Originally, I planned to come back with the rest of chapter 1 + chapter 2, and maybe a short story. Unfortunately my laptop was out of commission a while so I couldn't write comfortably until I got it repaired. Why I didn't wait to come back to Tumblr until afterwards? yolo lmaoaoao
I do have this deleted scene from where you're riding with Lancelot and Ryder to the casino. I scrapped it because it felt like a very juvenile, in-your-face way to explore the sadistically misogynistic values of these characters, and it would already be a topic explored when they reach the casino (as seen by how you meet Vladim). I realise that when you're writing something as heavy as IN51, you have to make these sorts of calls often.
Regardless of it not making the cut due to bigger picture reasons I still feel it's very in character for Lancelot and Ryder. and of course i want you to detest them with all your heart so i'll share it with you anyhow
Did I ever mention that I originally had a love interest planned for Ace in The Wondermadness? I absolutely fell in love with her but unfortunately that meant that she would've most certainly taken over too much of my fanfic so I had to give her the boot 😓 the ever-amazing Astral let me know that they wanted to see her though so here's her intro scene!
The three of them stepped out onto the tourney field, with Chester in the lead, his arms open wide as he basked in the sunlight.
“Ahh… I dunno why you keep saying that Auradon is terrible, Ace. Their sun has ours beat by miles!” He declared, flopping down onto the grass beside the bleachers and rolling around in it. “That crotchety old star is always too bright or too hot, lost its balance from being up in the sky for so long, but this sun has it down to a science!”
“I think our sun is fantastic!” Ace protested, crossing his arms and turning up his nose. “And I don’t think all of Auradon’s terrible… They have good handshakes.”
“Issss that it?” Chloe laughed lightly, taking a seat on the edge of the bleachers while the rest of the students milled about.
Some were already running their own drills across the tourney field, others were catching up on the bleachers, waiting to spectate the tryouts. On the far end of the field, a group of cheerleaders accomplished a series of complicated flips, showing off for the new players they may be cheering for soon. It seemed like everyone had someone to talk to in the buzz of excited anticipation… except for one person. A girl, who was sitting alone not too far from them, inspecting her nails casually as if she couldn’t care less about the upcoming tryouts.
Something about her made her stand out sharply against the rest of the scenery. Maye it was because she seemed sort of lonely. Chloe’s shoulders sagged, well, we can’t let that stay that way! She thought, and was just about to invite her to join them when Ace scoffed loudly.
“Well, Auradon’s lucky I’m even giving it that much— I’m still not entirely convinced you didn’t make it up yourself, Chloe! It’s far too clever for this place…” He sniffed.
“What?! I did not! It’s definitely real, didn’t you get to shake anyone else’s hand yet?” She asked incredulously.
Ace’s breath hitched and Chester rolled over backwards, clutching his stomach as he laughed.
“Oh, Blue, you should’ve seen it!” He howled.
“I wanted to, but Red didn’t let me…” Ace pouted, digging his toe into the grass petulantly. “She’s been stopping me from shaking hands all day! Says it makes me look like I’ve never been out of the house before.”
“Cuz you haven’t,” Chester remarked.
“Cuz I haven’t.” Ace nodded. “None of us have, and why should we?! Wonderland is perfect! Other than the handshaking, if it is real… the score is Auradon:1; Wonderland: 10,117.”
Chloe giggled, covering her hand with her mouth. “That’s way too specific.”
“Well, I’ve been counting,” Ace said proudly. “Would you like to hear about each point?”
“Uh…”
“Great!” Ace leaned back against the bleachers, tallying the items off on his fingers. “Firstly there's the paths. Did you know that they always keep the same ones? Apparently there aren’t any broomdogs, so no one thinks to freshen them up! Then the bushes, of course, it makes sense for them to grow erratically out in the woods, but they grow the same no matter what location they’re in! They haven’t even got the sense to grow in interesting shapes when they’re out in public spaces, completely squandering the opportunity for plants that would like to be artistic! Aaaaand speaking of those, did you notice how the flowers here don’t even talk? I could excuse that if they were asleep in their flowerbeds, but even in places where the soil is too hard to sleep on they refuse to speak a word—!”
“Aaaceeeee,” Chester yowled, clapping his hands over his ears. “Your complaining is ruining my grass experience! Why don’t you go shake hands with someone, Red isn’t here now, she can’t stop you!”
Chloe wanted to protest against the order— just because Red wasn’t around, it didn’t mean that they shouldn’t listen to the rules she set!— but she was too relieved that the tirade of critiques stopped (it was almost worse than Chad’s when he got fired up about disliking something), and besides, she reasoned, Red wasn’t actually an authority figure…
Well, she is to Ace. She’s ‘his princess’. Her brain supplied mockingly. The thought just made her purse her lips tighter.
“Hey… that’s true!” Ace perked up, kicking off the bleachers to find his first victim. “She won’t mind once I show her how many friends I’ve made.”
“More like she won’t mind as long as you blink your long lashes in her direction.” Chester snorted, rolling over to his stomach and resting his head against his folded up hands. “Ooh! Princessss!! You don’t miiiind that I shook people’s hands, do you? I’m too pretty to be mad at!” He trilled in a high-pitched voice and fluttered his lashes violently up at Chloe.
Something inside her twisted uncomfortably, but the sight was too funny for her to not let out a small laugh.
“See, Blue already forgives you,” Chester dropped out of his pose, laying flat in the grass.
From where she was sitting, Chloe could almost understand where his cat argument came from. His brown hair poked up at just the right spots to look like little cat ears on the top of his head, and he was laying so flatly it was like his bones were just as flexible as the animal’s.
“Save your mockery, friends, I’ve got it” Ace said decisively, marching away from their group and towards the girl Chloe had spotted earlier, who was now inspecting the nails on her other hand.
Chester cracked an eye open at that and quickly sat up at the sight of the girl. “Oh, me-wow.”
Now that she was really looking at her, Chloe couldn’t help but agree. The girl was tall, with long honey-colored hair tied up in a ponytail— and it was suddenly clear why she had stood out so much in the first place— her skin was so golden it practically glowed. She almost looked too glamorous to be out in the middle of a tourney field with mortals like them.
“Hello!” Ace said loudly, stopping stiffly in front of her and locking his feet together, like a soldier would.
The girl glanced up from her hands slowly, assessing Ace up and down. “Uh, hi?”
“Did you notice that you’re the only one out here all alone? It makes for a very sad sight, were you home sick the day they were handing out friends to everyone?”
“Excuse me?” She raised a single eyebrow at him, putting her hand down.
“Oh my fairy godmother…” Chloe facepalmed in secondhand embarrassment, clambering up from her seat to save the interaction.
“Wait, no!” Chester grabbed her by the ankles, watching the scene unfold from between her feet. “I wanna see what happens.”
Chloe grumbled, trying to pull herself out of his surprisingly firm grip. “That’s—!”
Ace shrugged. “Unless you prefer to be alone, that’s alright too. You don’t need friends, really, but in my opinion they certainly make life easier and more fun to live.”
“... Is this your weird way of making fun of me?” She snickered, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in her seat with a curious expression. “Cuz you’ve got to be the saddest bully I’ve seen yet. Were you home sick the day they taught you how to put those muscles to use against frail little girls like me?” She drawled, tilting her head to the side, letting her long hair drape against her shoulder.
Chester and Chloe winced as one, but Ace just threw his head back and laughed.
“AHAHA! Oh, I see now! I’m so sorry if I came off as rude, where I’m from we really do have handout days for friends. I see Auradon is, once again, behind on such things…” He shook his head in disappointment. “It ensures that no one is left lonely, unless it’s by choice. My first Friendship Day is how I met my friend Chester!” He lifted his finger up, pointing to where Chloe and Chester were watching a few paces away.
Chester poked his hand out between Chloe’s legs and waved as Chloe gave the girl an apologetic smile.
“Huh… waddaya know…” the girl muttered, looking up at Ace again. “What does this have to do with me again?”
“Well, I wanted to know if you were lonely by choice! Cuz if not, then I’d like to be your friend!” He stuck his hand out expectantly, eyes shining. “Let’s shake.”
The girl snorted but made no move to take his hand. “Do you even know who I am?”
Ace shrugged. “Does it matter? Let’s be friends and shake hands. Or, let’s not be friends and shake hands anyway, for a conversation well-conducted.”
The girl looked down at his hand, then back up at his face, and then over at Chloe and Chester, who were still watching everything happen with bated breaths. “Oh, I get it now. You and Tweedledee and Tweedleblue over there are all part of the Wonderland crew, arentcha?” She thrust a thumb over in their direction.
“Just Tweedle-me, actually!” Chester shouted back to her.
“So you’re new around here… and have no clue who I am.”
“I could,” Ace insisted, pushing his hand even further towards her. “I’m Ace of Spades.”
The girl smirked and let out a short laugh. “Like the card?”
“Exactly like it. I’ve got my suit printed on my chest and everything.”
The girl narrowed her eyes with interest. “Huh. What’s a girl gotta do to see that?”
Chloe coughed loudly and Chester made an uncomfortable hissing sound.
“Erm… wait for the weather to be appropriate to go to the beach?” He shrugged. “Though I only go to the beach with my friends. I’m no oyster!”
“Wow… I have no clue what you’re talking about. You really are from Wonderland.” She laughed, finally bending forward to reach for his hand. “Fine, you win, Wonderboy. Let’s shake.”
Ace smiled broadly, clasping their hands together excitedly, but before he could manage a single tug, the girl shook once and— with all the force of a cannon— flung him straight over her shoulder and into the bleachers behind her.
“Ack!”
CRASH
“Ace!” Chester yowled in distress, disappearing from beneath Chloe and reappearing at Ace’s side in an instant.
“What was that?!” Chloe yelped, stalking up towards the girl furiously. “That was totally uncalled for!”
“I was just shakin’ hands, like Wonderboy asked.” She smirked, looking over her shoulder in amusement as he clambered out from between the seats, blowing a strand of her hair aside with a single breath. “Big, strong boy like him. He can handle it.”
“Just because he can handle it, doesn’t mean you should throw him!” Chloe spat, sizing her up.
The girl looked up at her with a bored expression and sighed loudly. “Look, I didn’t mean to, honest. That’s just what happens when people shake hands with me. Don’t like it? Don’t shake.”
Chloe gritted her teeth and started for her sword— she was seriously not liking this girl's attitude about all this! — but then, the reminder of her own unwanted thoughts popped into her head, and she realized that if this girl’s Herculean strength was anything like that, then she’d be the worst kind of hypocrite to hold it against her.
“That… was… AMAZING!” Ace cheered, crawling his way back over to them with bright eyes.
“Really? You’re a durable guy, huh?” The girl smirked.
“Sure am! I’m a card, after all. I can’t believe it… I only wanted to shake hands with someone, but instead I found Auradon’s world champion hand-shaker! How lucky is that, Chloe?!”
The tension left Chloe’s shoulders at Ace’s reaction. If he didn’t have any problem with the girl, then she shouldn’t hold grudges on his behalf.
“Yup… super lucky.” She trailed off, assessing the girl once again. Something about her looked familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why. “So, who are you, then? You still didn’t say.”
“The name’s Megan. My friends call me Meg, at least they would if I had any friends.” She lifted her hand, gesturing to it pointedly. “All that freak strength was great for my brothers, but let’s just say, as a girl… the chance that you might rip out hair instead of braiding it if you sneeze doesn’t get you invited to a whole lot of slumber parties.”
Unfinished scenes from "Snap my neck with care" that were sadly scrapped due to issues with pacing and/or tone, but I still liked:
(#1 alt intro)
You want to go home.
It’s the one thought rattling around in your head with any clarity, among the cacophony of anxiety. Body high-strung and tense, radio clenched tightly in one fist, flashlight in the other. It flickers, for just a moment, but it’s enough to make your heart leap with a jolt of fear.
The light stabilized, and no monsters emerged, no footsteps or creaking vents. Your body sags with exhausted relief, tense shoulders slumping, as you allow yourself a moment of weakness.
-------
(#2 hand holding)
Curious, you grabbed at one of the hands holding you, the Bracken hesitant before it let you, your two hands gently holding its one.
Big, so much bigger than yours. It was hard to feel much through your thick gloves, but you still touched and explored. The long thinness of the fingers were deceptive of their strength, tipped in sharp claws you gently poked at.
-------
(#3 protective panic)
The sound of invertebrate footsteps broke the peace, as you raised your head to look, spotting a hoarding bug poke its head out the doorway.
You didn’t get to react before the Bracken moved. Your only warning was feeling its body tense against you, before it shoved you forward, underneath its chest, claws digging into the carpeted floor. It glared at the bug as its leaves rattled rapidly with fury, and sound that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck, the sound you heard before a coworker who stared a moment too long, had their neck broken in front of you. You'd heard the snap, a gurgle, before he was gone.
The bug scurried away quickly with a chirp, as your breath hitched
"Ah, right, right. Sorry." Even in the dim lighting Katsuki could see the blush.
"A naughty photo?" His mouth kicked up in a mean sneer.
"No." Eijirou sighed. "I-I mean…" he set the phone down. "No."
Katsuki watched the emotions play out on Eijirou's face. The pout, the furrowed brow. The tangled fingers as his gaze switched between dark phone and fluid tv images.
Katsuki put the popcorn bowl in Eijirou's lap. "I'm not gunna eat it." He explained lamely. "'S too late at night."
"That's how you stay so lean." A small smile graced Eijirou's face, and despite it being small it still felt like a victory.
"Yeah." Katsuki yawned, resting his head on the back of the couch. "Sure. Not cuz you're a fat ass."
The phone flashed blue, Eijirou picked it up. Katsuki, determined, glued his eyes to the tv screen. Blinked. Blinked again.
Blinked and his head was against Eijirou's shoulder. He could hear Mina and him talking in hushed, feverish tones but he didn't care. He was tired.
"Shut up, fucking extras." He hissed, slouching on the couch, laying down.
Funny how warm his couch cushion was. It smelled so much better than normal too. Was that a hand in his hair? He fought to open his eyes but everything was so blurry, hazy. Katsuki blinked again.
And he was flying. The sky was brilliant, cast in rose golds and brilliant orange. Crisp skies caught in his hair, his skin, the furs around his neck, his cape.
"Let's go!" He yelled, cutlass drawn as the mighty beast below him roared into the sky, taking him out of the cloud coverage.
Below an army echoed the roar of the mighty red dragon, charging into battle against…
With a start Katsuki woke. He was warm. It was dark. It took a moment to realize a human was breathing beside him. Curiously he allowed himself to wake before stirring; arm draped over a chest, hand rising and falling with each breath, heartbeat strumming under fingertips. His leg tangled over and under another's. His head resting in the hollow just below his shoulder.
He knew he'd fallen asleep on Eijirou before he could see the man. The awareness bred new panic as memories filtered in inbetween the haze of sleep.
Was Mina there? What had they been arguing about? Did he say anything in his sleep? What was he going to do about his morning wood without-?
Eijirou groaned, moved, turning on his side to face Katsuki, pinning him between his body and the back of the couch.
Shit. Slowly, carefully Katsuki pried himself out, all but falling over the back of the couch.
"Fuck." He whispered.
"Good morning Sunshine."
Biting back a groan Katsuki stood. "Raccoon Eyes. Couldn't sleep?"
"Eijirou's phone wouldn't stop going off." Her chin motioned to his incessantly blinking cell. "I don't think he's ever not responded to her before."
"So he fell asleep-"
Mina's brow peaked. "Oh ho, no honey." A nail pointed. "You did."
Katsuki frowned. "The fuck does that mean?"
She rolled her eyes. "Wanna go for breakfast?"
"I gotta piss." Katsuki turned to the bathroom. "Go pass out in my bed. I'll get food."
X~X~X
I scrapped this scene because it didn’t fit where their relationship was in the moment. It ended up getting replaced by the hair dye scene, the festival, and the movie scene after the hair dye moment. All which I feel like ended up being much better than this, though I would have died for an accidental cuddle moment.
I can still work that in though. I mean... they’re gunna be sharing a dorm... Soooo....???? That can be fucking gay if I want it to be.
X~X~X
Tag List: @kingdomheartstrash @thelastoftheflyinggraysons @burnedblueblossom @amy-on-ice
So, I’ve been pretty open about my writing style which is “plan nothing, but make it seem like you do”, and sometimes there’s things that just don’t work out. Not just whole snap shot ideas, but the theme/plan of them. The post-snapshot 50 arc of the swap came around probably ten or fifteen chapters earlier when I sent @randomthingsthatilike123 a really unhelpful word document that literally looked like this;
E-ONE: 13, 37, [33], 50 / E-TWO: 15, 31, [24], 47
Looking back, I understand that I intended to swap Kara Danvers, who is 24, with Kara Callaghan, who is 33. Nothing else planned, just, “I want to do this. So I will.” The plot behind how it happened didn’t matter, because I knew I’d make it happen somehow. So with the knowledge that I was going to be doing this eventually—shrug, when exactly, I didn’t care—I began typing up a meeting between Kara Callaghan and canon!Cat Grant.
Having done forty-six chapters since coming up with this plot idea, the tone of the whole event has changed—not to mention Alondra who was a spur of the moment addition while I wrote snapshot 51. No, literally, I was like, “I should make them have another kid” and worried about the details later.
But, anyway, I figure I’d let you guys enjoy the madness that is an unfinished snapshot that’s been scrapped because I’ve changed my mind too many times and it’s no longer relevant. Not that you might not see some similarities to the actual chapter of this meeting.
Note: Yes, those little brackets are part of my system, I don’t even write chapters in chronological order, I jump around as I like and then connect them.
The day starts out as usual.
“Laura,” it isn’t yelling, it’s talking loudly.
Even if it doesn’t end that way.
Your new assistant staggers just a little too long, and trips over her gaudy wedge heel and into the mail cart that is—by your estimate—a half hour late. No less than three bodies hit the floor, and there’s no hope for the papers that are submerged by the tumbling coffee cup. Kara’s computer hobbit stares on in complete horror. Arms, and legs, and cursing in at least two languages later, your assistant walks in with a laminated layout, slicking away coffee with the bottom of her shirt.
“H-here you are, Miss Grant,” she stammers, offering you the dark roast scented sheet, “The layout you asked for.” She’s shaking enough that you can practically hear her knees knocking together from underneath that insistently spring themed romper.
“I don’t recall requesting that it be dipped in expresso,” intoning, hand on hip, eyebrow cocking.
“I—no—of course not, but—you see,” she’s not going to last long, you can see it in the flush of her neck, and the way her fingers jumble and screw together. “There was an accident.”
You almost feel bad, almost—not really, “I have eyes, Laraine. I see how you maintain yourself with all the grace of a cancelled CW show.”
You spend the next fifteen minutes squinting at what might be passible English if you had suddenly reverted to a uneducated ten year old who speaks a very regional dialect of Swahili as their primarily language. But as it stands you do speak English—quiet well, on even your worst of days, which this is shaping up to be—and you expect the same from your writers.
Aren’t you just an unreasonable bitch?
Which explains how—an hour after that realization—you’re being politely reprimanded by Human Resources, which is led by a small seventy-three year old woman who thinks you would like to partake in her decade old strawberry foiled candy whenever you’re asked to explain why there’ve been a rash of firings that don’t seem to have much precedent prior to the incident.
You’re CEO, own fifty-nine percent of the stock options, and your name is on the damned building for fuck’s sake—can you outlaw the term the incident?
Does that break any fair employment act?
If it does Human Resources will probably add it to the folder with your name on it—again, you own the company, you don’t see how your name isn’t on all the folders—with the words incidents underlined and bracketed.
Sufficed to say, the day begins its slow tumble into hell an hour after lunch—give or take a diatribe; the drain on society that is social security, and the work ethic of millennials.
You try to split your dislike of the generations equally.
[ something happens here ]
[ probably nothing too important ]
[ TALKY TALKY ]
“The balcony,” the voice comes in from said balcony, and you turn to see Kara, one hand against the railing, the other pressed to her temple like she has a headache—which is fairly interesting because there is very little doubt in your mind that your former assistant is indeed the last daughter of Krypton. “It’s facing the wrong way.” She isn’t looking into the office, but up, like the outside of the building might explain whatever conundrum she’s in the middle of.
Stepping around your desk, and walking toward the sliding doors, you take in your resident hero—she’s wearing the usual fare, a pale cream colored shirt, with what seems to be very stylized ducks stenciled onto the fabric. It’s properly bohemian, and you don’t completely hate it, but it clashes with her skin tone. Her slacks are a little tighter than she usually wears them, snug and—dare you say—clingy, and you’re ready to say the outfit is a general success. If success could be measured in levels of failure—and then she turns to face you.
You’ve been a proprietor of the written word for the entirety of your life, you’ve spun sentences about the most beautiful sunset in the isles off the coast of the Philippines, you’ve woven stories about the crisp air at base camp of Mount Everest—you’ve taken people on journeys without ever asking them to step outside their homes.
So why can’t you define what’s different about Kara tonight?
Her eyes are the proper shade of extraterrestrial blue—bright, and drowning, and all manner of appealing—and her hair is the same burnished gold that too many socialites have to turn to the dye bottle to achieve. She’s curved, and firm, and so giving—despite the fact that you know she is anything but. She’s molten rock, and supple waves, a walking juxtaposition of herself.
“I didn’t realize you had architectural aspirations, Keira,” you drawl, tucking hands into the loose pockets of your slacks, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe. “And here I am, underutilizing your obvious expertise.” She’s looking at you like she’s having difficulty breathing, chest stuttering, and eyes widening—there’s a darkness in them, you notice, a shadow that you’ve witnessed in the hungry children of Africa, or the soldiers who flinch from a backfiring car. Has it always been there, or has it only been there since Myriad?
You’re growing concerned—which you’ll never actually admit—because she’s blinking rapidly like something has gotten caught in her lashes, and she’s trying to remove it—but can’t. Sucking air through her teeth like she’s not of the mind to open her mouth properly, trying to get as much air into greedy lungs as possible—desperation, and confusion, slanting the smooth lines of her face.
And she’s moving toward you.
No—stumbling toward you.
Feet hardly articulate enough to navigate around the furniture still between you, she hits the chair’s arm, and—as you figure—it spins out of her way like it never existed at all. She’s right in front of you before you can properly assess your options. Hot, hot palms bracketing your cheeks, and you’re not accustomed to being touched without explicit permission given on your part, so you flinch—which makes her flinch, but she doesn’t release you. If anything her grip tightens, not hard enough to cause pain or discomfort, but it is firm and unyielding.
“Zrhueiao,” she says, and her voice is different—not horribly so, but lower, and slower, like she has to pluck the words from her mind carefully before she’s able to say them. You don’t recognize the word from any of the three—and a half—languages you speak. “Something’s wrong.” Assertive, but her words are still shaking, like they’re simply trembling out of her mouth and falling into your ears. You lift your hands to cover hers, trying to pry her hands from your face—but they’re like steel.
Aptly so.
Kara isn’t usually this careless. She’s so good at pretending to be pliant, to bend how humans bend, that sometimes, when you’re tired, you forget that she’s really indestructible. When she hisses as her toe hits the edge of a desk, when she shivers and shakes. This tremor is different—like the plates of the earth rumbling until they come together in earthquakes and tsunamis.
“Keira,” you begin, and then amend, “Kara.” And now you’ve got her attention. Little swirls of star dust and the pitch cast of black holes in eyes that are wet, and glistening—and you see a blatant difference.
No pock mark near her eyebrow—no little scar that tethers absolutely ordinary Kara Danvers to impossibly extraordinary Supergirl.
Just smooth skin, and a furrowed brow.
Later, you’ll blame the fear beginning to mix into your blood, or the air of intimacy that Kara’s cultivated far too easily—but you’re lifting your hand to brush your thumb over the offending area. There’s nothing there, not that you truly expected to feel anything. She’s watching you, intensely, and doesn’t flinch or shy away from your touch like so much of you thought she might, despite the scalding hands still framing your cheeks.
“It’s gone.” You say, not able to help yourself.
She frowns, “What?”
“Your scar.”
Now she does move away, a stumble, like how she moved toward you, and when she spins to rest both hands on the railing, you don’t move closer. There’s a crackle to the air around her—a snap and fizzle in the night that doesn’t sit comfortably in your stomach. Kara’s threading hands through her hair, gripping tight enough to make her knuckles go white, and her forearms quiver.
[ some other paragraphs, or something ]
[ probably some dialog too ]
“How do you know you can trust me?” You ask, because she’s been here for less than an hour, and she’s willing to trust you with her deepest secrets, ready to fold you into her truths without any struggle, any effort. “You’re not exactly from around here.” And Kara—your Kara, your mind supplies—struggles with that trust. Keeps that last veil between you, and so much of you can’t even blame her, because at the slightest sign of trouble—you pushed her away. You tried to foster the idea of professionalism, which was really just poorly hidden vitriol.
She’s walking closer, an amble in her step, thumbs hooked into the loops of her too tight pants, and something simmering in her eyes. “Are you saying you’re the untrustworthy type?”
You scowl, to hide the jump in your heartbeat, “Hardly.” You scoff, “I’m saying—how do you know?”
“You’re not that different than her—my Cat, that is—a little sharper at the edges, but,” she hedges, but there’s something dark and promising in the way her extraterrestrial lips wraps around my Cat. It’s intimate, and throaty, and you like how it sounds on her tongue too much. “Underneath all that is the same heart.”
So you deflect. You push away the sudden hammering beat of your heart, and the clammy feeling of your palms from where you’ve clenched them into fists. Your arched brow is your shield, and your words a trusty dagger, “Well, you’re definitely the same naive, blindly trusting do-gooder as Keira.”
“Why do you call her that? You say my name, so you know hers.”
[ CUE STUNNED SILENCE ]
[ or some desc with no talk ]
[ fuck talky ]
“Your mother calls me that—Keira. Says I’m not worth knowing properly.” Her breath is fanning against your cheeks, and her eyes seem as dark as the sky above—glittering abysses that threaten to consume you, to make your knees weak and shoulders curl. “Is that the case, Miss Grant? Is she not worth knowing?”
[ stuff ]
“Honestly? I don’t know what to make of you without the cape,” you say to this stranger wearing her face.
Olivier opened her eyes to a clear looking sky, she could feel both the grass and spider lily caress on her face.
She got up in a panic. She looked around, Where am I? This place look familiar?
“It’s been a while, young Olivier,” a soft and calm voice spoke.
Olivier turned to see a woman with long black hair, pulled in a low ponytail, and silver eyes. She wore a white robe with scarlet hibakama. Standing next to her was a young girl with long silver hair and ember eyes with fox ears and tail sticking out. She almost resembled Kitsune.
Olivier stepped back a little, frightened of them. For some reason she couldn't use her mind reading ability on them. That’s when the woman spoke again, “anata wa hitorijanai.”
Olivier's eyes widened as she remembered those words, “It’s you, the priestess Tomoe.” Olivier bowed her head in respect. That means the girl next to her is Inari, Kitsune’s twin sister.
Tomoe giggled using her sleeve to cover mouth, “yes, little oni. You grew up the last time we met.”
“Why am I here?”
“Forgive us oni,” replied Inari, “we brought you here to inform you of importance.” she paused, “the Mystic Warriors are alive.”
“Wait. Wait.” Olivier waved her hands, interrupting Inari. “Why are you guys trusting me with this information?” Olivier looked away clenching on her arm, “you guys do know that–”
Olivier felt the warmth on Tomoe grabbing her hands. “We’ve always known."
I still want to use this for a future chapters, I think it'll be interesting that Olivier would be looking for the Mystic Warriors. She'll be thinking they are still human and not realizing they have been reincarnated into turtles. They are the turtles she been hangout with for sometime.
