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ribbononline · 3 years

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Horrible high school kids

You thought it was bonus doodles, but twas I ! another long hc post! This one is mainly about my personal HC’s for their childhoods and teenage years. Now edited to be slightly more readable!

Also, for clarification- I’m from the Netherlands, so that’s the school system I’ll be using. I just don’t understand other systems well enough, so bear with me. We’ve got elementary school from ~4 to ~12 , high school from ~12 to ~18, and college after that.

-Archie comes from a rather large family. His household consists of his mother, one older brother, one older sister, two younger twin sisters and one younger brother. His father used to be a sailor, but ended up in a shipwreck, never to be seen again. When he was still around, he was the one who caught a Carvanha for Archie.

Despite his mother being a stay at home mom to take care of the children, due to being well insured and having a large network of aunts and uncles money never ended up being a problem for them. His mother did end up taking on farming on the side, mostly for themselves, but selling extra’s to the neighbourhood. Once Archie’s eldest siblings ended up getting jobs they also helped keep the family afloat.

Their house is right next to Slateport. They own their own patch of land and dock there.

-Maxie came from a pretty bad household. His mother and father didn’t meet under happy circumstanced, and his father ended up leaving the household when he was ~8. This left him alone with his mother, who fell further into a bad state. Due to not being in contact with other family members, it was just the two of them. Their house was an apartment in Mauville. They got in cheaply when the town was just partly done being rebuild. He stayed out as much as possible, preferring to explore the routes nearby whenever he could which is how he obtained his Numel. Back at home, the Houndoom his father left behind with them ended up having two Poochyena pups with the neighbours Mightyena.

-Archie and Maxie went to the same high school in Mauville, which is where they met (around 14/15yo). Archie was the kid who passed all classes despite never even studying. Maxie was a problem child at school. Due to not having a healthy outlet, he mostly took things out on those around him, leading into him getting into fights a lot and being rather disrespectful towards the teachers.

-Neither of them really interacted until they ended up in some of the same classes.

Due to Maxie keeping to himself and Archie already having a friend group, they still didn’t really talk to each other unless it was for class projects. Maxie didn’t care, and Archie just knew Maxie as the kid that liked to pick fights with people.

-The first real talk they had was when Archie ended up in detention due to being late with an assignment. Despite liking to act tough like any teenager would being put in detention for the first time kind of freaked him out! Maxie who also happened to be in for detention ended up striking up a conversation with him before the teacher came in.

They mainly ended up talking about Pokémon a bunch, and ended up promising each other a battle once they both weren’t stuck here. Archie assumed that meant once detention was over for the day, but Maxie decided he didn’t feel like sitting around there for an hour and left trough a window, leaving Archie to explain to the teacher what happened there.

(Due to always picking fights and never really turning anything in on time or being on time, Maxie was more or less in detention daily- or at least supposed to be. More often then not he didn’t feel like going, or left the moment the teacher stepped out of the room. He was kind of the personification of a problem kid.)

-After that, they did in fact have their battle later that week which ended in a tie, and they started talking in the hall sometimes. The year after their shared classes didn’t include any of Archie’s other friends, meaning they ended up sticking together more often as they gradually got closer. They started hanging out more after class, and kind of became an infamous duo- mainly thanks to Maxie- around the school.

Archie wasn’t quite as hyped at the idea of his mom being called about bad behaviour though, so he did his best to make sure they didn’t get in too much trouble. They butted heads over it sometimes, but overall kept getting closer.

This was also around the time Maxie got invited over to the Aogiri’s household more often. (Yes, I’m just using their japanese names as their last names, I don’t trust myself to name anything so this is just what it’s gonna be)

-From the way Maxie never invited Archie over to his house/the way he avoided talking about his home situation and family, Archie eventually figured something was up. After some awkward attempts to talk to Maxie about it (that mainly ended up in Maxie going on the offensive and yelling a lot) he one day showed up to Archie’s house crying and talked some about it. After that Archie became the only person he ever really confided in and even then not that much- preferring to talk about other things. Archie did his best to support him, but as a teen himself with his own issues it admittedly did take a toll on him as well.

-Somewhere during this time friendship turned to dating! It ended up being natural progression more then anything so it wasn’t the biggest change- they were already all over each other at that point anyhow. Now they just could be slightly more obnoxious about it PDA wise.

-Archie’s mother ended up noticing some things off about Maxie’s home situation over time as well, and after Archie explained some things to her, Maxie ended up being invited over even more. The Aogiri’s did their best to let him know he could stay here whenever, and he ended up being really close with all of them.

-Maxie started eventually doing a lot better in school with the support of the Aogiri’s. He mellowed out a lot and started getting better grades too. Despite trying harder in class, doing well in them never came as naturally to him as it did to Archie, so Archie ended up helping him majorly when it came to studying. That said, Maxie would never ever admit to that.

-At 16, Maxie officially stopped ever coming back to his own house. Most of his stuff was already with Archie’s family anyhow. He took the two Poochyena pups they had at home and his Numel and took off. His grand master plan was mainly just to live either outside or stay in Pokémon centers nearby- with all the 10yos running free in the world, it wouldn’t look that out of place. He figured he’d just keep himself monetarily supported by battling.

-As it turned out though, that was a lot easier said then done. Archie and his family however knew Maxie was on his own now, so they ended up being the ones providing for him. At that point there already was always a mattress laid out in Archie’s room for him and he had a corner of it to himself for all his stuff he couldn’t carry on him, so it worked out. They invited him in to officially live with them, but the anxiety of living in a house with others again was hard for him to deal with. So to keep his peace of mind he ‚officially’ stayed homeless. That said, he stayed there more then half of the time, and Archie’s mother always joked about how Archie was the first of her kids to bring her a child-in-law.

-Maxie ended up helping Archie’s mother on her mini farm a lot. He really enjoyed the work, and she appreciated the extra helping hand.

-Archie meanwhile ended up feeding stray Pokémon around their house a lot. This meant more and more would show up there each day, especially once his younger siblings started joining him. His mother wasn’t the happiest about it, but as long as they caused no harm saw no reason to stop them. It’s where he met his Zubat!

-Maxie met his Zubat when off on his own once in one of the school vacations where he ended up exploring a cave.

-Despite Archie trying very hard not to let it be noticed, and not even being entirely sure himself why, somewhere in high school he ended up first getting kind of depressed and feeling down. Due to having the support of his family and Maxie, it never ended up getting too bad, but he refused to truly confide to people about it, so it never truly left either. He did his best to ignore it and hoped it’d eventually go away on his own. (it didn’t)

-Once the kids turned 18, the Aogiri’s ended up helping fund his college education. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he also ended up sneaking back into his own parents house and stealing a large sum of cash from them to help with that.

-Despite having a rocky childhood, the support shown to him by so many different people throughout the years made Maxie grow very fond of community and humanity. He didn’t really have any big grandiose ideals at these ages, but it helped lay the groundwork.

Archie always kind of felt the opposite, being upset that the system led down his friend and worrying about what would have happened had his family not been there.

-While Archie and Maxie ended up getting different degrees- Maxie in Geology, and Archie in Marine Biology, they got an apartment together where they lived together pretty happily! It was mostly a calm time for the both of them. They both had some odd jobs on the side to support themselves, still looking for the actual dream job they wanted to end up in after graduating.

And from here on out it’s to be continued for whenever I finish the next HC post about their Rocket years! ＼（°▽°）／

#Magma Leader Maxie #aqua leader archie #hardenshipping #technically as well #these hcs are for me and me alone <3 you can not stop me from sharing my own cringe little thoughts #IN ALL SERIOUSNESS i just wanted to organise some thoughts so i put m down #i also do rlly wanna do a rocket post one day but kjhkjh gotta power trough this damn comic cus it already summarises certain things #i like to imagine rocket days is where archies nihilism n the uhh ‚well if humans get punished maybe we deserve that‘ rlly kicked #into high gear #whereas maxie at that point was very ‚as long as were together well make it trough somehow and we can make things better for everyone #by trusting people because most people are kind’#tumblr allow me to make longer tags. coward #but YEA thats what this was meant to be the very first groundwork for #maxie taking away from the situation that hey! at the end of the day i got help and ended up in a pretty good place actually #and i want to give back #and archie being a lot more the system is a failure and only a few individual people will ever help #and the system at large and humanity at large will just Look Away n not care at all #abt the situation #n anyways. yea. groundwork #i feel like i repeat myself a lot its because my brain goes zoomy and circles around a lot i apologize #does anyone actually read any of these i do not know and i do not care #it is MY blog i get to choose the `hyper fixation` and `2am thought dump`#also maxie def changed the most over the years #archie always kinda had that depression/pessimism abt the good of ppl it just got worse over time #i actually have my personal hcs for both of their lives p much entirely figured out nowheheh #ok. /sexily posts this when everyones asleep #EDIT FROM THE FUTURE OF 2021 JUNE HI #updated this to be a bit more accurate of the current hcs i have which meant some slight changes #also its more readable now. whoohoo #i hope at least if theres any mistakes or i forgot to edit smth out lmk please halp

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

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Complexities Unknowable Chapter 3

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274334/chapters/57175900

Chapter Two link: https://tha-best-url-evar.tumblr.com/post/614327945408987136/complexities-unknowable-chapter-two

MasterPost

Relationships: Established Relationship Dukeceit, eventual intrualiceit, background analogince.

Warnings: Remus says some things (mentions of biblically accurate angels, gore art description), food mention, mild sleep deprivation, cursing. As always everyone is sympathetic. Roast me if I forgot something.

Word Count: 1,851

Remus was, once again, sitting on the counter in the light side kitchen. It was an ungodly early hour of morning, so the Commons were deserted. He was supposed to be waiting for Morality, according to the spiteful little plot Dee had offered him that he hadn’t listened to all that well, but he surmised it meant he was supposed to fuck with a light side, so… Duh. Of course he was in.

Truth be told, three out of four of the self-proclaimed ‘light sides’ hardly bothered him! They were stuffy prudes, sure, but their insults slid off his back like blood off of steel. As long as he was doing his own thing with Deceit alongside him, everything was fine (he was still pointedly ignoring the existence of another Creativity). But looks like what Deceit wanted to do was torment Patton into, like, repenting? Or something? Like he said, he wasn’t listening.

Anyway! Waiting and watching was what he was doing! And doodling, because sitting still was literally impossible in Remus’ experience. Thankfully, he soon saw the paternal trait springing down the stairs. Straightening his back, The Duke put on his best intimidating face (which he thought looked rather silly, but Deceit assured him was very unsettling). He set down his sketchbook and blurred his edges. It didn’t work very well up here, but it was a little trick that they’d all- Virgil included- learned years ago. Honestly, he just used it to get cheap scares every now and then.

Patton strolled into the kitchen, whistling some jaunty tune and holy shit , Remus had figured it was some shtick, but was he just a cartoon character all of the time ? That was- sure, very adorable- but mostly all the more entertaining to scare!

“What’s up, Dilf!?”

Patton shrieked, nearly dropping a mug. With wide, startled eyes, he found the source of the noise. Said source watched the emotional trait force his expression into something amicable, laughing loudly.

“Um- good morning, Remus! I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“That was the point, MoMo,” Remus replied, dragging his claws screechingly down the side of a cabinet; Patton winced at the sound.

“Can I help you with anything?” Read: Why are you still here? Sometimes Remus wondered if he was too good at his job!

“Nope! Just enjoying the atmosphere, sketching, terrorizing…” He flipped onto his back, throwing his arm out and presenting his open notebook.

“You draw?” Patton seemed weirdly happy about that fact, managing a more natural smile. Seemed he thought he’d found something to work with, but that was likely to change.

“Of course I do, I am Creativity, after all! Here .” He handed over the sketchbook with a Cheshire smile. The creative trait had ensured it was flipped open to a detailed depiction of a being composed of several flaming rings, all of which absolutely covered with bloodshot eyes. It had an indiscernible amount of wings that could only be counted as ‘too many’. In the center of the rings was a swirling black void (a type of ink that took Remus weeks to conjure properly, thank you very much).

He watched carefully as Patton studied the image, looking bemused.

“It’s an angel!”

That seemed to only confuse the moral side more, making him tilt his head to a few different angles to look at the drawing. But he still didn’t seem upset by it, oddly enough.

“It certainly is an interesting interpretation,” He responded at last, “and all of these little lines must have taken you forever, that’s so impressive!”

Truth be told, they had taken a while, and Remus was very happy that the effort had been noticed- but that wasn’t the point!

“That’s nothing,” he took the sketchbook back from Patton and flipped through more pages. Aha! This would fuck him up, for sure! A full-color illustration of someone hung up on a meat hook, rib cage pried open like a spike trap to reveal very painstakingly rendered organs. He was actually quite proud of this one.

The only response that Patton gave, however, was a slight wrinkling of his nose when he first saw it, followed by more quiet observation.

“What do you think?” Remus prompted, watching as Patton set the drawing back down on the counter and began to assemble things for breakfast, seemingly unaffected.

“I wish I could draw that well, but I’m still not super good at it,” he said admiringly.

“I had to crack open my own ribs to make sure it was accurate, you know!”

Morality yelped at that one- score one for Remus! Finally!

“You wanna see my re-imaginings of my favorite Final Destination deaths? I’ve painted some with real- well, conjured- but real enough blood!”

But Patton didn’t even flinch this time; he looked more determined even!

“Art is a healthy outlet for expressing yourself,” he was almost certainly parroting Logan there, and he even seemed to believe the statement. Perhaps Remus would have to be a little more creative to get more reactions.

. “I agree! I didn’t expect you to have such an open-minded point of view. I’ll be sure you’re the first side to know when I make my next amateur taxidermy sculpture! Emphasis on the amateur!”

“Great!” Patton practically shouted, very stubbornly staring at the stove.

Before Remus had the chance to continue, the distinct sounds of Logan and Roman arguing their way downstairs met his ears, and he cut himself off. That was enough for one day, he decided. And anyhow, he looked forward to trying new ways to bother Patton next morning.

Deceit rose into the shadows of the Light Side commons with a smirk. It was an awful hour of the night, which was part of the plan. Not only was Patton the first awake in the morning, he was also often the last to sleep. Deceit supposed that Logan was looking after Roman and Virgil’s sleep schedules nowadays, which made it much easier to catch the artificial patriarch alone. That isn’t to imply that Dee had been tracking their schedules or anything, but the overwhelming lie that Morality surrounded himself with made him easy to track- especially in the night, when he had to pretend even harder that he was fine without the presence of his little family. Deceit entertained the idea that he should feel bad for the side, and maybe he did somewhere deep down. Deep, deep down. No, further than that.

Regardless of any such feelings, he was here to mess with Patton. Still unnoticed, he watched quietly as his target scrolled through Netflix, illuminated only by the dim glow of the television. The side looked so tired that he could’ve passed as a corpse, but gave a tiny smile after finally selecting whatever it was he was going to watch.

Wait. Wait. He was watching that ?

Deceit stared at the unmistakable green text that was the intro to The Good Place playing across the screen. If there was one thing he was expecting Patton to watch (Cartoons? Friends reruns? Slime videos?), it wasn't his own favorite show.

“Hm.” Deceit hummed.

In response, Patton shrieked and fell halfway off the couch. His head darted around until he finally spotted Deceit, who had slid down to sit on the sofa as well.

“Oh- um- good evening, Deceit! Wow, today is just full of surprises!”

“ Surely you won’t mind if I join you? This is one of my favorite shows, after all.”

Patton fixed his position so that he was no longer partially on the floor and looked the snake up and down. He paused the episode.

“ Really ?”

“Really,” and then, after some trepidation, “Honestly.”

Suddenly, Patton lit up dramatically, a happy smile stretching across his face. Fuck, wrong direction, Deceit wasn’t supposed to be cheering him up!

“I’m surprised that someone like you would like it,” Deceit continued hastily. Patton’s smile fell a little and he tipped his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ,” He lounged back against the couch, “I didn’t think you’d approve of a show where all of the characters are such bad people .”

“What?! The whole point is that they aren’t bad!” Good, Back on track .

“Oh? Then what are they? Last I checked, the main character was very selfish .”

“I- okay, I see what you’re trying to do,” Patton turned to face Deceit entirely, “But they’re- they also-”

“Also what ?” Deceit was also sitting sideways on the couch now, his eyes glinting. He was certain that he’d talked the trait into a corner, which was why he was so utterly unprepared for Patton’s response.

“It’s, like, they all start off not great, but that’s because they were all set up for failure before the afterlife! They had it hard before dying, but when they were finally given the chance to actually get better, then they got better! They aren’t perfect , but they care about each other! And I think it really shows that sometimes, somebody can be wrong over and over and over again, but that doesn’t mean that they’re hopeless, or that they’re a bad friend, or…” He trailed off, looking down at his lap and blinking very quickly. “Or that they’re a bad person.”

Suddenly, Deceit wasn’t that sure that he wanted to see Patton upset anymore.

After a very uncomfortable silence that lasted far too long for his liking, the scaled side realized that he should probably be the one to say something.

“That’s… a very in depth analysis, Morality. I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Thanks,” Patton replied. When he looked up, his eyes held an odd recognition. It was a look that no Light Side had ever given Deceit, but they gave it to each other plenty of times. The side in question wasn’t sure if he liked it, but he sure knew that he was uncomfortable.

“So… The show…” He prompted.

“Oh, right!”

Patton pressed play.

Deceit had planned on doing some more provoking of Patton as they watched, but he found himself rather caught up in the program. The conversation he did end up making with the other incidentally slipped into chatting about their shared views on the show. It was almost nice. Maybe. Whatever.

After a few episodes, Deceit elected to return home for the night. As he was sinking out, he heard a sleepy voice bidding him farewell.

“G’night, Kiddo.”

He popped up in his bedroom after that, eyes quickly landing on a half-asleep Remus half-watching Saw 4 . The lights were dimmed to a glow, and the TV’s volume was so low that it might have been inaudible to anyone other than the more animalistic sides.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Deceit murmured warmly, sitting beside his fellow Dark side. The trait yawned and rubbed his eyes, instinctively leaning into him.

“Wanted to,” he responded, voice groggy, “How’d it go?”

Deceit snapped his fingers to change into sleep clothes, reaching across Remus to flick off the lamp. As he settled in to semi-watch the movie, fingers automatically moving to card through his partner’s hair, he carefully considered the question.

“Fucking. Weird.”

Chapter 4

Tags: @deceits-left-glove @princemesscharming

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maikatc · 4 years

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Black Sun Tale | Her Lullaby

i said i’d post it today without a time, so here it is! you actually get to meet some of my favorite super-side-characters in this haha–

remember this is a first draft with only minor edits, but enjoy! comments are reception are always appreciated.

Oliver was off at school, leaving Ayu to his own wits at the house. Though, the assignment for finishing a section of the textbook deemed itself… ill-tasting for Ayu’s attention.

He doodled instead, most definitely, cursing his own drawings in the meantime. Thoughts of the events days prior already passed by his mind as almost nothing out of the ordinary. To be fair, however, Eilwen’s tests did pop up from time to time.

Despite the scenes he drew, those crosses and his own blood seeped an abnormality into himself while tapping his fresher skin. It ticked him. The thoughts of his relations to Akeldama poisoning him beckoned as another one of his mistakes. But I should’ve expected that, shouldn’t I?

Then there was Eilwen herself: follower in Akeldama’s society being punished by such simple items. The idea of her hands holding still from the burning cross stuck to him, leading him to wonder his own curiosities. Is everyone else the same, he asked. Certainly, they must have had pain tolerances similar to Eilwen’s words.

But, then again, he always had somebody to ask.

“Vittorino?”

“What is it, now,” he asked. His form appeared out by his and Oliver’s bed, sitting with an irked face.

“You… know Eilwen right?”

He scoffed, “Yeah, I’m taking you to see her later today.”

“I am?”

“It was a last-minute call,” he replied. “But why are you asking about her?”

Ayu adjusted himself before answering the question. “I just want to know what you know about her.”

The question brought Vittorino to a side-eye of thought, but he shrugged nonetheless. “There’s not much I know about her, or any first eras other than Alice –but everyone knows about her really–. All she really does is hate on Akeldama and stick herself inside her own room, but most of ‘em keep to themselves like us too.”

He fidgeted. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” He then asked, “What, did she do something weird?”

“I guess she did…” He brought an explanation to the table. “I guess she was wondering about what’s happened to my body after dealing with Akeldama, which that was weird but… She tested me with a cross and her hands looked like they were burning…”

Vittorino’s calm face dropped just the slightest.

“She said it happens to everyone because of contracts, but she didn’t even bat an eye at it. I figure she’s just strong about it. She seems strong. But I just want to know how it is with other members in the society since– since it burned me immediately yet she took it like a champ.”

“Wait it burned you?” He nodded. “Huh, I didn’t expect that… I figured Oliver would but–. Anyways, you really wanna know about that stuff, don’t you?” Within a whim, Vittorino brought himself down to Ayu’s sitting level.

“It’s just been stuck in my mind for a while.”

“And that’s a bad thing to get stuck behind.” Digging through, he buried his hands into his pocket, viewing downwards whilst doing so. Soon, steam appeared out of the pocket as he paused, only to bring himself at a sigh when he brought it out.

There laid a wooden cross against his skin, burning up in a red yet he too held no response. “It’s a simple thing: it burns whatever is associated with a demon like Akeldama.”

“He’s a demon?”

“Probably,” he answered, “We figured once Alice told us some stuff.”

“So, he’s that bad…”

“Well, people take him for granted,” Vittorino commented. “Anyhow, this stuff is painful, yeah, but it’s just that some of us are used to the feeling by now.”

Ayu asked, “Why?”

“Because…” Vittorino shook his head, storing the cross back in his pocket and standing back up. “Because some of us like holding it sometimes… to think about things.”

“… Vittorino–”

The tallest chuckled to himself, turning back to Ayu with a cheeky smile. “I think I’m one of the only second eras who even do it, but it’s just because it’s funny. Like, we aren’t even allowed to hold it, how idiotic is that? It just shows how ridiculous all that stuff is.”

The lie radiated to Ayu’s discomfort, a good one for sure considering his character, but a detection in lies were somewhat of a tendency. “Vittorino, are you sure this isn’t about…”

He pushed the idea aside, “No, they were all idiotic. That’s why I left the whole place.” His foot tapped impatiently. “Do you want to go to Eilwen’s early or something?”

Ayu blinked at him, then back at the textbook. “… I mean, if it gets me out of language arts.”

Opening a door already, Vittorino rolled his eyes. “He really wants you learning all that?”

He followed him over to the forest entrance. “It’ll be important for when I’m older, and I really need to catch up anyways.”

“Yeah, like learning phonetics can help you fight stuff or whatever.”

“Ollie said that shouldn’t be my priority anymore–”

“That’s what Oliver said,” he argued, “but not what you decided.”

He ventured himself into the darker woods that steeped itself by its depths of a hillside. The conversation obligated Ayu to follow.

“I’ve been watching both of you ever since you guys had to be relevant in my life, and all you do is care about and follow others. But what about yourself?” The steps he trudged formed a beat to themselves, as if of a slow march. “Oliver’s was easy to notice since him caring causes him to start dying, and he stopped following people a while ago, but you’re less noticeable. For everyone, you’re less noticeable, since you aren’t dying from it. However, you keep caring and giving yourself away for other people. You’ll kill yourself eventually from just doing that.”

The speech brought fear to Ayu’s throat, as he gulped at those last words.

“’Everyone is manipulated by everything, but it’s in everyone’s power to take their own control.’” he glared down at Ayu. “That’s what I’ve been taught, and by now I think you should learn it for once.”

“… You were taught that by Akeldama, weren’t you?”

He answered, “Obviously. Like I said, he’s taken for granted with some things he says.”

Ayu had to argue then. “Vittorino, he’s a terrible person.”

“So, what if he’s a bad person? For me, he made me the great and living person I am today and got rid of so many lost causes from making more chaos.”

The excused seemed invalid with many counterarguments. “He caused the deaths of a bunch of lives because he felt like it.”

“And that’s where it is: he does what he feels. He has nothing holding him back and we can’t even imagine all the events he’s had in his life. He doesn’t follow anyone and that’s what makes him great!”

His excitement over the conversation peaked the slightest with his voice and giddy hands, to Ayu’s dismay.

“Oliver’s right, you’re a weird fuck.”

“If those guys are the ones that are free from all those rules,” he chuckled.

As they walked, Ayu tripped on a root again. “Why are we even walking here? Didn’t you want to drop me off at Eilwen’s?”

He shrugged. “I just like walking here, and I don’t actually have access to her room. She locked me out of it.”

“I…” Somehow, Ayu yelled in anger, “Vittorino! –”

***

Eilwen was found in the wild an hour later conversing with Alice. Though she hesitantly brought him back to the black-box.

As they sat together in their separate chairs, Ayu questioned her silence. “Why did you bring me here now?”

At the question, she bit her thin lip, her eyes piercing at him with an unknown feeling. Then sighed, “I asked Alice about your body’s behavior, and why you even have such odd relations with Akeldama… And I’m afraid I’ve now been tasked to prepare you for that answer yourself.”

Ayu blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I cannot explain any details. I’m sorry. However, you are not here for that; you’re here to learn of other matters.” Standing up, she grabbed her candle to light up others from behind her back, illuminating a distinct chart connected to her watch by a string. “That being the current members of the society today.”

Admittedly, Ayu groaned in the inside. “Can’t you take me on flashbacks again for this?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s rather unnecessary. I’ll only be explaining each briefly.” A face mirroring a sigh planted on herself. “Then you’ll meet some yourself.”

The last section peaked his interest at an instant, as his eyes beamed at attention once said. “You mean I have to meet them?”

“As annoying as it is yes. However, considering your importance, they won’t harm you now especially after the Margaret incident.” She shook her head, adjusting her hat while setting up her watch. “Now then, let’s begin with the second eras.”

After many psychopaths and silly characters in such a presentation, the watch clicked onto the final member. In his seat, Ayu sat intrigued but rather tired, with his arm barely lifting his head up. All the faces he only met on the board deemed themselves a weighing amount to handle by sight from their demeanors and smiles or frowns.

At least some members seemed human.

“Finally, we have the accursed, Bluebell.”

Ayu tilted his head. “Accursed?”

The picture brightened up with a woman in the forefront. Her body still like a portrait, she hung against a wreath of giant flowers delicately with her gown and hair flowing. Her hair welcomed itself like long roots of strawberry blonde that breezed down up until her waist. The gown glowed in a gentle white, small patterns of flowers speckled across its edges and rims, and sleeves cuffed under her wrists leaving an airy puff to her arms. But within it all, crowned with flowers colored vibrant and beautiful upon her freckled skin, she smiled, wide and calm.

The beauty and serene nature of her image calmed Ayu as that of a young, mystical mother. However, previous members already brought him to a distrust. Plus, ‘accursed’ was finally explainable with her appearance.

“Don’t trust her.” Eilwen explained, “While Bluebell is objectively the most gorgeous of the first eras, she is most definitely the least liked.”

“And why her specifically?”

“She’s just a sinister addle pate,” she grumbled. “She has not talked much of her origins but she either lied to many or she held multiple jobs as a caretaker, nursemaid, and florist whilst as a young mother. The happenings to what happened to her child are unknown, though she joined Akeldama without them.”

The image, in Ayu’s mind, continued to stare down into his soul somehow. While doing so, Eilwen explained her abilities and methods of extermination.

The concepts blended with Ayu rather poorly along with all the other new faces. “I get she hunts down kids but aren’t I safe?”

She replied, “It’s difficult to consider… and to explain. She likes to fool around with everybody in general. Although, I’m not sure if you’d even be affected by her.”

Through some thinking, Ayu shrugged. “I’ll be fine; Oliver’s singing is probably better anyways.”

Eilwen’s expression downed itself, proceeding to blow out the candles near the board and summoning a door. “I’m sure you will.” The door opened up her hands, which signaled Ayu to jumped out of his chair. “Follow me, please.”

And so, he stepped on out along her side, yet through the door was not the average forest of Fowls. Glass-ridden, a topless hallway was formed, large and wide in its endless interior. On each side of its walls placed multiple doors all of which caked against each other in their designs, along with small silver plaques beside them all.

“Woah…” Ayu breathed out into a smile. “This is cool!”

“This is where you have access to the houses and fields of every member in history.” The coat that blanketed her shuffled whilst she returned back to the door behind them. “Many will be empty, I warn you. And I won’t be accompanying you due to all their annoyances.”

As the door closed, he asked her. “Wait- Wait! How am I supposed to get back here? Or back to you?”

“Elementary, now that you’re here, just think of this hall and the door will appear. Don’t hassle over it.” Then the door finally faced him flat, its carvings of bells and old clocks mocking him.

The situation brought Ayu to a grumble, not so much any fear in his bones more so irritation of mentors. Perhaps the day was a bad mood, we will never know. Though after a huff and sigh, Ayu trudged forward to the first door in sight.

The new entrance glossed itself in comparison to all the other wood-like structures, shining along carvings of fancy men.

One of Ayu’s eyes lifted up at the design, its properness making itself more of an oddity. And already his guesses as to who it was appeared in his mind. He took a breath, motivating himself to enter in, and with his sight closed, he opened the door.

Barging in, Ayu stopped himself before his speed kicked in. Opening his blind view, he was met with velvets and greens, as well as stairs to his questioning. Stepping over, he greeted himself to what seemed to be a rich brat’s lair.

Yep, it’s him.

At the edge of the floor, a table sat furnished in cards and coins, as well two party members sitting on each side.

“… I draw three.”

“What do you mean you draw three? I had just went all in.”

“Well, you always cheat so you’ll be disqualified in two seconds once King comes back.”

“But don’t we always cheat?”

“Yeah, but the two of us can’t manipulate the card order.”

“Then that’s just too bad to be you.”

The two conversed at the singular turn. Their bickering brought Ayu to a slight familiarity. Soon, he spoke out, “You’re… Eden and Cosmina, right?”

They turned at him instantly, the girl holding a card by her two fingers without hesitation. The appearances began to clear up for Ayu, however their clothing and accessories contradicted that of past sights. The man, Eden, seemed to have lengthy brunette hair tied to the back, edges still rolling off from the knot and blocking up some of his face, though a piercing still appeared by the edge of his lip. His top comfortably laying against his torso and thighs as a well-knit turtleneck, yet the sleeves ripped themselves off. Then Cosmina’s hair changed to that of a slim cut down to her chin, with her uniform only consisting of a tank-top, shorts, and thin coat.

Eden questioned, “Are you the kid Alice mentioned earlier?”

“I thought he’d look more off-putting,” Cosmina commented. “Not that I’ll complain. Were you expecting King?”

Hesitantly, Ayu nodded.

She stared down into his soul. “Timid, I see. Well, there’s not much to be weary of here. We won’t bite, if that’s what you’re thinking. And King’ll be here soon, he’s only getting essentials.”

Ayu’s words stumbled within themselves, ultimately bring nothing of a reply.

“You’re calling booze an essential?”

“What else are we supposed to do waiting here? Might as well get a little tipsy.”

“I…”

“Jesus fucking Christ you couldn’t believe the number of parents at the liquor store today!” The door behind them all slammed closed. Ayu and the others whipped their heads to find the last member of the party. His figure lean and confidant with his boxes hung around his arms; his tailcoat flowed as he paced up the stairs. In Ayu’s eyes, the man’s eyepatch glistened in its dark cloth, his short haircut to match. “Oh, it’s the kid.”

“It’s Ayu…”

“King, perfect timing, he just got here.” Cosmina walked on over to the new figure. They greeted each other by King’s kiss on her cheek whilst he placed the boxes down for her to grab. He kissed down Eden’s cheek as well, to Ayu’s slight confusion. “He’s a little shy, so we’ll save the drinks for later in case you two do something stupid.”

“Oh, who are you kidding? We all go stupid with bourbon,” King laughed as he tidied the small mess on Eden’s shirt.

Ayu scurried in his spot. “You’re King?”

“In the flesh, hopefully.”

The answer forced Ayu to gesture at the whole room. “Aren’t you supposed to be the fancy one?”

He muttered, “Damn, I really do wanna drink. Mina, get the OJ.”

“On it.”

“Anyways,” the focus laid back on Ayu. “I suppose that’s how I’m seen in the society.”

“Yeah,” Ayu eventually brought himself to a seat. “You’re the fancy-ass ruler with the throne…” he then pointed at the other two. “And you guys were the servants?”

Eden cackled. “Oh god, that takes me back.”

The king chuckled a little with him. “Yeah, I guess that’s how it was.”

“You all had old fancy clothes and stuff… what happened?”

“That shit was hot, that’s what,” Eden answered.

The girl returned with cups of orange juice by a hand and placed it on the table for the others to grab. “There were too many layers back then, I’ll admit.”

“Thank you very much,” King snatched a cup. However, he offered to Ayu, “You want some? It isn’t spiked,” as he eyed the alcohol in the corner.

That in itself raised Ayu’s hands against it. “I prefer apple juice…”

“Huh, we haven’t had apple juice in a while. I’ll get that later.”

Ayu still grabbed the cup from him, taking a sip to a surprise of the nice taste. And no pulp. “– Still why’re you guys like this now?”

King handed himself his own cup while answering. “Well, I will admit that back then, we did act like snobs.”

“It was you who was the snob,” Cosmina retorted.

“And it was you all who went along with it,” he added. “But what am I joking, almost everyone in the first era has some kind of act going on, especially if we’re talking about back then.”

Ayu questioned with his cup, “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone here exaggerated themselves back then, whether it be by fashion or action. We were just the types who did both,” King explained. “And while we did like the roleplay and the clothes, being immortal for four hundred years made that a little boring.”

“Oh yeah,” the idea of immortality seemed so normal for Ayu by then. “How is even being immortal.”

“Oh, my god, it’s terrible!” Eden raised an arm.

Cosmina said, “Remember you’re supposed to live a life for less than one hundred years and imagine doing the same thing four times.”

“What she said,” King sipped. “We followed the trend of the society for a while which was ‘stay in your rooms to do whatever bullshit for eternity’. But we realized that, in itself, was bullshit.”

The swearing still threw Ayu off.

“Usually people would off themselves after being tired of immortality, but we knew that was a stupid idea considering our society deals. So, instead of killing ourselves or moping like the rest of the ‘woe is me’ first eras–”

“And the even more ridiculous seconds.”

“– them too,” King continued. “We just decided to go and have a life outside of killing.”

“By… drinking and living off of orange juice?”

Eden drank his own cup of orange juice when he spoke, “Nah, the bourbon’s only for when we’re stuck here.”

“… You’re gonna throw that out later, right?”

“No, why would we,” Cosmina asked.

And Ayu replied, “Because my dad always told me and my sister to throw that stuff out for Mom so…”

“Psh,” Eden chuckled, “Then that’s just a bad parent.”

“They were pretty nice,” he defended.

“I’m sure your parents managed to fix that up, or at least will do soon,” King pushed aside to Ayu’s own bitterness. “But, no we aren’t alcoholics. We go travel and find whatever’s fun in the new world.”

“What?”

“We visit all different kinds of places in the world and do whatever festival or party’s going on there. Because, why stick here for a hundred more years when you can do whatever you want?”

“Whatever’s fun or whatever sounds funny enough,” Eden added, pointing at his own piercing with brows together.

“It looks lovely on you, dear.”

The compliments gave Ayu another topic to look upon. “… And all you three are?”

“A couple.” Cosmina stayed in the background during all of the answers. “Is there anything of it?”

“No, not really,” Ayu looked down at his cup. “I just, don’t know anything about that stuff and I’ve never seen three people before so I was wondering why.”

“Fuck monogamy, that’s why,” King replied.

“I drink to that.” With the raise of a cup, Eden drank more of the juice.

“…?”

“We do as we feel, and we all like each other’s company. That’s all the necessary explaining,” yet even Cosmina casually sipped the orange juice. “You’re only a child but once you really understand, good for you.”

“Wait… do people like each other just because they like their company?”

King interjected, “Well, there’s more to it but…– hold on we aren’t here to give romance advice!”

“I wasn’t asking for any! I was just curious!”

“What, are you having a school crush or something,” Eden raised a brow at him.

“What?” Ayu scoffed at the idea, blushing in the midst, “No!”

“Alright then. That’s that.” He finally set his empty cup down after playing with it. “Are you going to ask us anything else or are you done with your orange juice?”

“I…” He set down the cup. “I think I’m done.”

***

The other doors Ayu entered were abandoned by their owners long ago, as Eilwen told. Some brought worn down activities for Ayu to venture into, though others laid barren. Those barren lands packed themselves up, from the owner ready to leave as he learned. The ghosted lands still hung around with bright colors, but the dim atmosphere brought him to leave early to every single one.

King’s trio seemed like the biggest treat of the day, alongside their flavorful beverage, but he tried to ignore that. Their modernist attitudes stuck to him, as well as their farewells to his visit.

“If you end up joining us, come over here because everyone else sucks!”

Not the kindest gesture, he admitted, but the message still stood. He questioned the message, Am I joining the society soon? Is that what Eilwen’s worried about?

The idea pleased itself easily, considering his associates and history. Besides, with everybody’s growing concerns to his own apparent growing importance, the aspect of him joining them seemed of a satisfying end to finish his mess, in some way of the matter. Perhaps he would receive more power than he could ever imagine or be granted his wish to undo everything in his life. That concept pleased himself the most.

However, the price still stood ahead of him. That price of taking another’s life for his own lingered in the concept. And to that, he availed from the chances quickly enough, his heart too strong to break by himself.

There ahead of him, was yet another door to enter. This time, the wooden décor carved itself into flowers and leaves growing into one another in intricate detail. The petals fell and the stems kissed the grass carved below. In such detail in design, Ayu gulped knowing who it may be. And yet again, he brought his arm to open up the door.

Stepping into new grounds, the soles of his old sneakers brushed up against long grass. It tickled his knees as his first views of the land were made. Despite the nature field, her land posed itself as disproportional. Flowers grew wild and of various shapes and sizes which many were larger than likely possible of a normal plant. They all swayed rhythmically to nothing, dancing to their own hearts content at the silence, but also the humming of another person in the garden.

He faced doubt in the eye, and ventured more inside, ignoring his own inner-warnings. Quickly after drowning of the leaves in front of his path, he discovered the source of the hummer. Her long, angelical hair swayed down like a river, covering her face alongside her crown of wild flowers. She mumbled a tune as she watered a bustle of flowers, but the identity was clear nonetheless.

Bluebell, his eyes darted down the nearest bush and hid in its rustling leaves. Even with his mouth of courage to Eilwen, her own words left a mark of warning once seeing her in person. He managed to not flinch, to itch a muscle, or to form a single peep of gripe. After moments in time, and some flashing of black and white, Ayu sighed. Soon, he rung his arms to start crawling away and making it out of the door–

“And who might you be?” As soon as he stepped towards the outside, the lady grabbed him by the hood. She yanked him back to his startled fear.

“Fuck–” He pulled the hood in front to resist choking, and struggled with his own feet to muster up. “Let me go!”

With his light weight, she lifted him up with ease, her copper eyes squinting at his appearance. Yet eventually, she smiled. “No, no, come with me,” she pulled him, “You look tired; you can sleep here if you need rest.”

“Let me out,” he yelled, but to no avail.

“Oh, don’t be fussy, Ayu,” she giggled, “This will make Akeldama fuming. Just listen to me.”

While the pleasure of Akeldama’s misfortune would have convinced Ayu another day, the risk of her ability still lied as a great possibility for him. “No– Stop! –” However, he was too late to make a hit.

“My dear, in sickness, sadness, and red, can sleep from a song with sigh…”

Her voice echoed and rang into his ears, slowly softening every inch of this tension and mind merely from those lines.

“Your life, your soul, your ending night will rejoice with us in light.”

The lullaby wrapped him around, stopping his struggles and whines and instead relaxing and numbing the pain.

“Despite these somber eyes, I can see, there is time to close them away…”

Such a clear, siren-like voice called to him. It chilled the bones that wanted end so recently and brought along a warmth that coddled him endlessly. Soothing him, his own eyes began to calm into a slumber.

“In hope, my love, without life in sight, your days will say–”

“BLUEBELL!” Alice screamed at her, interrupting her beautiful song. From the erupt end, Ayu snapped back awake with the lingering melody as he turned to the distressed woman ahead of them. She ran and snatched him away from the siren, to his dismay.

“Oh, Alice, you ruined his fun,” she said.

The head of the society glared at her. “You impudent–” yet she turned back to the young boy with closing lids, “Are you alright?”

Ayu remained silent, processing the event that just unfolded.

Another slowly walked into the scene, somehow shying away with her scarf.

“Eilwen, I told you to keep watch on him,” she stomped towards the mentor.

“I–” she stammered. “I thought he would be alright considering he’s of–”

“He hasn’t developed at all yet! He’s only a mere child at this stage!” Alice shrieked in her stop. “God, didn’t you think of how Akeldama could be upset by this? – Ugh, that’s beyond the point now. At least I managed to catch him before Akeldama arrived… How are you feeling Z– Ayu?”

The argument rather unsettled Ayu’s mood. The lullaby from before seemed as something to return to once more already… In all honesty, the song was not as horrifying as he imagined. “… I’m doing fine.”

“Be honest.”

More so, it lifted him up the slightest. “No, I really mean it,” he told her. “Kind of, uh, refreshed actually.” He forced a smile upon the odd feeling. That sense of wanting more began to kick in.

Alice nipped her lip and turned to Eilwen. “Do you believe it’d be alright to bring him back home? It doesn’t seem all that bad…” The head turned again to the wonderful lady. “We’ll only need to console you later,” she spat at her, who only continued to water her plants once more.

She scoffed, “You never tell us anything, Alice. How would I know of the consequences?”

“Well, your fun may have caused you your own death grave.”

Instead of anything else, Bluebell shrugged with a giggle, “Do you really think that matters anymore, Cecily?”

Alice huffed, patting Ayu towards the exit. “Let’s go; you need the rest.”

***

The apartment entrance shut as Alice led the way. Ayu scurried behind her, unsure of her silent aggression.

Oliver sat by the couch, legs crisscrossed and Ayu’s textbook on his lap. He poked a pencil by his hand, jotting down on whatever pages Ayu bothered to commit to the day prior. Corrections most likely covered the pages considering previous marks on his answers.

He turned around at them, his pale eyes peering at Alice. “Oh, hi… Alice, why are you here?”

Originally, Ayu would have pondered as to why Oliver never asked why he was gone; however, that failed to bring him down that day. Alice instead pushed him gently more towards the inside as she explained. “Ayu simply ran into a… mishap, while in Eilwen’s care. But don’t worry, she and I will take care of it.”

He dropped the book down onto the couch, standing up. “Alice, what happened?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. The most Ayu will experience is some improper thinking and a state of intemperance.”

“But I can’t ask why?”

“No,” she stated, her voice reaching a new low. “You aren’t to be involved with anymore things that can harm you.”

“So, he’s been hurt.” Oliver’s brows furrowed together at Alice, as he walked down to Ayu’s side. “Are you okay?”

He told him, “Yeah… I’m great, Ollie.” A smiled crept up the slightest in his dazed fate.

His face raised into that of confusion. Only for him to sigh, “Just go, Alice. You aren’t going to help me with this.”

She nodded in silence, and exited through the doorway and magic.

In the unknown, Oliver hummed and stared up until he faced Ayu again. “Okay, Ayu, what happened?”

Unsure of how to reply, the serious tone gawking him, he only answered back, “Nothing really… But, something really nice happened if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“… What?”

He figured Oliver would like his story. “I met this lady, who sang a nice song and I got to hear it… Too bad Alice stopped it though. Oliver, you should have heard it, she sounded amazing.” His mind bubbled at the thoughts of it. “I think I’ll go try and visit her again. You should come with me.”

“Oh.” His face softened the slightest. “Okay…?”

In the comforts of his thoughts, Ayu held up Oliver’s hand and gripped it in his smile. “Trust me, the song makes you forget about everything.”

At those very words, Oliver’s mouth sided downwards. “Sure,” his words slurred as he reached back in a smile.

Ayu let go of the hand, bringing himself to an arm stretch. “Well anyways, I’m gonna take a nap.” Drifting off, he told his final words to Oliver, “I’ll talk more about it later.”

In the room, instead of sleeping, Ayu actually giggled at himself and his own formulating thoughts. Not even sure himself as of why, he laid there, smiling and basking himself in the growing euphoria inside of him. However, his sense remained ever so prevalent, and his ways of listening peered from outside the room.

“You have a clue, don’t you, Vittorino?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ve only heard of Bluebell, but I know kids are her main targets… He must’ve been affected by her ability.”

“… What does she do?”

He quickly jabbered, “It’s a more subdued but strong version of my ability. She sings people to sleep to kill them. But if she doesn’t finish her song…”

“Ah,” Oliver said once connecting the dots. “And it’s going to get worse, I assume?”

“Most likely.”

He sighed from the outside. “Goddamn it…”

But Ayu listened to it all, and all he could reply from it was to shrug. Oh well.

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #swearing warning #religion warning?? christianity warning???#burning warning #murder mention #genocide mention #kinda #alcohol warning #child murder mention

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docholligay · 4 years

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St. Raphael 3: With All Your Strength

THE CATHOLIC BOARDING SCHOOL AU. This is actually up to part 8 on the Patreon, part 9 hopefully coming tomorrow, but I wanted to give y’all a couple that were only ever on the Patreon, so there’ll be a couple parts released today! All posted parts listed here

Physical pain, Haruka liked. Well, perhaps liked was the wrong word, but it was easy to understand, familiar, and it felt like something she deserved. Mortification of the flesh, that old prayer when words of forgiveness were not enough.The aching with every breath gave voice to her bruised heart, and she languished in it, even refusing the medication. It wasn’t bad, it didn’t really hurt, she said, lying, which was another sin to add to the tally, but then the punishment could do double the work. They took it as a positive sign that the injury had been frightening but not altogether dangerous, and she was released to her room, though given a few days’ freedom from school.

But it was an avoidant pain, and soon the Lord took that from her as well, and the much deeper and more bloody emotional pain of a hope began to fill the space. Michiru sat in front of her still, and Haruka could not have even told you what country they were studying, her mind only studying each time and date that Michiru spoke to her, only concerned about the social ramifications of each word from her lips. There were so few now. A polite notation that she was pleased Haruka was well. Condolences for her fall.

Not only did Michiru not love her--it had been vain and stupid to consider she might--but, it seemed, did not even like her.

The ache behind her breastbone could no longer be mistaken for a corporeal injury, and it festered and stewed deep within her.

And so, it was only seven days from that dance at Saint Sebastian's that Haruka hit a wall Mina might have seen coming on her calendar, if she had cared to look.

“I’m not going.” Haruka sat on her bed, cross legged and cross armed as if it prove just how cross she was, and frowned deeply.

Mako’s face was hard as the stone on the building, and just as unimpressed. “I’ve spent weeks making this dress. You’re going.”

“I’m gonna look stupid!” Haruka protested.

“You’re going.” It seemed like once again the very things that had exploded between them years ago--namely Haruka’s dramatics and Mako’s immovability--were about to explode once more, over a carefully sewn pink dress. She stepped toward Haruka, clutching a spare piece of fabric, briefly considering exactly how many Hail Marys murder got you.

And she HAD labored. Not just on Haruka’s, but all the dresses. She had been designing since the summer, collecting oversized dresses at thrift stores, seeing how she could make the gaudy rhinestones into a delicate accent, how she could use an outdated sateen to offset the cream fabric taken from an old wedding dress. She had scoured sales and remnants. She had sat up late, sketching and re sketching, looking at pictures of her friends, and now, two days before the dance, Haruka was throwing one of her fits.

She was going, if Mako had to put her in that dress herself.

Mina, for a very rare moment in her life the voice of reason, stepped in, touching Mako’s arm and drawing her back. “Hey, hey, hey. Mako, just...she’s going.”

“NO I’M NOT!” Haruka turned over on her side, flopping dramatically.

Mina nodded at Mako. “Just let me.”

Mako took a deep breath and huffed it out, her fists balled, but gave a sharp nod in return and headed back over to her side of the room.

Mina sat on the edge of Haruka’s bed, considering for a moment what she might say. She was clever and silver-tongued--enough people had said so, and it hadn’t always been a compliment--but sometimes, with Haruka, there seemed nothing to say. Haruka more complex than people gave her credit for, and it wasn’t that she didn’t have all the fine onionskin layers of her own bible, it was simply that so many of the pages had been colored by her own struggle with herself, and sometimes they simply stuck together in a single oppressive ball.

“Ruka, what’s the deal?” She leaned over her. “I know you don’t like dresses that much, but c’mon, you wear a skirt every damn day. Mako put a nice collar and stuff on this one, it’s not the girliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Not that.” She mumbled angrily into her pillow. “Just don’t want to go.”

“You just don’t want to go, in the most dramatic way possible, a week before the dance?” Mina rolled her eyes. “Give me some credit.”

Haruka turned over, her eyes mournful, half whispering. “I don’t want to look stupid in front of her.”

“Sister Mary Clare?” Her eyebrows twisted in confusion. “Pretty sure she’s used to seeing you look awkward in a dress, Ruka, she’s known us since we were eight.”

Haruka gave a brief glare. “Michiru.”

Mina sighed. In some ways, it was hard to understand where this had come from--Haruka had had a crush on Michiru since she was 13, and all of a sudden it was becoming a source of great and terrible pain. Was it the chocolate and comics? It had to be. Often, Mina reflected, hope only deepened the pain of failure, cutting open the dull ache with fresh vigor.

She touched Haruka’s shoulder. “Buddy, she’s seen you in a dress before. Nothing’s changed” Even saying it, she knew it was a lie, at least for Haruka.

Haruka closed her eyes and fell back on the pillow.

The human capacity to act an utter fool is capacious as the sea, and so, Michiru and Haruka passed by each other, gliding like ships, silently and darkly past each other, never imagining what might lie in the heart of the other. No flag were flown in signal, no smoke came over the bow, there was only a quiet bobbing in the water, and an inability to articulate that feeling which God had given them but man had put asunder.

Unfortunately, the only people they had managed to buffalo entirely was themselves, and the school began to notice that the girl who had always been a princess in tower now drifted into the clouds themselves, and the girl whose temper soothed a tender hurt became more apt to break and boil, and though no one could have guessed at the reason, the world saw the tense brokenness in them both, a window cracked with the glass holding in only by its own support.

But someone is always watching, even, and knowing, even in our darkest hours, and it is in these moments that a Saint may find occasion to step in.

Michiru had been quieter than usual, a turn of events Rei was not certain could have been possible, if you had asked her earlier in the year. She had always been a taciturn person, but lately her quietness had not seemed as some guardian angel, content to watch and to know, but it had taken on a pale grey flavor, that took Rei time to identify, until, turning over in bed one night, it came to her.

As unbelievable as it was, Michiru was sad.

This mystic knowledge whispered into her ear by God himself (Herself, Rei would correct), Rei set out to discover the cause of her sadness. Michiru had few family visits, but that was not terribly uncommon here, and it occurred to Rei that Michiru seemed unhappier when she was returning home anyhow. She didn’t seem ill. She was doing well in school. She was, as ever, remarkable at her violin, and her paintings were praised.

It was mystery she could not fathom, no matter how many charts she drew, bent over her desk late at night. And then, considering Michiru, sitting quietly at the lunch table that day, she doodled on her paper, hoping that in the tangles & knots of her pen, and picture would begin to reveal itself. And then she remembered. Just the smallest twitch of Michiru’s eye, and it was looking at--

She ran out the door of her room, and down the hallway, to the room at the end of the hall where Michiru slept. SHe banged on the door as if it were a foot thick, her knuckles aching with the pleasure of having solved the puzzle of Michiru Kaioh.

The door swung open, and Michiru stood, her silk robe wrapped around her, looking at Rei in disbelief.

Rei leaned inside the door, hand on the doorframe. “You like Haruka.”

Michiru’s lip curled slightly, but she shook it off. “Come inside.” She shut the door behind Rei and turned on her officially banned but unofficially well-known hot water kettle, and began to spoon tea into a tea ball. “Yes, she’s a very sweet girl, I think most people do.” But her cheeks pinked, just slightly, just enough that someone who had known her most of her life could notice.

“No,” Rei’s relentlessness stirred, her desire to know, her desire to be right, “you,” she could not quite form the words, as Mary stared down at them, “you...you know,” Michiru’s face puzzled, and Rei could not tell if it was because she was unaccustomed to Rei being at a loss for words, or Michiru herself being caught out, “you like her, in that way.” Rei was not sure how Michiru would take the accusation (for it was difficult to imagine anything coming from Rei as anything else,) and, if she balked, if it would be for ethical reasons or the very idea that should feel romantically at all. Michiru always was terribly practical.

But, to Rei’s great surprise, there was no denial at all.

Michiru looked down to the floor. “What we feel is endlessly less relevant than what we do.”

Rei’s eyes widened in the splendor of her correctness. “No! Really?!”She caught herself--to look like she was unfamiliar with the concept would look unworldly, and out of all the things she hoped not to be, a peasant in Michiru’s eyes was one of them. “I mean, I obviously this is completely fine, I just, you don’t look like...seem like.”

Michiru gave her a stern look, and Rei realized had failed in her attempt to look cosmopolitan.

She cleared her throat. “Haruka must like you. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh?” Michiru poured tea for the both of them. “And why are you so very certain?”

Because you’re both lesbians and I just assumed you’d get together, she immediately realized was wrong. “Ah, I mean, you’re basically the princess of this school.” Good recovery, Rei.

Michiru gave a huffing chuckle and handed Rei her tea. “It has been my experience that to be so far above others is to miss out on their company entirely.”

It sounded sad, and vulnerable, in a way that Rei had never heard Michiru sound, and looked over at her as she settled into her velvet chair, looking terribly soft in the moonlight. People, often even Rei, seemed not to think of Michiru as a person, but a figurehead, an aspirational painting of a human being, an idea. Seeing her, heartbroken over a girl, somehow made Rei love her all the more.

And with Rei, love meant help, whether requested or not.

Rei, as always, had a plan. People needed a leader, sometimes, and sometimes it was Rei’s job to be so. It was more comfortable for people to sit, unmoving, in the world the way they always had, but Rei had a certain pride in her ability to move people. And Michiru’s silent pining over haruka, however much she denied, could not sit any longer-- a ship in harbor may well be safe, but the bottom will also get rusted out and it’ll get moldy from lack of use. Michiru was her friend, and it was Rei’s job as Michiru’s friend to set this in motion.

It was a bit selfish, too, Rei would admit only to herself. The matter involved intrigue and secret knowledge and forbidden love, and it was all very exciting to a girl who had spent most of her life contained within the same grey walls of the school.

She slipped a note into a locker, covering her face casually with her cardigan as she did it, and lay in wait, for a response.

It was only half an hour later, in the domestic arts section, as requested, that she got her opportunity.

Rei spoke through the the bookshelves, a hissing whisper that caught Mina in its grasp. “I have information you may find interesting.”

“Rei?” She moved a book and peeked through the shelves. “What the hell are you doing?” She looked down at the piece of paper, pressed on the edges with a stamp. “I should have known this was you. Can you lesbians not do anything in the most dramatic way possible at least once?”

“I’m NOT a lesbian, Mina.” Mina could see her ever-expressive eyebrows through the tomes on ribbon embroidery.

“Well, this incredibly ridiculous gesture seems to suggest otherwise. Trust me, I would know all about it.”

There was a pause. “Then you are--”

“No, I freelance, but, anyway what the fuck, are we here to swap coming out stories?” She pulled out a needlework book and put her eye up to the gap.

Rei pulled back, her shoulder blade just touching a book on breadmaking. “I told you, I’m not--”

Mina hissed her words through the books. “God, don’t act so scandalized, it’s an all girl’s Catholic school, what else are we supposed to do?”

Rei pinked, though she could not explain why, and shook her head. “It seems that I have to be the one to pass on the forbidden knowledge here.” Rei smiled smugly.

“Hino, everyone knows you wear lace panties, what do you got for me?”

Rei’s pink turned a brilliant red. “Will you stop and just listen to me for even one minute, you are INFURIATING, and--”

“Anyway, this super secret intel.” Mina stared at Rei. “Well?”

Rei held her chin up proudly, recovering. She looked down again, eyeing Mina for any sign that might give her away. “Michiru has taken an interest in Haruka.” She leaned in and her whisper became low and harsh. “Romantically.”

“Gasp.” Mina’s affect was flat. “So why are you telling me?”

Rei put her hands on her hips. “So you can tell Haruka.”

“Why doesn’t Michiru tell Haruka?”

“Michiru is not going to tell Haruka, Mina.” There was an edge of obvious irritation at Mina’s insistence that such a thing was even possible.

“Of course not, because we’re dealing with fucking lesbi--HI THERE SISTER.” Mina sprung back from the books in jump, bringing a book on Amish quilting with her. “Hello!” She brandished the book at the sister. “Let me tell you what, I am just...fascinated by these...star...quilt..things. I’ve been meaning to take up more domestic arts, I mean--”

“Move it along, Mina.” The sister shooed her out of the dark corner of the library, quilting book still in her hand, as Rei looked very interested in Julia Child’s Art of French Cooking, as if she’d ever even correctly salted a piece of meat.

Mina walked out of the library, staring at the star on the book’s cover, and noticing how all the small pieces of fabric became one solid picture.

“She was sick, or at least that’s what Rei tells me.”

Haruka shook her head. “Are you sure?”

“Hino’s a lot of things,” She passed Haruka another cigarette as they sat out on their rooftop perch, “but I don’t think she’s a liar. What would her motivation be?”

Haruka thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I think Rei thinks I’m stupid.”

“You think,” she took a puff, “literally everyone thinks you’re stupid. The only person who thinks you’re stupid is you. Why do you think Father Joe has you sign up for shop every year, because you just look,” her voice became high and she batted her eyelashes, “soooo dreamy in that plaid skirt and sweater vest?” she passed over the cookies. “No, it’s because you’re really good at that. Build Michiru a bookshelf or some shit, I don’t know how lesbians court.”

Haruka smiled as she considered such a wild and fanciful idea. What if she made it with some inlay? White birch against dark rosewood, it would be beautiful and elegant and how Michiru would smile every time she looked at it with the knowledge of how Haruka had labored and cut over every detail, how much talent it had taken to make such a thing, how she would delicately put her finger to her lips and say that Haruka had made it when her friends asked.

It was a silly dream, but it was hers.

She looked over at Mina. “So she’s definitely going?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?” Haruka scowled, taking a cookie from the tin.

“Because I’m not your fucking carrier pigeon, Ruka, Jesus Christ.” She blew the smoke into high curls on the air. “You ask her.” She grinned. “No reason to be nervous, now that we know she likes you.”

Haruka bit her lip happily as she grinned up at the sky. “It doesn’t feel real. I mean...I know it’s hard but, we only have like two years of school left, less than two really, and then she can go to college and we’ll get a little apartment together. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think I’m gonna try and go to technical school, I like carpentry and mechanical stuff. You can do pretty good with that, and I know her family’s rich and all, but I could get a nice ring, I think, and I’ll work--”

“Buddy,” Mina clasped her hand tightly. “You’re gonna have to ask her out before you marry her.”

Asking out, was, of course, an impossibility. Where would they go? The chapel? And, even with the knowledge given her by Mina, through Rei, it all seemed too terribly frightening, out alone on a cold plain, praying for salvation.

Her St. Joan medal hit against her chest as she tapped Michiru’s shoulder in history class. Michiru turned to her, and she was nearly overwhelmed by the scent of Jasmine wafting from her hair.

Focus.

“So the dance is this weekend.” She fiddled with her pen.

Michiru had not yet recovered from the feel of Haruka's fingertips on her shoulder. “Ah yes, that bi-annual organization of awkwardness. I never really much enjoy the Saint Sebastian’s dances. It’s terribly awkward to be asked to dance by a boy you scarcely have heard of, palms sweating, cologned heavily, tripping over my toes, much less to have it happen over and over again in a gymnasium that smells of teenage boys’ socks.”

“But you’re going to go?” Michiru looked up at her, and saw what she thought might be hope in Haruka’s eyes, and though she immediately cursed herself for it, her heart fluttered in her chest, a hummingbird above Haruka’s tempting flower.

“I suppose. My parents purchased me a dress, and it would seem odd if I didn’t.” The words did not seem to come from herself, but from something deep within, as if the Holy Spirit spoke through her, simply a vessel.

“I...I’m glad.” Haruka scratched the back of her neck awkwardly as the Sister announced the end of class, and books began to shuffle and move.

Michiru stood up, and daringly stepped onto the precipice between her heart and Haruka’s. “Yes well, I hope I find someone handsome to dance with.”

The words flowed out of Haruka’s mouth before she could stop them. “Oh, I hope you do too, I’m sure you will, you’re beautiful--or,” she blushed heavily, catching yourself, “I mean that’s what the Saint Stephen’s guys say.”

Michiru smiled with more true delight than she had felt since she was a girl. “Well, I thank you for you confidence.” She walked to the door of the classroom, practically gliding across the tile.

“Michiru!” Haruka called after her.

Michiru turned expectantly. “Yes?”

“I hope I see you there.” Her heart swelled. “Maybe we could…” Haruka’s mind reeled, looking for something possible. “Talk. I don’t dance much.”

“I would like that very much.”

The threads of the tapestry gathered and knotted, another detail set into place as Michiru’s shoes tapped along the floor, Matching every beat of Haruka’s heart.

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silyabeeodess · 4 years

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FusionFall Writing Prompts: Nov. 2019, Prompt #1

It’d been a while since Silya had been to Sector V. The suburban town was like a breath of fresh air after weeks spent fighting in the Darklands. Of course, just as with most of the main force, she couldn’t stay for long: She’d only been allowed to return after taking on a few missions around Goat’s Junkyard and signing on to help instruct some of the newer recruits. Lucky for her, she wouldn’t be at it alone.

Even if he was still relatively new to the warfront, Tonix was a brother-in-arms she’d known from the beginning. He had his own work to do in the area: That evening, however, was a time to celebrate. It’d been ages since they’d last met up. The agent glanced around the treehouse’s improvised mess hall until she noticed a familiar, tall, red hat sticking out from the crowd. She smiled, walking over to the figure with a trayful of food in hand.

“Glad to finally get some real food?” she greeted, sitting across from him at a fold-up table.

Looking up from his meal, the dark-haired young man flashed a grin of his own in pleasant surprise. “Hey, you made it!” he cheered back, swallowing a hefty bite. Then he looked down, poking at some greens with a fork, “Yeah, sure beats the usual rations anyhow—or maybe I’m just that starved.”

“You don’t know the half of it until you’ve spent some time over at Townsville Park’s base,” Silya reached for a nearby salt shaker, “Let’s just say that the Scotsman and Max Tennyson aren’t two guys who should ever share recipes.”

She looked down at the spread in front of her. Really, whoever’s turn it was in the kitchen had gone all-out: Rolls, brick-a-broccoli casserole, corn on the clob, roast meef, you name it. Someone had even fried up cinnamon apples. Maybe it could be blamed on the season, but she was thankful for it nonetheless. One person could only stand eating MREs for so long.

“I thought you didn’t like Marzipanian food,” Tonix commented, pointing at her tray with his fork.

“I don’t,” she replied, biting into the corn, “but I can stand it—so long as it doesn’t talk back to me anyway.” Really, she didn’t understand most of the strange foods that came from that place. Nevermind the borderline sentient stuff; the idea of burple nurples made her cringe, the gamble with crazy cakes wasn’t worth it, and soso souffle was just plain disgusting! There were a handful of good desserts though, and a part of her actually wondered if there were any strudel doodles around.

“Do you still want to go out for ramen sometime?”

“If we could ever find the time. You mean that hole-in-the-wall place you talked about?”

“Yeah, it’s close to Marquee Row. Maybe we can drop by if we’re both ever stationed in the city together.”

Her smile turned bittersweet. It’d be awesome if it weren’t for the war sending them both everywhere. If a Fusion Fighter wasn’t stationed anywhere specific, it was easy to get caught up running from one mission to the next. The adrenaline was limitless, but all aspects of normalcy were pretty much gone. Rather than say what they already knew though, she nodded, “You know, I get sent to Tech Square a lot as a research participant. Maybe we can find a way to meet up then.”

After that, they went quiet for a moment, more than content with filling their empty stomachs. Did she even eat more than a granola bar that day? Silya had started travelling around dawn and had only made it to Sector V within the past hour.

She didn’t know when Tonix had arrived, but he seemed to be just as invested in his food. Where had he been stationed last again? She thought he was still assigned to the suburbs, and the locals tended to care for most of the Fusion Fighters’ basic needs when possible to do their part for the war effort. Maybe it was partially all of the training keeping him hungry—and the running around on odd jobs for their commanding officers.

When the both of them were halfway through the meal, Tonix asked, “Did you hear that the Morbuckses increased the storage limit at the banks?”

“Already purchased the gold membership.” As if slighted by her own, small confession, Silya ripped a hunk of bread off with her teeth. As much as she hated giving into the overall snobby family, they’d pretty much monopolized the banks—probably because there was nothing else compared to their systems. Honestly though, she was desperate. She’d made quiet a collection of armor, weapons, and data files during her travels as an independent agent: It was easier for her to bite the bullet and buy the extra space than to give up on what she’d earned.

He chuckled a bit at her short response, “This is what happens when someone wants every sword they find. Don’t you use a shattergun most of the time anyway?”

“Keep my Scottish Claymore and Scythe Jr. out of this.”

Laughing again, he just shrugged, “Well, the Morbuckses aside, let’s take it as a good sign that the banks are growing. Maybe it means that things are finally beginning to get back to normal.” Tonix picked up his glass thoughtfully, then raised it toward her in a small toast, “To taking back our planet!”

Silya’s grin returned. She mimicked the gesture, clanking her cup against his, and recited a familiar line known to all of the soldiers, “Down with Fuse!”

((Hey, guys! If you made it this far, thanks for reading. This piece included a buddy of mine, @tonixman. Thanks so much again for letting me include your character! :) ))

#made it!#kinda...#it's past midnight where I'm at #but i'm gonna take it #fusionfall #retro #writing prompts #nov 2019 prompt #silyabeeodess #silya #tonix #tonixman #sector v #chowder #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #video games

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papermonkeyism · 6 years

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Art Blockage

I got this in my ask box, and I thought it could use a post of its own.

"My question is, how do you keep on creating wonderful art and content without burning out? Do you have any tips for fighting Art Block?"

So, this is a super hard question, and will likely result in a rambly wall of text (apologies in advance), but let's see if I can be of any help.

For me, personally, the two most important things to fend off art block are 1: fail organically, and 2: sketchbooks.

Let's start with the magic word that is sketchbooks.

Look at these babies!

I've kept sketchbooks since sometime around 2009-2010, started out as tiny pocket sized art diaries, which then turned into actual sketchbooks, as I stopped using them primarily to mark down events in my life (I have a blog for that now) and more for, well, sketchbookery.

But the thing is, that sketchbooks are a license to fail. It's a sketchbook, it's supposed to be doodled in, they aren't FOR great art. Like sketchbooks are supposed to finish with coffee stains and covers held together by duct tape and stubborn will. Their point is NOT to be pretty for other people to admire, their point is to look like the paper equivalent of that childhood teddy bear you dragged everywhere untill it lost half its limbs and an eye and you can't really tell its original colors anymore, but dangit, it's YOUR teddy bear, and you love it dearly! Your "proper" art is those fancy porcelain statue on your windowsill that are pretty to look at, but if you ever allow yourself to have design porcelain in your house and nothing soft to hug aaaaand this metaphor just got off tracks. Apologies.

If you start a "real" drawing with the intention it needs to be pretty, you're piling a lot of pressure on yourself, and if you fail to achieve the level of pretty your brain sees, the art will feel like a failure.* With sketchbooks, if you don't feel like finishing a drawing because it didn't come out perfect, it's okay. Just turn a page and do something else. Or maybe draw a dumb face on the failed part. Or a dinosaur sitting on the image. Make the flub funny instead. If you get frustrated by not being able to think of anything, ruin a page!

Here's a collection of dirt pages from my past four sketchbooks (top left: random squiggles with traditional Finnish xmas drink "glögi"; top right: random watercolor mess; bottom left: coffee stains; bottom right: tea splatter).

Like, just... Fill a page somehow. Anyhow. Have ink on your fingers? Smear it on a page. Find a pretty autumn leaf? Dry it and tape it to a page. That's an autumn page now. Need to take notes for a class? This page here is very conveniently at hand, how about write in the sketchbook and fill the empty spaces with doodles of dumb faces. See a pretty dog sitting outside a caffe? Why not draw that. Saw a picture of a bird with a pretty marking that you'd like to maybe use somewhere yourself? Quickly doodle that so you can remember it later. Tear a page to shreds with your teeth if you feel like. A new pen you've never tried before? Time to test it out!

Pen tests with some DnD notes.

Have no filter. Whenever you get an idea, draw it down if you feel like it. Don't force yourself, but if you feel like drawing a chicken riding a sword, guess what

(Bonus comic notes because this is a sketchbook, and there was space to do comic notes on.)

Here's another page of random, including thoughts on elf clothing, how the fudge would an ahuizotl look like, and a collection of ancient mammals with fancy headgear I found one day on a google spree.

Here's a detail of a page, as I saw couple photos of a dog who had interesting face markings, so I did a marker study of them. I might later use similar, simplified markings for a character in Wurr.

Here's one drawing where I accidentally overfilled a Copic marker and spilled ink on, and then made the ink spill into a ghost cat.

And sometimes I do make finished, prettied up art in my sketchbooks too, but there's no pressure to do so

(do note the me wiping my paint brush on the page's edges instead of a napkin like smart people. But hey, sketchbook! Photoshopping the paint wipes off once I scanned it on the other hand... But we're not talking about that here)

Like, stop quality controlling your ideas before you ever even draw them, it's the worst thing you can do to yourself. Get yourself a sketchbook and try to fill up at least one page every day. It could be drawing your OCs in funny clothing, or a flower you saw while walking, or fan art of your favourite characters smooching, "accidentally" spilling coffee when you don't feel like drawing, filling one page with stickers, glitter gel pens... Carry the sketchbook with you, and use whatever you have at hand, be it fancy watercolor pencils or a ballpoint pen you once found on the floor of a cafe. Number and date your sketchbooks, so if you make notes on them you'll find them easier later, and also to see how you improve in time. Try life drawing, or what we call croquis drawing in here ("kroki"), which is life drawing but with time limit. Once you've drawn naked people in less than a minute for twenty times in a row, it loosens up your drawing nicely.

Or if your art block is more of the "I don't have any ideas"-kind, then maybe look for art challenges online. (Or be like me and beg people to throw you ideas and prompts because I just can't brain always.)

Also, for me, art is mostly just an extension of my storytelling. I have tons of headworlds, each with their own sets of characters and species and cultures, and just thinking about the characters and the world they live in, and them interacting with each other is what I love the most, and just draw that out when I feel like it. I often use drawing as an excuse to babble about thoughts I have about the characters on my blog here.

Just... Don't make your art dependant on success. You'll only make yourself afraid of even trying.

Failing is organic part of art, and there's no need to let it be horrible. Or BobRossing the same message: "we don't make mistakes, we just have happy accidents".

* Also highly important to note that people don't see your thoughts, and can't know what your drawings were SUPPOSED to look like. They can't see your struggles, and they certainly don't know how much effort you put into your drawing before they got to see it. If your art fails to match the image you had in your brain, your audience/followers will have no clue.

(Do note that I come from three different art schools as my background, so I've been encouraged to try out all the things a lot. Lybecker Institute for Craft and Design, animation for 3 years; Liminka Shool of Arts, a boarding school for a year, comics; Lahti University Institute of Design, 4 and half years, Bachelor's degree in arts and communication. My country has free education, can you tell.)

#shut up paper #i have no idea how to tag this #art block #art advice #sketchbooks #i guess?

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arigathanksgozaimuch · 6 years

Text

head to toe | lee taeyong.

genre: ten pounds of fluff. slightly suggestive? character/s: taeyong x reader. overview: you love each other from head to toe. literally. word count: 2971.

13. "Sorry I'm late." 28. "Drive safely." 99. "Be careful."

A IS FOR:

ankle

“C’mere.”

Taeyong’s voice pulls you out of your concentration. You look up from your laptop screen and scan the entire room until your eyes finally land on his figure. Calm and quiet, he’s sitting in front of his easel where a blank canvas is placed. Sunday nights mean the both of you catching up with the work you’ve put off over the weekend – you with your Film App paper, and him with his commissioned portrait.

You stand up, dragging your chair with you to where he was. He hooks an arm around your ankles and lift them up to his lap. Being able to touch you and feel you near brings him a deep sense of comfort. And only then is he able to start his own work.

B IS FOR:

belly

You sit on the sofa and let out a loud sigh of relief. Nothing beats having a boyfriend who can cook – and cook deliciously, mind you. Taeyong wears a smug look on his face as he watches you. "Full?"

Still in the last few moments of food coma, you could only nod. And then, when his gaze is back on the TV, you pull your shirt up just enough to uncover your belly and take Taeyong's hand. He immediately glances at you as soon as his palm rests on the soft skin of your stomach.

"You feel this?" you ask. "It's our food baby."

He snorts. "Wow, what's its name?"

"Chicken-stir-fry Lee."

"I swear to God you're the weirdest thing ever," he says. But he squeezes your waist and pulls you into his side, anyway.

back

Irritated Doyoung is in the middle of his speech when a hand lands on the small of your back. "What did I miss?" Taeyong asks, stealing the glass of champagne from your hands and taking a sip himself.

"Not much." You see Doyoung catching sight of Taeyong, the supposedly man of the hour, amidst the crowd and grimacing. "Just your opening speech, is all."

The man beside you snickers. "He handled it well, anyhow."

"But I was anticipating seeing you talk about your work."

He looks at you from the corner of his eye and frowns. "I’m sorry I'm late."

You want to snap back at him but you don't have a chance to, because Doyoung is already marching over to where you and Taeyong were standing. He then thrusts the wireless microphone onto your boyfriend’s chest and drag him to the spotlight, much to your delight and Taeyong’s dismay.

C IS FOR:

chest

There is a certain kind of security to be felt when you’re caged in between Taeyong’s arms and your legs are all tangled up. You feel like everything can go wrong – you can fail your exam, get sick with the flu for days, lose all your hair, and even misplace your lucky pen – but still feel happy and content. Because nothing can make you unhappy. Not here. Not when you’re safely tucked under his chin and pressed oh so warmly against his chest.

E IS FOR:

eyebrow

“What happened to his eyebrows?” Taeyong’s sister asks you as you bond over cups of coffee. She chances upon her brother’s latest profile picture and tsks in disapproval at the sight of him with one of his eyebrows partly shaved.

You shrug. “I’m the one supposed to know him the best, but even I don’t know what goes through his head sometimes.”

“There, there,” she cooes. “He’s a lot to handle, isn’t he?”

“I’m just at that point where I’m glad his fingers and toes are still complete.”

You and his sister sigh in unison.

H IS FOR:

hand

Taeyong holds your hand tightly after he sits you down on the couch. His hands are hot and sweaty against yours.

"What's wrong?"

He sighs, avoiding your gaze. "I've been hiding something from you."

"What is it?" Immediately, you are on full alert. Whatever he's going to say, you already know it's not good. You begin to anticipate something bad, like he's killed someone and now he needs help hiding the body; something worse, like he's going to use you for his upcoming exhibit; the worst, like he's going to break up with you.

"I have chicks," he says, eyes quickly searching yours for a response. He doesn't know what he sees there. Disappointment? Betrayal? Fury?

"You mean... you've been cheating?"

"What?" Your boyfriend shifts in his seat more comfortably. "No! I meant chicks, as in baby chickens. I just didn't want to tell you because you said you didn't want pets, and they're not pets! I'm just keeping them for inspiration for my new exhibit." He picks at your fingernails as he spoke, fidgeting with your hands out of nervousness.

You exhale the breath you don't realize you've been holding. If you didn't love this guy, you probably would have punched him. He sometimes makes you nervous and panicky for no reason. "Okay. Okay, that's fine."

He clutches your hands to his chest as he too sighs in relief. "Okay, good."

"How did you bring them here without me noticing?"

"Oh, that was easy. I bought them as eggs and then incubated them under our bed. I kept a daily log of them in my phone and not in a notebook so you wouldn't be able to see. Everyday, when you leave, I check up on them and cuddle them one by one like a mother hen. And then, after weeks and weeks of just pure love and warmth, they started hatching. So now, I've eight baby chicks."

"Did you just say you incubated them under our bed?"

"Uh-huh."

"For weeks and weeks?"

"Yep."

"And now that they've hatched, where do you keep them, exactly?"

"Oh! The pet store where I bought them from said to put them somewhere with soil and proper ventilation, so I put them on your mini garden."

"Lee Taeyong!"

hair

"The hell is this?"

You grab a handful of your boyfriend's hair and frown. Taeyong being an artist has its fair share of crazies. But having been with him for years has made you immune to them, so seeing him now with electric blue hair isn't as surprising as his old "experiments". But seeing Yuta and Johnny with red and green hair respectively is nothing short of shocking.

"What, you like it?" Yuta asks, his bangs covering his eyes as he blowdries his hair.

"It's like a powerpuff convention I wasn't invited in."

"See, I told you she'd hate it." Johnny elbows Taeyong against the rib.

"Shut up, Buttercup."

J IS FOR:

jaw

“Yes, give it to me, baby!”

Your arms and legs are starting to hurt from the awkward positions you put yourself into, but the smile it brings to your boyfriend’s face makes it all worth it.

“Okay, I think that’s enough pictures, [Y/N],” Taeyong says as he walks towards you. He’s beginning to think that asking you to take his picture for his Facebook profile is a bad idea. You do have a slight tendency to go overboard. Because even as he’s fast approaching you, you still manage to capture him in a candid shot or two. He quickly removes the strap from your wrist and manages, with great difficulty, to retrieve the camera from your grip.

“Not yet, just a few more!” You let out a whine in protest, almost shoving the camera lens in his face to give him a lot of pictures to choose from. “Whoa, look at that jawline,” you exclaim to distract him, knowing full well that he takes so much pride in what he considers to be his best asset. “What a killer.”

Later on, he’s posting one as his new profile photo. Before he could even finish uploading it, Taeyong tosses you your own phone so you could be the first person to like it.

L IS FOR:

lips

You know you’re in for a wild night when your boyfriend wears his clip-on lip ring, with Taeyong knowing full well how the small piece of accessory makes you feel all sorts of things.

N IS FOR:

neck

"I don't see how–"

Taeyong shushes you before you could finish your sentence. "You won't be able to see it if you keep talking. Be quiet and just stare at it."

You do as you're told, but after a minute or so, you complain once again. "I still can't–"

"Any second now."

You purse your lips and swallow the complaints that bubble up your throat. Instead, you take a deep breath and really concentrate on the canvas that was in front of you. Besides the weird splash of colors that seemed unorganized and accidental, you focus on the black lines that curve fluidly across the plane. And just like that, it hits you.

"It's a bunny!" you exclaim, straightening your posture at the same time. Taeyong has insisted you look at the picture with your head tilted at exactly 45 degrees. Now your neck just hurts and you let out an involuntary yelp.

"Good job, baby," he praises, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead. He puts the canvas away and places a new one in front of you. "Now, this one you have to look at from the back like you're walking away and someone from behind you suddenly calls your name..."

"Taeyong!"

P IS FOR:

palm

You rest your chin over your palm as you watch Taeyong dote on Jisung, his latest intern.

“Why are you being so mean to him? It’s his first day,” you complain as soon as he leaves the intern to do his assigned task and goes to you. “On my first day here, I didn’t even do much.”

“Yeah, well, I was faking being strict on you because I liked you. But now, I have to be really strict,” he says in defense.

“Because you might end up liking the new interns too?”

He shakes his head and steals a peck from your lips. “Nope. I’m actually a very strict and uptight person. I’m just nice to you because I’m whipped.”

You laugh at his strange attempts at flirting. And you don’t understand if you find it funny because his advances come off as awkward or because no matter how strange it seems, his flirting still manages to make your heart flutter. “You drive me nuts, seriously.”

“I may drive you nuts, but at least I drive safely.” And then Taeyong winks with both of his eyes.

S IS FOR:

shoulder

Scrolling through Instagram on his phone, Taeyong drops his head on your lap. “Hey, you think my doodles are pretty, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How come you never thought of having it tattooed on you?”

You frown. “Because it’s permanent?”

The word makes Taeyong sit up. “And we’re not?”

“Nope.”

Now it’s his turn to frown. He mulls over something for a while before speaking again. “Then let’s be permanent.”

“Like married?”

“Yeah,” he says, a small smile gracing his lips at the thought. “Like married.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, when inwardly you were screaming. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Taeyong repeats. “I want my fleur de lis drawing inked on your shoulder.” As he spoke, he grabs ahold of the collar of your shirt and drags it sideways to expose more skin. And then he marks the spot where he wants you tattooed by leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

T IS FOR:

tooth

Besides his genuine macabre style of painting, Taeyong is also known for his rather strange exhibitions.

“Are those—”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, urging you to move on to the rest of the artworks on the first day of your internship. But you choose to stand still and stare at the teeth scattered behind the glass display.

“Are they real?”

“Yes. Have you read the description?”

Your eyes dart away from the teeth and briefly shift to the justified paragraph printed on clean white paper just at the bottom of the display, but you don’t bother reading.

“Are they yours?”

Taeyong sighs. “Of course not. You know where I got them?”

“Where?”

“I pulled them out from the mouth of interns who ask too many questions.”

You don’t speak a word for the rest of your mini tour.

toes

“You call yourself an artist with this kind of work?”

You groan, taking the brush from your boyfriend’s grip. Sitting up, you fold your right knee up to your chest to inspect your foot. And, just as you expected, Taeyong has smudged the nail polish all over your toes.

“Well, I’m sorry the wand is too small!”

“Ugh.” You snatch the bottle from the table and work on your nails yourself. “I’m painting your toes in the same way you did mine and then we’ll see how you like it.”

tongue

Doyoung makes his usual round of the exhibit just before closing time. As usual on a Friday night, there are still several students taking notes, connoisseurs basking in the different sights, and just random visitors taking pictures. Nothing is out of place, he thinks, but he could only sigh when he catches sight of you and Taeyong by the corner. If he had a dollar for every time he catches the two of you with your tongues down each other’s throats, he would have been able to purchase an original Van Gogh by now.

thigh

Love means compromise. So on days you really need a dose of your boyfriend’s cuddles, he lets you sit on his thigh and hugs you with his left arm while working on a sketch with his other.

W IS FOR:

waist

“You nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise,” Taeyong reassures with a smile. His hands find purchase in your waist before his fingers find each other and interlock behind you, keeping them in place. “Now, take a deep breath for me.”

You do as you’re told and exhale after a few seconds. His words don’t completely quell the nervousness within you, but they manage to calm you down a little. You’re now beginning to regret agreeing to holding your first exhibition in your boyfriend’s own place. But you realize it’s too late to back out now, because Taeyong is already ushering you towards the crowd. You see your family and friends, who all congratulate you for a job well done. You catch sight of your professors, whom you avoid on purpose for fear of a long, intellectual discussion about art theory. You also get to meet fellow artists, most of whom were invited by Taeyong himself.

Somewhere along the way, you lose your boyfriend in the crowd, but you let him be, not wanting to disappoint your guests by sticking to Taeyong’s side the entire time. However, when the crowd thins and your social skills get drained, you look for him first. And it isn’t that hard to look for a red-haired boy in a sea of brunettes.

As soon as you appear in front of him, he says, “I’m proud of you,” as if he has been practicing all night to say it and now that he has the chance to blurt it out, he does. You squeeze his hand and smile. After all, despite the countless criticisms and comments you’ve heard all night, Taeyong’s approval is the only thing that mattered.

wrist

Being an intern for Taeyong – the Lee Taeyong – is taking up all your patience, to say the least. Sure, you have been offered an internship by other artists, but Taeyong's studio was the nearest to where you live. Traveling back and forth daily for an ordinary university student like you is taxing and costly, so you decided to choose him over others. You're starting to rethink that decision now.

"Be careful!" he shouts at you for the hundredth time today. "That's an authentic Rothko you're holding, not some poster from a souvenir shop.”

You roll your eyes. Usually, it’s Doyoung, his curator and closest friend, who gives you tasks and assigns you work to do, but he has flown out of the country since the weekend, leaving you under the wing of the devil himself. Taeyong’s first job assignment for you is to clean up his studio. You think of it lightly at first, but later on realize he hasn’t cleaned the place ever since he has turned it into his workplace. Media of various kinds cling to his floor and easel like glue (you found some kind of blood-like substance that you didn’t bother asking about), and it has taken you almost three whole days to scrub them off completely.

Now he’s making you move all the paintings from his exhibition area to the storage room for some reason he isn’t telling you. As carefully as you can, you attempt to lift the painting higher as per your boss’ instruction. But with the day’s worth of carrying and transferring finally catching up to you, you stumble back, the painting in your hands becoming dangerously close to being damaged. So Taeyong comes to your rescue, catching your wrist just in time.

But this isn’t like what you see in romance movies or John Green novels where boy catches girl and they stare into each other’s eyes until they fall in love. Because Taeyong takes No. 15 from your grip and brings it to storage himself. The painting is saved, but you never hear the last of it, because he scolds and nags your ears off and leaves you standing in the middle of his studio feeling like the worst intern ever. You cry about it to Doyoung over the phone, but he still says he ships the two of you together.

“Oh, please.” You scoff. “I will never fall in love with someone like him.”

But boy are you wrong.

Send me an idol and a number!

Masterlist

#taeyong scenarios #nct scenarios #nctwriters #lee taeyong #nct #nct 127 #nct u #kpop scenarios #nct texts

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palmtreepalmtree · 6 years

Text

Alright guys, buckle-up. We’ve gotta talk about the most bananas thing on Netflix right now, and it’s NOT Stranger Things 2.

I’m pretty much an expert at watching complete fucking crap on Netflix---don’t judge me, I have trouble sleeping---so I should not have been surprised when Netflix suggested this to me as something new that I might like. You’re goddamned right I might like it.

Described, as a coming-of-age story, this movie is immediately bad. We start out in a not-funny voice over---an eerily familiar-sounding voice over---introducing us to the main character, daughter of a Hollywood starlet, and her cliche long-time surfer boy-crush. Voice over gives us all of the necessary exposition so that the screenwriter doesn’t have to do any fucking work, and then we’re off!

The plot, such as it is, essentially takes place over like three days in Malibu, where surfer-boy is house-sitting for Keanu (yes, that Keanu) and has invited the main character and her wacky/hippie/trust-fund-baby cousin over to stay. There are the usual plot points---character wanting to lose her virginity, angsty boyfriend hasn’t surfed since dad tragically died, mom is too focused on her own glamorous life as actress, cute stranger arrives unbalancing the romantic pairs, etc. But there is just something completely off about the vibe here.

The soundtrack is half 80s throwbacks, half current 80s-sounding synth pop hits. The Buggles, Spandau Ballet, all the usual suspects. The visuals are heavily influenced by the 1980s (see above from the credit sequence) including 8-bit video games and fucking early MTV. But once the movie starts we’re back to like a film-school thesis project vibe. There’s no quality of filmmaking here. It’s like someone shot this on a fucking iPhone and even Apple doesn’t want anyone to know about it.

But once we get going, there’s obviously something different. Famous people keep fucking showing up. Rosanna Arquette, Molly Ringwald, and yes Keanu Reeves, and hey is that Pamela Anderson? Why yes, yes it is. And hey, who is that familiar-sounding voice over? Goldie Hawn. Like a more rando-collection of cameos, I could not have come up with in my wack-a-doodle dreams.

OBVIOUSLY the acting in this movie is terrible. It feels like the movie version of a vanity music video shoot. Like this is the movie version of Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” And you know what? That’s not far off.

I had to go look up the star of this movie, Carson Meyer, to see how the fuck she landed this role. IMDB didn’t tell me much, but never fear, I dug deeper (like one google hit deeper). According to Vanity Fucking Fair when they chose her as their March 2017 “Vanities Girl,” (*eye roll*) she’s the daughter of NBCUniversal exec Ron Meyer. At first, I was hesitant to say she’s bad, cause she looks like she’s 15 in the movie and I don’t go in for beating up kids, but she’s actually 23, so... SHE’S NOT GOOD.

The rest of the movie and cast is not really worth remarking on, other than to say, weird, bad, not even Hallmark channel movie level here guys.

But there was still more to the mystery of SPF-18 (aside from why anyone would buy such weak-ass sunscreen, but okay). When I decided I was going to post about it, I noticed that Alex Israel, the director, was prominently featured in the advertising, and the name was familiar. Then I remembered... that Alex Israel.

Described as a multimedia artist and owner of a sunglasses company, I had seen an Alex Israel installation at the Huntington Library, including a giant sunglasses lens (a la Claes Oldenburg?), and a room that had been painted with a 360 degree panorama of the view outside of an In-n-Out burger. He had also, relatively recently, teamed up with Bret Easton Ellis in a Los Angeles art exhibition that included stock photos (stock photos!) with text on top of them, that led one reviewer to remark that, “[t]heir stab at casual gravitas falls all over itself.” This one is called “Hotel California.” Just, so, you know.

Anyhow, I guess this movie is like a vanity project on two levels. You’ve got this L.A. artist dude, who wrote and directed it, and then this Hollywood exec daughter starring in it, and everybody and a whole bunch of random celebs being like “sure, I’ll be in it.” It’s fucking bananas. But clocking in at barely 1 hour and some 18 odd minutes---you’ve fucking got plenty of time for it.

In the end, I’ll just say this: if this is actually Keanu Reeves’ house in Malibu, can I house-sit sometime too?

#spf-18 #netflix #unsolicited reviews #of bad movies #it was awesome though guys #really

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confettiagenda · 6 years

Text

My mom was watching TV in the living room. I was at an age where I demanded my mother explain every plot, symbol, and definition. Whoopi Goldberg was crying on screen. “Mom, why is she crying?”

“Because she’s a lesbian.” Huh. I didn’t expect such a simple answer. “What’s a lesbian?” “It’s a woman who likes other women.” “What do you mean?” My mother looked a little angry. “She wants to be with other women like you would be with a man.”

My mind was blown. What!? How, why!? Staring at the screen, my mother replied, “somethings not right in her brain.” I wasn’t used to such short exchanges with my mother, who usually provided so much detail. I thought that maybe this wasn’t something I could understand. I felt sorry for Whoopi.

Like I had been hoping all along, one day a girl came over to the table I was sitting at and asked me about what I was drawing. Anime. She smiled, brought out her notebook. She liked it too. Recognition. We were friends immediately. I started to like going to school.

I went out of my way to look for her, and felt so excited when we would run into each other. She showed me her drawings which were so, so good. Better than mine - I was impressed and captivated. We liked really different shows, but I appealed to her tastes because I wanted us to be the best of friends.

I realized, after a few months of terrible Naruto cosplay and forced crack-shipping, that I loved her. I never felt this way about anyone! I guessed I was a “Lesbian,” or maybe I was “bisexual,” (that was starting to be really hit popular on the ol’ Internet,) and I was perfectly fine with that. Happy, even. I didn’t really believe we would ever be together, because we were too young anyhow. I got to be around her. I held onto my crush dearly and personally.

“Dear V,

I have a secret to tell you. You have to promise not to tell anyone. Please, please don’t tell anyone. I think I have a crush on J. I really, really like her... like I want to kiss her. I think I’m bisexual.

[doodles]

Anyway, see you later. Don’t tell anyone!!!!

- Liz”

“Dear Liz,

That’s ok to feel that way, but I don’t think you’re a lesbian or anything - I also felt that way about our friend M, but I was just mistaking feelings of strong friendship for love. I think that happens a lot, so don’t worry. See you later!

[doodles]

- V”

She didn’t say anything wrong, really, and I thought maybe she was right. But I still felt a little bit offended.

I’d been hinting to my mother that I was having romantic feelings towards a girl. One day, after one of these hints, she asked me with this sort of weary eyed grimacing face, “You’re not a lesbian, are you?” I laughed like it could make a wall between me and the point, with some panic mixed in. I howled my ‘no’s to her. She started laughing too. “Don’t scare me like that.” We were both reaching the ends of our chuckles like there was some kind of mutuality.

That night, I went into my parents room as my mother was falling asleep, and in the dark I reminded her of my little joke. I couldn’t read her face, and maybe that’s what made me feel safe enough to tell her. I liked my friend. I didn’t know if I was gay, but I liked her. My mother, looking practically serene, smiled and said she was glad I told her, and that it was OK, and at least she didn’t have to worry about me getting pregnant.

Happy happy happy! How EASY that was! Relief! Joy! I went to sleep and everything was fine.

If I knew my mother as well then as I do now, I would have been able to able to look at her face that night and know immediately that it wasn’t right. I would have been able to look into her eyes and see the terror. You know that image caption that says, “[INTERNALLY SCREAMING]?” That was her then, and I know that because every time we get bad news, that’s the face. That’s what I’m reminded of. She was in panic.

I can’t say what happened exactly on that day I came home from school, but I know that my mother sobbed in her chair in the living room, and when I came in she left. I know that over the next month, my mother did not look at me, would not speak to me. I know that she cried every single night. I could hear my brother and her upstairs, speaking about me:

“She’s a fucking lesbian?”

“[Sobs, muffled whispers.]”

“That’s disgusting. She didn’t tell anyone, did she?”

I felt my face getting hot. I was so embarrassed. Yes, I told people. I’d humiliated my entire family. I hated myself.

Once my mother and I were on speaking terms again - sort of - I apologized. She still wasn’t looking at me. I thought I must have disgusted her. Still, I had to be me. “I could still end up with a boy, mom,” I reasoned, “I don’t think I’m a lesbian. I’m bisexual.” She laughed and shook her head.

“There’s no such thing as bisexual. You’re either gay or straight.” I was annoyed, because I was pretty sure she was wrong. Where’d she even get that idea? (To this day, I still don’t know.) “Bisexual is just something people say because they don’t want to admit they’re gay, or it’s a phase. So maybe this is just a phase.”

My mother must have known more than me. “Well, maybe.”

My parents made me see a therapist to ‘work through it.’ They hated J and I didn’t hang out with her much after that. We had a falling out. It was unrelated.

I was reading a lot of fanfiction. I loved it more than anything. Most days I would be in school, thinking about a story that had me pacing around my basement in anguish just the previous night, dying to get home and read more.

When I came through the door, my mother was crying into her hands again.

“Elizabeth,” she said in a quiver, wrecked with sobs, “You cannot read this stuff anymore.” Wiping her face, she wailed, “THIS IS SMUT!” Picture, “The Scream.” I didn’t even know what she meant by that - ‘smut.’ It was funny, because I’d already read so, so much worse. She had no idea. My brain wasn’t ever going to be clean again.

By the way, it wasn’t anything remotely close to ‘smut.’ My mother can be a huge drama queen.

I told her I would never, ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever read it again.

I kept that promise for like, an hour.

I am 23 as I write this. About a year ago, I told my mother that I loved my boyfriend and I hoped we would be together and have a family. But that didn’t mean I was straight, and if I started to like a girl, I wouldn’t hate myself or be afraid of that. She laughed and said, “You just say these things to push my buttons, don’t you?”

Of course I didn’t. I meant it. But it’s still not as easy as I like to think it is, and a lot of the things that happened in my childhood resonate. Sometimes I feel envious of these coming out stories I read, where the parents accept them immediately, and the person has some funny, shocked reaction to that. What is that supposed to mean for kids like me? That we should tell our parents without fear? That maybe our parents will accept us? That’s great for you lucky few, but that’s not my story. My mother loves me, but that’s not how it always goes, even with love. To all those with kinda shitty coming out stories, or who are still in the closet because of the family they love - my heart goes out to you.

Ah well, this is poorly written anyhoo. I just had to get it off my chest and actually finish something.

#personal #self #journal #coming out #lesbian #lgbt #bisexual #coming of age #short story #homophobia #bad parenting #coming out story

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sage-nebula · 7 years

Text

VLD - Days Unlike Any Other

Notes: This morning I had a fic idea for Keith’s birthday, and so---since today is the day, and I didn’t want inspiration to leave me---I went ahead and wrote it up real quick. This spans from pre-canon all the way through to the present, so be warned that there are spoilers for season four in the last two sections.

As an additional note, Ryuuga is what I named Keith’s father, and Mezri is what I named his mother. That will probably be obvious, but I figure it’d help to get it out of the way upfront. Additionally, I do headcanon Keith and Shiro as seven years apart (as per the guidebook), so Shiro is about 20/21 in that little friendsheith section.

Anyway, that’s enough of that. Here’s this.

(AO3 link.)

The problem with forging a birth certificate was you had to know what date to write down for the birthday.

Well, Ryuuga thought wearily, that probably wasn’t the only problem with forging a birth certificate. He pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to rub the sleep out of them so that the text on the (stolen) laptop screen on the motel table in front of him would look less blurry. When he blinked at it again and found that the light emanating from it was as harsh as it was before, he yanked the AC adaptor free from the port, and let the cord fall on the floor.

Keith’s bassinet was on the other side of the room, but his head turned at the sound. God, his hearing was sharp.

The problem, Ryuuga thought, was that he didn’t know exactly how old Keith was. He knew Keith was a baby. That was obvious enough---anyone could tell he was an infant. But how long had they spent in space after Keith was born? He remembered all the units for time he’d heard while they were up there---vargas this, and quintents that---but he didn’t know what they meant. He hadn’t ever figured out the conversion. Even when he and Mezri had tried to puzzle it out---

God. Mezri.

Ryuuga put his face in his hands again. He was so tired. It was only 9:30 at night, and he was so tired. He guessed there was a reason why there was a stereotype that new parents were always exhausted, but the truth was Keith didn’t cry that much. He cried sometimes---all babies did---but Keith was pretty quiet, at least as far as babies went. At least, Ryuuga thought he was. He’d never spent that much time around babies before, so he couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought that as easy as it was to look after Keith in some ways, it would’ve been easier if Mezri was around to help.

Ryuuga scrubbed his hands down his face, and turned his eyes to the ceiling. The stucco on the motel’s ceiling was patchy, and the paint was yellowed. He couldn’t see the stars, but Mezri probably could, wherever she was, provided she hadn’t gotten herself killed yet.

He heaved a sigh. After a moment, he pushed himself up from his chair to go to Keith’s bassinet, and with ease that came only from however-long of practice, he gently lifted his son into his arms, and took him back over to the little table with the laptop and chair.

“How old are you, boy?” Ryuuga asked. Keith, naturally, didn’t answer. Instead, his head supported by the crook of Ryuuga’s arm, Keith stared at Ryuuga with grey-purple eyes that looked far more piercing than any infant’s had a right to. Keith had inherited those eyes from Mezri, and Ryuuga held him a little bit closer.

No matter how close or how long Ryuuga held Keith, though, that wouldn’t solve the birth certificate problem. There was no telling exactly how old Keith was just by looking at him, much less how the day he was born in space translated to the Earth calendar. Ryuuga sighed again, and lightly touched Keith’s nose with one finger. Keith blinked the moment Ryuuga’s fingertip connected, yet just as swiftly swung one tiny hand up to grasp Ryuuga’s finger in a little fist. Ryuuga smiled.

“Can’t get one by you, can I?” he asked. “You’re a quick little guy. Gonna be sharp as a whip as you get older. God save me when you start walkin’.” Although, depending on when Keith reached his toddler years, maybe that would help Ryuuga figure out a more exact age for him.

Keith considered Ryuuga for a moment, and then he smiled back.

Ryuuga looked at the date displayed at the bottom right corner of the laptop screen. It was November 27th---few days past Thanksgiving. Ryuuga wasn’t sorry about missing Thanksgiving---it wasn’t like he had any relatives anymore to spend it with (besides Keith, anyhow, and Keith was too young to care)---but . . .

He glanced back down at his son, and then looked back at the birth certificate he was forging.

Keith was a few weeks old, at least. Maybe a month. He could pass as a month old, couldn’t he? It wasn’t that big of a difference. Didn’t need to be that exact. Aside from his and Ryuuga’s names, practically everything else on the birth certificate was a lie, anyway. Even if his birthday was just an educated guess, well . . . at least it was educated. It was better than what the government or any foster agency would give him, if they ever got a hold of him. (Which they wouldn’t. Over Ryuuga’s dead body, maybe, and if he had his way, not even then.)

Ryuuga shifted Keith in his arms to make it a little easier to use the laptop with his free hand. And then, after consulting the calendar built into the laptop’s time and date system, he typed October 23 on the birth certificate.

It was as good a date as any.

It didn’t rain on Keith’s tenth birthday.

It should have, he thought. It would have been more fitting. It would have been more fitting had it rained, had it stormed---if a hurricane somehow reached the Midwest and devastated the entire city, so he could make his escape while everyone was distracted with the relief efforts. But it didn’t rain; instead, it was unseasonably warm and sunny. Despite being so late in October, the only clouds in the sky were cirrus, and all Keith needed was a light jacket over his t-shirt to keep warm.

He hated it.

He shouldn’t have hated it. If anything, he hated that he hated it. His birthday had always been one of the best days of the year. There hadn’t been many bad days in the past nine years---weird days, sure, like the time he woke up to find an opossum sitting at the foot of his bed, staring at him, or the day when he and his dad’s truck broke down, and the only guy they could find to help them was an old man who was convinced they were his son and grandson and had returned home to help run the family’s pie business---but even so, his birthday had always stood out as one of the best.

When he had been really small, like around five or six or so, his dad used to start off every day by scooping Keith up onto his shoulders and spinning him around in a birthday helicopter ride. Once that was over (and even in years where that didn’t take place), Keith’s birthday breakfast was always a stack of chocolate chip pancakes nearly as big as him. After that, they would do whatever. His dad never made him go to school on his birthday. Instead, they’d usually go somewhere cool. Some years his dad took him to whatever local attraction happened to be in the area. Weird museums dedicated to the paranormal (but that were really filled with hoax things like “authentic photographs” of Bigfoot and Mothman), or supposedly haunted mansions. Other years they went to the movies, or to a dirt bike racing park, and it wasn’t like they never did these things on normal days---they did---but there was always something special about doing it on his birthday. On his birthday, they could do whatever Keith wanted, and his dad never said no. Keith’s birthday was his day, his dad always said. It was a day to celebrate the fact that Keith was there, alive on Earth. So whatever Keith wanted, he got, just on that day. If he wanted the world’s biggest sundae for dinner that night, he got it (and trust in the fact that Keith had cake and ice cream for dinner on his birthday every single year).

Keith topped off the candles of the tiny birthday cake he was doodling in the upper corner of his math notebook with little flames, and then scowled as he harshly scribbled over it.

This year was different.

It had been three months since his dad disappeared---three months since Keith waited, and waited, only for his dad to never come back to the motel room. And he was going to come back---Keith knew he was. He said he would be back, and Keith believed him. His dad had never let him down before. But no one had listened. The motel manager hadn’t listened when Keith told her that his dad would be back soon. The police hadn’t listened when they had dragged Keith out of there. They hadn’t listened when working with child protective services to set him up with a stupid foster family, and the foster adults (Keith refused to call them his parents) hadn’t listened when he told them he already had a dad, and they needed to send him back, or at least help him find out where his dad was. It was worse than just not listening; the foster woman had actually gotten angry with him for saying they weren’t his parents, and had said that they were his parents for as long as he lived in their house, so he needed to respect them.

Keith glared at his notebook, and dug his pencil deeper into the paper.

He’d respect them when they earned it.

That morning, he woke up to nothing aside from the sound of one of the other foster boys whining about having a stomachache so they wouldn’t send him to school. There wasn’t anything for breakfast aside from toast, but Keith didn’t want it anyway. He never ate breakfast anymore. No one said anything to him aside from the foster woman snapping at him that he needed to get in the car to go to school, like he didn’t already know that. He went to school every damn day, it wasn’t like he skipped. Not that he’d be missing much even if he did---not that missing one day of school was bad---but---

He pressed his pencil so hard into his notebook that the tip snapped, the lead skittering off the page and over the edge of his desk. He looked up, but his teacher was still droning on with her lesson, explaining how fractions worked with long division. No one else noticed, either. Keith stuffed his broken pencil into his desk (it wasn’t mechanical and he didn’t have a personal sharpener) and grabbed another from his backpack.

No one knew it was his birthday. Maybe the foster adults knew, he didn’t know, but it had been three months and they weren’t any fonder of him than he was of them. Even if they did know, probably they weren’t going to say anything. And that was fine. He’d rather they didn’t. He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday with them. He didn’t want to celebrate his birthday with anyone but his dad, and his dad wasn’t there, and probably he wouldn’t be there even when Keith got out of school. There would be no one waiting for Keith after school but the jerks from Ms. Patterson’s class (egged on by the same foster boy from Keith’s home who had broken Keith’s toy lightsaber) and the foster woman.

Keith rubbed the palm of his hand into his eye, swallowed hard, and drew the head of a T-rex before he scribbled that out, too.

It didn’t matter. It was stupid. It was just a stupid, normal day, like any other. It wasn’t anything special.

One of the foremost lessons at the Galaxy Garrison was emergency preparedness. Space explorers---and commanding officers in particular---needed to be able to think swiftly and accurately on their feet. Panic would help no one in the case of an oncoming comet, or an alien abduction. Keeping a level head and laser sharp focus was paramount. As the youngest captain the Garrison had ever produced (promoted straight out of graduation, previously unheard of), Shiro prided himself on his reflexes. He knew his focus was his gift. He was always 100% prepared for any situation life could possibly throw at him. He absolutely knew what he was doing, 100% of the time.

This was why, when Keith opened Shiro’s front door five minutes before he was scheduled to arrive, Shiro whipped toward the front door (and away from the banner he had just finished pinning to the wall) and yelled, “BIRTH!”

Most people would freeze upon having someone shout at them the second they walked in the door, but in the seven or so months Shiro had gotten to know Keith through the Garrison’s prospective cadets program, he had learned that Keith was not “most people.” Case in point, Shiro hadn’t even finished speaking before Keith took a step back, his weight on the ball of his right foot, both of his hands raised in a self-defense gesture. How a thirteen---fourteen, Shiro corrected himself---year-old had gotten so vigilant Shiro wasn’t sure, but it was one of the things that made the other officers at the Garrison so excited and especially determined to recruit Keith into preliminary training as quickly as they had.

As vigilant as Keith was, it also made him sharp. It took him only a second to realize that there was no threat, and as he lowered his hands and stood up straight again, he said, “What?”

“Happy birthday,” Shiro said, and he smiled as Keith’s eyes swept over the decorations in the living room (not that there were much, given that Shiro hadn’t had that much time to prepare, but there was at least a banner over the entryway leading into the dining area). “I know it’s a few days late, but I wanted to throw a little something together for you anyway.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Keith said. He finally stepped over the threshold and into the house, and without turning back he knocked the door shut behind him. That was a first, Shiro noted with a little smile; usually Keith always checked over his shoulder, as if cautious about being followed, before he shut and locked the door. “And you didn’t have to do anything at all.”

“I know,” Shiro said, “but I wanted to. Now come over here; I got you something.”

“What?” Keith said. The initial shock that had struck him when he had first encountered Shiro’s sudden greeting and had caught sight of the decorations had faded, but instead of following Shiro’s instruction to walk to the kitchen to get his birthday gift, he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wide.

Shiro couldn’t help but smile; in honesty, it was almost hard not to laugh. “Come on,” he said, and he gestured for Keith to walk over to him. “I have something for you in the kitchen. You can leave your backpack by the couch.”

That seemed to enough to kick Keith’s head into gear. As instructed (and as always) he dropped his backpack on the floor by the couch on his way to the kitchen. The moment Shiro saw Keith was going to listen, he turned to cross the threshold into the kitchen himself, and picked up the neatly wrapped gift (courtesy of the woman at the bookstore---Shiro was no good when it came to wrapping presents himself, and never had been) he had waiting on the table. He turned back to see that Keith had already walked up to him, and with another smile, he held the box out for Keith to take.

“Here you go,” Shiro said. “Happy birthday.”

Keith’s brow knitted together over his eyes, a little frown tugging at his lips. By now, Shiro was pretty sure that expression on Keith’s face was one of confusion rather than displeasure. True to form, Keith gently took the present from Shiro’s hands, but he stared at it for a long moment instead of unwrapping it. Finally, he mumbled, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” Shiro repeated, “but I wanted to. Everyone deserves to get something for their birthday.”

Keith looked up at him, still frowning, and then asked, “When’s your birthday?”

“February. 29th. Leap Year, technically, but I celebrate on the 28th on off-years.” Shiro grinned. “Of course, if that doesn’t count, I guess it gives a whole new meaning to calling me the youngest captain the Garrison has ever seen, huh?”

Keith rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m sure you’re the first toddler they’ve ever had pass their flight simulator.”

“And proud of it,” Shiro said. Keith huffed a little laugh, definitely smiling now, and Shiro nodded toward him. “But go on, open it.”

Keith’s smile faded, but he nonetheless slipped his finger under one of the flaps on the wrapping paper. Any illusion that he was going to tear it neatly was gone in the next second as he used the opening he created to rip the paper off, and as it fell to the floor and he revealed the DVD box set collection within, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

“You like Star Wars, don’t you?” Shiro asked, and Keith tore his eyes away from the front of the box set to stare up at Shiro instead. “You made a reference during training a few weeks ago, when Iverson had the high ground over that cadet.”

“I . . . yeah,” Keith said, and he looked back down at the box set, turning it over in his hands so he could see all six DVD cases lined up neatly inside, before he looked back up at Shiro. “I do, but---Shiro, how much did this cost? It had to be expensive---”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a birthday present,” Shiro said, thankful now that he had the foresight to remove the price tag before he had the saleswoman wrap it. The last thing he wanted Keith to worry about on his birthday was money. “I know that the prospective cadet dorms don’t have TVs or DVD players, so you can keep it here to watch whenever you want. Actually, I figured we could have a marathon this weekend, starting now, if you wanted.”

The look on Keith’s face suggested that was exactly what he wanted to do, but also that he felt he shouldn’t. The conflict in him seemed to win out as he said, “I’m supposed to be studying---”

“We can study later. Your homework and training materials will still be there when we’re done,” Shiro said. “It’s your birthday---or at least, it was. You deserve to have a little break. As your mentor, I’ve decided and am saying that you’ve earned it.”

It took a second, but finally, Keith smiled again. “Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro smiled back, and clapped Keith on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Go put Episode I in the DVD player, and I’ll grab us some snacks.” For it was still too early for dinner, and the birthday cake, Shiro felt, was another surprise best saved for later.

Keith nodded, and turned to head back into the living room, but he took no more than two steps before he paused and said, “Hey---”

“What is it?”

Keith turned back, frowning once again as he asked, “Did you shout ‘birth’ at me when I first walked in the house?”

A hot flush spread across the back of Shiro’s neck, and he rubbed at it in an effort to make it go away. “Ah, uh---yeah. That was supposed to be ‘surprise’. You caught me off-guard.”

Keith stared at him for a second, as if unable to make sense of what Shiro had just said, before he asked, “How do you get ‘birth’ out of ‘surprise’?”

“I was thinking about your birthday and it just came out,” Shiro said. There was something about Keith’s expression, which looked somehow both deadpan and baffled, that made Shiro feel more than a little judged, as if Keith was suddenly second-guessing whether Shiro was a qualified mentor or not. Shiro huffed, and said, “Just go get the movie started, okay? Do you want a soda or Capri Sun?”

Keith shook his head, and started in toward the living room again, but as he did he called over his shoulder, “What flavors have you got?”

“Dr. Pepper and root beer for soda, and strawberry-kiwi for Capri Sun.”

“I’ll take a Dr. Pepper.”

As Keith prepared their movie in the living room, Shiro grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge for Keith, and a strawberry-kiwi Capri Sun pouch for himself. He still didn’t know what they were going to do for dinner---pizza, maybe, because pizza was always a safe bet---but as he gathered a selection of snacks from his kitchen cabinets, he figured that was all right. He had the cake, and Keith liked bingeing on snacks as much as Shiro himself did. Belated or not, as far as celebrating Keith’s birthday went, Shiro thought they were doing all right.

“. . . aaaand done!”

Pidge punctuated her words by punching one of the keys on her workstation. The moment she did, her screen was filled with raining numbers and words that scrolled too quickly for Allura to easily catch. It was an impressive enough sight, but even as Allura gathered around Pidge’s workstation with the others, she wasn’t entirely sure why they (or at the very least, Lance, Hunk, and Matt) all seemed so excited.

“In just a few seconds, the conversion process will be complete,” Pidge said. She sat back in her seat, her arms folded, a proud smile on her face. “Of course, I would have never been able to figure it out if it wasn’t for Matt supplying the algorithm---”

“Are you kidding? You’re the one who designed the code that allows the program to run in the first place,” Matt said. He leaned against the back of Pidge’s chair, but as he spoke, he reached over it to ruffle her hair. “My little sister, the genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know Pidge is the smartest girl in the known universe,” Lance said, and he waved one hand in the air. “But can we just---”

“Wow, thanks, Lance,” Pidge said, and it might have been Allura’s imagination, but she thought Pidge’s cheeks looked a little pink. Her nose crinkled when she smiled. “You really think that?”

“Think it? Uh, no. I know it. It’s pretty obvious by now. Everyone would agree with me,” Lance said. If anything, that only caused Pidge’s cheeks to darken, and Allura didn’t miss the way Matt’s eyes narrowed at Lance. “But that’s not the point right now. The point is I want to know what the date is.” Lance thumped his fists against the back of Pidge’s chair. “Tell us the date!”

“If it’s the date you want to know, why didn’t you just ask?” Coran said, and as all eyes turned to him, he threw his shoulders back and stroked his mustache. “Today’s date in this quadrant of our present galaxy is---”

“No, no, no! That’s not what we’re after,” Lance said, and he held up his hands in a clear ‘stop’ gesture.

“Yeah, uh, sorry, Coran, but the date in this part of the universe is not what we’re curious about,” Hunk said, smiling sheepishly.

“It isn’t?” Allura asked, and when Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all shook their heads, she asked, “Then what is?”

“Earth,” Pidge said simply. Her program gave a soft ding, and as one every person gathered around her workstation turned to look at the holographic screen. Pidge continued speaking, even as her eyes scanned the data. “We know how long we’ve been gone by Altean time, but that doesn’t give us a frame of reference for how much time has passed on Earth since we’ve been gone. So with Matt’s help, I created a conversion program that allows us to input the current date in this quadrant of the galaxy, and convert it to whatever date it is on Earth right now. It might not be exact, but it’ll be close enough.”

“I see,” Allura said slowly. “But I’m afraid I don’t . . .”

“What?” Matt asked.

“I’m unsure of how useful this information will be,” Allura said, and as Matt, Lance, Hunk, Shiro, Coran, and Pidge all turned to look at her, she smiled apologetically. “I’m sure it is very interesting, and you’ve certainly done a marvelous job creating this program. But our current battles are very far away from Earth. Even if we know what day it is there, I’m unsure how that will help us combat Zarkon’s forces.”

“This isn’t about Zarkon,” Pidge said. There was a tone in her voice Allura couldn’t easily identify; her expression was caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, so faint it was hard to tell which one it was. “It’s about our families.”

“Your families?”

“We’ve been gone a long time . . . we think,” Hunk said, and he cast his eyes to the floor. “And we left kinda suddenly, you know? We didn’t even get a chance to tell anyone goodbye.”

“Didn’t so much as give the Garrison a leave of absence demand, much less request,” Lance said. “And if we didn’t tell them that we were flying off into space in a giant, beautiful, amazing Blue Lion to fight in an intergalactic space war against the Galra Empire, there’s no way they could tell our families that’s what we did.”

“So we’re just kind of wondering how much time we’re going to have to apologize for,” Hunk said. “Because my mom? Is not going to be cool about this. Not even a little.”

“And my mom already thought Matt and my dad were dead,” Pidge said. “All this will have done is make her think she lost her daughter, too.”

“Mom’s tough, Pidge,” Matt said gently, and he placed his hand on Pidge’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She’ll understand---”

“When we come home, she will,” Pidge said, and she looked back at the data on her screen. Allura wasn’t sure if she truly saw it or not. “But until then, she doesn’t have any idea of what happened.”

“I see,” Allura said. She swallowed, then cleared her throat to try and get past the obstruction suddenly lodged in it. She had known that her---that her fellow Paladins had left lives on their own planet behind in order to defend the universe. She had known that, but somehow it hadn’t truly hit her before that moment just how much they must have left behind to help fight this war. She had always been grateful for their presences in her Castle and life, but in that moment she was suddenly struck by just how fortunate she was that they were the ones there when she woke from cryo-sleep. “Well then, by all means, please continue. What day is it on Earth?”

“Let’s see . . .” Pidge scrolled through the data, scrolling too quickly for anyone save her to keep up with, and finally settled on one piece, glowing green. “Looks like it’s October 23rd.”

“Is there a year?” Hunk asked, trepidation in his voice.

“And what month did we leave again? Was it May?” Lance asked, and then his eyes widened. “Wait, have I had a birthday?!”

“It’s Keith’s now,” Shiro said.

Just as they had before when Pidge’s program announced that it had finished its conversions, everyone present turned to look at Shiro, Pidge twisting around in her seat so she could look up at him properly. Shiro blinked, as if just now realizing that everyone had turned to him, but when he offered no further explanation, Coran said, “Sorry, Shiro, but could you repeat that, please?”

“It’s Keith’s birthday.” Shiro nodded back toward Pidge’s workstation, where the words October 23rdwere still present on the screen. “October 23rd. It’s his birthday.”

“Well, that’s . . . that’s wonderful!” Allura said, and she clapped her hands together. “We’ll have to do something to celebrate! We could have a party---something small, at least---”

“I could bake a cake,” Hunk said. “Hey, Shiro, do you know what kind of cake Keith likes? Does he like chocolate? Wait, does he even like cake?”

“Who doesn’t like cake?” Lance said, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Everyone likes cake. Even that mullethead has to like cake.”

“Some people don’t,” Hunk said. “My grandma refused to touch it.”

“Get out of here!”

“It’s true! She wouldn’t eat any dessert but cobbler. Said everything else tasted like soggy shoes. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t have it.”

“What the heck, who compares cake to soggy shoes?!”

“My grandma!”

“I think Keith liked chocolate cake,” Shiro said, and he raised his voice a little to be heard as Lance opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal.

“Okay, good,” Hunk said. “Now, if I can just figure out where to get some chocolate . . .”

“Uh, guys?” Pidge said, and when she saw she had everyone’s attention, continued, “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourselves? Keith’s not here right now. He moved out. He’s with the Blade of Marmora now, remember?”

“Oh . . .” Allura’s shoulders slumped, and took her heart right along with them. “That’s right, he did. I . . . I got a little carried away. I apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Shiro said. “It can be easy to forget, especially when things crop up like this. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Allura tried to smile, but she didn’t have to see herself to know how weak it felt. No one was looking at each other now; Pidge had gone back to looking at her workstation, though she wasn’t scrolling through the data, and Matt was similarly pretending to examine the information on the screen. Hunk was awkwardly staring at his feet, and Lance was casting his eyes around the main room, as if trying to find something else to catch his attention. Shiro was looking across the room, out through the main observation window, and Coran was watching her.

And Keith . . .

Well, it was as Pidge had said. Keith wasn’t there.

But nothing would be accomplished by standing around, feeling despondent and awkward. Allura had always been averse to inaction; wallowing in her feelings had never changed anything, nor had it allowed them to lessen. She took a deep breath, forced her brightest smile, and said, “Well, even if he can’t attend a party, that doesn’t stop us from giving him birthday wishes, does it? Coran, could you please establish contact with the Blade of Marmora? If nothing else, I’m sure Keith would like to know he’s another decapheeb older.”

“Certainly, Princess! Just a tick,” Coran said, and he spun on the ball of his foot before he darted over to the communications control panel.

As Coran set about getting in contact with the Blade of Marmora (and as Hunk, Matt, Pidge, and Lance all relocated to standing in front of the primary communications screen), Shiro turned to Allura with a frown. “I’m not sure we should be contacting the Blades for something like this.”

“I agree that social calls aren’t generally what we want to use these communication lines for, but this is a special occasion,” Allura said. “I’m sure they’ll understand, particularly if we keep it brief. Besides, I . . .”

“What is it?”

Allura smiled, and shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s go join the others. Coran will make contact with the Blade of Marmora any tick now.”

The look Shiro gave her suggested that he wanted to press the issue. Ever since his return, he had seemed more reluctant to let things go. But Allura turned away before he had the chance, and strode over to join the others in front of the primary communications screen.

It wasn’t a big deal, really. If Shiro or anyone else really wanted to know, Allura would tell them. But it felt a little awkward to do so, as if she was sharing information that wasn’t hers to share. And she wasn’t---that wasn’t the case at all---but . . .

She laced her fingers together over her stomach as it gave an anxious little tumble.

If she closed her eyes now, she could remember clearly how taken aback Keith had looked in their travel pod when Allura told him that without him, they couldn’t form Voltron. If she closed her eyes now, she could remember clearly the downcast, dubious expression on Keith’s face when she told him that they could not go on without him, even though the Blade of Marmora could. If she closed her eyes now, she could remember clearly how Keith wouldn’t meet her eyes if she asked him if he was pulling away from them because he felt Shiro could take his place---could remember how his voice had cracked as he told them about the mission he had to leave on.

All things considered, Allura felt that it was . . . important that they wished Keith a happy birthday, that they told him they were thinking of him. It was the least they could do for now.

The communications screen flared to life, and while they were greeted by a dark hood and glowing mask at first, the hood was lowered and the mask fizzled out to reveal a dark purple face and glowing golden eyes. Allura’s heart, as it always did when she found herself staring into eyes like those, picked up its pace. She twisted her fingers more tightly together and did her best to ignore it.

“Paladins of Voltron,” the Marmorite on-screen said. His voice was neutral, as the Marmorites’ voices usually were. By now Allura could at least pick up distinctions in Kolivan’s tone, but the rest . . . she wished Kolivan had answered the call instead. “We weren’t expecting a communication today. Is something amiss?”

“No,” Allura said, and she took a step forward, forcing a little smile as she addressed him, “and we apologize for anything we may have interrupted. We were wondering---is Keith available?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Marmorite answered, and for the second time in less than half a varga, Allura’s heart sank. “He’s on a mission with Kolivan and a few others. We have no way of reaching him.”

“I see,” Allura said. She did her best to keep her voice as level as the Marmorite’s. “Do you know when he will be back?”

“Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing that now,” the Marmorite said.

Allura blinked. There was something about the way he said that---

“What do you mean, you have no way of knowing that now?” Shiro asked.

The Marmorite hesitated, but only for a tick. Then he said, “They were supposed to return two quintents ago. They haven’t, and signal interference around the mission site has blocked all forms of communication and contact. We have no way of knowing when---or if---they will return.”

Something akin to a flood of icy water rushed through Allura, and froze her to the spot.

“Wait---wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Hunk said, and he raised both hands in a gesture that would have looked placating were it not for the worried knit of his brow. “You’re not saying that---are you saying that---that they’re . . . that Keith is---that he could be---”

“Captured?” Pidge asked. Her tone suggested it wasn’t the first word that had come to mind.

The Marmorite’s expression did not change. His tone was perfectly even as he answered, “We have already begun preparations for the worst-case scenario. Rest assured that our contribution to the war will not be---”

“Where was the mission?” Allura demanded. Only now did the Marmorite blink, as if truly taken aback by her sudden interruption. “Send us their coordinates. We will take our Lions and assist them with Voltron---”

“No,” the Marmorite said.

Allura curled her fingers into fists by her sides. “Excuse me?”

“As secure as our communication channels may be, they are not foolproof,” the Marmorite said. “We have reason to believe that certain communication channels we use throughout the coalition may be compromised. We cannot risk relaying information that sensitive over these communication channels.”

“This is the first we’ve heard about potentially compromised communication channels,” Shiro said, his voice hard. “When were you going to share this information with us?”

“When it came up, as it has now,” the Marmorite said, his voice equally as hard.

“More importantly, what are you doing to ensure the safety of Keith, Kolivan, and the others?” Allura said. “You claim that you are unable to trust us with their coordinates---”

“That is not what I---”

“---yet you don’t seem to be doing anything to assist them with their mission. If something has gone wrong, then they need help. We will gladly provide that assistance if you will not.”

“It is not a matter of will, but a matter of practicality,” the Marmorite said. He was glaring at her now, and Allura returned his glare in kind. “The mission comes before the individual. Right now, the most important task we have is to carry on with the mission, and take the necessary measures to ensure the mission’s continued success even in the event Kolivan does not return.”

“And Keith?” Hunk asked. “What about him?”

The Marmorite turned his eyes to Hunk. “Keith was one of our youngest, rather than our leader, but the same holds true for him.”

“No,” Allura said. “Keith may have temporarily joined the Blade of Marmora, but he is still a Paladin of Voltron. He will always be one of us.”

“Yeah!” Lance said. “You can’t just stand there and expect us to accept that one of our guys is stranded off on some mission somewhere, captured or maybe even . . . even . . .” He swallowed and flailed a hand, delivering his point without saying a word.

But whether the Marmorite they were speaking with understood Lance’s point or not, he didn’t seem impressed. “Keith is one of ours. As a member of the Blade of Marmora, he understood the risks he was taking when he agreed to this mission. He understood that the mission comes before the individual. He understood that there are things worth dying for. He would not want us---any of us---to jeopardize the universe’s freedom on a rescue mission for him which may be in vain from the start.”

“. . . That’s true,” Allura bit out, and she turned her glare to the floor. She couldn’t stand to look at the Marmorite any longer. “But---!”

“I apologize,” the Marmorite said suddenly, “but I am afraid I have other duties to return to. If Kolivan or Keith return, I will be sure to have them contact you.”

“We understand,” Shiro said, before Allura had a chance to reply. “Thank you.”

The Marmorite nodded, and then the communication screen went blank.

Silence reigned in the main room. Allura’s voice felt stuck in her throat. She thought that she should have been the one to say something---that, as before, she should have been the one to nudge the others into action. But all she could hear in her own head was the Marmorites’ voice, saying that Keith was due back to quintents ago . . . that there was no way to contact him . . . that they were already making preparations in case Kolivan didn’t return, and that if Kolivan had perished, then it was likely that Keith . . .

“We should prepare for our next patrols,” Shiro said, and Allura looked up as his voice broke through the static in her head. “Coran, can you plot a course through the east quadrant? I want to make sure the medical supply ships in that area make it to the next base.”

“I---yes, of course,” Coran said. He gave his head a little shake and looked back at the keyboard, as Matt frowned at Shiro.

“Is this really okay?” Matt asked. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Okay with what?” Shiro asked.

“With just . . . leaving things like this.” Matt gestured back up at the dark communication screen. “Keith’s . . . gone somewhere. He could be captured, or worse. Are you really okay with just . . . leaving him?”

Shiro stared at Matt for a long tick, and then he said, “I would like to go after him as much as anyone else here, but we have no coordinates and no leads. Instead of spinning our wheels searching the galaxy with nothing to go on, our time would be better spent doing what needs to be done to free the universe from Galra control. Keith would feel the same way.”

Matt pressed his lips together, yet turned away without further argument. Pidge exchanged a look with Lance that Allura couldn’t read; her eyes were narrowed, even as Lance shook his head and shrugged. Hunk walked over to Coran, and asked him in a quiet voice if he needed help.

Part of Allura wanted to agree with Shiro. As uncomfortable as the idea was, the mission did come first. In her own words, the mission was greater than any one individual, no matter how irreplaceable. They all knew that. Keith in particular had always been on the same page as Allura herself when it came to this.

But she remembered all the days and nights that Keith had spent searching for Shiro after his disappearance. She remembered how Keith ran himself ragged between searching for Shiro, and still trying to accomplish his duties as a Paladin of Voltron. She remembered how, even after he accepted that he would need to pilot the Black Lion, that he kept a radar running, searching for even the faintest ping of Shiro’s whereabouts. Even though Keith had accepted that the mission had to continue, he still hadn’t given up. He had refused to, and as said as much, because he knew that Shiro would never give up on him.

Allura watched as Shiro crossed the room to stand by Coran and Hunk, looking over the map that Coran had brought up on the screen.

Shiro’s logic was sound. There was no doubt about that. His logic was perfectly sound. But all the same, something about this . . .

Something about this didn’t feel right.

One and a half vargas after they returned from their mission, Kolivan called for Keith to meet him at the observation deck.

The mission had been a disaster. It was yet another trap---another ambush. If Kolivan had suspected that their communication channels were compromised somehow before, he was certain of it now. Somehow, they were either being fed false info, or their plans were being leaked to the Empire. Where the leak was, Kolivan was not certain; all he knew was that it had to be patched, and quickly. This past mission had cost them three more lives, and Keith’s had nearly been among them. That he had survived at all was nothing short of a miracle; Kolivan could not think of another Marmorite who would be small enough to hide in the engine compartment of an abandoned ship for two quintents, and there were few Kolivan could think of who would have the fortitude to even if they were small enough. Yet Keith had managed---his determination to survive had won out---and for that, he was able to return safely once Kolivan cleared a path to get him out. Not that Kolivan should have, per se—the war was greater than any one individual, and remaining behind for Keith had put Kolivan's own life at risk, meaning that the Blade (and resistance) could have lost them both—but much as Regris had in an earlier mission, Keith had intel on him that would have been foolish to leave behind. Trap or not, the mission hadn’t been a total failure. Kolivan made sure Keith had the intel when he was rescued. No protocol was broken when it came to getting Keith out of that engine room, and Kolivan made sure Keith knew it.

If Kolivan was honest with himself, it was not the only reason he had waited for Keith. But Keith didn’t need to know that.

When they finally made it back to their base, they did so with the sort of bone-deep exhaustion that rivaled the sheer force of a black hole. Upon arrival, Keith gruffly dismissed himself to his own quarters before Kolivan had a chance to say much of anything to him. Likewise, though Garus called out to him, Keith didn’t so much as twitch to indicate that he heard. In absence of Keith’s attention, Garus had told Kolivan instead that the Paladins of Voltron had called to speak to Keith two quintents ago, and that they wanted to speak to either Keith or Kolivan himself as soon as possible.

“Understood,” Kolivan said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course,” Garus said, inclining his head.

“One more thing,” Kolivan said, and when Garus raised his eyebrows to show Kolivan had his attention, he said, “After Keith showers, make sure he eats and drinks something. He has gone a few days without food and water. Then ask him to meet me on the observation deck.”

Garus smiled. “Understood.”

With Garus tending to Keith (who Kolivan knew was going to protest eating and drinking instead of sleeping, but of all the Marmorites, Kolivan knew Garus to be one of the most insistent when it came to nurturing, and the news that Keith had gone for days without food and water would make him not back down from following through on Kolivan’s request), Kolivan returned to his quarters. He needed to call the Paladins of Voltron, given the message that Garus had relayed to him, and he would. The alliance the Blade had formed with Voltron was an important one, and not one that Kolivan was willing to lose. But calling the Paladins was not mission critical. They could wait, at least for another few vargas. Keith---and the photograph that Kolivan retrieved from his quarters to show Keith---came first.

That was how Kolivan came to be on the observation deck as Keith walked up to join him one and a half vargas later. In the light from the stars outside their one-way window, Keith looked more exhausted than ever. Though he had showered, and thus his hair had regained its usual fluff, there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his face looked worn. There was a tension in his stride that came only with having gone without sleep for so long that he was putting extra effort into appearing alert. When he spoke, his voice rasped, and though the rasp was a little better now than it had been two vargas ago (no doubt due to the water Garus made Keith drink), it was still rough with exhaustion.

“You wanted to see me, Kolivan?”

“Yes.” Kolivan patted the floor next to him. “Please take a seat.”

Wordlessly, Keith followed Kolivan’s instruction, and while Kolivan thought that Keith was probably attempting to be graceful, he dropped to the deck with more heaviness than grace could sustain. Nonetheless, he crossed his legs sat down, and placed his hands in his lap. Once he was situated, Kolivan held the photograph out to him, and Keith took it from him with a surprisingly gentle grip.

Keith stared at the photograph in silence for a moment before he said, “She’s pretty. Who is she?”

“Her name was Mezri,” Kolivan said. Keith didn’t remove his eyes from the photograph. “She was a friend of mine in childhood. We knew each other for many years, and joined the Blade of Marmora together.” Kolivan let this information sink in for a tick before he said, “She was also your mother.”

Keith looked up so fast Kolivan heard his neck pop. “What?”

“She---Mezri---was your mother,” Kolivan repeated. Keith’s eyes were wide, and the hand that held the photograph was trembling now. When he looked back at the picture in his hands, all traces of fatigue were gone from his expression; his eyes (so much like Mezri’s) raked over every inch of the photograph. “You were born in the infirmary of one of our bases. Not this one; one much farther away from here.”

“I---wait.” Keith looked up again, his brow knitted together. “I wasn’t born on Earth?”

“No,” Kolivan said. “You were sent to Earth with your human father roughly thirty quintents after you were born. Mezri was concerned for your safety. She thought you would not survive the war if you remained here with her.”

Keith looked at Mezri’s photo again, staring with an intensity that suggested he was trying to burn her image into his brain. Finally, he asked, “How long have you known? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He turned his eyes on Kolivan again; they were burning. “I asked you when we first met. I asked you how and why I had that knife, and you---”

“I wasn’t certain then,” Kolivan said, and Keith closed his mouth. “I suspected. I couldn’t think of another possible answer for why a human would have one of our knives. But suspicion alone does not warrant trust. I could only reveal the truth to you if you revealed yourself to be her son. By the end of the Trial, you did.”

“I almost died.”

“And yet, you didn’t,” Kolivan said. “Despite the impossible odds, you persisted, and you survived. You have Mezri’s tenacity. I had confidence that if you were her son, you would survive the Trials as she had. You answered my confidence proudly.”

Keith looked back at the photograph. “Her tenacity, huh,” he said. “She was tenacious . . .”

A few ticks slipped by, quiet and contemplative, before Keith looked to Kolivan again. “Then why are you telling me now?” he asked. “Even if you didn’t tell me before the Trials, you could have told me any time after. Why not?”

“There wasn’t very much opportunity,” Kolivan said. “Between the battle against Zarkon fought shortly after our alliance, as well as Shiro’s disappearance, and everything that came after while you fought as a Paladin of Voltron, no opportunity presented itself. And after you joined us . . . I felt that it would be better to wait until---until ideally a few quintents ago, but better belated than never.”

“Belated?” Keith furrowed his brow. “Why a few quintents ago?”

Kolivan smiled. “I thought that the answers to your questions about your heritage---and that a photograph of, and information about, your mother---would make for fitting birthday gifts.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “Birthday?”

“Nineteen decapheebs and about four or five quintents ago, you were born in the infirmary wing of one of our bases,” Kolivan said. Keith was staring at him, his eyes the size of wormholes, and just as bright. “You were small enough so that I could hold you with one hand, and completely pink. Your mother thought you were the most beautiful sight she had ever laid eyes on.”

“What . . . was she like?” Keith asked. His voice still had a rasp, but it was different now. No longer exhausted, but . . . awestruck. “What was my mom like?”

“Tenacious, as I said, though stubborn to a fault may be a better way to put it. Obstinate. Bull-headed. Passionate about her beliefs and willing to argue herself hoarse with anyone who disagreed. Rather,” he said, affecting a stern tone as he inclined his head to look severely at Keith, “like a certain someone else I know.”

Keith’s lips twitched, but he fought a smile Kolivan knew was there as he ducked his head and said, too casually to be believable, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Kolivan smiled. “She was brave. Valiant. Curious, too, also to a fault. It was a combination of all those things that landed her on Earth in the first place . . .”

(Ko-Fi)

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trulycertain · 7 years

Note

For the Latin prompt list: 5 or 15

5. Ad astra per aspera. To the stars through difficulties.

This is what John thinks of, when he looks through a window on the Normandy and out into space:

He thinks of being a hard-scrabble kid with too many scars, watching friends die because of red sand or because of smuggling it. He thinks of the first time he felt a gun against the back of his head, turned and saw a friend holding it. He thinks of the gang tats and the pain of getting them removed, afterwards, and the way he clung to his dog tags and barely made a sound, even though in his head he was screaming, screaming, screaming.

And he’s fifteen and sitting against a wall, looking up at the sky through the smog and dust, and thinking, Huh. There are people up there. He remembers reading old Earth fiction about space travel, and yeah, maybe he read the Alliance pamphlets when they came round. Apparently they spammed datapads, but it wasn’t like he could afford a decent one, so he never got the system update - or maybe he just missed it, he doesn’t know. He’s never been much good with that kind of tech. Anyhow, he builds ships in his head, then, works them up from imaginary blueprints and then girders. Part of him wonders how the hell those things stay in the air, but part of him knows - he spent years taking old books about that kind of thing, and sure it was illegal but he was never going to know otherwise. He builds ships in his head, and then he starts to build the people.

(Later, when he’s twenty-nine and people are telling him he saved the galaxy, he’ll build models instead. Put them together in his quarters with shaking hands and think that he could just never get the tailfins right when he was a kid. And he never accounted for the complexity of a decent FTL engine, not really. Those things are huge, and you can feel the floor under your feet vibrate when you stand near one, even with all the safety guards.)

Yesterday he walked past the Alliance recruitment posters with some of the others, and he’d laughed about it being propaganda bullshit too, because he wanted to be alive tomorrow. But he’d wondered, and he’s still wondering. It’s not like he’s got anything to lose.

He was right, though, even then: it’s all bullshit. He builds people in his head, but none of them are a too-skinny kid who steals books, when he’s not stealing everything else, and sleeps on cardboard in alleys with his dirty, falling-apart boots still on. He laughs under his breath at the thought of someone like him getting stripes, getting patted on the back, the way some of them do in the stories. Shit, they’d probably kill him if they knew half of what he’d done.

The first time he sees a quarian, he only just stops himself staring, because he’d heard of them but he’d never seen one on Earth. Sure, turians and krogan and everyone else, but never a quarian. He thought they lived in fleets, travelled pretty far from here. He thinks that he’s never spoken to one. And he wonders about how it is that, even with the fact he watched his best friend snap a guy’s neck yesterday, the world can still surprise him. It makes him feel better, somehow. Makes him forget about the shaking and the blood. And he wonders who else is out there that he’s only heard stories of, maybe not even that. He thinks of planets he’s never been to, people he’s never met.

Yeah, kid, that’s the trouble, he remembers Sal telling him once. You like people too much. Means you’re good for deals but you can’t take what the deals mean afterwards, can’t clean up.

And John’d shaken his head and said, I like people. Doesn’t mean I trust them.

He’s seventeen, getting a gun pressed into his hands and told to deal with a problem. That problem didn’t do anything wrong except try to tell the truth about the Reds’ stranglehold on this neighbourhood; didn’t even hurt anyone. His hands are shaking, and he’s thinking that he can’t talk his way out of this one, and they’re saying the same, grinning, but it’ll be all right, kid, you got a lot of your father in you, just don’t think too much. And he’s looking up at the sky while his boss walks away, building ships and stars and skies in his head and wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else. Because you don’t disobey the Reds. And you don’t lie to them, either.

So, it’s either his last night on Earth or someone else’s, depending on how brave he can be, and he’s spending it reading old books - some story about a kid who gets to go and see stuff he never expected, gets to be some kind of wizard, hundredth printing or so, and hell, when he was eleven he was running red sand and trying to duck past the mercs, so just being stuck in some cupboard under a staircase, in an actual house, seems like the fantasy part even without the magic - and doodling stars on some napkin he grabbed from the bins outside a restaurant. That’s when he sees it on a screen.

The recruitment drive. Ships leaving for the training centre at the Citadel, tonight. Propaganda bullshit, he thinks, running past the blaring holoscreens and back to the shithole he and ten other people call home. Grabbing his stuff and making sure no-one else was around and then running to the office. Abandoning the gun there, turning out his pockets and leaving packets of red sand in his wake. Propaganda bullshit, he thinks, signing his name on the virtual dotted line and not even blinking when he lies about his age.

Last night on Earth, he thinks with a bitter half-grin as the ship lifts off. He realises too late that he’s left the book, too, but there’ll be other books. There’ll be whole libraries. He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to watch locks of hair falling to the floor, but it is. When they start shaving his head, he shuts his eyes, and thinks of stars.

Turns out joining the Alliance is just getting another gun shoved into his hands, but they say stuff about peace and never use force if you don’t have to, and somewhere along the way he starts believing it. By the first time he steps foot on a ship on his first decent posting, he hasn’t taken his dog tags off in days, and he carries an assault rifle rather than the cobbled-together pistol he did back home. He shook in his boots the first time he saw the Citadel, got kind of a headrush when he stepped onto it, but now, somewhere different, he just presses his hands to the wall, feels the low vibration of the engines, and thinks of new colonies.

Years later, when he’s spitting out blood on Akuze and listening to friends dying screaming, again, for the first time in years, and he’s got injuries that the one smear of medigel left can’t help, he thinks of never seeing other suns, new worlds, new people, and he crawls.

(Sometimes he closes his eyes and he’s still crawling.)

They call him Shepard after that, mostly. Sometimes it’s with a little awe and you were on Akuze, weren’t you, while he tries not to think of the blood and the dirt and the crawling. He stops trying to change that. Sometimes he thinks he might forget his own first name. He washes the blood off his hands and tries not to freeze up when they say, that’s Shepard, like he’s someone worth admiring.

After he talks some scared salarians (Korun and Mello, they tell him their names are, eventually) down from shooting the guns they found at the sight of unidentified Alliance personnel, he gets called into the captain’s office. You’re one of the good ones, Shepard, his captain says, matter-of-fact and without the scared awe. There’s something in there, though, that might be… pride? And John blinks and mumbles, I, uh, thank you, Captain. Just doing my job, while Anderson looks like he might be trying not to laugh.

John watches sunrises on Mars, sits with a quarian and listens to her talk about her pilgrimage, watches a turian get his clan markings. He gets asked where home is and says the name of the ship he’s on. Earth is an afterthought.

John, he hears, for the first time in a long while. And it’s a quarian, part of the crew - his crew, though that still feels weird to think - saying it. Because, as he’d said, I’m not your CO, Tali, you don’t have to call me Shepard. Something warm rises in his chest, something he can’t explain, but he’s barely started thinking about what it might mean when he gets spaced.

It seems right, somehow, dying out here. He laughs bitterly at it. He wants to say he goes calmly, but he’s screaming and calling out for anyone who’ll listen and scrabbling at his helmet. Even though he’s kicking out, some part of him is thinking Least it’s not some alley on Earth and Least I got to see the stars. And they flash behind his eyelids when his vision goes.

John looks out of a window on his ship, bracing his hands against what looks like glass but isn’t - and he’s thirty, nearly thirty-one, and so damn tired (and fifteen and dreaming, and seventeen and scared, and twenty-one and twenty-nine and all of it at once). He was asked once if it bothered him, having such a direct view - if it made him think of getting spaced. The truth is, it does. And it makes him remember that there’s more than the blood on his hands and the politics; makes him think that somewhere out there there’s a Fleet with the woman he loves on it; makes him remember that he isn’t crawling; makes him remember that he went and he saw and he’s breathing.

He remembers Ash quoting, once, “I cannot rest from travel: I will drink life to the lees.”

He remembers saying back, quietly, “Come, my friends, ‘tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die.”

And she’d grinned in surprise, bright in the dimness of the mess. Didn’t take you for a poetry kind of guy, skipper.

He’d smiled back, remembering old books and old daydreams. I’m a ships kind of guy, he’d said, because it was simpler.

He thinks of Ash, wherever she is, and the others out there, somewhere he can’t see. He wonders if he’ll see them again. And when he sleeps, he dreams of stars.

#my fic #mass effect #shepard x tali #mentioned briefly #male shepard #john shepard #an overly literal interpretation of the prompt #whoops this got long #i am so sorry #i just... really love shepard #thank you for the prompt #aphreal42 #asks #answers #vas normandy #1.8k #~1.8k

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docholligay · 6 years

Text

A Stopped Clock: Chapter 8--Here and Now and Then and There

I think this fic series is ALMOST done? I think next month will be the last installment. Please thank @katrani for sponsoring this! This series has been the source of some of the stuff I’ve really loved, and has been so much fun for me to do, and this installment in PARTICULAR has let me toy with Lena’s past a lot and I’ve really enjoyed it. All of A Stopped Clock is here!

The sidewalk came up hard and fast as the toe of her tennis shoe caught her heel, sending her soaring to the ground, elbows digging against her sweater and the corduroy of her pants failing to cushion her tiny knees.

She stared at the dark grey of the damp walkway for a moment.

“Brush yourself off, Lena,” She looked up to see her father smiling at her kindly, offering her his hand, “Come on then.”

Lena Oxton, three years old and not yet Tracer, pushed her hands to the cement and got to her feet. She nodded at her dad, brushing away his hand with great confidence, and made a great show of brushing off the front of her pants and the front of her shirt.

She grinned at her father. “All better!”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her father, smiling at Lena. “What about Biscuit?”

Lena nodded quickly, eyes wide in the disbelief that she had forgotten his needs, and brushed off the stuffed sloth in her hand, kissing his elbows, just in case he had a booboo.

“That’s a girl.” Her mother reached out her hand, and Lena took it.

“All better now, innit?” Her father took her other hand.

They walked down the street, the cool grey fog of London surrounding them, towards home.

Tracer sat in the small bed of what was now her bedroom, in an old warehouse in London, watching the rain drizzle down the glass, wrapped warm in her sweater and a pair of fluffy socks, Biscuit still resting, after all these years, up under her arm.

She was better. This was impossible to deny, and she was grateful and happy. She had a wonderful friend who’d uprooted his life for her, and a fantastic family that did and gave everything they could, and her life and her care was assured in a way that few people’s ever were. This was also impossible to deny, and she was doubly thankful for all of it.

But better was not fully well, and this was where she struggled.

Her pen was a brightly colored metallic ink, the sparkles inside the barrel moving with each stroke as she doodled and wrote in her small journal with the stickers on the cover. She wanted to feel like this pen again, the pen Mercy had given her because she’d seen it in a store in Zurich and had immediately thought of Tracer. She wanted to sparkle and shine again.

When you’re hurt really badly, you don’t have time to to think about it long-term.

She looked at the sentence she’d written. That was the whole frustration of it, wasn’t it? When she’d first come back, everything hurt. Every gentle touch, every kind word, it was all agony. It was suffering or sleeping.

Which didn’t leave her much time to worry that she’d never be well.

But now home, in London, cared for and relatively comfortable, she worried.

She would go along, doing the dishes or making dinner, walking down to the river or doing some shopping, trying to get a beer down at the pub like a normal person. A siren would be too loud as it went by, and her nerves would fray away all over again. Her brain was too fast. It was like a TV that kept flipping channels, and everything was so loud, why was the music in the pub so loud, why was everyone talking so much, their voices overlapping each other? Didn’t they know Tracer heard them all? That every word entered her ears, her brain struggling to follow all of it at once?

She’d throw her pounds down on the bar and leave, trying to find someplace quiet, someplace still where she could let herself reset, and yet another sensation she didn’t need, the hot tears of her own embarrassment, would join the chorus of ‘this is your life now. This is as good as you’ll get.’

Lena burst into tears, wriggling away frantically from the crowd, the noise echoing in her ears from everyone’s conversations, a dozen concerned people touching her too softly, in that way that was meant to be comforting but only made every nerve more sensitive.

From behind, her father picked her up in a quick scoop, holding her tight against him as he leaned across the bar and gave a quick remark to Mickey, the man who had tended bar there for most of Lena’s life.

He opened the door to a tiny room behind the main pub, and set her down on top of a keg, and sat on a box next to her, his face carrying all the exhaustion of a man trying to figure out his life as a single parent over the last year.

“‘S all right, love.” He squeezed her shoulder tight. “We’ll just take a minute or two to ourselves.”

She was six, then, old enough to be embarrassed that it was all too much, and too young to hide it well.

“Sorry.” She sniffled, the quiet and dark of the room already soothing.

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry over, Lena.” He thought for a moment. “My sister, your aunt, Annie. When we was little, she ‘ad this ‘appen too. Used to sit with her in the quiet.” He smiled at her. “Gets easier as you get older, or so she said.”

She brushed away her tears. “Really?”

“Really really. You ever know me to lie, Lena Bean?”

She shook her head and climbed into his lap, hugging him close. “I miss Mummy.”

He held her tight against him, and she relaxed against her shoulder. “We’ll be alright, me girl. It’s you and me. Just takes time. Everything takes time.”

Everything takes time, she wrote in her notebook.

Her father had been right, hadn’t he? Everything had gotten easier as Tracer had gotten older, as she’d learned how her mind worked and how to enter into a truce with it, how to play with it, how to enjoy it, how to love the way she was as her family did. Life had been easy, before the Slipstream.

Coming back had been a fight then. And here she was again.

The worst was when the chill damp of her beloved London slipped under her warm sweaters and touched her, and there it was,London becoming the void, that sharp cold that was the only feeling in the void of timelessness, the one that cut through her and ate her. She’d gasp, her body tight, her mind screaming PLEASE NO NOT AGAIN I WON’T MAKE IT I’LL DIE I’LL DIE PLEASE.

Tracer set down her journal and looked out the window again, hugging her sloth close to her.

“Today’s better than yesterday, Biscuit. Tomorrow’ll be better than today.” She nodded as she said it, her brow furrowed in determination.

There was a knock at her door, as Winston gently stepped through the timelock, two mugs in hand.

“Someday,” he said, letting the door shut behind him, “I am going to invent a network that covers the whole house. You can take your accelerator off anywhere in it.” He extended one of the mugs to her. “Cocoa?”

She took a deep breath, shedding the melancholy that was, she reminded herself, not really helping her anyhow, and smiled at him. “Love some!” She took the mug from his hand, a large swirl of whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

He sat on the large beanbag chair across from her bed, where he stayed sometimes when the nightmares got bad.

“I’m serious,” He took a drink of his cocoa, “”I’m already working on the technology, but it--”

“Winston,” she laughed, “I believe you. Can’t be easy.” She patted his hand. “Particularly not with you working so much.”

Her voice was a little sad and guilty, and Winston rushed to comfort her, shaking his head.

“Oh, no, my job is wonderful--”

“You repair mobiles.” She looked at him skeptically. “You don’t ‘ave to lie to me, Win, I’m not a child.” She gave a weak laugh. “Suppose I should be grateful, I sit ‘ere and nip down to the pub, bit of the washing up, meanwhile, you work all day, Ang’s testifying before the bloody UN--”

“I--I don’t mind,” He looked at her kindly, “I don’t mind doing it for you.”

And there was the truth of it, which was even more painful to Tracer. Winston didn’t love what he was doing, but he did love her.

“What if,” She tried to bite back the fear, to bite back her embarrassment and shame, and choked back her tears. “What if I never get any better than I am right now?”

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Winston said, in his is kind and loving and all wrong way.

“I don’t want that!” Tracer gave in to the tears, gave in to the sliver of shadow that had been following her.

He reached out to her. “Lena, you’re doing so well. It’s only been a few months, and you’ve come so far, it’s, I mean come on, this isn’t like you at a--”

“Oh Winston, what if it ‘appens again?!” She sobbed into his shoulder, the strong wave of emotion that was so very her, whatever Winston hoped, “I’m so scared, all the bloody time, I-- I can’t do it Win, not again. I’ll die! I can’t--I’m not--” The sob broke form her, taking over her speech and flooding the room with the overwhelming sense of her sorrow.

Winston was possessed of a soft soul, and to see anyone upset touched his heart, whether he cared for them particularly or not. And so, to see Tracer: bright, sunny, unbreakable Tracer, his friend, his person, lost in her own moment of sorrow and despair and fear, that was the most painful thing of all.

Worse was the he could not reassure her. That she might be right, that it could happen again. That it would only take the accident of a moment.

All he could do was draw his arms tighter around her, as if the will of his own love could hold her in time.

“Oh Lena,” Her father held her tightly on the couch, her tears pouring into her father’s blue shirt, “I know it ‘urts, love. I know.”

“Never asking out another girl ever again!” Her voice was muffled.

“Tell meself that plenty of times,” he laughed, “always a lie. We’re suckers for the ladies, love.”

She pulled away from him and flopped back on the couch, wiping her nose. “It’s too much. I ‘ate it.”

“You remember what I told you, when you was a girl?” He leaned back next to her on the couch and tapped her knee, the girl who was Lena, who would be Tracer, who would be lost and would be found. “You remember?”

She took a deep breath, pushed herself off of Winston’s shoulder, over to the window, and looked up at the sun peeking out of the clouds . There shouldn’t be sun in London. It shouldn’t be able to make it through the clouds.

But it did, didn’t it? No matter how many clouds there were, the sun always came through, eventually.

“Brush yourself off, Lena.” She nodded. “Brush yourself off.” She gave Biscuit a hug. “We’re all right.”

She looked over at Winston, who watched her carefully, wiped her eyes, and smiled.

“What you say we go out for a bite, you and me?” She stood up out of the bed and stretched.

It was her body, and she was in it. She was here, and even on the days it felt too much, she was feeling, wasn’t she? It felt good to stretch. It felt good to lay under her weighted blanket.

Every day, new things felt good. It was getting better. Better every day. She just had brush herself off, Just had to keep trying.

She walked over to her closet, taking out a pair of corduroy pants.

“Could use a pie, to tell the truth,” she smiled over at Winston, “Let it be me treat, yeah? ‘Ave a bit of bread and ‘oney from me aunt Lil,” she laughed, the clouds moving from her mind, “well then on ‘er, I guess.”

Winston adjusted his glasses nervously. “Are you feeling--”

She took a clean purple sweater out of the dresser and beamed at Winston.

“I am, now as you mention it.” She brushed off her pants. “Feel great.”

#a holligay joint #SOurce for Lena's childhood: My ADHD ass #HON HON HON

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pviane · 7 years

Text

#76 Fan

This is a birthday fanfiction for my little D.Va: @stellania-0401

Enjoy your present!!!

생일 축하해

After many attempts, Winston finally persuaded the world famous D.Va to join his new reformed Overwatch. Her presence in the team was a great boost in morale and fighting capabilities, as well as good publicity! Everyone in the team loved her as no one could resist her cheerful personality and cute looks. No one but a grumpy old man they called Soldier: 76. His lack of interest in her intrigued the Korean mech pilot and she started to annoy the masked vigilante any chance she got. When he finally snapped at her, she revealed her desire to know him more. After some insistence on Hana’s part, he agreed to spend some time training together. However, he did not go easy on her and during one of such training session she hurt her hand so badly 76 was forced to take her to Mercy for treatment.

“Hana, what happened this time?” the Swiss doctor asked Hana when she arrived.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really! Just a training injury!” she answered.

“You should be more careful! And 76 should not push you so hard!” Mercy commented.

“Can you wait outside? It won’t take long!” she told 76 just before shutting the door behind her, leaving him outside.

“Now tell me what happened!” Mercy asked with her usual motherly tone, sitting down on the table next to Hana.

“I told you it was nothing serious…” she replied snorting.

“Hana Song…. What happened?” Angela insisted pitting her fists against her flanks and staring down at her.

“Ugh! Fine, Mom! I misplaced my hand during an ejection practice and it got hurt when I was jettisoned out! It was a dumb move! I’m so embarrassed he saw me fuck up like that!”

Mercy smiled at her and started applying some biotic ointment on the wounded hand.

“You seem to love 76, don’t you?”

“Yes! When you get to know him is not that bad! He has this fatherly aura around him!”

“Oh, I have to take your word for it! He barely even looks at me!” Angela replied. She paused wondering why that mysterious man acted so strange around her all the time.

“Oh no matter!” Mercy continued, “Let me take some self-hardening bandages! We don’t want that hand to heal bad now, won’t we?”

The doctor stood up from the table and went to the cupboards to look for bandages. In her search, she inadvertently hit her note block, making it fall on the ground. Among the various piece of papers that scattered on the floor one in particular attracted Hana’s attention. She quickly jumped down the table and grabbed it before Mercy was able to collect it.

“Hellooo Handsome!” she exclaimed after a short whistle.

On that piece of paper, there was a black and white sketch of an attractive man. Judging by the shading, his hair and eyes were light and the smirk and the look on his face was so… captivating…

“GIVE IT BACK!”

Raising her eyes from the drawing, Hana could see Mercy extending her hand to her. The expression on Angela’s face was a mixture of rage and embarrassment. Upon seeing the doctor’s impatience Hana smirked

“I this… important to you?” she mocked her

“No… I mean, Ya! Give it back!”

“I am not going to do that until you told me what it is!”

“HANA” Mercy shouted, her face becoming deep red.

Outside the door Soldier: 76 heard Mercy’s cry and readied himself to intervene. Hearing no further commotion, he leaned against the door so he could hear the discussion between the two women more clearly.

“Ok, Ok! Jeez, this picture must be very important!” Hana said, returning the piece of paper to its owner.

“It is...” Mercy replied, pausing some moments to contemplate the person in the sketch.

“He must have been important!” D.Va corrected herself

“Ya, he was!” Angela replied absent-mined, absorbed by the eyes she herself drew.

D.Va closed in.

“Can I… ask you who he was?”

Mercy dried a tear before it could fall from her eyes.

“The world knew him as Strike Commander Morrison, hero of the Omnic Crisis, leader of Overwatch, Champion of peace and hero to all…” she recounted “…but to me he was simply Jack… and he was my world”

Hana’s eyes widened

“You mean you and Jack Morrison, the Jack Morrison, were a thing?”

Angela simply nodded, sending D.Va into a fit of joy.

“AAAAAAAAH! This is TOO GOOD!” Hana cried holding her palms against the side of her head and swinging it left and right “My ship was REAL!!!!”

Her last words were met with confusion by Mercy

“Ship? What is that?” she asked

“Oh, a ship? Well… It’s when you think two people or characters are in a… romantic relationship even if that is not confirmed or even not possible…” D.Va responded, embarrassed.

“Isn’t it a bit childish?”

“I was twelve! Of course it was! But it felt so good thinking you two were a couple! And I was right too!”

Outside the door, Soldier: 76 chuckled at this last exchange

Mercy smiled again at Hana while bandaging her hand.

“Yeah you were! It’s sweet you thought of us together! May I ask why?”

“Only if you tell me the story of that picture after!”

“Deal! Why did you “shipped” me and Jack?”

“First of all it was not only me! An entire fandom shipped you! We called you 솔메르 in Korea. It means SolMer, because he was a Soldier and you Mercy!”

“Clever!” Mercy commented

“I followed a blog where people submitted content about you! Photos, news… but also fan made stuff like fanfictions and drawings. I was the 76th to follow the blog!”

“Oh, my! I never realized me or Jack could inspire such things! And so many fans!”

“Come on! You two looked amazing together at public events! And how could someone not make fan content about you! You go into battle dressed like an angel!”

“Point taken!” Mercy admitted

“Now you tell your part!” Hana requested

“Very well! It was a long time ago…Mein Gott, it feels like ages now! I was a young doctor that just joined Overwatch and I was hopelessly lost for the most handsome man on the planet. I knew him while working together and we developed a nice cooperation inside Overwatch but I felt like having no hope with a man much older than me and I believed he was out of my reach. So I expressed my feelings though drawings. I could spent entire hours doodling him. I was sketching this particular picture during one of those endless sessions when Jack himself popped on my door!”

“Uh Oh!” D.Va commented, even more interested in the story

“I was startled and tried to hide the fact that I was drawing. I quickly dropped the drawing pen I was holding and stood up in front of the table, facing him. He was carrying a passed-out Jesse McCree and was asking for my help. It was not the first time McCree drunk on duty and it was not uncommon to find him on my table unconscious. For that reason, I suggested Jack to punish him and he agreed with me. He asked me to find a needle, the biggest one I had.”

“I have fear of needles!”

“Jesse was terrified by them too! That’s why I enjoyed the idea of giving him the biggest scare of his life!”

“Mercy! I didn’t know our Angel could be a devil too!”

“He deserved it, trust me. Anyhow, while I was distracted by the needle, Jack discovered there was that drawing of him on my table and took it. I was barely able to see him with that piece of paper in his hands before he run outside blabbing about some urgent meeting with the UN that just popped up. I was SO embarrassed!”

“Why?” D.Va asked, “It’s a nice picture!”

“The point is: he had no idea of my fixation with him! I kept it as a secret for the fear of being rejected and now he was running away with one of my works! I was so paralyzed I could not even slap Jesse when he woke up in that same moment stating the obvious.”

“What did he said?” Hana asked

“He slurred ‘he stole your drawing’. I could see that, dumpkof!” Mercy answered pinching her nose in frustration. She was still angry with the Cowboy after all those years.

“And then? What happened? How did you get it back? I NEED TO KNOW!” D.Va begged.

“Well, after a while I caught him alone” Mercy resumed her tale “and demanded my drawing back. He agreed to return it to me, on one condition: a kiss.”

D.Va’s mouth opened wide in surprise

“Yes, a kiss. A simple kiss on his cheek. I was initially shy about the idea and I feared he might take advantage of it and stole a kiss on my lips. However, when I agreed he let me plant a kiss on his cheek and simply gave the sketch back. I was surprised by his honesty and when he asked me out for a break together some days later I was more than happy to go.”

“Ohhh” D.Va commented in awe “so that’s how it all started!”

“Yes. Over time our relationship deepened and we became much more than co-workers and friends. We became lovers. And one year later, on that day, I gifted him a much more refined version of that original drawing, which I still keep with myself as you saw.”

On the other side of the door Soldier: 76 backed up a little. He opened the zip on his Jacked and reached for something inside. He extracted a folded piece of paper and started opening it, careful not to tear the old thing. Pausing for a moment, he stared at the picture inside. The person in it looked back at him with his blue eyes. Jack Morrison’s blue eyes. The same eyes that were watering behind the visor right now.

After a brief pause, Hana asked one last question.

“So, after that it all ended with that… incident right?” she said looking down with sad eyes.

“Yes. However, in a way it never ends. You do not love a man like the way I loved him and simply stop. He is still inside me, in my memories, in my heart…

Hana kept her head down, trying to hide the fact that she was crying. Mercy noticed the shiny drops falling form her cheeks and cupped her face in her hands.

“You know, it may sound silly, but sometimes I hope he is still alive somewhere. A part of me cannot believe he is really dead.” She told D.Va.

“That would be nice!” the Korean girl replied wiping her tears “If only it was true!”

In that moment, the two heard knocking on the door. Angela stood up and went to open the door.

76 was still on the other side, waiting.

“Is she all right?” he asked without looking directly at the doctor

“Oh, she is a tough girl, she will be fine!”

Hana stood up and walked towards them. Without looking up or saying a word, she passed between them. Soldier: 76 rested a hand on her shoulder and she stopped.

“What’s wrong, soldier?” he asked

“Nothing…. Just that my favorite story will never have a happy ending.” She replied before resuming her slow walk down the hallway. 76 could clearly hear her sobbing and that was breaking his old heart. Looking down, he sucked up the pain.

“Never say never!” he whispered.

Then he raised his head and looked straight into Mercy’s eyes.

There you have it! A quick story where D.Va was actually a Mercy76 shipper :P

The drawing story is inspired by a wonderful comic by @ufficiosulretro

So if you want to see Mercy’s drawing, go see it on the original page!

I hope you all liked it!

#fanfic #mercy76 #d.va #mercy x soldier 76 #birthday

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