense. What’s Chloe doing breaking into random people’s houses like this?” “You mean more than usual?” “Cayenne, I’m being serious here. We haven’t got a clue what she’s doing flying around town like this to people houses owned by people who’ve been rendered comatose; not to mention the site of police wherever we follow the trail not leaving the best impression.” “Kingsley, chill. I’m sure she’ll pop up on our radar sooner or later. Serena’s already workin on something that can trace her out.” “I’m not even sure we have that kinda time.” “The hell else are we supposed to do beside fuck off with dicks in our mouths?” “Hmm...We might have better luck if we go back home and get better equip. A couple of gadgets in the basement might help us out.” Claiming such, the boy genius rides upon the spice queens backside and take off into the city skies; both of them gliding out back towards the direction of the Spicer manor.

Back inside the white halls of the hospital, the boy disguised in lawful blue peeks inside another patient room; finally discovering one with a patient with no visitors. A rather pitiable site seeing this poor man rendered unconscious without so much as a single visitor by his bedside; but nonetheless making his room the perfect point of entry for his siblings to fly right on inside. The lone mans room proving the perfect entry point; Tore checks around to see if the coast is clear; darting his eyes around the halls for any unwanted witnesses. Finding the halls clear of anyone, the boy in blue rushes inside and shuts the door behind him; soon passing by the bedridden patient and right to the window. Looking beyond its glass, the blue angel glances down to find both of his siblings in waiting; unlocking the frame and sliding the window up.

On the ground floor underneath, both Mally and Roy patiently await for their blue brother to give them a way inside; all the while the orange girl persist on asking her purple brother on how: “So you not even gonna tell me how you lost Roxanne so fast? Cause last I heard, you guys were doing alright at the least. What the hell happened between you that night?” “And I keep having to mention that I don’t wanna talk about it. Seriously, can you at least give me the courtesy of a week to let the scars heal before prying right back in?” “I’m just wanting to figure out how it all fell apart. You were so excited to see her when you left and when you got back, you looked so dead inside. Why?” “What part of “I don’t wanna talk about it.” can I not get through your fucking helmeted skull!?” the merc aggressively questions, his tone taking the young girl back a bit. “Al-Alright, fine. You win. We’ll drop it.” “Egh...Sorry about that. It’s just been a little hard on me to get past; especially since it was about her-” Before the merc could continue to explain, both of them hear their blue brother overhead, announcing to them that: “Hey there kids. Wanna break into a hospital? Get yer 99 cent asses in here pronto.” Flying up to the floor their brother stands with the skater at his back, Roy and Mally climb through the open window; soon finding the comatose patient whose room they broke into. “Nice work, bro.” As the merc passes by his police disguise brother, Roy can’t help but correct him on how: “And my sweet ass is definitely worth more then a fuckin dollar, asshole...Its at least a hundred.”

Coming to the slumbering gentlemen’s bedside, the purple angel takes a quick scan through the man’s comatose body; repeatedly poking and slapping the poor guys face. “You think its like how mom was left?” Mally asks. “Yep, this poor bastard is just like how she was. Dead asleep and without a soul to speak of.” After inspecting the slumbering patient, the merc takes a glancing out the door’s window; his senses picking up a good few people inside the neighboring room gathered over what he finds to be an empty bed. Its probably a safe bet that its a family weeping over the condition of their loved ones; it be pretty damn stupid to believe them to be crying over literally nothing; a pattern that the merc can sense all through parts of the entire buildings. “And if the rest of the patients are anything like this guy, then we might have ourselves a good lead.” Turning back towards his two siblings, Roy goes on to explain how: “Whoever is flying around reapin souls outta people in the middle of the night like some vampiric asshole fresh of the cusp off discovering his crazed soul fetish is the same mofo that ganked our moms very own soul.” “Great, have any idea who it might be?” the skater questions. “Eh, not sure. Only really know a handful of people that can casually pluck souls outta people like a picking fermented apples from the orchard of a drunken fruit farmer.” Taking a turn to peek outside himself, the boy in blue witnesses staff roll in another comatose man through the white halls; a family of a woman and two children tailing the mans bed. A small smile forms between his cheeks as he declares that: “We might be able to find out. Time for this uniform to work its magic.”

Inside the room that the slumbering man had been left within, the doctor tending to the patient turns away from the comatose victim; gazing to the wife and claiming to the family how: “We have no idea what kind of ailment is troubling your husband, ma’am. All the tests we’ve done on the other patients like him have come up completely negative. I hate to say this, but I can’t accurately tell how long your husband may be in this coma for.” Hearing this news causes the wife to look to her two children, streams of tears welling in their eyes. “I’ll give all of you some privacy.” the doctor offers as she leaves the room. The door behind them shutting, the daughter of the two children gazes up to their mother and asks: “Mommy, will dad be okay?” “Oh, daddy will be alright. We just need to give him time to sleep.” “How long will it be until he wakes up?” the brother of the two kids question. “I’m...sure that it won’t be long until he gets right back up and gives us all a big hug.” the mom claims with trembling breath.

From giving her two children this false hope, she hears the door behind them open once more; the family glancing to the doorway to witness a lone blue haired officer coming inside to greet them all with: “Afternoon there, ladies and gents. How are ya’ll holdin up?” “Wait, who are you?” the woman questions. “I’m...with the Townsvilles police department, here under investigation on what’s been causing this comatose epidemic sweeping this fair city’s citizen. You think you’d be comfortable answering a couple questions?” “Oh...yeah, of course.” Once wiping away the tears in her eyes, she looks down to her two children and asks them if: “Kids, can you go to the cafeteria to get some snack so mommy can talk to the nice policeman?” “Yeah, mom.” Upon their mothers orders, the two stroll out the patients room; leaving the woman and the faux officer alone with their unconscious father. “I know how hard it must be talking about all this so soon, but-” “It’s fine, really. Maybe talking about this with somebody like you can at least give my family a little piece of mind. To know that someone out there is at least doing something to fix all this.”

Claiming such, the woman pulls a seat from the edge of the room as the false officer does the same; both taking their seats as the blue hair policeman first starts off with: “Obvious question outta the way: What were you and your spouse doing the night he was struck with a coma?” “M-My husband and I were in bed around 3 in the morning. I was feeling parched and my husband happened to have gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom; so I asked him to grab me a glass of water while he was up. While I was trying to drift off back to bed, I hear the sound of a strong wind blowing across my house; followed by the sound of breaking glass. I thought that maybe the windows broke, so I got myself up to find my husband so we could fix it. When I raced into the kitchen to go grab him however, I found him passed out onto the floor with bits of water and glass. As I looked through my kitchen for what might’ve happened, I look over to the door and I find it pried right off its frame with the hinges still screwed on. It still perplexes me how he wound up like this last night.” After retelling the events that transpired the night her husband was struck with a coma, a harrowing sigh escapes from her lips; further claiming on how: “The kids haven’t been taking it well either. I just don’t know what else to tell them. They love their dad so much, he means the world to them.” Despite his eyes drifting away from the woman’s last comment, the faux officer gazes back to the wife and presses further with: “I don’t wanna cause you any further distress then you must be already going through, but did you happen to notice anything peculiar when you checked on your husband? Something leaving the scene perhapes?” “You mean aside from the door being taken off?” “Clearly.” “Well, there was one thing that I caught the minute I found my husband. When I saw him on the ground, I notices something shining just outside my window. I go outside, thinking that somebodies out there; call the police and get a give them a good description. But the moment I get out, the light was already too far in the sky to see who it might be. All I could make out was a bright pink glow.”

From within the dark corridors of the Spicer abode, a bright pink glow reflects off the kitchen tile as it escapes into the black recesses of the manor; the darkened halls swiftly filling with light as the front doors crack open. Behind the wooden door stood both the boy genius and the Spice queen, Cayenne gazing to the shadowy halls ahead and wondering aloud: “The hell are your lights out for?” As both of them stroll further through the darkened halls of the manor, the son of the abode calls out to his parents with: “Mom, Dad. Any of you home? Did the police call yet?” The young boys call falls on deaf ears however, Kingsley’s voice echoing through the shadowy halls of the manor. “Think they might’ve just fucked off?” Cayenne wonders. Pulling out his phone, the boy genius takes a quick glance to his messages, claiming on how: “I didn’t get any texts. Maybe Dad’s in the basement.” As the duo venture further through the darkness of the manor, both of them turn on whatever lights they can; all the while repeatedly calling for both of the boy geniuses parents. “Mom, Dad! Where are you?” “Mr and Mrs. Spicer? You can put the explosives away, its just us.” In hopes of covering more house, the duo split apart, the spice queen heading towards the kitchen while the boy genius heads for the basement. Cayenne finally glides inside the darkened corners of the manors kitchen, gazing into its shadows to attempt and find a light switch; her eyes drawn to a lone hand breaking from the void. Curious of whose hand it is, the spice queen enters further in the kitchen; a horrified glare forming the further she comes in.

Creaking open the basement door, the light from the hallway above leaks into shadows below; the boy genius standing in the doorframe as he stares down into the black void of his underground lab. “Dad...you in here?” Kingsley calls out to his father, his voice ringing down the steps. With his call baiting no response. The boy genius prepares to descend the steps into the darkness below, carefully climbing down each step at a time. He doesn’t even get to a quarter of the way down before his ears catch the call of his friend crying: “K-Kingsley!” Hearing such, the boy genius himself swiftly climbs back up the bright hallway; soon sprinting across the halls as he shouts: “Cayenne, what’s wrong!”

His urgent question yielding no response, Kingsley hurries through the halls of his manor; following the source of the spice queens call towards the kitchen. The young man finally reach his rough and tough friends side, finding Cayenne left completely paralyzed in horror as her gaze is locked to the shadows of the tiled floor. Gazing into the kitchen himself, the young man is meet with a nightmare of his becoming a reality; a deep and primal glare of incredible dread forming across his face. Before the two teenagers lie Kingsleys own mother, struck motionless upon the kitchen tile and rendered completely unconscious. This dreadful site fresh before him, the young man sprints back towards the basement; Cayenne glancing to her departing friend as he retreats from her side. Rushing through the basement door, the boy genius jumps down the darkened steps in a single bound; landing right at the very bottom. “Dad!” he cries out as he flips the light switch. The lights above flood the entire basement with their glow; illuminating the underground lab and revealing yet another site that conjures the young mans horrible nightmares before him. Kingsley’s own father lying motionless across the workbench; the tools at his side falling to the polished marble floor.

Along the back of the hospital, the blue angel tosses his pilfered police uniform inside the very dumpster they left the hog tied officer in; glancing to his purple brother as he review that: “So all the info we managed to cope outta the victims families all say the same damn thing. That somebody shining a bright pink light around is going around and harvesting souls as fast as a farmer on the cusp of a nuclear winter.” “So we just gotta find and beat the shit outta this bitch and we’ll get everyone’s souls back; even our mom’s.” Tore claims. “If only it were that simple. We still don’t got any clue whose behind this soul stealing spree. All we have to go by is that the thief likes bright pink. Not exactly the best lead to go off of.” Mally reminds them. “Actually, I think I might have a hunch of who our culprit might be.” the merc testifies. “Really?” his sister questions. “Who you think it is?” his blue brother wonders. Just before their purple brother could answer them, the trio hear somebody’s phone go off; the orange skater pulling out her mobile device and checking her messages; claiming that: “Got a texts from Kingsley. Saying we need to come to his place ASAP.” “What for? Don’t they know we’re busy?” Roy questions. “He doesn’t say. Must be important enough enough to type in all caps though.” “The hell are we waiting around for. Let’s move!” Tore declares. Just as the trio take off towards the direction of their friends manor, a dump truck turns the hospital corner and pulls up to the dumpster; the truck grabbing hold of the dumpsters side and pouring its contents in the back, the unfortunate tied policeman tumbling right alongside the miscellaneous garbage.

Resting upon the Spicer’s living room couch, both Kingsley’s mother and father lie peacefully next to each other; all the while their son beside them gazes upon them with a mix of wayward panic and fear. “So, both of them were like this when you came in?” Mally asks. “Yep. Completely out when we got here. Tried everything to wake them up. Even smacking Mr.Spicers face around a couple times. Not even a wink.” Cayenne confirms. “I..I just-I...I don’t know how all this could happen so fast… Just last night, everything was going so well. Surround by friends and family after winning the biggest inventors show in town, I was the happiest I could ever be… Now...and now...my family is practically falling apart before my eyes. And I don’t know how to make it all better. I don’t know how to fix any of it!” In the midst of the boy genius’s panicking episode; his best friend grasps the boys backside; urging him to: “Kingsley, relax. I’m sure we can get through this.” “Who-Why would someone do all this!?”

Approaching the comatose couple, the blue angel gazes upon their still, motionless bodies; opening the fathers eye to find his pupil bleak and lifeless. Once taking a look at the two, Tore turns to his purple brother and questions if he: “Think its the same?” “Exactly the same. Like our mom and all those other patients at the hospital, both of their bodies are completely devoid of any trace of a soul left.” Pulling away from the boy genius, Cayenne turns over to the merc himself, questioning the purple bastard if: “Hold the hell on here people. You tellin me you three know what the fucks going on with this comatose bull?” “Sure do. Whoever stole our mom’s and everyone else’s souls just paid both of Kingsley parents a little visit here.” the skater explains. “And we might have a pretty good guess who might be behind it.” the blue angel adds. “Who you think it is?” Hearing Cayenne question them such, the trio gaze upon one another with worry in their eyes; Mally breaking from their stare and warning that: “You guy might not like hearing who we think it is.” “Please...just tell us.” Kingsley pleads as he pulls himself away from his parents bedside. The spice queen can’t help but look to the boy genius with concern, asking him if: “Kingsley, you sure your up for this.” “All I know is that there isn’t enough time for me to be sure. We need to act now if we wanna start fixing all this. Even if it may seem impossible, we need to keep going.” Her friends little speech makes the spice queen crack a small smile, Cayenne turning to the trio and demanding that: “You heard the man. Lay it on us.” When pressed to continue, a small hiss escapes from between the purple mercs teeth; finally claiming to the two of them that: “We...We think that the culprit might be your little sister.”

This shocking speculation reaching their ears, their determination is swiftly cut short in but an instant; their pupils shrinking to the size of peas. “What?...” “That...That’s….That’s fucking horseshit! Don’t fucking joke like that!” the spice queen screams, seemingly on the verge of lashing out at them at any moment. “Were...being serious here, Cayenne. All the friends and family of the patients I’ve talked to at the hospital gave almost the same story; that shortly after finding their loved ones comatose, they saw a bright pink light leaving the scene.” Tore explains. “I can’t make any sense of this. What would drive her to suddenly go around and take peoples souls, especially from our own parents?” “You two notice anything off about her before she went MIA?” the merc questions. “Well, mom did say Chloe was acting strange before she left, like she was trying to hide the fact that she was upset about something. She didn’t say anything that night cause of the party and thought she needed some time to herself. God, why didn’t I notice anything? I was so busy celebrating with my friends and family that I didn’t even realize she wasn’t with us! What kind of big brother am I!?” the boy genius self deprecates, tears welling in his eyes. In the midst of the boy genius’s potential breakdown, Cayenne grasp his side and urges him to: “Kingsley, relax. I’m sure we’ll find her. There’s still time to salvage all this.” “She’s right Kingsley, we don’t got time to break down and cry here. All of us need to work together if we wanna sort all this out.” Tore explains.

“Mind if I cut in this little moment to remind everyone that we still don’t got a way to tell where our little cherry coke culprit is at and we basically still have next to nothing to go off of?” Roy interupts. “Aren’t you the one with the senses and social decency of a dirty bloodhound? Why can’t you just sniff them out yourself?” the spice queen rudely counters. “That usually be the case, especially with how much power that little necklace of hers is carrying. And yet despite that, I can’t feel a thing. Can really only think of two reasons why; either she got the hell outta dodge and fucked off outta town.” “Or?” Tore wonders. “She found some a way to cover her tracks. And judging from the little soul harvest that happened last night, it’s probably more of the latter than the former.” “So what does all that mean?” the boy genius questioning. “He’s full of shit is what it means.” Cayenne rudely claims. “Still, even with all the people she’s been reaping, I doubt she can carry them all on her at once; especially given the rapid rate she’s collecting them.” the merc continues. “You think Chloe might be stockpiling them somewhere?” Tore wonders. “If that’s true, then how come you can’t find where they’re all that?” Mally adds. “Could be cloaking them all the same way she’s cloaking herself. Don’t know how though.”

“Alright, I had just enough of this bag of prepackage zebrashit. What the hell makes all of you so sure that Chloe doing all this instead of being in the hands of child trafficking psychopath?” “Oh, I’m sorry. You happen to know anybody else that can glow a bright shade of neon pink...No? Well then, may I courteously invite your spicy mouth to taste the jalapeno chili sliding out of my rectum?” “How bout I make you taste something else, you purple prick!?” Before the spice queen could throw a single punch to the merc’s smug ass face, the blue angel gets between the two of them; Tore confessing to the spice queen that: “Look, we don’t know if its Chloe for sure. But given the increase in coma cases since last night, it just something we should keep in mind.” “Imma about serve both of ya’ll a fresh hot can of whoop ass stew if you don’t shut yer damn mouths.” Its then that the entire confrontation is put to a sudden stop when all three of them hear the orange skater go off on them; screaming to them that: “All of you just shut up! We’re all on the clock here and we can’t waist the minutes giving each other piles of crap. If any of you wanna help us get everyone’s souls back and save potential hundreds of live, then can all of you kindly stop flinging yer shit like a bunch of fuckin monkeys!” Hearing such a booming outburst come from the orange skater causes everyone to grow completely silent; the spice queen can’t help but give her a little applause.

To his guest’s loud outburst, the boy genius takes a glance back to both of his comatose parents lying upon the felt of their couch; affirming to all of them that: “She’s right.” Kingsley gazes back to the rest of them with a determined glare, continuing to back Mally’s statement with: “If were actually gonna get anywhere in this mess, we need to stop fighting with each other and combine both of our investigations into one. We won’t rest until we find Chloe and who’s been taking everyone’s soul.” “Guess we know who’s callin the shots here. What you think we should do?” the blue angel wonders. “First thing we should do is try and gather more info on all this. A clue or two to point us in the right direction.” “Didn’t you say something earlier about the police investigating Chloe’s disappearance?” the skater reminds. “The boys in blue are workin on it, but I doubt they’d be much help. And I doubt they’ll be so ready to hand over their confidentials to a bunch of random ass kids.” Cayenne confirms. “Not unless you pull in a couple of favors from the inside.” the purple merc corrects. “From a merc job of yours?” Tore guesses. “Somethin like that. Caught wind of a little scandle involving Townsville’s boys in blue a couple weeks back. They might help us if they don’t want their shit to get leaked. The kinda shit that makes people wanna punch you in the throat and beat the juicy red organs outta you while gasping for air. Calling in a couple of those kinds of favors should get us hooked up with all the info we need on both cases.” “Sorry but, are we really gonna go so far as to blackmail the police to get what we want?” the boy genius questions. “Yes.” the spice queen bluntly states. “I-...Tsk, alright then. Guess I’ll stay here and read what I can from it all. It might be best for the rest of you guys to go around and ask our friends for anything they might’ve saw.” “Sounds like a plan.” Mally claims. “Gotcha, Captain.” Tore salutes. “Right behind ya.” Cayenne states. “Hopefully we can muster enough clues out’ve it all to fix this whole mess before it all comes tumbling down on us.”

Throughout the entire police station, the few officers within scramble through the insides in efforts to manage the oncoming calls and reports; the sound of footsteps and voices ringing inside the entirety of the station as they man the phone lines and carry in new documents. Taking the brunt of all this stress be the very captain of the force himself, glued to his private desk as he looks over the constant cases coming in; taking a couple of ibuprofen pills with his coffee in between his hefty breath. Come on, Captain Blanks; get a hold of yourself. Everyone in the city is hauling in coma reports and counting on you to get to the cause of this epidemic. Hopefully, we can find whose behind all this; for the sake of the city’s sanity...and ours.

In the midst of his constant work on the tablet, the intercom beside him sounds off; somebody on the other end informing the chief that: “Captain Blanks. There’s a private call directed to your office that’s attempting to get through. He says he’s a friend of yours.” “Are you kidding me, Jackson? Do we look like we got time for any kind of prank these teenagers have up their asses? Turn them down!” “Uh, the caller’s saying he want to talk to you about something called, uh...The Strawberry Jamboree of Mildreds farm.” Hearing this bizarrely specific phrase is all it takes to instantly send a freezing chill up the captains spine; the man left standing stiffly silent as the tablet in his hands drops to the floor. “Uh...Sir…Are you still there?” the receptionist questions. “Put him through.” “What?” “Now Jackson, and close the other lines!.” “Y-Yes captain!”

Once the captains receptionist hangs up, the cap’s own trembling hands grasps the neck of the private phone beside him; putting the phone up to his ear and hearing the caller greet the captain with: “Hi, Blanky babyyyy!” “What the fuck are you doing calling me at a time like this, Roy? You realize how busy we all are?” “Chillaz, big guy. I’m just calling in to cash in a little favor we settled on, that’s all.” “I seriously don’t have a single second to spare for you to fling your bullshit at me. The entire police force is up to their necks in constant comatose cases coming in from all over the city and we’re spread out thinly enough as is. I sure as hell don’t need another headache on me to worry about right now.” “Well ain’t that just a big coinkydinky for us all, ain’t it. A couple of my pallies and I are busy looking in the same exact thing; comatose people and all. You know we all have loved ones going through this shit, so you can probably understand. Which is why I’ll be needing to cash in that favor we agreed on a couple weeks ago on the farm; preferably in the form of whatever documents and evidence you guys managed to gather on the whole case. Sound cool?” “Are you being real with me? You’re just expecting me to drop everything we’re working on to sneak out confidential reports and documents with our ongoing case just to hand it all over to some random asshole on the phone? You know what that’ll make me look like?” “Can’t make you look any worse if the news outlets hear about all your little “guests” you took over at the strawberry farm.” “How the hell do you think I can haul out countless documents and reports from a hot ongoing case without getting my blue ass caught?” “I don’t fuckin know. Just copy a bunch and send it my way; it ain’t my problem. But it will be your’s if the entire state catches on with what kind of fertilizer their grocery bought strawberries are grown with.” “Nrrgh! Fine, just gimme a little time to work, kay.” “Thanks, blanky babyyy! Tell yer girl I said hi!” Their little negotiations ending with the purple merc giving a little smooch, the captain hears the line disconnect; the line ringing in his ears as a cold shutter runs down his spine. The captain slams the phone back on his desk as he waltzes out behind his desk; opening his door to face the sectritary on the other side and demanding: “Jackson, grab all the documented files we have on the comatose case, pronto.”

Standing to the face of a house stationed along the suburbs, the orange skater roughly knocks upon the front door; hearing from the other side a familiar voice urging her that: “Hang on a second!” After hearing this, Mally witnesses the door fling wide open to reveal the ice dragon herself; a slightly offput glare forming upon the skaters face when finding her snacking on a lone strawberry. “Oh uh, you. Nnn...Maylord, right?” “That-that’s not even a...” After stammering this, a small sigh escapes from the skaters lungs; continuing past the ice benders excuse to guess her name with: “Just look, I’m tryin to get around a little problem I have going on here. You happen to have heard anything from Chloe in the last 24 hours or so.” “Mind I ask why you wanna stalk her that badly? You that thirsty for cherry red coke?” The icy manipulators accusing questions causes the skater face to glow beat red; defensively flustering aloud that: “No-I-wh-Ju-It’s-it’s just for business reasons, okay!?” “Yuh huh. Sure.” Opal sarcastically agrees as she readies to shut her front door. Before the ice bender could slam the door shut, the orange skater jams her foot in the door frame; admitting to Opal that: “Fine. It’s cause Chloe went missing! She didn’t come home last night and Kingsley and the others are trying to find her.”

The ice bender hearing her sudden visitor claim such, she opens her door for the skater once more; letting out a little sigh before answering her with: “Alright. I might have seen something up with her.” “Like what?” “Well, I was walking back home from the mall last night after getting a pair of cute shoes for only half off last night; figured since I had most of my winter gear on, I might as well take a little stroll along the scenic route cause I haven’t had a good walk in forever.” “Is this gonna take long?” “I’m getting to it. Anyway, I take a little stop over to this small part of downtown; the place with the cute little ramen shop that do the chocolate fortune cookie. I figured why not grab something to eat since I mom wouldn’t be home until ten.” “So where does Chloe come in?” “Patients dammit. Before I could go right in, I look over and see her right across the street all by herself. I figured that she might just been lost or going home so I thought why not grab a bite with her; it’ll give us some time to catch up. As I was walking towards her however, I notices that she was talking to herself; all while holding out that little pink gem of hers from around her neck. And as soon as I found her, the red head just flew off without so much as another word. I’ll be honest, it kinda creeped me out a bit.” “You happen to catch which way she was going?” “If I remember correctly, I saw her heading out towards the east side of town. Don’t really know why’d she want to go there really. I hear its kind of a mess over there.” “Alright, thanks a bunch Opal.” the orange skater claims. Having finished questioning the ice bender, she starts to take her leave from Opal’s home; but not before glancing back to point at her strawberry and warn her that: “By the way, don’t eat those strawberries; they’re made out of dead people.” The sudden warning causes the ice girl to cough up whatever pieces of strawberry she has in her mouth; the pieces falling to her front step as she panics with: “Pffth, ah, cak! What!?”

In front of another home far deeper in the bowls of the city, the spice queen herself gives the door a less than gentle knock; a little green eyed girl cracking its wood open as she gazes to her bigger cousin. “La prima? I didn’t expect you to pay us a visit. Usually its the other way around when our papa needs a babysitter. May I invite you in.” “Hate to rush ya, Bianca; but I don’t got a lotta time on my hands. You all happen to know what’s going down to coma epidemic around here?” “I don’t know about-” “Yo Cayenne, I got somethin! Get yo ass in here!” they hear echoing from inside. “Ty, me hermano! What did I say about shouting in the house!?” A nervous giggle escaping the young girl, she glances back to her older cousin and offers how: “May I offer you some pizza while your here. It came just this momento.”

As Bianca invites the spice queen inside, Cayenne’s eyes venture upwards as she walks into the living room; an impressed whistle leaving her lips. “Holy shit, Ty. I figured you were all over this shit, but god damn.” Standing before the spice queen be an entire wall covered in, documents, notes, records, statements, and plenty and plenty of photo’s; all weaved in a web of countless strings. “Hell yeah, bitches! I’ve been lookin all this from top to bottom like some cracker browsin the wine section at Wal-Mart. I got me some juicy conspiracies here on how all this a ploy by the government for testing some kind of new military weapon on their hands like a bunch of damn guinea pigs.” “Yeah, that’s great Ty, but-” “In fact, the only reason they though of settin it off here is cause they wantin to see how many homies get hit with it. They seein if they can get anyone with super power to fall fo it too, hoping to snuff us out if we catch on to them.” “Ty, I need you to-” “But I’ve been on to those motherfucka’s since this shit started. Right behind them trackin every move they do, takin pic, doc, notes, whateva I got my hands on.” Once realizing she could get her little cousin to stop his indulgent theory ranting anytime soon, the spice queen takes a seat right on their cousins couch; a frustrated sigh leaving her lips as she sits down. Her littler cousin, Lequan soon comes in the living room with a whole box full of steaming pizza and takes a slice as he sits next to his older cousin; the spice queen soon taking a slice of her own as she waits how the storm of verbal diarrhea gushing from Ty’s mouth. Might as well, it ain’t like he’s gonna be stopping anytime soon.

A massive stack of countless files slams itself down upon a wooden desk; the impact of which makes the entire table tremble to its legs. The boy genius is left utterly bewildered by how tall the collection of police reports and documents that the purple merc had promised. “Uhn...not to sound ungrateful for this frightening amount of information to work with here, but mind if I ask which strings you had to pull to get all this?” “Mind if I ask you if your sexy twink ass really wants to know what dark secrets bellow underneath your city’s police forces that they’d kill to keep outta the public eye, or do ya wanna close those cute little blowjob lips of yours and get started on going through all these reports and documents that your precious purple pal got for ya?” It takes the boy genius a good few seconds to think of a response to the merc’s lewd question; constantly opening and closing his mouth until he finally requests that: “Heya, how bout you take the time to search through the city with the others a couple times. I’m betting they could use someone like you to help out.” “Alright, I get it. But just so you know, I’ll be waiting.” the merc claims as he leaves the boy genius with the huge stack of reports. As soon he hears the sound of his front door shutting, Kingsley lets out a spine curdling shutter; quaking in his shoes as he wonders aloud: “It must be a real story on how Mally wound up getting a guy like that as her brother.”

Facing another house nesting in the suburbs, the blue angel frantically beats the face of the homes front door; Tore watching as a small orange haired demon cracks the door open with a less than patient glare. “Heyo Alex! How ya doing, ya little demon? I was wanting to ask you if-” Before even hearing whatever nonsense the blue angel has to spew out from his mouth, the little demon slams the front door right in his visitors face, walking back toward his living room as an annoyed growl leaves his lungs. Seriously, there’s only so much irritating bullshit that a demon can handle at once; and that big pile of it just outside is something no demon should have to deal with. Better off digging through actual manure than delving into whatever kind of migraine inducing nonsense that blue idiot wants subjugate all of us through.

Before Alex could put that potential headache behind him, the sound of breaking glass soon reaches his ears; turning back to find the blue nuisance delving straight through the window. Witnessing his indigo intruder arise from the carpet in a mess of glass shards and blood, the orange haired demon backs away against the wall as the blue angel lumbers over; hearing the bloody blue dumbass ask: “Think I could I could ask ya a couple questions, buddy?” With his blue intruder slowly approaching, Alex forms a sharp blade from his trembling arm and warns him to: “St-stay back, you dimwitted oaf! I’m sharply armed.” “Oh, guessin your two busy to help Kingsley out, huh?” As soon as the demons ears catch the sound of the boy genius’s name, Alex’s frightened demeanor takes a complete one eighty; a sharp gasp escaping his mouth as his blade arm returns to normal. “My Kingsley needs me?” “Um...well, he’s trying to find-” Before the angel could finish explaining, he feels his demonic host grasp the collar of his glass coated blazer; exclaiming that: “What in burning depths of Satans own boiling bathhouse are we standing around like some brain dead urchins here for? If my Kingsley needs me, then there’s no time for us to gawk around! To the manor we go forth!” Declaring such, the little demon races out his front door faster than the angel’s eye could catch up; Tore watching as Alex takes off towards the setting sun in the horizon. Glancing back inside, the blue boy discovers the demons own mother sitting in the living room; staring upon the angel that crashed through her window. “Hi, Ms Utonium. Nice to see your son eager to help! Bye!” Once giving his short greeting, Tore charges towards the neighboring window leaps right through its fragile glass; crashing through as he yells out: “Yeet!” After witnessing the young man casually break through both of her front windows, all that Alex’s mother could muster was a frustrated sigh; pinching her forehead as her gaze drops to her glass shard covered carpet.

Back within the Spicer abode itself, Kingsley continues studying through the dozens upon dozens of police reports and document scattered across his desk space; the constant noise of paper sounding through the house as he scans through the files. The boy genius suddenly stops filing through the reports when inspecting two of them at once; noticing an odd and sudden change in the case reports. This doesn’t make any sense. According to the documents filed before the other night, the reports that came in had the witnesses describe something else leaving the scene; something leaving behind a rainbow like trail while fleeing. Why the change in color? Maybe to throw people off? The suspect might be changing, but something in most of the reports have been consistent all the way through. The vast number of comatose victims that have been coming up from all this have been primarily men, very rarely do any woman seem to have been effected. A rather specifically bizarre demographic to target; could be something to keep in mind when sussing out a suspect. Something else to note is which direction the culprit escapes towards; most of the witness reports claiming that they see them escaping out towards the east. Roy did say something about how they might be stockpiling them somewhere; a likely place they’d store them all in the east side of town. Even if given little clues on whose going around and reaping out people souls, there could still be a way to figure out where the culprit might be keeping them all. With all this, at least we all can wake everyone from their coma’s; hopefully we can do it in time before those not on life support don’t… This thought dwelling in his head, Kingsley takes a glance back towards the living room; both of his comatose parents lying peacefully on the couch next to eachother. No...It won’t come to that. We will wake everyone before they die. Even if it takes every ounce of effort that all of us can spare. This motivation ringing in his head, the boy genius turns back to his report littered desk and pulls out his laptop; bringing up an entire detailed map of Townsville right on screen.

The twilight lit sun shining at his side, the purple merc glides across the sunset kissed skyline; all the while pondering aloud on how: “It just don’t add up here. How can this soul reaping shit stain even hide from my senses. Hadn’t had much trouble tracking people down before. Think you can quit with the “thou must not interfere with the holy plan” bull of an excuse and actually help us out for once, Hera?” “I’ve told you countless time that there are rules that a goddess like myself must abide by. Though that doesn’t mean I can’t relay helpful advice to my messenger.” “And?” “As embarrassing it is for me to admit, I’ve had just as much luck as you have attempting to find this soul snatching suspect...or Chloe for that matter.” “You too, huh? Think they might be some kind of undead robbing people of their lives and eating them like screaming chunky beef stew.” “Believe me when I say that I’d notice somebody like that roaming around. Raising the dead is practically a steep taboo. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise to say how it doesn’t work out as well as people wish. No, I’d wager it be somebody whose capable of high level concealment magic. How else could they hide themselves from us?” The goddess in his head claiming all this, the merc’s gaze drifts towards the streets below; a discomforting groan escaping from his line. “A bit nervous, are we?” Hera wonders. “It’s just the small bits that are getting to me. The fact that I can’t tell where the culprit or the victims are, the sudden and unexplained abductions, the mentions of powerful magic; all if its just screaming to me in loud and weird profanity on how all of this feels eerily familiar.” “You think you have an idea on who might be behind all of this?” These familiar patterns ringing in his head, it quickly dawns on him who exactly fits the bill for it all; Roy’s purple eyes suddenly shrinking as a chill runs down his spine. “Roy?” Before the goddess in his head could speak any further, the purple merc turns a complete one eighty and rockets straight back towards the manor he flew from.

Slumped on the couch at her cousins place, Cayenne is about on her last straw having with Ty’s constantly spewing conspiracy bullshit; hearing the young boy continue on and on with: “That’s why they hopin to use these weapon to take over the African government to line their pockets, the crackers up top tryin to cut my brotha’s from right underneath them.” “Come on...” the spice queen utters. “And once they done with my homies, they gonna go for the Chinese next. Hoping to get their hands on the market and squeeze out as much as they can from their hoods.” “I really don’t give a shi-” “The last part of their plan involves finally makin this whole thing public and reveal what they been doin the whole time. Scarin everyone to do as they say and finally take over the-” “Ty!” His cousins sudden outburst finally gets him to stop rambling on, at last giving the spice queen the time to say that: “I ain’t here to listen to your constant conspiracy ranting. I’m being serious when I say I need actual tangible evidence on this case. Not one of your overblown theories; practical facts.” “Oh ho, you say my conspiracy game is bullshit; but I manage to snag me a couple a good pics. Including one with the bitch behind all this. Saw her sorry ass leavin a scene of the crime just last night.” “Wait, “Her”? Ty, what did you see?”

“Right so check it. I was going around town under one of my investigations into this shit. Trackin the patterns of which homes she was hittin.” “You mean you just stumbled on it?” “While going through one of the neighborhoods, caught myself a little pink light landin nearby, went to check it out. Wind up flying to the next street over and found the glowing girl leaving just as fast from one of the homes. As the pink bitch was flyin off, I pull out my phone and got me a pic of her.”

Gazing upon her cousins phone, Cayenne finds on the screen a sort of blurry photo of a shadowy figure surrounded in glowing pink trail through the night sky. “This it?” she wonders. “I...Well...Th-the hell did you expect in the midst of the action. This line of work ain’t about quality. Lucky I wound up getting what I did before the bitch flew off. Took off faster than a damn Lamborgini going down the hood at night, just racin to get outta there.” Inspecting the photo closely, Cayenne is able to make out some specifics of the runaway culprit; looking around to be a young teenage girl with long hair reaching her mid waist. Though she can’t make out much else from the womans figure underneath the shadows; she can tell that the source of the bright pink glow seems to be emanating from around her neck. These details fail to paint a hopeful picture for the spice queen, the voices of the merc and his two siblings claiming who the culprit may be ringing in her head. “Ty. Could you make out anything else? Like something about her hair?” Cayenne seriously question. “Well, seein as I got your attention. I was think that we could figure out what those CIA bitches be up to-” Interupting her cousins words, Cayenne grabs hold of Ty shoulders and brings him face to face; firmly questioning him: “What color was the hair, Tyquell?” “Damn girl, chill! It was red, kay. The hell’s the big deal for?” Having confirmed a wavering fear in head, Cayenne puts her cousin down and almost immediately sprints for the door; breaking down the door just as Bianca heads inside. “Aw, prima Cayenne leaving already. I was just finished making churro’s for us.”

As the spice queen speeds through the sunset kissed skies, she pulls out her phone and quickly attempts to call her best friend; hearing the dial go off on the other end. “Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up.” Unfortunately for her, Kingsley fails to answer; his phone going straight to voicemail. “God dammit, Kingsley! Why won’t you answer!? This is something you need to hear.”

Dwelling within the dimly lit recesses of the Spicer abode, the young boy genius’s phone is left on silent as he peruses through the dozens of documents littering his desk. On the screen of his laptop lay the map of Townsville, with several lines and points decorating the east side of the city. “It has to be somewhere around there. The reports all mention what direction the suspect is going, all them pointing towards a general direction. But where are they putting the souls, they have to hold them somewhere big enough to fit all of them; somewhere nobody would bat an eye to...Wait...” Its in pondering such that he glances to the papers once more, taking another look at the report to read on the exact directions the witnesses claimed the suspect was heading. It all then dawns on him; rapidly sliding over to his laptop and gliding the mouse to the east part of the map as he claims that: “I know where they are.”

Just before he could circle the location he has in mind, the side of his bedroom wall suddenly busts inward; enveloping the entire room in a thick cloud of wall dust. As he coughs up the puffs of dust, the boy genius races out towards the direction of his door; reaching his arm out to its handle as he sprint. Just inches from the doorknob, a wayward pink beam blasts off the handle; keeping Kingsley from escaping. With nowhere to run, the boy genius gazes towards the light permeating from the dissipating clouds; witnessing a single floating figure slowly glide in. “No...No…Why?” Kingsley utters as he backs against the face of his shut door, the approaching figures bright pink light blanketing his own. Above the brightly lit stone hanging around the intruders neck formed a sinister grin; her red lock flowing along the sides of the young girls pink dress.

#Young Hope #lillaxtrigger

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aliciameade · 5 years

Text

Baby - Ch. 8

Title: Baby Author: aliciameade Rating: *** M *** Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: That tearful kiss shared between Stephanie and Emily wasn't their first—and it certainly wasn't their last.

(Chapter 1)

Also on AO3

“Hi, Moms! Stephanie here.” Stephanie smiles into one of the cameras set up in her kitchen. “My best friend, Emily, and I are taking a girls’ trip to sunny southern California this week. I grew up on the east coast and have never been west of the big Mississippi, so let me know in the comments what I absolutely must do, see, or take on my trip!”

She switches to Camera 2. “It’s with that in mind that today we’re going to make our own travel toiletry bags! All you need is a yard of fun fabric and a few buttons. You can also use Velcro strips or ribbon, or if you’re feeling really fancy, a zipper. Ready? Okay!”

~ ~

Her subscribers—she thinks of them as a family, really—were helpful in their suggestions. She folds and packs an extra cardigan to protect her from the chill that might roll in late in the evening off the water. Briefly, she considers “forgetting” any outer layers at all; the prospect of doing something obscenely romantic with Emily like strolling on the beach and getting chilly and being offered whatever expensive jacket Emily will surely be wearing is more than tempting.

But she sets the sweater on top of the négligée she’s found the perfect occasion for, and what she thinks might be too many pairs of panties but she also is pretty sure she’s going to need them.

Two-and-a-half days alone with Emily in another city with no looming husband and no dear, darling children to be cognizant of?

Yeah, she’s going to need them.

She didn’t ask Emily what she meant by “it” when she’d texted her last night saying, “Pack it.”

She has to bite her lip when she sees a loop of black leather of the harness peeking out from where it’s buried at the bottom of her suitcase.

Her toiletry kit, the one she perfected to use as her example on this week’s vlog, is the last thing to be tossed into her bag. Her heart races as she zips it. She’s minutes from loading Miles and her luggage into her Subaru to drop him—and her car—at Emily’s house.

With one final check that she has everything she thinks she might need in her purse and anything Miles might want while he has his two-night sleepover with Nicky, she shepherds him out of the house, locks up, and leaves.

~ ~

She realizes, as she steps into the hired car waiting outside Emily’s home, she has no real idea how they’re getting anywhere. Emily had said they’re taking Dennis Nylon’s private jet, but beyond that, she’s uninformed. She doesn’t know where they’re staying, if they’ll have a rental or a driver in Los Angeles, or even what Emily’s work commitments are while they’re there.

She’s never traveled without an itinerary and there’s something oddly exciting about it.

She slides over to the far side of the back seat and watches Emily take a seat next to her, graceful and dapper as always in what Stephanie surmises is a version of professional travel-casual. Her navy blue suit is tailored but it’s only a two-piece. Simple blue slacks and blazer and a white blouse that’s not even buttoned up all the way, with brown loafers. Even her casual style makes Stephanie feel underdressed when she’d put extra effort into her outfit today. She knew private travel was a luxury and she wanted to fit the part. Her dress is designer, though a full four seasons ago, something from Kate Spade’s 2017 spring collection. She knows Emily probably knows it’s outdated, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“You look nice,” is actually what she says once the driver closes the door and they’re alone in the car for a few seconds before he’s behind the wheel.

“Thank you,” Stephanie replies, feeling a bit like a blushing schoolgirl. Emily can be so hot and cold with her communication and affection, and it manages to catch Stephanie off-guard every time.

Emily’s quiet after that, focused on her phone—texting or emailing, Stephanie supposes—leaving Stephanie to her thoughts. She wants to make conversation, but she’s not sure what’s okay to do or say with someone else in the car. The driver might be someone Emily uses frequently. It might not be okay if he overhears their conversation, even if it remains mundane and platonic about work or kids. She wants to ask what the plan is or even where they’re going.

She knows they’re heading east out of town. It’s growing increasingly industrial and she’s almost uneasy until they’re parking behind a massive warehouse.

She realizes, as she steps out the car, that it’s not a warehouse but a hangar because there’s helicopter parked and waiting in the middle of the wide open pad of asphalt.

“What is happening?” she says with a laugh as she watches Emily round the back of the car until she’s by her side. It’s only a touch of a hand to her back, but it makes Stephanie shiver.

“The plane is in Teterboro.”

Stephanie starts walking, half a step behind Emily because she was too surprised to move quickly. “So we’re taking a private helicopter to a private plane?”

Emily glances at her. The small smile she’s wearing is almost a smirk and it makes Stephanie feel a little childish in her excitement.

“I’ve never been in a helicopter, either,” she says as she follows Emily into the open bay door of the sleek black and white aircraft.

“The jet is nicer.”

Stephanie leaves an empty seat between them, unsure if it would be suspicious if they sat side by side when there was plenty of room in the six-seat cabin for the two of them.

Her decision is affirmed when they’re joined by a stranger, a man in a suit with a briefcase yelling into the Bluetooth earpiece he’s wearing about the manufacturing industry in China. He sits across from Stephanie and though his words aren’t directed at her, they feel like it as he stares through her in his heated conversation.

She turns to look at Emily in horror that they’re going to have to listen to this the entire trip to the airport to find that she’s already being watched. The tiny smirk is a full-on smile now and it makes Stephanie forget about the man as she returns it.

Whatever complaint Stephanie was about to lodge dies on her lips because Emily’s smiling at her in the back of a helicopter. It’s clear the man doesn’t know Emily; he’s talking factories and steel and he’d barely acknowledged their presence when he arrived. So, she decides to see what happens if she slides over to sit in the middle seat right next to Emily instead of leaving it empty.

The only thing that happens is a slight raising of eyebrows as Emily uncrosses her legs so her foot isn’t encroaching on Stephanie’s leg room.

Stephanie buckles her seat belt and when she sits back, she angles herself enough for her elbow to rest against Emily’s. She feels it lift in acknowledgment but the motion isn’t meant to push her away. A playful bump and a shared glance.

“How long is this flight?”

“Ten minutes.”

“That’s it?!”

Emily nods and turns to look out the window as Stephanie feels a roller coaster-like effect on her stomach and she realizes they’re airborne.

It’s too loud to carry on a conversation, not without putting on the comms headsets anyway, so Stephanie remains quiet in her excitement.

~ ~

“I feel like Ilsa in Casablanca,” Stephanie finally lets herself say as she and Emily walk across the tarmac from a helicopter to a private plane, its door open and waiting.

Emily glances down at her. “Rick is putting Ilsa on a plane to send her away at the end of Casablanca.”

“I know, but it’s still so romantic and glamorous, walking across the runway ready to get on a waiting plane with someone you—” She catches herself. “With someone.”

Emily doesn’t respond; she steps aside when they get to the steps of the jet, engines already humming. “After you.”

Stephanie’s seen interiors of private planes before—on celebrities’ Instagrams, in movies and the like—but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of stepping into an airplane cabin covered in nothing but white leather and polished wood with gleaming gold (well, probably brass or similar) accents. It was a very, very far cry from the Economy Class on American Airlines that she was accustomed to.

“This is…” She senses Emily waiting behind her and turns around to find her right where she knew she’d be. “Emily, I don’t even know what to say.”

Emily smiles and gestures toward the back of the plane. “Lady’s choice.”

Stephanie yearns to pop up onto her toes and kiss her but the cabin door is still open, crew are milling about doing their final checks and loading their bags, and the cockpit door is also open with the pilots readily visible. They’re not alone, and this is Dennis’s plane and crew. Instead, she claps through a barely contained squeal and spins back around, nearly skipping through the aisle until she decides on the only row that has a pair of seats instead of singles.

She knows Emily might choose to sit alone, but she’s certainly not going to be the reason for it. She sees Emily watching her over the top of the seats and sees her making her way closer until she’s stopped at Stephanie’s row. She glances toward the front of the plane, then nods at the empty chair next to Stephanie.

“Is this seat taken?”

The whole situation already has Stephanie overdosing on endorphins, but Emily teasing? Being humorous? The compliment in the car. The elbow nudge on the helicopter. Stepping aside to allow Stephanie to board first. That pick-up line a second ago. She fights to get her joy under control lest it is off-putting and motions for Emily to sit.

“By all means.”

Emily joins her as she tosses her coat onto the seat across the aisle and though she��s still busy at work on her phone, she seems much less closed off than she had in the car.

“I really don’t know how to thank you for this,” she says as she watches Emily’s slender, strong fingers manipulate her iPhone in a way that shouldn’t make Stephanie jealous.

Emily looks up from her phone, turns toward Stephanie, and leans in and kisses her. It’s soft and brief, but it makes Stephanie tingle all the same. “I think you’ll find a way.” She punctuates the suggestive sentence with one more kiss and then she’s back at her phone and Stephanie realizes they’re already taxiing toward the runway.

She hadn’t even heard the cabin door close or felt the plane start to roll, caught up in her thoughts as she’d been.

And if they’re moving, that means there’s no one on the ground to see them through the windows, and the cockpit door is sealed, which means…

She sets her purse on the floor, not even realizing she was still holding it, turns in her seat and reaches for Emily. She catches her with a hand to the back of her neck to pull her back in. She wants a better kiss, a bigger kiss, one that will leave them both breathless and she smiles into it when Emily doesn’t pull away from her.

She feels Emily’s fingers slide into her hair followed by the heavy clunk of what she knows is Emily’s phone hitting the floor. It makes her stomach flip, but that might be from the plane taking flight, though Stephanie’s pretty sure it’s Emily and not the plane.

Stephanie has half a mind to unbuckle her seat belt and crawl into Emily’s lap but they’re barely off the ground. She doesn’t want to seem too eager or desperate despite not having been together since the morning after Emily spent an unexpected night at her house. She keeps herself in check, hands not straying into PG-13 territory. It’s enough—more than enough, really—to make her happy. Heck, even Emily looking at her with any level of affection, platonic or otherwise, makes her happy.

When she feels Emily’s hand on her waist pulling her closer, but not escalating things more either, she sighs and settles into her seat and against Emily.

There’s something just as arousing (maybe even more so) about hot and heavy making out than jumping right to sex. Perhaps it’s about a mutual agreement that it’s enough, at least for now, to simply be close and kiss. She knows more will come later. She doesn’t know when, but she knows it will only be a matter of hours. They’ll be in Los Angeles by the evening and she knows exactly what she wants for dinner.

~ ~

Emily’s phone interrupts their kissing and Stephanie can’t help but smile when Emily groans in annoyance as she pulls away to reach down to retrieve it from the floor and answer it with a very gruff, “What the hell is it now, Dennis?”

She smiles again when Emily lets her continue however she likes while she bosses around her boss, and how Stephanie likes to continue is to make sure she’s familiar with the way every inch of Emily’s neck tastes today.

As happy as she repeatedly tells herself she is to not need more right now, the need is beginning to grow. She lets her hand rest on Emily’s knee and enjoys the way she tilts her head at different angles to encourage Stephanie to continue or move to a new spot.

When it sounds like the phone call is wrapping up and Stephanie is making plans to drag Emily over to the couch to finally get some relief, she hears through the phone what sound like multiple voices speaking at once and she feels Emily sigh.

“This doesn’t warrant a call with the board—”

She seems to get cut off which Stephanie knows is a rarity. She sits back in surprise and watches Emily pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

The subsequent exchange clues Stephanie in to the fact that Emily’s ended up on a conference call with the Nylon Board of Directors. It’s fascinating to watch Emily...not falter per se, but for her place to be checked. Apparently, an entire board couldn’t be fucked in the face. Even Emily wasn’t that powerful.

But speaking of fucking…

Stephanie maintains her air of innocence best she can while her lips continue caressing Emily’s neck. She lets herself run out of skin, kissing to her collar before she nudges it aside to move lower until she’s undoing the next button on Emily’s shirt to expose her collar bones to Stephanie’s lips.

Emily’s reaction isn’t strong, but Stephanie does see her fingers flex where they rest on her lap.

She doesn’t think Emily will actually let her do it. She’s sure she’ll be stopped when she keeps unbuttoning until her shirt is open. She’s sure Emily will politely nudge her away when she leans over to trail her lips over the swells of her breasts. She’s sure Emily will sit back to prevent Stephanie’s wandering hand from undoing her bra under her shirt to push it up and away so she can tease the hardened tips to further attention and not lean forward to make it easier for Stephanie.

That’s the first time she hears Emily react, a kind of a swallowed gasp that she covers with a cough. Stephanie glances up at her and she sees her put her phone on mute before she asks, “Are you going to stop and let me focus on this call?”

“No,” Stephanie says with a smile before returning to her task, one hand on Emily’s breast to guide it back to her mouth while the other moves to Emily’s pants to start working on the pair of buttons there. She struggles for a moment, one-handed, but when they give way she’s filled with a rush of arousal and adrenaline. She glances down to watch herself pull at one side of Emily’s pants to try to split the zipper but it doesn’t part as easily as she expects it to, the expensive material too pliant. She’s about to sit up so she can use both hands when she sees Emily’s hand move from where it sits in her lap to hold the other side.

When Stephanie pulls again, the zipper parts easily and she can see the scalloped edge of light pink satin.

She nicks the firm flesh in her mouth with her teeth and hears a shaky sigh above her. It serves only to encourage her further and she doesn’t hesitate to slip her hand into Emily’s pants. She does sit up for that; she wants to see Emily’s face. She’s as light as she can be, barely grazing over the soft satin beneath her fingertips and she sees the way her eyelashes flutter at Stephanie’s touch.

She’s about to ask if Emily still has the phone on mute when she speaks sharply into the receiver, something about getting a photographer from the New York Post to be conveniently placed at an event to ensure tabloid-esque coverage of another designer’s misstep. Stephanie’s still not sure what the emergency requiring this mid-flight phone call with so many people could be, but she’s sort of grateful for it. It’s giving her a new playground, something different than kids upstairs or a husband on his way home. She waits until Emily’s finished speaking before she leans in to kiss her. It’s a quiet kiss, slow and soft and Stephanie’s able to tease Emily’s tongue without any resistance.

She slides the back of her fingernail down the satin as far as she can reach, then twists her wrist to drag it back up. She feels the soft rise of flesh through the satin and smiles to herself at the sound of Emily’s quick inhale and tilt of her hips.

Her touch is moving down again when Emily turns her head away so she can speak once more; she still sounds confident and in business mode and Stephanie finds it incredibly sexy. She waits until Emily seems to be finished speaking, then guides her with her free hand right back into another kiss as she presses the tiniest bit more firmly. Emily’s hips tilt again and Stephanie knows she’s asking for more.

There’s a lot about this relationship—for lack of a better moniker—Stephanie enjoys, but none more so than the confirmation (or, at this point, the reminder) that Emily enjoys it, too, is aroused by her, is more than happy to sit back on an airplane during a business call and allow Stephanie to touch her.

She’s as light with her tongue as she is her touch and pride rushes through her when she feels Emily shiver. She can’t help herself and slips her fingertips under the satin, eager to feel the effect she’s had so far. She finds slickness and has to stop herself from making some type of cheeky comment. Instead, she catches Emily’s tongue between her lips and sucks on it.

She feels fingers twist into her hair for Emily’s response and Stephanie hums at the tightness of her grip.

Emily pulls away to speak again and this time, Stephanie doesn’t wait idly for her to finish. She leans down to take Emily’s nipple into her mouth again, having to pull against the hold Emily has on her hair but she’s allowed to move without much of a fight. She finds a pattern with her fingers, a slow, gentle circle and above her, she hears Emily hiss a quiet, “Yes,” as her back arches and hips lift.

It’s an unknown how long the phone call may last; it could be over in a minute or an hour. She could touch Emily like this, slowly and lazily to drive her mad with need. Or, she considers when she feels Emily’s legs part further and her hips start moving to match her speed, perhaps the tiniest bit more quickly than Stephanie’s pace, she could see just how professional and in-control Emily is when she really needs to be.

She presses a bit more firmly, pads of her fingers rolling back and forth. She must be hitting a nerve just-so because Emily’s knee keeps bouncing as though in reflex. She smiles against Emily’s breast, amused by it, but she adjusts to make it stop. Instead, she speeds up, pausing now and then to dip her fingers lower and into Emily to feel her and draw more wetness up with her fingers.

It reminds her of their first night together, watching a sexy movie while Emily tried to be defiant as Stephanie teased and massaged her clit until she finally begged for it.

The memory makes her teeth nick Emily’s nipple again and her hips jerk in response. She glances up and though it’s difficult at the angle, she can tell Emily’s eyes are closed and her cheeks are tinted pink.

Her own impatience gets the best of her. She can feel how much Emily wants her and Emily is the only thing in the world Stephanie wants right now. She slides off her seat to the floor and temporarily abandons Emily’s clit, licking her fingers quickly before reaching for the waistband of Emily’s pants to pull them down.

They slide easily, Emily lifting to help, and she doesn’t bother trying to get them over both of Emily’s shoes. One’s enough so she can move between her knees, hands on Emily’s thighs to part them. She can feel Emily’s hand in her hair, combing and pulling, and she doesn’t even look up at her before she does it.

There’s something empowering about that, not looking up for permission she knows she has. It’s erotic in a way she’s still getting used to, to lean in, pull the strip of satin to the side, and taste Emily.

She hears Emily stutter and lose her place in whatever it is she’s saying to the Board and it fills Stephanie with pride. She takes Emily’s swollen clit between her lips before she’s found her place in her sentence and she feels a sharp tug on her hair. It almost feels like a warning or a request to stop but the very next second she’s being pulled in closer.

She hears Emily grind out a frustrated, “Never mind,” instead of ever finishing her thought and Stephanie wonders if she’s ever had to do that before.

Feeling victorious, she glances up to find Emily’s eyes no longer closed; now they’re locked on her so she tightens her lips and pulls back, taking Emily’s flesh with her until it slips from her mouth. “That sounds really important,” she says quietly. “Don’t let me distract you.”

She can tell Emily’s about to respond until she remembers her phone isn’t muted. Instead, Emily pulls her back in and Stephanie’s more than happy to oblige.

They’ve made love many ways during their short affair. Stephanie has loved them all but Emily parting her legs and asking for Stephanie’s mouth—sometimes verbally, sometimes in other ways—is arguably her favorite.

(Okay, it might be tied with being invited to sit on Emily’s face.)

She’s generous with her tongue this time, first taking care of the arousal that’s starting to drip before lapping slowly at Emily’s clit.

She feels Emily’s leg, the one free of pants, lift to rest over her shoulder so Stephanie adjusts, wrapping an arm around her leg and pressing closer. A second later, she hears a quiet hum and feels a vibration and for a moment she’s shocked and excited that Emily has somehow produced a sex toy but when she looks up in curiosity she sees that it’s the seat and not a toy that’s humming as Emily presses a button to make it recline.

“Fuck,” she whispers between strokes of her tongue; it’s even hotter than an unexpected vibrator because Emily’s making herself as comfortable as she can to let Stephanie do as she pleases while Emily suffers through her business call.

She takes a particularly strong swipe and hears Emily’s breath catch. There’s a delay where Stephanie knows there wouldn’t otherwise be between that sound and the moan that finally comes. “Jesus fuck, baby,” follows and Stephanie assumes the phone’s back on mute. Or, at least, she hopes it is for the sake of Emily’s reputation...though the concept that it might not be is titillating, Emily getting too caught up in how Stephanie makes her feel to forget her professionalism and letting a conference room full of executives hear her moaning.

She lets herself believe that to be the case and doubles her efforts as though she’s daring Emily to keep quiet. She’s had to be the one to bite her lip and cover her mouth more than enough times and it’s fun to be on the other end of things for a change.

When she hears Emily’s breath catch, she presses inside, first with her tongue, just because, then with her fingers, firm and sure as they slide easily. She curves them and watches Emily’s hips lift off the seat for a second before they’re pushing closer.

“Then find another venue, Dennis, what the fuck do you want me to do about it?” Emily’s voice is clipped and Stephanie can tell she’s more than impatient to end the call.

It’s the least Stephanie can do to be entertaining Emily, she thinks with a shrug to herself as she fucks Emily slowly, fingers moving in long strokes. She’s rougher and quicker with her tongue; she’s always loved the way Emily reacts when she gets the angle right, that spot that’s always ‘a little to the left’ that makes her toes curl.

She knows she finds it without guidance this time when the heel of Emily’s shoe scratches at her back. It’s digging into her and trying to reel her in closer and she really can’t get any closer so instead, she presses more firmly into that spot with her tongue.

“Fuck, that’s—that’s not my fucking job. That’s why we have Elena. Why isn’t Elena on this call if this is about an event? She’s your events person. Not me. Fuck!”

Stephanie doesn’t know which, if any, of the curses are directed toward her but it doesn’t matter. Emily’s not pulling on her hair anymore. She’s just holding Stephanie there, hips starting to buck out of rhythm.

Stephanie wonders what she should do. Emily’s close; so close Stephanie can taste it. Literally, she thinks with a smile. Should she stop, or back off to let Emily unwind before it’s too late? Or should she keep going and see if Emily will allow her to take her all the way to orgasm and back during her phone call?

“Fuck, don’t stop, baby,” Emily says with a groan to answer Stephanie’s debate.

She hums in response and glances up to see Emily’s eyes locked on her, dark and intense. She looks like she’s being fucked on a private jet, disheveled and half-naked in a white leather seat and Stephanie can’t help herself. She takes her free hand back from where it’s been holding on to Emily to keep her close. She doesn’t need to do that now; Emily will do that on her own. And she reaches under her dress, between her thighs, under her panties to touch herself.

She moans at the much-needed relief and she can see it on Emily’s face that she knows what Stephanie’s doing.

But she doesn’t do anything to stop her.

Instead, she says, “God, I can hear how wet you are.”

The words make Stephanie shiver and all she can do is hum and close her eyes because every ounce of her energy is devoted to other things.

“Hey, hey guys,” Emily barks and it makes Stephanie flinch at the unexpected change in tone. “You need to figure this shit out on your own. I’m going to stay on the call so I know what stupid decisions I’ll have to fix for you tomorrow, but consider me gone.”

She hears the sound of a dozen voices yelling at once as Emily turns on her speakerphone for the call and Stephanie’s genuinely impressed that Emily’s doing exactly what she said she would. She looks up again in time to see her toss her phone into Stephanie’s empty seat, look down at her, and say, “Fuck, you look so good, baby.”

Stephanie winks and feels even sexier in doing so than she had seconds earlier despite everything.

Emily’s louder now, like the nights she spent at Stephanie’s house with Miles at his grandparents’ house. Uninhibited. Uncaring that they could be caught because there’s no one to catch them, no one to interrupt them. They’re thirty-five thousand feet in the air and alone, save for two pilots behind a locked door with much more important things to pay attention to. It makes Stephanie moan, too, no longer concerned with whether or not Emily’s call is muted. Emily’s hand, the one not resting on Stephanie’s head, is on her breast and Stephanie watches the way she plays with her own nipple, memorizing the patterns of touching, twisting, and tugging so she can repeat them later.

It’s with a gasp and a whimper that Emily comes, tense and unmoving for an eternal second until she snaps and her hips buck in a way that makes it almost impossible for Stephanie to keep her tongue on her with any sort of precision, but it doesn’t really matter now.

She groans her appreciation for it; she loves when Emily comes for her like it’s some kind of twisted gift, one that Emily chooses to give her. It’s everything she can do to stop her own orgasm. She yanks her hand away from herself to hold Emily’s thigh to keep from suffocating between them (not that she’d mind…) and feels the tiniest quiver of ecstasy make her clench and her own hips rock forward for friction that isn’t there.

Her reason to wait will be worth it, she reminds herself, as she waits until the body above her is finished twisting in release. Once Emily’s calm again, her fingers starting to comb through Stephanie’s hair, she gets off the floor, makes quick work of slipping her panties off, and moves to straddle Emily’s lap. She takes her hand, the one that’s been in her hair for however long she was on her knees, and guides it between her legs.

Emily’s slow to react and she takes immense pride in that, that she’s still trying to recover. It’s not as though Stephanie needs a massive effort on her part for this anyway. She guides Emily’s fingers into her, sees the way she looks up at her, still dazed but there’s a hint of familiar smirk returning that disappears as soon as Stephanie leans down to kiss her.

She’s moving as soon as their lips touch, rocking and holding Emily’s hand in place firmly against her so she can grind against it as she claims Emily’s mouth with her tongue. She loves when they’re like this, raw and sensual and a bit dirty and she loves when Emily lets her take what she wants when she lets her be in control. She’s pretty sure by now that Emily wants Stephanie to be in control sometimes, that Emily likes when Stephanie does things like tie her up or pin her down. She’s sure Emily likes it as much as Stephanie likes being told to get on her hands and knees to be taken from behind.

It’s a good set-up they’ve got going, she thinks. The give and take, their little games of dominance and submission that haven’t started to challenge Stephanie’s personal boundaries yet, but she thinks they might sometime soon. Maybe while alone together on this trip. She’s kind of in the mood to be tested.

The possibilities and scenarios that assault her imagination are so distracting that it doesn’t even register with her that she’s close until she’s already coming, moaning against Emily’s mouth, lips touching but not really kissing as she feels Emily’s tongue darting in and out, still teasing even as Stephanie starts to come back to herself.

She doesn’t hear the angry, arguing voices on the phone anymore so the call must have ended or maybe Emily hung up, but she’s grateful all she can hear is their heavy breathing and the loud hum of the jet engines carrying them farther and farther away from Emily’s husband.

The thought makes her lips curl into a smile and she kisses Emily again now that she’s of sound mind once more and she lets her hips resume rocking. Not hard, or fast, but enough to be able to feel Emily still inside her. It’s enough to get Emily participating again and Stephanie shivers as Emily’s fingers curl and press into her.

“Was that your way of thanking me?” Emily says with a lazy smile when Stephanie has to pull back to moan.

It takes her a few seconds to rebuild the events of the past couple of hours, their conversations and references, until it clicks. “It’s a start,” she says as suggestively as she can. She knows the impact is probably lessened a bit by the way her eyes keep trying to close and how hard she knows she’s tightening herself around Emily’s fingers, but she doesn’t care much. They can have their verbal tête-à-tête another time when Emily’s not knuckle-deep inside her and when she’s not making Stephanie help her to lift her dress over her head and off so she can pull Stephanie down at a new angle that puts her breast in Emily’s mouth.

It forces Stephanie to shift higher up Emily’s body, but it’s easy with how far back the seat reclines, almost 180º.

What it also allows her, she discovers by accident when she’s balancing herself to work her way up on her knees, is that now she can reach behind herself and find Emily again, even wetter than she’d left her.

It’s not the best angle, and she has to choose between sitting up and touching Emily or bending forward to have her nipples kissed and licked. Her own need wins out for a while, until her nipples are too sensitive to withstand more attention. Then she sits back, sits up nice and straight because even if it’s narcissistic, she knows she looks good in this position and reaches back and into panties she long ago should have stripped from Emily to find her clit, warm and swollen with need as she rides Emily’s fingers.

She feels Emily’s hips lift beneath her and it reminds her of what it was like to have Emily sitting astride her this way and despite the numerous positions they’ve tried with Emily’s strap-on, something as basic as this has yet to happen. She’s allowed Emily to be the one in control if Emily was wearing it which has put Stephanie (very willingly) onto her back, or her hands and knees, or the washing machine.

If it wasn’t packed away in her suitcase stored somewhere on the plane, she’d stop and retrieve it and take care of that oversight right here and now.

But, that will have to wait for another time, maybe tonight at their hotel. The thought makes her hips move more quickly, rolling again and again against the fingers that are inside her. They’re both moving, now, and Emily’s lifting her hips like she’s fucking her with them, and she’s really not, Stephanie’s seated too high, across her stomach, for it to have any effect but it’s probably less about trying to fuck Stephanie and more about the way Stephanie’s fingers are framing and squeezing Emily’s clit as it slides between them with every thrust.

Emily’s free hand finds Stephanie’s left breast and she’s not really doing anything more than holding on, but Stephanie doesn’t mind. She can do all the work for now; she knows Emily will more than return the favor(s).

“Fuck,” she whines, feeling the pleasure starting to coil inside her again. She can’t believe she’s doing this, she never can believe it when it happens, but now it’s even more unbelievable because opening her eyes for a second to look down at Emily, she can see the window next to them and nothing but blue sky and clouds and she’s literally flying.

Emily’s saying something, she can’t tell what though. Her ears are ringing from how hard her heart is beating but she’s nodding as she says it before her eyes slam shut and her head tilts back and her back arches off the seat and Stephanie comes with her.

She almost falls backward because she can’t bend forward without surrendering her ability to touch Emily but an arm around her waist catches her. There’s so much adrenaline and arousal flowing through her veins she wonders how she’s ever supposed to stop this. She wonders how they ever manage to stop, to act like platonic friends around each other, ever. It’s amazing to her that they can ever do anything but do everything they can to make each other feel this way.

A hand glides up her sweat-soaked back and she’s forced to slide backward until she can’t reach Emily anymore, and she’s brought down. Emily wants to kiss her and who is she to deny Emily that? Or anything, for that matter.

She hears herself moan into it, and she’d be embarrassed by how turned on she still is if Emily didn’t chuckle through their kiss knowingly. She’s still stroking Stephanie slowly but she can tell Emily’s working toward reclaiming her hand.

“How long until we land?” she asks before moving to kiss Emily’s neck, lapping at her skin and relishing the taste. She’d broken a sweat, too.

Emily laughs again and it sounds magical to Stephanie. “Save some for tonight, baby.”

“I’m never going to get tired of this,” she admits as she sinks her teeth into Emily’s neck, not hard enough to leave a mark or even inflict much pain; just enough to make Emily gasp because she knows Emily likes when she uses her teeth.

And she does gasp. But it’s followed by a hand on the side of her face, guiding Stephanie away until she’s looking down at Emily, a thumb stroking Stephanie’s cheek. “Hey, we’re good, right?”

Stephanie’s confused by the question. Of course, they’re good. They’ve been “good” since Day One. Did she say too much? Was that too revealing? Too open or honest? After Emily telling her she could get used to lazy Saturday mornings at home with Stephanie, she thought something like feeling insatiable around Emily would be less than problematic.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile that she hopes doesn’t betray her worry. “We’re good.”

“Good,” Emily replies and guides her down into another kiss, this one so soft and gentle it makes Stephanie’s toes curl in a different kind of way. “Let’s get dressed,” she says when they part. “I bet you brought a crossword puzzle book or something, didn’t you?” she adds with a smile.

Stephanie thinks about the book of vacation-themed Mad Libs in her purse; she’d bought it yesterday thinking it could be fun to see how much it would take to get Emily worked up over a story being so ludicrous, but now she feels like she might get teased about it with the way Emily’s asking her.

“Um…”

“I knew it,” Emily says with a grin before starting to sit up with the help of the electronic buzz of her seat, making sure to not topple Stephanie off her lap in doing so. “You’re so fucking cute. Let’s do it together. Let me up so I can use the bathroom?”

Stephanie blinks at her and she imagines she must look a bit owlish; she had expected Emily to mock her but instead, she’s happy and ready to play a game with her. “Sure,” she says happily as she backs off Emily’s lap and onto very unsteady legs. It’s not made any easier by the plane hitting a small patch of turbulence as she does so and she wobbles, Emily catching her with hands to her waist.

Then, as though she couldn’t help herself, Emily’s leaning in and taking Stephanie’s nipple into her mouth again, nothing rough or harsh, just soft warmth and gentle pressure and a tongue swirling around it. It makes Stephanie squeak and brace herself on Emily’s shoulders and she watches her finish before she leans to the right to give the other the exact same treatment.

She feels dazed by the time Emily sits back and not exactly turned on in the way she has been; she’s not desperate for an orgasm or writhing in need, but she feels heady and a bit drunk or maybe high and she wonders if maybe she is. Maybe Emily, especially this Emily who’s gentle and caring and giving, is her drug of choice.

If so, she knows she’s already addicted.

~ ~

Chapter 9

#a simple favor #emily nelson #stephanie smothers #asf fic #fanfic #murder moms

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