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catboydogma · 3 months

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not a miracle needed

wc: 940

notes: another 15-minute sprint, tho this one grew legs and ended up being more like 25 minutes lol. first foray into coday bingo !

summary:

Well, Cody wasn’t going to argue with his superior. He had better things to do. The artillery shell that had taken out the crumbling brick wall he’d been using for cover was— “Thank the Force,” Kenobi said. Cody found himself being lifted like a recalcitrant tooka and settled onto a gurney. He made to get up again and Kenobi easily pinned him with a hand to the center of his chest.

cross-posted to ao3

“Hey, hey, hey,” a strident voice said. It was much too loud and right next to Cody’s ear. He would have batted at it but his hands had become cold and leaden weights, and his eyelids weren’t responding to any of his commands. He did not panic, because Marshal Commanders did not panic.

“I’m fine,” Cody said. He wasn’t sure if the words ever made it past his tongue. It felt too big for his mouth, all dry and fuzzy.

A warm—burning, really—thumb peeled back one of his eyelids. Cody made another token protest, wincing in the harsh sunlight that blinded him for one heady moment.

“—requesting medevac at—” the too-loud voice that had jarred Cody from his cold and slightly dim wool-gathering was General Kenobi. His General Kenobi. A thrill of something—alarm, panic, and a weighty and fang-filled feeling that pulled at the pit of his stomach—shot through him. The shock of emotion and subsequent adrenaline was enough for him to jerk into motion, heaving himself up onto one elbow and then the other. What went through him next was considerably less pleasant. If he’d had anything left in him, he would have sicked up all over the General’s no-longer shining leather boots.

“Force preserve every little—” Kenobi bit himself off and wrapped an arm around Cody’s shoulders. “Stubborn,” he hissed against Cody’s temple.

The air was thick with smoke. Choked with it, really. Cody shook his head to clear it and then patiently blinked away the resulting black spots in his vision.

“Yes, you are,” Kenobi insisted, evidently taking the motion as some kind of refusal. He pressed the palm of his hand to the side of Cody’s face, mopping at the scalding heat that sheeted down his temple and left a wash of crimson all down his spaulder.

Well, Cody wasn’t going to argue with his superior. He had better things to do. The artillery shell that had taken out the crumbling brick wall he’d been using for cover was—

“Thank the Force,” Kenobi said. Cody found himself being lifted like a recalcitrant tooka and settled onto a gurney. He made to get up again and Kenobi easily pinned him with a hand to the center of his chest. “We took the southerly quarter and are waiting upon reinforcements for the city center. The Separatists are dug in and have taken civilian hostages—there’s nothing more to do here. Not yet.”

With great reluctance, Cody let himself be strapped to the gurney. Howl and one of his minions were saying something in rapid-fire shorthand, some kind of code a CMO—he strongly suspected Howl himself—had invented to make medbay instruction faster. In war, time was more precious than blood.

“You’ll be alright,” Kenobi said. He kept his hand over the side of Cody’s face until Howl pried his fingers away. Cody let the dizziness wash over him in waves. It threatened and receded in time with the black spotting his vision. His chin tipped toward his chest without conscious input and his breathing seemed too loud and ragged in his own ears.

“You will be alright,” Howl confirmed briskly, doing something on Cody’s far side while his subordinate did something by Cody’s boots. They were moving at a fast clip now but Kenobi still had a hand on the side of Cody’s gurney. He was doing—something. Cody wasn’t sure what but the wrinkle between his brows was a dead giveaway. “Won’t even get a matching scar to even out your face. How many fingers, Commander?”

“Three,” Cody grunted out. Whatever Howl was doing had somehow eased the swelling in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue: it was still hot and swollen but it no longer filled his mouth and turned his words to mush.

“What’s your serial?”

“CC-2224.” Cody blinked one eye closed and then the other. The blood clotting the side of his face had been cleaned away at some point. Fuzziness receded in a great wave and stayed away this time. In its place a tide of searing pain swam up through his bones to make the palms of his hands prickle and the backs of his knees sweat.

“Duty calls.” Kenobi’s hand founds its way to the two square inches of Cody’s skin—just between spaulder and the strap of his chestplate where his body glove had torn or singed away in the blast—and gave him a firm squeeze. He looked redolent of sunlight, the golden near-dusk haloing him in brass and picking out every one of his flyaways in warm light. “Don’t try and stand up again, hm?”

Before Cody could reply, the General was bounding off and barking orders into the comm unit affixed to his vambrace.

“Arsehole,” Howl said. He managed to make it sound admiring. Somehow. “He’s right though, Commander. You got a nasty concussion, going to need stitches for your arm and leg, dislocated a shoulder when you landed, and I don’t even want to think about the state of your lungs. Congratulations, sir. You’ve narrowly missed getting tanked.”

“Never gonna catch on, Lieutenant,” Cody rasped. Howl gave him a little pshaw of skepticism in reply.

“You’ve no whimsy in your bucket, Commander,” Howl told him.

“Left it all in the vat.” Cody let a chuckle escape him and instantly regretted it. Howl patted his shoulder in sympathy, pretended to start a countdown, and stuck a needle in the crook of Cody’s elbow.

The darkness rose up in the wake of the pain, the exhaustion, the vertigo. Cody was out like a light before he knew it.

#hurt/comfort #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #a heat rash in the shape of the show me state #cody day #coday #cody bingo #tcw fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #eehn. i dont care enough to add more tags #aaaaaand POST

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tanith-rhea · 1 year

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Only Pretending #9

Word count: 2.2k Author's note: Ok, so that's it! My first ever long(ish) fic for the Larissa Weems cult fandom! @anti-bright-places, thank you so much for this wonderful request. I had a lot of fun writing this one and it was all for you. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

“Glad to see you back alive,” Vlad drawled as he sat beside you at the table. Chatter once again filled Nevermore as the students used their lunch time to update their friends on all the break gossip.

You smiled at him. By his cheeky grin and upturned nose, you guessed he had received the blood you and Larissa got on the way back for him. You didn’t know much about outcast society, but Larissa looked far too adorably excited when you asked if she knew a place that sold beverages for vampires and diverged a bit from your original route to take you to “my favourite winery around these parts. I’ll buy some more cherry for you and maybe a bottle of scotch.”

“Do you understand me now?” he asked, surprising you since you were expecting an “I told you so” or “Got into her skirt, then?”

With a fondness only Vlad managed to ignite in you, you replied, “Yes. I know behind all the shenanigans and scheming there’s wisdom, which is frankly irritating. And you were right… we were very blind, weren’t we?”

“Frustratingly so, yes,” he said with a deadpan, “But also very amusing. I’m only a bit sad that I don’t have free entertainment anymore.”

“Hey!” you shoulder-bumped him, but you were both chuckling.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Shush, stop being nice and call me an idiot child for taking so long,” he laughed at that, earning the attention of a few other staff in the room.

“Oh, I will. I just thought you’d appreciate recognition before weeks of berating,” he chuckled a bit more, kissed your cheek and puffed into a bat, flying away.

Classes went as productively as one might expect after a break, but you didn’t mind too much since you were also in high spirits. Listening to some students talk, you even discovered that there were some normie communities in which outcasts could go trick or treating safely and enjoy the date with other kids and made a mental note of mentioning it to Larissa. You knew it would make her smile.

On Larissa’s note, Enid seemed to have kept her word, for no one looked at you any differently and you heard no whispering teens when you walked through the corridors. You and Larissa weren’t the talk of the school, even if, for some reason, you’d wished Enid would have said something and everyone would have known by now.

Of course, you trusted the girl, but at the same time, it meant that you would have to make the decision. Maybe Larissa would want to wait for Christmas break, and you could understand that, but it also meant keeping away from her in public. No handholding, no longing looks. It would be torture, but you’d endure.

You wouldn’t have to behind closed doors though, and that’s why as soon as classes had ended, you went to your quarters to shower and wear something comfortable before hurrying to her office, where you knew she was still working.

You knocked, and a curt “Come in” sounded from within. You could bet and win that she hadn’t taken a break the entire day.

She was, as predicted, typing on her laptop when you entered. When she glanced up to see it was you, she stopped and gave you a small smile.

“Let me guess, you drank no water and ate nothing the entire day.”

She arched a brow with and smiled smugly, “I made sandwiches and tea this morning.”

“How much tea?”

“A cup?”

“For an entire day?” it was your turn to look smug as you walked around her desk to recline against it in front of her, successfully blocking her view of her arm extension of a laptop.

She didn’t stop you when you leant forward to leave a chaste kiss on her lips, just held your face to keep you close a little more.

“Your mouth is dry,” you whispered, dropping the smug act, “I think you’ve worked enough for the day.”

Larissa’s office led to her private quarters. You had to chuckle at the paralleled to her work and life balance, that her office and bedroom were separated by a simple oak door.

“That’s how you always know where people are when you send for them?” you mused, looking through the windows at the other end of the room. Combined with her office, Larissa had a good view of two of the three sides of the school that weren’t surrounded closely by the forest.

“I think the ones who lived here before the school liked to have an idea of where the house staff were at.”

“And it doesn’t hurt now when you want to spy on your own staff,” you arched an eyebrow, looking back at her, Larissa’s indignant face was priceless.

“I’ll have you know I have much more important things to do than spying on you, you little-“

“I never said me…”

She was stunned silent for a beat too long, “Anyone, for that matter!”

You tsked, enjoying too much riling her up, “I don’t think Wednesday would agree with you on that front.”

“Oh, the girl had trouble written all over her and you are starting to seem the same. Should I keep an eye on you?” she approached, more comfortable having earned a blush from you.

“I don’t remember complaining…” you breathed, and her hand circled your waist, bringing you closer.

“Imbalance of power, stalker behaviour, any other red flags that turn you on?” you snorted very unprettily, hiding your face on her chest.

“Fuck you. You know damn well it’s because it’s you,” one of her hands came up to your back, encasing you in her warmth.

Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I’m honoured you trust me,” then she distanced herself a bit, only to come back for your lips.

She kissed you slowly as if savouring the taste of your mouth like good wine, deeply and focused, committed to cataloguing every inch of it to memory, every movement and your response; how your hands fisted her dress when she sucked on your lower lip, the way your breath faltered when she bit down on it, and how you melted when her fingers wove themselves into your hair and kept your head in place.

You were completely at her mercy and all she did was kiss you for a few minutes. It was impressive how you could disregard your need for air, but in your defence, you had something far more important to focus on.

Her hand on your waist brought you with her to the large bed in the middle of the room. You had a faint memory of how tastefully decorated her chambers were, but the soft-looking duvet atop the enormous mattress was clear in your mind’s eye as if burnt behind your lids.

She turned to sit you on it without ever breaking the kiss, kneeling in front of you. When her hands descended to the waistband of your trousers you scolded yourself for wearing simple black cotton panties. She would probably be wearing lace, looking divine with desire burning in her mesmerizing eyes, although you could argue that she looked breathtaking in anything, anyhow.

She unceremoniously hooked her fingers in the waistband and pulled your trousers down, with efficiency and grace you had only ever seen her sport. Her fingertips travelled from your ankles, through your calves and to your thighs; you were struggling to breathe more than ever, and she noticed, leaving your lips with a small smile.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, and her hoarse tone betrayed how affected she was by the little you had done so far.

In a titillating show of strength, she laid you on the bed and straddled you. You had barely any time to recover before she descended onto your jaw and neck, sucking extendedly where one met the other; you could feel your pulse against her tongue accelerate more and more.

“Larissa…” your white-knuckled fingers held her shoulder and nape desperately as you whined her name, asking for what you weren’t sure since what she was doing could (ashamedly) very well finish you.

“Shh, darling. Be patient.”

You wanted to say you would love to, but your body wasn’t interested in being so. You almost did, but then one of Larissa’s hands slid underneath your sweatshirt, leaving a path of goosebumps in its wake, and you weren’t able to concentrate enough to vocalize any previous thoughts.

Her fingers found your breasts, and she circled and pinched your nipples while continuing her exploration of your neck, slowly making her way to the little of your collarbones she had access to.

Her weight on your legs kept you from moving too much, but it didn’t stop you from writhing and rising your back from the bad, muscles tightening under her expert attention. You took deep breaths in and held them for as long as possible in the hope of some sense of relief but to no avail.

Interrupting her torture for a few seconds, Larissa occupied herself with pulling off your top. You weren’t given too much time to recover, though, because she would lavish every new expanse of uncovered skin with loving kisses.

Once you had only your underwear on, Larissa sat back, appraising you with deep breaths and hungry eyes.

“You are perfect,” she murmured as her gaze came from your body straight to your eyes, “Absolutely exquisite,” she breathed and, in a second, she was at your mouth again, fiery and demanding.

Her hands gripped the back of your thighs, bringing your legs over her shoulders. You tried to grind against her, and you almost thought she didn’t let you on purpose, but soon enough you felt fingers pressing on your drenched panties.

Larissa’s small laugh on your mouth had your hips jerking, throwing yourself against her fingers. She swallowed your loud mewl with a hum, massaging your clit over the fabric with her thumb.

“See?” she muttered, “Such a perfect, good little girl.”

You whined in protest, and electricity ran through your body at her arched brow and rumbling words.

“Oh? You’re not a good girl?” she asked, innocently, and you shook your head desperately, unable to form words and dying for her to read you, “So you’re what? My plaything?”

“Fuck…” you breathed pathetically as her index and middle fingers started tracing up and down your entrance.

“I didn’t know I had found myself a whore,” she grumbled close to your ear and sucked into your lobe.

You felt like a teenager again. The power she had over you was unparallel to any other person you’d ever been with. She rendered you into a pitiful mess of hormones.

“Let’s see if you can take me like one, then,” she growled and knelt back on the bed, your legs falling from her shoulders as she took off your underwear and threw it somewhere on the floor.

You had half a moment to brace yourself for what was to come, and then you felt it; Larissa’s tongue deepening into your entrance, making its wait to your clit, her lips closing around your hardened bud and sucking.

You screamed. Your thighs clenched in her grasp, threatening to close around her head. She let you, you knew she could keep you from it, she was stronger than you, but she hummed as your trembling legs encircled her, heels pressing onto her back and shoulder blades.

One of her hands traced the inside of your thigh as it made its way between your legs and soon enough you felt a finger pressing inside you, almost immediately finding its goal. Your eyes watered and even tightly shut tears escaped them and ran down your temple.

You were too lost in sensation to think about anything. You gripped Larissa’s hair, shrieking and panting, so close it almost drove you mad. She sucked and circled your clit with her tongue, fingering you faster and faster, how wanted to yell for more, demand release, and then you didn’t have to.

With your grip on her hair, Larissa moaned languidly, vibration and her sharp intake of breath against your heated flesh sent you over the edge with a scream.

Your entire body trembled with aftershocks, Larissa licked and kissed you til it was almost too much. Unabashedly revelling on your pleasure. When your legs started to relax, she planted small kisses on them and finally came up to you.

With all the energy you could muster, you brought a hand to her face, guiding her down to kiss you. You tasted yourself in her mouth and hummed, a satisfied smile twisting your lips. The fondness in her eyes as you parted made your heart hurt.

“Give me a minute,” you breathed, “I want you to sit on my face.”

You didn’t know how long you were laying together. Larissa absentmindedly stroked your hair behind your ears and away from your shoulders, leaving your back bare.

Tucked on her neck, you could smell her; the scent of sex and Larissa should be forbidden, the risk of it driving someone to madness way too high to afford; you in particular.

“Now that we’re back… will you… want to keep us secret?” you had told yourself you would understand her, but you couldn’t keep your voice from sounding small and insecure.

Larissa shifted underneath you, her hand travelling down from your shoulder to your back as she laid you in the bed and hovered over you.

“Pretending to date you was hard enough. I don’t think I’d be able to pretend not to date you now,” she whispered and leant down to kiss you again.

Tags are as follows: @anti-bright-places, @pro-weems-places, @the-bagel24, @regalbootie, @tundra1029, @thoroughly-confused-kiwi-blog, @lilsmeaux, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @alder-saan, @jelly-frogss, @enchantressb, @imean-its-just-me, @lvinhs, @iloveyall-18, @kimiinou, @jeweleegrey, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @one-pining-queer, @paulsonwifey, @winterfireblond and @bobia13

For the lovelies who stuck around until the end, I have a little surprise. I edited the fic into an EPUB, and will be linking it here, as well as in the Archive of Our Own version. Thank you so much for all the love, you made all the difference.

#only pretending #fake/pretend relationship #larissa weems #principal weems #larissa weems x reader #teacher!reader #normie!reader #female reader #smut #that's all folks

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thecrystalquill · 1 year

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A/N: It's chapter 6!!! Hope you like it. @kpopgirlbtssvt i'd love to know what you think - hope you get better soon :)

Please read the into!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series Intro Your Hogwarts Letter First Year

Chapter Six ~ The Hogwarts Express

(Y/N) had been sitting in her lone compartment for hours and hours and hours – well actually, it had only been three and a quarter hours since they had left the station, but it felt much longer with no company – some people had passed by occasionally, but soon ran off, whispering to each other. Jinxy had spent most of his time sleeping or trying to sit on the pages of (Y/N)’s book, and was currently pawing at the compartment door – which was starting to get rather annoying. “Stop it, Jinx, will you?” She said, trying to focus on the words of her book, though her eyes only kept drifting back to the views from her window. But the scratting at the door only continued as the kitten tried to dig his nails into the wooden door, jumping up to the window a few times and nearly tearing off the blind. “I asked you to stop,” (Y/N) repeated, putting her book away and staring determinedly out the window. It went quiet for a moment or two, and just as she started to release a breath of satisfaction, she heard a few more deep scratches and the sliding of the door. Snapping her head to look quickly, she just saw the cat zipping out of a small gap in the door. “Jinx!” She exclaimed in alarm, rushing after him with his cage in hand as fast as she could; she wasn’t going to lose him on the first train ride. “Jinx, come back here right now! This isn’t funny!” She commanded, but the little kitten continued running ahead, looking through open compartments that didn’t seem to interest him and defiantly ignoring her protests. “I’m warning you, Jinxy!” She said, trying very hard not to yell down the train – but she was sure she was already causing enough of a disturbance. As soon as she thought she was catching up, the cat pushed his way into another compartment that had been left open ajar; she really hoped it was empty. Unfortunately though, things never seemed to go just how she wanted. She practically burst into the compartment, surprising two boys who looked to be her age, who were stood up on their seats, trying to keep Jinx away from a rat and a startled looking owl in a cage. Swiftly, (Y/N) scooped the kitten into her arms, trying to keep him from wriggling away, and started her apology. “I’m so sorry,” she said, giving Jinx a scolding glare, “he’s a little excitable today, and he’s never seen an owl before – bats and octopi maybe, but never an owl.” (Y/N) exclaimed, stopping the kitten from swiping at the other boy’s rat.

“It’s alright,” said the first boy, setting the bird cage down next to him near the window.

“Yeah,” said the other, “as long as he doesn’t try to eat Scabbers again,” he grumbled, holding the rat closer to him.

(Y/N) shook her head. “Oh he won’t, I promise.” She wondered how long it was appropriate to stay, had she apologised enough? She certainly hoped so. “Er… I’m (Y/N), by the way – (Y/N) Addams.” She held out her hand for the first boy to shake, which he did.

“Harry Potter,” he introduced, smiling shyly before pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Oh…” (Y/N) uttered in surprise – of course she’d heard of Harry Potter before, he was practically a legend (from what she had heard anyway, through word of mouth, not a whole lot of information made it to the Addams’ correctly). “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Blimey!” They heard from the red-headed boy on the other seat, who quickly forgot about the piles of sweets on his lap. “So it’s true? You’re an Addams? And you’re a witch?” Word had certainly gotten around much faster than she had anticipated.

(Y/N) nodded timidly, trying to wrestle Jinx back into the bat cage. “Yeah… I got my letter a couple of days after my birthday. A bit of a surprise, to say the least.”

Despite Harry obviously not understanding the significance of her surname, he didn’t seem to think it would be polite to ask. “Well… er… you can stay, if you want.”

“Really?” She asked, after Jinx’ little disturbance she had expected them to want her out of their compartment as soon as she’d got there, not an invitation.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, we don’t mind. Right?” He checked with his friend.

The red-head nodded as (Y/N) went to sit down, moving some of the candies and wrappers off the seat. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.” He held out his hand for her to take, it was slightly sticky, but she did her best to ignore it.

(Y/N) was about to introduce herself in return, but remembered that she already did that. “I… er, nice to meet you.”

“So,” started Ron, rummaging through his sweets, “what house d’you reckon you’ll be in?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug, it was a question (Y/N) had asked herself (and her family) many times over the last few weeks, “I suppose I’ll be happy wherever I end up.”

“Well,” said Ron as he chewed on a licorice wand, “I reckon I’ll be in Gryffindor, hopefully anyway, that’s where all my family were sorted.” He proudly stated, but there was an underlying nervousness in his eyes.

Time flew by with Ron and Harry, and (Y/N) expected they’d be pulling into the station soon, she’d been to the bathroom to change a little earlier already. The boys were very nice, Ron had been asking lots of questions about her family, fascinated by what were quite mundane things to her; like how she had to practice sword-fighting once a week, or having to upkeep the poison garden, and even how they lived in a muggle town by the sea. He seemed to talk quite a lot, she noticed – not in a bad way, it was quite fun how he bounced through topics and always kept their conversation going. And even though he’d grown more and more confident since their meeting, Harry didn’t seem to have too much to say – much to share.

“So anyway,” Ron started, after he’d finished his fifth tangent, “why is it that the Addamses lost their magic, anyway?”

“Wait, you can lose your magic?” Asked Harry, startled at the prospect.

(Y/N) shook her head, quick to correct the misunderstanding. “No no, you can’t. Well, not really.” This could take some explaining, what was the easy way? “Er… well y’see, some people are born with it, like muggleborns. And some inherit it from their family…” This would be much easier to explain if she hadn’t just wrapped her head around the whole thing just a few weeks ago. “And some people who should inherit it, just don’t. They’re squibs – people from wizard families who haven’t got any magic. And we were all squibs after my great-… or was it my great-great- er, so-many-greats-grandfather. No one really knows why, but then we were sort of… shunned, if you like… by the other purebloods. So we just went on as normal, and just sort of forgot about it…”

Ron nodded along as Harry seemed to understand. “Yeah, they were part of the Sacred Twenty-eight y’know. Well, Sacred Twenty-nine back then. Real big deal, but most of them are right gits anyway. You’re probably better off.”

Well she didn’t know that… she never actually finished reading their family history books – but who could blame her? They were massive!

Soon enough, the train slowed to a stop and people were ushered off, carrying cages with their pets to the baggage. It was dark by now, and cold, but it only made it better to see the stars – you don’t get views like that in the rest of the UK, too much air and light pollution.

“Firs’ years!” Someone shouted through the crowds, holding up a lantern. “Right then, firs’ years, this way please!” They followed the voice through the swarms of students, ducking between everyone, until they made their way to the front where they were greeted by an enormous man. Of course, (Y/N) wasn’t too startled by his size, she had honestly expected stranger from the wizarding world, but Ron seemed completely in awe by the man’s size, jaw dropping as they stared up. “’Ello there, Harry.” Said the man cheerfully, before he lead the group of children away and towards the lake, where there were lots of boats lined up.

The three of them shared a boat, with Harry at the front with a lantern. It was a funny sight really, watching their peers wobbling about or falling in. But of course, that wasn’t the best part – far from it. As the boats pulled themselves along, they were revealed the most spectacular view.

Hogwarts Castle. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before; towers and turrets pierced the night sky, countless windows glowed gold from every wall, great stone walls uplifting it all. It was truly a masterpiece. Better yet, it would be their new home for the next seven years.

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#addams family x addams!reader #addams family crossover #the addams family #x addams!reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter au #harry potter addams family crossover #hogwarts au #addams family au #addams family x harry potter #the curious misadventures of y/n addams #addams family x daughter!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x sister!reader #golden era x reader #harry potter golden era #harry potter golden era x reader #x reader

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esteemed-excellency · 4 months

Note

ask game! :D

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar? 🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar?

Hiram seems pretty neutral towards the Masters, he maintains a loyal facade just because their trades are useful to him, and he needs the immortality juice. But if anything were to accidentally happen to one of them, well, what would he be able to do about it? Surely he couldn't have predicted what happened to Mr Veils or Mr Cups. Whoever was responsible for their dreadful ends must be apprehended and brought to justice, as the Law so righteously demands. But, as much as he would like to offer his help, he just can’t seem to locate the culprits, what a shame ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He extends his most sincere condolences. (once he gets his own cider it's over for them bats)

Real answer: it's Mr Stones. Mr Stones decided to be a huge bitch about a cursed sapphire, throwing a tantrum and collapsing a mining facility on Hiram. They both ended up having the worst day ever, stuck underground and almost drowning in Lacre. Fuck Mr Stones.

🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

Long answer because this is the perfect excuse to think about Hiram as a npc. You can meet The Soulless Socialite here and there in location based opportunities, to find out about his affairs and his story, and to call in some favours. Locations and items change as you progress his story.

He initially shows up in Velgarden, at the Singing Mandrake, at Mahogany Hall, and at the University, where he can help you raise your Scholar of the Correspondence quality. He will exchange your Bohemians or Society favours for Scraps of Incendiary Gossip, Intriguing Snippets, and Wine items. The Wine items are randomised, a rare success will get you a Cellar of Wine, but with the risk of getting Black Wings Absinthe. You can also interact with him during the party from the Polite Invitation opportunity, he increases your Talk of The Town quality but you gain Scandal.

After some time, you can find him at the Medusa’s Head, at The Blind Helmsman, in the Forgotten Quarter, and at the Shuttered Palace. He will exchange your Criminals and Docks favours for Appalling Secrets, Compromising Documents, Blackmail Material, and a number of randomised Contraband items or Souls. A rare success will get you a Magnificent Diamond or a Portfolio of Souls, increasing your Suspicion.

If you follow through with the opportunities, he'll show up in Wilmot's End, at Moloch Street, at the Magistracy of the Evenlode, and Balmoral. He'll exchange Preserved Surface Blooms, Moves in the Great Game and Uses of Villains for Comprehensive Bribes, Favours in High Places and Vienna Openings. Rare successes will get you an Epaulette Mate, a Queen's Mate, or a Stalemate. Getting the Stalemate causes a Nightmares increase, and it marks the end of his opportunities.

You can obtain The Soulless Socialite as a companion at the end of the Wilmot's End carousel, but only after you unlock The Chessboard in Parabola. You need some Great Game favours and a Vital Intelligence to unlock the companionship option, and you will get an Identity Uncovered and a Stolen Kiss (optional). He boosts Persuasive, Player of Chess, and Mithridacy, causing Scandal and Nightmares build up.

If you equip him as companion you get a new permanent opportunity card to exchange Great Game favours for Legal Documents and Favours in High Places. A rare success grants you a Night on the Town and a bottle of Laudanum. If you equip him before getting arrested you can choose between two extra options in New Newgate, in the Bribery or Contact Your Lawyer cards.

Regardless of wether you equip him or not, he causes some Infrequent cards to appear in your deck. They all describe increasingly off-putting deja-vus, giving you Tales of Terror and causing a high Nightmares build up every time you play them. They can't be discarded, unless you equip an item imbued with irrigo.

#is his npc dynamic unnecessarily convoluted? yes. will you be able to get a lot of cool items? also yes.#will all that scandal and nigtmares be worth it? debatable. have fun :D #regarding the first answer: coincidentally the polycule choose different ambitions so all the masters deaths exist at the same time for us #our headcanon is short of two masters. looking forward to increase that number!#hiram hargrave #oc asks #no beta rip all eventual typos as usual 🫡#my writing

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the-loveliest-lotus · 7 months

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Kloktober 2023: Day 1 - Favorite character or OTP

Dick Knubbler is my absolute favorite Metalocalypse character, and him together with my OC Lucy Skye Desmond is my favorite OTP (ship name is Rainbow Sunshine), so here's a little slice of them being disgustingly adorable together. 🖤 (The inspiration for Dick's jacket taken from this gorgeous drawing of him.)

Dick opened the door to the upstairs smoking balcony of the nightclub that they were at and held it for Lucy, who felt an immediate chill compared to the air inside. It was a brisk night in early March – not quite cold enough for frost to still be forming on everything, but cold enough that the air was biting. The nightclub was pretty lax in their rules about smoking weed; it was an unspoken rule that if people weren’t obnoxious about it then security would turn a blind eye to it, so Dick and Lucy always had a few pre-rolled joints with them when they came there to dance.

At first, Lucy didn’t mind the cold. The heat of the nightclub combined with their dancing and the party favors that they had taken was making her skin almost uncomfortably hot inside, even with how skimpy her outfit was and keeping up on drinking water.

Somewhere about a quarter of the way through smoking the joint though, the coldness caught up with her, and she shivered. Lucy gave Dick a look and he knew exactly what she wanted. “You do this every time, kitten,” he said, more amused than annoyed. Dick had had the wherewithal to grab his long fur lined coat before they went outside. Lucy, however, had opted to leave her coat inside with the Klokateer who was currently guarding their stuff.

She bit her lip and batted her lashes at him, “Please?”

Dick sighed and held the front of his coat open, looking at her with a raised eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Lucy smiled a victorious little smile as she leaned in right against him, one arm around his back under the coat, and one hand near his chest with the joint. The jacket was pretty form fitting on him, but he did his best to maneuver it so that it was around her, and he used his arms to hold her close to him where it wasn’t covering her. She sighed softly and leaned her head against his shoulder, the boots she was wearing making her a little taller, but still not as tall as him. He smiled in spite of himself at her sigh and kissed her forehead before looking off at the skyline.

Lucy took another hit, and then held the joint up so that Dick could take a hit. After he exhaled, he asked, “Why don’t you ever grab your jacket?” Though, he had to admit to himself he never really minded getting this close to her.

Lucy laughed softly, “For a man who can literally look in two places at once, sometimes you’re really not that observant. I’m surprised you haven’t figured out by now that I do this just as an excuse to get cuddled up against you.”

He smiled affectionately at her, as if she even needed an excuse, “Sometimes you’re really adorable when you’re being devious.”

She smirked at him, “I’m always adorable.”

He thought, “She isn’t wrong about that.”

#kloktober2023 #metalocalypse #lucy skye desmond #dick knubbler #metalocalypse oc #mtl oc #rainbow sunshine #the wicker man mtl

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heracrosshero · 3 months

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Infiltration

Massacre Girl waited for the cover of night. She had borrowed a flying mount from a contact of hers in the Simic. It was some unholy hybrid of bat, lemur, and manta ray named Fuzzy. Fuzzy and Massacre Girl glided through the cold city air towards the Parhelion II. Angels and Sky knights gracefully circled around on patrol. However, Massacre Girl easily guided her mount to descend quickly through a blind spot. Fuzzy's wings folded inward as they came to a stop in a small overhang in the flying fortress's structure. Hidden under the towering steel, Massacre Girl dismounted andpatted Fuzzy on the head. Telling them to stay put, Massacre Girl began to tread carefully towards a metal hatch on the wall nearby.

The hatch was much too tightly sealed for her to pull open herself, but she could neatly use a vial of acid to melt through its hinges. Then, all Massacre Girl had to do was wait patiently until the acid had done its work, and then lift the hatch door up and gently lay it down on the deck. Inside of the Parhelion II, Massacre Girl found rows and rows of barracks down seemingly endless halls. The interior was made mostly of spotless marble floors and metal beams crossing the ceilings and walls. Most of the Boros Legionnaires aboard the Parhelion II were asleep by now, and so the magical hall lights were only dimly pulsating. Massacre Girl's jagged teeth reflected this soft light as she smiled mischievously. The first stage of her adventure was over.

There were a few possible objectives Massacre Girl could accomplish while on board the Parhelion II. She could go down to the prison sector and free the prisoners there to sow chaos, she could kill a few higher ranking legionnaires to sow fear, or she could just wander around until something else caught her fancy. Plan C was the only option available to her at the moment, as she had no idea what the layout of this gargantuan war machine was. Whatever actions she took tonight, they had to be over and done with before sunrise, or else her chances of escape would drop like a stone. Therefore, Massacre Girl jogged down the halls, her feet making no noise even on the hard stone floors. She hastily glanced at the labels of rooms and stairways, looking for any hints as to where she was, but to no luck. Every map and plaque was marked by numbers and letters that didn't mean anything to Massacre Girl. Grunting in frustration, Massacre Girl pushed open the door of a stairwell and slid down the rails to descend to the next floor down. She had landed near the upper levels of the Parhelion II. If it was anything like a normal Boros building, the more secure areas would be in the center of the complex.

After twisting around corner after corner until her ankles began to ache and her eyes were straining, Massacre Girl finally rounded to face a grand door blocked by an iron portcullis. Two human legionnaire guards marched in lockstep back and forth, but had not yet noticed her. Now this room had some potential. All it took was a brief moment of distraction for Massacre Girl to strike her victims with a set of darts laced with a paralyzing toxin. It wasn't potent enough to do any lasting damage to a grown human, sadly. However, it worked to instantly render both guards inert and unconscious on the ground. This allowed Massacre Girl to casually stroll up to the door, whistling a happy tune. A lever next to the door stood out, and Massacre Girl used both her hands to haul down on the lever in order to raise the portcullis. It made a dangerous amount of noise, but whoever worked or lived in this room clearly was important enough to have this whole floor to themselves, because Massacre Girl hadn't seen any other rooms nearby. Once the spearlike rods of the portcullis were set tight above the arch of the door, Massacre Girl twisted the doorknob and gently swung open the door. The lights were all off inside, but Massacre Girl could tell it was a living quarters. To her side was a small closet mostly filled with greaves, mail, and other armor pieces. Further inside of this space was an entry parlor with a few pieces of wooden furniture and a small kitchen next to it. With her assassin's heightened senses, Massacre Girl could tell that there was a person just around the corner, but there was no threat or danger in the air. Asleep, Massacre Girl concluded.

Taking out a set of fresh daggers, she tiptoed her way past the closet and the chairs and the kitchen. A wooden door, much less decorative and far less fortified than the previous, stood slightly ajar. It looked relatively well kept, if plain, so Massacre Girl hoped it did not creak. Biting her lip in anticipation, she raised a hand and softly pushed against the door with her fingertips.

With no windows or lights, the room was so pitch-dark that even Massacre Girl needed a moment to adjust her eyes. A large, rectangular bed was the centerpiece of the room. In the inky blackness, she could still see the pattern of the Boros Legion covering the bedsheets. Underneath those sheets was a person, fast asleep. They slept on their stomach, with one hand hanging limply off the bed, grazing the cold marble floor underneath. Their long hair spread out in all directions like an octopus's tentacles, completely enveloping their face and upper back. The resting figure wore simple linen pajamas with no ornamentation. What Massacre Girl noticed most was a sword in its scabbard resting on the edge of the bed, and a pair of feathery wings hugging their owner like another blanket, rising and falling with her even breaths. This was Aurelia the Warleader's bedchamber.

#magic the gathering #mtg #mtg spoilers #murders at karlov manor #massacre girl #aurelia #Fanfiction

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mlmxreader · 9 months

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Trust In Me | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

anonymous asked: Hey! Could I please request the following for Alfie Solomons X male!reader: "Tell him, tell him that I-"+"Y'know what? Nevermind"+"Never wanted anybody more than I wanted you" Just an idea, maybe they've known each other a while and reader is in love with Alfie but he doesn't think Alfie feels the same way and boy is he wrong! Thanks so much, seriously I appreciate it so much! 🐍anon

summary: you and Alfie have always trusted one another, more than willing to put your lives in each other's hands without needing to think about it. But maybe it's not just trust.

tws: swearing, mentions of war and violence, depictions of shellshock/trauma

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

You never thought that Alfie would look at you the way that you looked at him; you didn't expect him to, either. Even if he was there when the war crept back in on you, holding onto you gently and trying to reassure you that the war was over. The treaty had been signed.

You never had to hear another shell or mortar.

You never had to take another boy's life.

He was there when you screamed and broke, able to see the greenish yellow gas slowly creep through the streets of Camden, desperate to scramble to higher ground and cover your mouth, nose and eyes. He was there when your hands shook and you wept, weeping for all the schoolboys that had joined the war; staring at your hands and wishing the blood would wash away.

Alfie was there, even in your worst times. He was always there. But he was also there for the good times, too. When you hummed marching songs as you cooked in the shared kitchen, he would sit at the table reading his papers and smiling to himself.

He was there when you would be making the beds and telling him all about some subject you had read about in a book; always listening so keenly and offering the odd grumble to let you know that he hadn't stopped listening. If there was any constant in your life, it was Alfie.

But you knew that a man like him would never want to be with a man like you.

After all, he had hired you to look after his office; you cleaned it, you organised documents and appointments, you ensured that the legal was separate from the illegal. You never batted an eye, and Alfie trusted you enough to handle the more sensitive documents and information.

Alfie would surely never look at you as anything more than a friend, perhaps a brother but definitely a comrade; you fought alongside one another often enough during the war to be sure of that much. Alfie trusted you.

Of course, two men living together in such close quarters was often frowned upon to say the least, but when it came to you and Alfie, it was different; they understood that you had certain reasons to keep close to someone who had been through the same things through the war.

Many soldiers lived together afterwards, when the shellshock got to them. It helped in certain cases, so people turned a blind eye.

Things were different than usual today, though.

Your breath was trembling and shallow, hardly able to breathe in and more than unable to breathe out; you crashed into Alfie, arms around him tightly as you buried your face against the side of his neck.

Confused, Alfie frowned as he clung onto you.

"You alright? Somethin' happen?"

You nodded. "They, they, they said I'd, I did, I didn't, I done something bad."

He clenched his jaw. "Who?"

You could only whimper as you fought for the comfort that only he could provide; Alfie's jaw loosened, and he licked his lips as he sighed heavily.

He had an idea of who it was already. The same pricks as always; they had come from Birmingham, answered to some cunt Alfie didn't care about too much.

They always tried to pick you apart to get under your skin; they were more than aware that you were Alfie's weakness. He growled under his breath, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright, I got you," he reassured. "I ain't gonna let 'em hurt you, don't worry."

He would make sure that they paid. He knew what they were doing.

Telling you about the blood on your hands that wouldn't wash off, the bite marks that lice had left on your skin, the scars from barbed wire and bayonets. Telling you that, by fighting in a war you never supported, you were somehow to blame for the bloodshed.

It wasn't your fault, Alfie knew that. You had to join, just as he did.

If you had not joined, you would have been branded cowards and forced into social exile; his business would have failed, you would have been out on the streets. You would have both starved to death.

"C'mere," he huffed, guiding you over to the living room and pulling you onto his lap once he had sat down. "I'm with you, I ain't leavin' you."

Alfie couldn't bear it. He never wanted to leave you alone as it was, he never wanted to be far from you; the nights when you cuddled into his side were always so warm and so gentle.

The sight of your smile made even the most burnt toast smell like rosemary.

The sound of your smile was better than any music he had ever heard. Alfie adored you, if he was honest, and to see you so shaken and so panicked was just… he hated it.

He blamed himself, more than anything.

"C'mon, sunshine," he murmured. "Tell Ole Alfie what's goin' on - in your own time, though, mind. I got all fuckin' year when it comes to you."

You were trembling. He knew the signs all too well.

Those cunts, those absolute bastards, had sank so low that they had forced you back to the war; they had tied you to a rock in No Man's Land and left you for dead.

His jaw clenched, and it took everything in him not to get Ollie to keep an eye on you so he could hunt them down himself; but you were more important.

You were always more important.

It didn't matter when or where you called, Alfie always answered. He always would.

"They told me to tell you," your words were slow, like there were razors in your throat that only dug in further against the flesh with each syllable, "they said to… tell him, tell him that I-"

"Y'know what? Nevermind about it," Alfie told you gently. "Don't worry about them cunts. I'm gonna do to 'em what you did for me in Verdun. So don't you fuckin' worry."

Shakily, you nodded. "Alfie…"

"You don't have to tell me you love me," he mumbled. "I already know. Figured out the day you fuckin' looked at me differently after we managed to get away from those fuckin' shells. I know. I know that."

"But I…"

"You thought I didn't return it?" Alfie tutted. "Mate, I've never wanted wanted anybody more than I wanted you… but I never fuckin' told you 'cause I never wanted you to fuckin' worry about more shit. You got enough on that plate of yours."

"Alfie listen to me," your voice broke as you sniffled. "I don't… we can't be together…"

"Why?"

"My head," you whispered. "Something's wrong in my head."

"So we'll see a doctor," Alfie told you. "I'll get you the fuckin' best there is, and we can work together, innit? Get you stable. Everythin' else can fuckin' wait. I'd wait for you for a thousand years if you asked me to."

"I don't want you to wait..."

"Well..." he let out a soft sigh. "Why don't we go see my mum for a few days? We can stay with her, see if bein' alone, just us, helps... and I know how much you fuckin' adore her cookin' in all."

You dared to crack a small smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he hummed, giving your leg a soft pat. "Go on, pack your bags. I'll ring her and tell her we're comin'."

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nikethestatue · 2 months

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Hey!

Do you know how the gywnriels like to tell us that we didn’t see any “Gwynriels moments” in Acosf because we have all been dedicated Elriel fans for years? I think that’s a tad bit funny considering that I became an Elriel after reading Acosf for myself. It’s like they tell us that we were being biased by viewing Acosf with our “Elriel lenses” that we couldn’t catch on to Gwynriel, but isn’t that exactly what they did???

From the very beginning, the fandom has expressed such dislike towards Elain in almost everything she does. She is even too soft for them. Didn’t they go into Acosf hating Elain? So, their ship is a little biased because they have always hated Elain. It makes sense that after a new character is inserted, they would do everything to not have Elain, the girl they have hated since before Acosf, to not be with the person she clearly wants.

As someone who wasn’t a part of the 2016/2017 start of the Elriel ship, I think it was always obvious. They just didn’t want to see it because they were blinded by their dislike for Elain.

Yeah, before Gwyn ever existed, it was Emerie.

It was funny--a quarter of the fandom was like 'OMG, SJM changed ships like she always does!!! Nessian is not gonna happen. It's Cassian and Emerie!" (sounds familiar? And then they presented heaps of 'evidence' how Nessian was dead in the water) The other quarter, still trying to find someone for Azriel, though Elain was RIGHT THERE, and all indicators pointed at Elriel, decided that Emerie and Az were 'mates'. Because she is an Illyrian woman and she and he were gonna 'fix' Illyria. (Sounds familiar?)

Then when SJM announced that the book is DEFINITELY Nessian, they were all, well Emerie and Az are endgame.

One of the reasons I never paid any attention to Gwynriel is because it's just a crackship that was copied from another crackship, almost word for word. There is nothing unique or original about it. The whole 'Illyrian plot' isn't some thing that its creator suddenly came upon, deduced and had a ton of evidence for. No, it's just a combo of the presumed Nesta x Cassian plot in Illyria + one of the bat boys ending up with an Illyrian woman to redeem Illyria.

So now it's Gwyn, redeeming it. Nothing original about it. All these unique 'signs' and scenes are just repetitions.

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brandwhorestarscream · 1 year

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Weird AU idea, but here we go.

Seekers are the cryptids of Cybertron. They wake up at ungodly hours and just do their own thing while not doing missions.

Soundwave had been watched by at least three seekers when he went to recharge.

The Autobots are understandably terrified because of how unpredictable they are.

Shockwave has to shoo a seeker down from his lab ceiling at least twice a week.

They make aeries even though they have berths provided.

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES

I love this

When Starscream and his seekers first join the decepticons and are shown the barracks, he takes one look and goes Absolutely Not. They tear the whole building apart and reconstruct it into a proper aerie tower and absolutely no one understands it. They perch in rafters of buildings or straight up hang upside down like bats. Maybe the bottom of their thrusters are magnetic, maybe they just hook their legs over support beams. Regardless, they hang upside down and may sometimes even fall asleep like that

Even better if some seekers are nocturnal and some are diurnal. Some are even crepuscular. You wander into their aerie and there's always someone dangling from the ceiling, dead to the world. Depending on continuity their wings might even have seams so they can fold and wrap around themselves like blankies. Sometimes seeker trines will sleep together all wrapped up in each other's arms so they're just like a big cocoon that no one can make sense of

As for them watching people while they sleep, big yes. They're puzzled by grounders lying flat to recharge, and there's been more than one occasion of some poor soul waking up to like three seekers just O.O at them

The seekers exclusively speak in Vosian if there's more than 3 of them in the same room. A lot of it sounds like birdsong, little chirps and tweets and is very pleasant, but some of it is ungodly screeching like a hawk or an eagle, and Primus forbid they get excited or start squabbling--the scream of a jet engine is defeaning in close quarters. When they get angry or fight with each other their wings go up and fan out, lots of posturing and angry hissing, talons out and ready to fight

Bonus points if this also includes the idea that seekers spit venom, BUT. But 👀 no one knows they do until someone picks a fight with the new flyers on base and someone hacks a glob of blinding venom into their optics and then walks away like nothing happened

Anyway. I love cryptid seekers :')

#cryptid seekers au

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sabraeal · 8 months

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don’t speak boyshit, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

“Inomata-san?” Most girls would be thrilled to be the object of attention for the Prince of Third Year, utterly breathless by the way his gaze follows them across a room, seeing sparkles with every bat of his eyelashes. “You’re looking very...determined this morning.”

The rest of the female student body might also squeal at the wisps of blond curling over their desk, thrilled that Yagi-kun deigned to rest his head so close to their own fingers. But Maria simply frowns, dropping her pencil case near enough to endanger his well-being. Or at least the integrity of his haircut. “I didn’t ask you.”

His smile tightens by the smallest flinch, imperceptible to anyone whose vision blurs to pink and bubbles when he breathes.

“Inomata-san.” It’s impressive how normal he can seem when there’s no chubby cheeks around to entice him. “I’m only trying to be friendly.”

“You should try that on someone who would appreciate it,” she suggests, sliding into her chair. It takes a moment for her to organize all her limbs-- girls may stop growing at her age, but she’s still never gotten used to all the extra inches-- but when she’s nearly folded and tucked, Yagi’s still there, curious. “There’s a whole classroom full of girls who don’t know you well enough to know there’s something wrong with you.”

One end of a perfectly shaped eyebrow twitches. “You really don’t mince words, do you?”

Maria squints down at him, the same way Galileo must have when he stared into the sun. “I’m not trying to impress you.”

The blinding brightness of his smile doesn’t blur or dim, but this close, Maria could swear a nerve jumps in his jaw. “That much is clear.”

“Yagi-kun...” After three years as the sole female in the Advanced Course who is safe to sit next to the Class Prince-- a dubious honor doled out her first year after the disastrous mid-term seat change-- she’s nearly in expert in the gradation of weariness in Nezu’s sighs. This one suggests that he should have stayed home if they were going to be in this sort of mood today. “Stop bothering Inomata-san.”

With all the speed guilt can provide, Yagi springs up from his seat, smile dialed up to its max wattage. “Ah, Chuukichi-kun, good morning! I wasn’t bothering her, we were only--”

Nezu slants her a dubious glance.

“I was handling it,” she assures him, “but thank you.”

“H-hey!” That sunny smile shines itself close to a grimace. “I mean it. I was just trying to compliment her.”

With a toss of his head, the wild thicket of Nezu’s hair parts just enough to reveal a rare glimpse of his forehead-- one that is furrowed with incredulity. “Uh-huh.”

“Really! Inomata-san came in with a spring in her step. Or, er--” his voice falters under the strength of their combined stare “--as close as she comes. I assume this means that you had some progress with your romantic endeavors.”

It’s Maria’s turn for her eyebrows to take a hike up her forehead. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what you’ve been frowning over the past few weeks, isn’t it?” He darts a glance at Nezu, as if confirmation might come from that quarter, only to be met with resounding confusion. “You said Inomata-san asked you about boys just a few weeks ago, right, Chuukichi-kun?”

He has the grace to flinch under her glare. “Ah, yes, but I didn’t think you’d, er...”

Be interested, the slope of his shoulders says. His glare, however, implies, didn’t think you’d run your mouth off about it.

“I was surprised you didn’t come to me.” Yagi’s popularity has always been one of life’s mysteries, another sign that she’s not like the other girls in her class, a statistical outlier destined to go uncounted. But looking at him now, all concerned and earnest and every inch what a class president should be--

Well, it’d be easy to get twitterpated under this sort of attention. If she didn’t know the precise amount of tissues he goes through when the children play house.

“I’d be happy to help you.” Under the spotlight of his smile, it’s a struggle not to shrink back, to raise a hand to make some shade. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can figure this guy out.”

Nezu snorts. “You’ve never even been on a date.”

“Neither have you, and you got to help,” Yagi reminds him with his usual maddening calm. “I’m a boy, aren’t I? I’m sure that’s enough similarity for Inomata-san to--”

“Absolutely not!” The very idea that she could apply advice from this man and apply it to Kashima-- her skin shivers at the thought. “The two of you don’t have a single thing in-- in--”

(Shouldn’t it bother you that you’re stuck here with us? Usaida’s grin says he already knows the answer. I think most seventeen year olds would prefer to be celebrating with their friends.

Oh, no no! Kashima’s smile isn’t even the littlest bit strained. I like being here. The kids are so excited, and er... He must forget she’s here, playing house with Kirin in the corner, since he mutters, I think they’re a little easier to deal with than my classmates sometimes.)

“Really?” Yagi arches one of those perfect eyebrows of his; a girl three rows back squeals. “Not one thing?”

(He’s getting too big for it now, Kashima sighs, listing close enough to her that the cotton of his button-down brushes hers, but sometimes I just want to-- to-- it’s charming, how red he flushes --pinch his cheeks! Just a little.)

“It just wouldn’t work.” Her fingers curl, nails too short to cut her palms the way she’d like. It’d be grounding, if they could. “A-and you’re too late anyway! I already found someone else to help me.”

Yagi blinks, jaw so slack he could catch flies with it. “You don’t say. Who offered to...?”

“That’s privileged information.” Maria stifles a grimace. It’s the same answer her father pulls from his pocket every time she pushes too hard and too long on why she isn’t allowed to go to sleepovers, or about the Sunday plans that are too rigid to allow her to see a movie on Saturday, but-- well the last thing she needs is word getting around that she needs help from Kamitani. He’s not even in the Advanced Class. “And in any case, their advice will be much more helpful than anything you could give me.”

There’s a moment where that sunlight flickers, Yagi’s mouth flirting with the beginning of a frown before his mood clears to bright skies once again. “Is that so? I would have figured that someone as logically-minded as yourself would have wanted as much data as you could collect.”

He would have a point, if he was anyone else. As it was... “There’s no point in collecting from what’s sure to be an outlier.”

Nezu chokes. Impressive, since he hadn’t even seemed to be eating anything, but Yagi leans over, pounding him on his back until the sputtering stops.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says, giving Nezu one last slap on his back for good measure. “I’m always here, if you change your mind.”

Maria’s mouth pulls as thin as her patience. “I won’t.”

Not as long Kamitani follows through, at least.

It’s not that Maria is impatient, per se. Excited, perhaps. Eager for the rush of data analysis, definitely. But impatient? Restless?

Certainly not. During homeroom, she doesn’t even think about the oddly powdery pages of those test booklets, never quite holding fast to the strokes of her pen. Even as far as first period, she never once dwells on the unique pleasure of being finally being the one that wields the corrective marks, scrawling red over what’s already written--

And then Yagi is called to the board, chalk squeaking as he works out a differential equation in his neat hand, clean enough it could have come from a textbook. The girl beside him flushes, hand trembling with the effort to make her bubbly numbers look as professional as his. In the end, it’s a failure, her own nerves making fours into x’s and b’s into sixes, until she has to write the whole thing out again, chalk dust dotting her uniform as she trudges back to her seat.

But the boy after them-- his answer has more in common with chicken scratch than letters, so cramped that even sensei has to squint. Maria snorts; no one will be asking her to letter any banners, but at least her handwriting doesn’t require the teacher to crouch down, as if being level with the mess might help untangle it. That sort of disaster seems to be entirely the purview of boys, Well, excepting Yagi-kun.

It’s only logical then, that she thinks of it. That her mind suddenly projects Kamitani’s test booklet into her hands, completed cover to cover. It falls open, draping over the smooth wood polymer of her desk, and--

And it’s utterly illegible. A thicket of hiragana that cuts as she tries to wrap her mind around it, brambles pricking at her palms she as teases out individual strokes. With the way he keeps his room, it could hardly be anything else; even if Kamitani gives her that booklet today, she’ll have to spend weeks wading through his answers, trying to uncover his meaning. Her syllabus will be in shambles.

The lunch bell isn’t the same complicated set of bings and bongs as the one that marks the start of homeroom, but Maria’s on her feet at the first note, out the door fast enough that the squeal of her school shoes puts a flourish on its final one.

“Mari-chi?” Kawata leans her hip against the door of 3-C, sipping at a strawberry milk. “You’re back today too?”

“Uh...” Her shoes skid to a stop just shy of that speculative stare, suddenly aware of how her hands are utterly empty of excuses. There’s no papers to pass to the office, no official business to shield her from scrutiny; even her lunch is left back in her bag, forgotten in her rush. “So it would seem.”

“Oooh, who are you looking for this time?” Yamane cranes her neck out around the corner, gaze sweeping up and down the hall. “Yuki-chan, maybe? You guys haven’t had lunch in a while.”

“Yuki just stepped out to drop off some papers for sensei,” Kawata informs her, bumping Yamane to the side. “I’m sure she’ll be back in just a few minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Ah, but I’m not, er...”

Honesty may be the best policy-- at least, that’s what Father always says-- but Yamane’s grin goes a little sharp, like a small puppy about to bite the neck of her favorite squeak toy, and only just clamps around the impulse before the girl asks, “Or maybe you’re here for someone else? Kashima--”

“Not him either!” she squeals, loud enough that a few passerby give pause, and oh, this isn’t worth it, not at all. There’s no point in making a spectacle of herself when it would just be easier to find that annoyance after school, or maybe even--

“What’s all the noise about?” Kamitani’s scowl is already firmly set when he insinuates himself in the doorway, but when he catches sight of her, it furrows deeper. “I should have known.”

There had been a plan when she left 3-A, a course of action; one that involved dragging Kamitani from his desk and demanding the data she’d so patiently waited for. But now that he’s here, one arm braced against the jamb, buttons popped above the vee of his cardigan, like he didn’t even bother to dress right--

“There’s a tie in our dress code,” she snips, “as a third year, you might bother to wear one.”

His eyebrows spring free of their furrow, hitching up his forehead until it’s no longer a scowl stretched across his mouth but a smirk. He shifts too, slipping past Kawata to lean against the outer wall, limbs so long Maria has to step back to avoid scuffing his shoes. “That right?”

“To...” It’s terrible how she feels a flush working up her neck as he watches her, far too pleased with himself. "To set a good example. To the younger students.”

“To the younger...?” Humor leaves him in a huff. “What are you doing over here, Inomata? Looking for someone to nag?”

His edges might be blunted by annoyance-- a feeling that’s mutual as far as she’s concerned-- but she can see the gleam in his eye, the tilt of his chin. He wants her to rise to his bait, to admit that, yes, she’s looking for him. A challenge she’s willing to meet, except--

Except that Kawata and Yamane are right beside them, stares burning into the side of Maria’s head.

“I...” Maria clears her throat, letting the motion pull her spine all the straighter. “Not anyone in particular.”

His mouth pulls tight, frustrated his little farce has been foiled. Good. Maybe now he’ll learn that silly games earn silly rewards.

“Cool.” It’s indecent the way that he pulls the word so long; insolent even. And only made worse by the wall he pulls away from the wall, one vertebra at a time. “Guess I’ll just go back in and--”

“Wait!” If she’d taken more than a moment to think, Maria would not have reached out. And if she’d done more than react out of simple panic-- well, she certainly wouldn’t have grabbed him, fingers locking tight over the pulse fluttering in his wrist. “Don’t...!”

It’s bad enough that he is staring at her, the already muddled color of his eyes made muddier with incredulity. But Kawata and Yamane--

They’re right there, watching with entirely too much interest, and-- and she doesn’t know how to do this. To put a patch over this whole debacle and slip out unscathed.

“Er...” She turns to them, stiff, her grip wrapped so tight it’s little more than bone and tendon itself. “Would you excuse us?”

Kawata’s expression hardly changes; she just darts the smallest, subtlest glance between the two of them and squeezes out, “Go ahead...”

“Yeah,” Yamane adds faintly. “Take your time...?”

The girls are quick to scuttle back into the classroom, but their wide-eyed glances through the door are a reminder that this is hardly a secure location. Certainly not free from prying eyes, and if the searing pressure at her back is any indication, any one of them will feel welcome to relate what happens between Kamitani and herself to the nearest willing ear. Which may, most distressingly, be Kashima’s. “Come with me.”

It’s a pleasant surprise that he doesn’t struggle when she tugs him. She’s hardly gentle, either; panic and the threat of humiliation tightening her grip until her own fingers ache, she drags him down the hall with very little care to what obstacles might be behind her. Which there must be, it’s busy; most students in the upper school bring lunch, but there’s always a horde of boys ready to supplement their carefully crafted bento with the high-calorie offerings of the bread line.

One he might be in, if she hadn’t waylaid him. Not that the state of his stomach is precisely her top concern; she’s too busy shoving him into a stairwell to think about such petty things as physical needs. It takes climbing up one flight and down another before she’s content that there’s no malingerers, no underclassmen with big ears and bigger mouths to spread their business far and wide, and--

“You just about done?” he asks, utterly unimpressed. “I’ve got gym after this.”

Of course he has to ask her when she’s still catching her breath, winded from adrenaline and exertion. “Do you have it?”

His eyes narrow. “Have what?”

Oh, honestly. It’s not like she’s in the habit of just handing him things right and left. “You know what!”

She can practically hear the gears grinding behind that sour face; it takes entirely too long for his eyes to widen, for him to finally grasp the low hanging fruit of her meaning. “You wanted me to finish that today? Are you crazy? It’s got to be fifty pages.”

“Thirty-five,” she informs him, prim. “It’s shorter than most practice tests.”

“Yeah, but those tests are multiple choice,” he huffs. “Every one of yours is some...short answer or something!”

“Well, I’m asking for your opinion!” She tucks her arms over her chest, shoulders hiked high enough to brush her ears. “That should be easy for you, shouldn’t it? Since you love to give it entirely unprompted!”

“Me?” He straightens so quickly it’s a race to put space between them, her stepping back even as he looms. “I like to give my opinion--?”

If boys could breathe steam, Kamitani would. She can picture it, curling tendrils like smoke from a dragon’s mouth, all rushing from his nose in one great huff. That’s how he does it now, one huge exhale that seems to empty him right down to his toes.

“Fine,” he snaps, like even that’s more than he can chew. “I’ll get it done.”

Huh. Maria blinks. She hadn’t quite thought he’d give in; not that easily at least. “Tomorrow?”

He sneers. “Don’t push your luck. Soon, okay?”

Soon. Like she’s going to believe the timetable of someone who can’t move two feet to drop their underwear in the hamper. “You’re not getting my notes until you’re done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shoulders past her, heading toward the door. “I get it.”

Kamitani’s version of soon, as she suspected, doesn’t conform to any accepted definition of the word. Or at least, not unless she would like to make progress at the same rate continents separate and divide. At this rate, maybe she’ll get to have a conversation with Kashima that isn’t about schoolwork or small children by the next ice age.

Honestly, you’d think with her-- highly coveted, never shared-- notes on offer, he’d be able to answer fifty simple questions. But Tuesday blends into Wednesday, and Wednesday into Thursday, and there might just as well have not been a weekend for how little relaxation brings, since by Monday morning, she is just as tense as she was when she confronted Kamitani by the bike rack, as if she hadn’t done any work at all.

It would be one thing if he had approached her like a civilized person; Maria may be eager but she is not inflexible. If between two clubs, his schoolwork, and his homework he had needed an extension, she would have been happy to give it. But oh no, after five days of coming all the way over to 3-C only to find he’s already left-- for bread, for club duties, for a conveniently timed bathroom trip-- she’s left to conclude that this is not all just happenstance. No, Kamitani Hayato is dodging her.

Well, fine. If that’s the way he wants to play, then Maria can play too. He can keep on slipping out of every room she enters, using his club-- and the men’s facilities-- as a shield, but Maria-- Maria--

She’s memorized Kashima’s schedule. A data set that just so happened to include the days Kamitani would be at his club, if only to assure minimal interference when she did deign to come down after her own. Last thing she needed was some grumpy manchild complaining about how he didn’t like sweets when she showed up with two bins of extra desserts.

“Inomata-san!” Kashima’s eyes round when he sees her in the doorway, jumping to his feet to greet her. “I-is there something you needed?”

His gaze drops down to her hands, and, ah, yes, maybe she should have brought something. An excuse, for one.

“No.” A glance over his shoulder counts five children, as it should, and Usaida, even if he’s just napping, but-- “Are you the only one here today?”

“And Usaida,” he offers staunchly, even if the man doesn’t deserve it. It’s a point she might stick on, if she didn’t have other useless boys to account for.

Maria squints, glaring a hole through the green apron still hung on its rack. “Doesn’t the baseball club have the day off?”

“Ah, yes, it does! But Kamitani came by just a minute or two ago to tell me he wouldn’t be able to make it.” Kashima smiles, entirely too used to the habits of his fair weather coworkers. “Apparently there’s something he needs to do with the manager today. He explained it but...well, I’ve never really been all that good at sports...”

He shrugs sheepishly. An act she’d typically savor, coming from Kashima, but today, oh, today--

She’s too busy thinking, how convenient.

“Is that Kamitani-kun?” One of the first years-- Makino, she thinks the girl’s name is, or maybe Miura-- steps away from her station, standing on tiptoe to see over the sill. “I thought baseball club got canceled because of the rain storm last night.”

“Of course it did,” Inui sniffs loftily over her batter, too good to follow suit. Still, Maria catches her glance, that small bob up on her toes while backs are turned to take a peek. “But Summer Koshien is only months away. Even if the team doesn’t practice, he and the manager still have to come up with their strategy.”

She spares an ingratiating little smile for Maria. “He’s going to take us all the way to nationals, you know.”

A lofty goal for a boy who can’t even take his clothes all the way to the hamper. Or keep to a perfectly rational timetable.

“But isn’t...” Makino-- Miura?-- drops her voice to the precise pitch gossip travels at. “Isn’t the manager a girl?”

Another one of the first years slides between them, wide-eyed. “Oh, do you think that they might...?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Inui snaps, cheeks flushed. “You can’t possibly think he’d go after the team manager when...”

The rest of that thought catches between her teeth, ones she turns right on Maria. “I suppose if someone were his girlfriend, though, they might get nervous about something like that. You know, their boyfriend spending so much time with another girl. Especially if there wasn’t much special about them to begin with.”

It’s not until Tanaka-san murmurs under her breath, “Don’t take her bait, senpai,” that Maria realizes it’s even meant for her.

Inui simply stands there, saturated in self-satisfaction, so sure that Maria will react. That somehow, the insinuation that Kamitani has something going on inside his head besides a rotating system of baseball scores and bad attitude will send her into a tailspin. That him tolerating some girl was any of business of hers to begin with.

Quite frankly, it’s insulting. Or at least, it would be, if she wasn’t too busy being annoyed that he might have devised some legitimate reason to be unavailable. Air hisses through her teeth just thinking about it. Unbelievable. The lengths he’ll go to to avoid doing her a single favor.

At least she knows now: if she wants those lessons, she’ll have to be the one to set the syllabus. “Kaichou, could you--?”

“What do you think, Inomata-senpai?” Inui grits the words through her sunny smile, never once letting it flag. She expects the first years to giggle, to flank her as they always do, but this time they simply stare at the girl, as if drawing attention to their snide asides is somehow beyond the pale.

It’s tempting to ignore her; it’s not as if she actually cares about that poor manager being cooped up with hours of Kamitani’s irritating company. But the air stills, and she realizes that the entire club is watching their exchange, even Tanaka and Suzuki-san. For some reason, her answer matters.

So Maria lifts her chin, letting her gaze snowball into a glare as it slides down the steep slope of her nose, and says, “I think if someone has to worry about who their boyfriend is with all the time, that is either a reflection of their own insecurity or their own poor taste. Either way,” she continues, bored, “I think it’s hardly any of your business.”

Unlike Inui, Maria has no need to see a reaction, instead she simply turns on her heel and says, “Kaichou, may I ask to borrow some of your culinary expertise?”

Tanaka-san stares at her, eyes so wide it’s obvious when they slip behind her shoulder, and even more so when they snap back. “Ah...my expertise?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I’m curious about the way one would go about constructing a bento.”

“Inomata-senpai.” Tanaka-san’s hands tremble in the air, first toward the containers, as if she might grab them, then to her hair, as if that might soothe, before pressing them both firmly onto the lab’s countertop. “I appreciate that you came to me for this, erm, important advice, but surely...you must know how to make your own?”

“I do.” Her mother does prefer to make them-- if my mother did it for me, she says, checking her watch to make sure that she will not be late for her train, then I must do it for you-- but part of Maria’s duties have always including picking up whichever balls drop in the juggling act of between motherhood and making partner. Lunch happens to be one of the more consistent ones. “But that’s different than when you make them for someone else.”

“A-and that’s what you’d be doing?” Tanaka-san’s eyes bounce around from table to table, hardly pausing to rest. That’s what makes her a good president; even when she’s giving her attention to one club member, she’s always keeping an eye on the others. “Making it for someone else?”

A quick breath steels her spine. “Yes. Hypothetically.”

“So this is a...hypothetical situation,” Suzuki-san asks, her stool dragged close. “You would hypothetically use this information, because there isn’t someone you’re hypothetically using it for?”

“I mean that I would like to learn the basic rubric of creating a bento for another person,” she clarifies, “so that I could conceivably make a passable meal for anyone in the future, not just to please the person I would make one for right at this moment.”

Suzuki-san swings her head toward the president, weary. “I think I’m more confused now. Is there someone, or--?”

“That’s not what matters right now,” Tanaka-san declares breathlessly. “Is it? Inomata-senpai wants to know the, um, rules of making one. What other people would expect if you were to give them one. Some...common sense?”

Maria nods. “Yes, exactly. Common sense is just what I’d like. The sort of things that are considered standard. Or if there’s any, er, hidden meanings to what dishes are made.”

The last thing she needs is to find out that edamame is a signal that you’d like to be kissed, or a sweet omelet means you desire the receiver carnally, or whatever other terrible shorthand simple dishes have become in the hands of the romantically inclined. It would just be sleeve-tugging all over again.

“Hidden...?” Tanaka-san blinks. “Ah, no, it’s just usually what your boyfriend likes to eat. Or, ah, whoever you’re giving it to!”

“What if...?” It’s a struggle to keep from grimacing. “What if you don’t...know?”

Suzuki’s giggle is light, more bells than belly, and it takes the sting from her reply. “Then you ask him!”

Doing that will give her an excellent idea about what Kotaru likes in his lunches, but Kashima, well... “That won’t work. Is there anything that boys like in general?”

“Ah...” Tanaka-san flushes. “I’m not sure I’m the one to ask. I’ve only had the one boyfriend, and not for that long...”

“I made a bento once!” Inui offers. “It was pretty good.”

“Really?” Miura-- no, Makino?-- asks, curious. “I thought you said not even the babies would eat it.”

Inui deflates. “Well, sure. But it looked good, that’s all that matters.”

“No.” Suzuki’s smile is too wide when she assures her, “It definitely has to taste good.”

“Maybe you should ask someone who has made a lot of bentos,” Tanaka-san suggests. “Or, ah...has received a lot of them...?”

“Yuna-chan,” Suzuki coughs, “are you telling Inomata-senpai to ask a popular boy. A prince type or something?”

Tanaka-san claps her hands to her cheeks, shaking her head. “N-no! I mean, maybe, if she knows one--”

With a sigh, Maria feels her mood sinking straight into her stomach. “I think I just might...”

“Inomata-san.” There’s a distinct lack of enthusiasm in Yagi-kun’s greeting this morning, his customary smile fading to a frown as she heaves herself into the seat behind him. “Is something the ma--?”

“I think,” she says, begrudging every word, “that I might need to consult your...personal expertise.”

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