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sugar-petals · 3 years

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sub!Yuzu | nsfw alphabet

🌹 NOTE ⇢ content for our fave figure skater, the legend himself. mr. yuzuru hanyu is 1000% dom candy and i’m here to honor it at length ⛸

— WORDS. 5k

tags + warnings. dom/sub dynamics, femdom!reader, role reversal hc, smut, kinks, cum play, spanking, sex toys, very freaky yuzu, kitten play, mdlb, crying kink, food play, prostate orgasms, bondage, some deeper stuff & angsty bits, asthma mention, aftercare

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the cat ears come off, who is Yuzuru Hanyu not to remain in character for a while. For the shits and giggles, and because it’s cozy. Once a catboy, always a catboy, it’s the law of the land. Curling up, kneading at you for the head pats and massages, you know the programme.

Also: Yuzu is famously soft-spoken and always finds the right thing to say. So, stimulating conversation for the cooldown. This is literally so nice. He’s unafraid to reflect everything in detail, say what he preferred, what you could change up together, what he wants to try next. The afterglow is not just physical, as in you give him something to drink, it’s 70% verbal which is very important to him as a consistent habit.

Of course, not to forget: Always gotta have a Winnie Pooh plushie ready. He embraces it readily and, as we know him, does some roleplay right then and there. Yuzu, professional cutiepie he is, is the kinda sub who treats all plush and pillow stuff as alive and breathing. You as his domme are in on the play and also treat his things as holy as they are to him. That Yuzu lets you into that world is the biggest compliment you can possibly get.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We all know Yuzu’s godly ass and thighs. Or the staggering waist and beautiful black hair that makes him a total bombshell in his classic comb-back styles. His face is soft and expressive and so damn unique, his legs muscular and long, his back and tummy chiseled, the list goes on and on. Jesus, he has so many great features. All body parts a masterpiece. That are all capable of god-tier contortionism on top of that, gotta mention it in passing. Just so you know if you haven’t seen him bend his every limb into directions you wouldn’t believe are humanly possible.

Interestingly though. If he chooses, Yuzu picks his feet: They are his most important instrument and weak spot. His ankles are where the magic happens. So, you taking care of them a little would mean the world to him, imagine a candle light massage. Not to worry, no-gross-alert. Yuzu has perfect and cute feet. That’s gonna be a Victorian moment, oh my god I saw his ankles. For his partner, short and simple: He likes a shoulder to lean on. He loves being touchy in general, all body parts are amazing to him. Being in a profession that’s all about the physics, Yuzuru knows about the wonders of the body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Certified king of cumsluts, doesn’t even hesitate. The more, the merrier. If he’s not covered in sticky stuff, Yuzu would be underchallenged. It’s less about the taste, texture or any degradation, for him it’s the playing around with his tongue. Somebody wants his mouth preoccupied. Give the cat his milk. Feed him his own cum mixed with yours. He’s gonna lap at it and swallow.

Since Yuzu’s dream is a mommy domme baking him something, he just loves the smell of dough and hazelnuts and cinnamon and everything — you know what’s coming: Imagine the food play. Nuts indeed. Anything that even remotely looks like a creampie is something he wants to get his lips on. And Yuzu is not the type to be a foodie at all, let that sink in. Sexual-looking food is just too big a temptation, though. And you spoiling him that way... oh my. Surefire way to end up in bed right after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a butt plug collection. Once almost went on the ice with one in. The more you know. Also— this guy is the kinda type fantasizing to get absolutely railed on a bed of plushies. He has troubles suggesting it to you because he doesn’t want them to get actually dirty. But the idea gets the two of you kind of horny. Sometimes, a thought is better as a fantasy than actually executing it. You can use it for riling up’s sake, whispering it to him during dirty talk. How you’ll bounce on him and ruin him and milk him while he’s splayed out so innocently on your bed. I smell corruption kink.

Another secret Yuzu keeps is just how much he changed his mind about wanting his partner to control everything in bed. He grew up with a pre-defined ideal type of a cute, nice skater girl who’d let the reins very loosely around him, who he can speak Japanese to because he had problems with English, who is small and someone he will protect. It wasn’t something based on experience and trying things out: It was simply expected of him. People wanted the domineering Yuzuru on ice to be that way in private, and make use of his power, be a man, savior, boss.

The reality being: He never felt truly as tough on the ice, nor was he gender-conforming in person. In fact, that is what he became famous for, and it reassured Yuzuru very often how people would accept and actually celebrate this side of him. Which is so refreshing, and a sight to see. The side that was dorky, clingy, childish, gorgeous, and cute has always been there, but now he embraces it more as his comfort place. He has to know what he’s doing in his skating programme and show competitive spirit to achieve his dreams, but that’s where it stops.

His former ideals are something people wanted to hear, it was an adaptation of the environment rather than thinking it through on his own. So, years later — oh boy have things changed. Yuzuru no longer defines his ideal type that way, saying whoever he likes is someone he’d be with. What was a fantasy template and filter is now gone and adapted to his newfound, own preferences. Yuzu is comfortably open-minded rather than being a copy to mainstream. He found fun in speaking English, opened up to the world at large, had more girls around him who he could befriend, grew more confident in his stature, and is well aware — turns out he’s the cute one. Who needs to be taken under a wing. He likes strong-minded girls and says if he had a wife, she’d dominate him. Yuzuru secretly wants her to be in charge entirely, she owns his body and soul. Not in daily life where things are just normal and everyone goes about their business. Sexually, where he surrenders instead, and is taken care of.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The tale of an introvert. What he knows — he hides it well. Has eyefucked a whole lot of people and is the type to lust like mad from a far distance, and nobody will ever know. Crushes harder than peppercorns in a mill. If he loves someone, it lingers in his mind every split second of the day, may god have mercy on him. And if you know him: Yuzu aims too high to keep it light and easy and clumsy. He hates being an amateur, he’s terrified of starting out something. He dreads not knowing what to do, how exactly to behave, talk, touch, breathe, respond, negotiate, prepare. That’s a hundred percent like hell to him.

Ironically, he has a natural feeling for it and he’s literally amazing in bed, has a sense for social interaction is all the way cute with something valuable to say. But what he believes is something way different. Yuzuru is a diehard, nervous perfectionist. He can only think of it as a rated performance since his mind usually has to work that way to skate well. His esteem is on a knife edge depending on how well he thinks he does. So, the inevitable: He will shy away from sex altogether. He draws immense skating passion from staying celibate, in fact it’s his success secret, but it still eats him up from the inside and makes him frustrated beyond measure. Not even for the pleasure, since he’s so ambitious that’s almost forgotten about, but for being told he did well.

That’s how much he believes sex is a drill and capability test. And it’s sad that he thinks it’s like his skating career, racking up points for the impossible things judges want and being in a deadlock when it comes to showing his artistic side. He feels thrown into cold water if he doesn’t know everything beforehand. If he ever works up the courage, which probably won’t happen, he will pay an expert to learn from rather than let something all over the place happen with a random person or even someone he might like.

Yes, you heard that right. He’d rather see a sex worker than ‘mess up’ his first time according to his sky-high standards. So, Yuzu’s experience remains limited since he’s so 100% do or die, and so anxious, and so torn about social interaction, he doesn’t get how his peers can be playboys and get married and flirt with someone they like and all that. He sort of has an easier time with guys, but girls... he can’t approach. To top it off, he also feels like he’d burden his first time one somebody or embarrasses himself, so he will reject and avoid suitors. Those are usually not the people he crushes so hard on to begin with. It’s bound to be one-sided and he knows, so he will abstain and focus on career and use the cheers of his fans as a substitute.

Truth is, he feels helpless and distant from sex sometimes, especially with his practice-heavy lifestyle and hyper-smart mind, Yuzuru has an intelligence that exceeds what most people can grasp. He’s alone on the ice and Brian as a coach is often the only reference person who truly gets him, and leads him well without being controlling. But that’s professional life. Sexually, Yuzuru is metaphorically: coachless. He surely observed it well when Javier (the #1 ladies man, his opposite) was still active and a social butterfly helping him fit in, but Yuzu would always be worried about his extreme fame and spotless image when introduced to someone fangirling over him. He’d rather prefer someone who comes across as a mentor and solid, loyal-to-death person to look up to. So he would do anything to have someone benevolent like that. Most girls would expect him to be the sex god and expert, but he knows that’s only half of the story and based on his characters on the ice. Yuzu crafts these to counterbalance how he really is — withdrawn and indirect.

Yuzu is extremely calculating and selective, he scans suitors well, protects his reputation, and is mortified of failure. So, he’d rather learn it by the book and from someone he’s not emotionally attached to. In a one-night stand that might also be the case, but he doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s absolutely terrified of sudden sexual vulnerability. He himself often says he values his own struggle between feeling so weak and being strong again

Besides: He’d have problems squeezing hookups into his schedule and lifestyle, he’d have to cut down on things and create a double life. Plus, Yuzu is famously inept with social interaction up close, he flees the noise and unpredictability. So, it’s better to have a long-term partner. If he doesn’t know something yet, he has it down in one day like the single axel. Definitely counts on his partner teaching him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

We know Yuzu’s signature move is the lean-back Ina Bauer. So, whatever position allows for an arch is the real deal (cough, taking the strap — oh my god his ass is made for it). But anyway, he can pull off anything with that stellar flexibility and core strength.

If I think about it. Yuzu might like sitting on your lap very much. I know it’s not a sex position, I mean it can be once his inner lapdancer awakens or you use a strap-on, I rather mean... just for some sweet moments and making out. But yeah: Fathom Yuzu gyrating on your like that. Not in an outright lascivious manner or Chippendales style. The Hanyu way, with embellishments and all the grace. This is gonna be a huge turn-on and perfect foreplay position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not much to elaborate here: Yep, Yuzu is true goofball indeed. Really flustered and clumsy when eye-to-eye in missionary, and yet: He’s ultra serious towards the end, there’s gonna be an aggressive staredown before cumming. The feeling gets pretty intense, his duality between silly and ‘yeah, give it to me’ is no joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Would probably die from inflammation if he shaved clean under those tight suits and did all these chafe-heavy skating routines. Doesn’t have a lot of body hair to begin with, but for pits and pubes, it’s alive, wild, and decently long. Out of all people, Yuzu cares particularly about aesthetics, but in this case pragmatism will prevail. He doesn’t care too much about it either as long as it doesn’t get in the way of something. Having sex with Yuzu tends to be well um well all about a hundred types of friction so any stubble would be a bad idea.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You haven’t seen a guy in love like that. It’s a figure skater thing for sure. Since he works to portray these sentiments on the ice daily, hardly anybody can play up feelings so delicately and palpably like Yuzuru. Emotion is what his entire career is built on. He knows how to express himself directly, appropriately, intimately. Couldn’t be any more romantic. Yuzu can’t go without it.

Very passionate, ‘for your eyes only’ kind of atmosphere. Yes, he shows off on the ice, it’s his job (although of course, that word doesn’t really sum up what skating means to him). But private Yuzu is someone you can claim as yours. He will make it clear, he wants to belong to you, he’s yours, dedicated, devotion is the entire point. Less with a slant of what some subs like, very hands-on ownership of a mistress. It’s more emotional. He’s really attached and all smitten. Your private little haven is everything to him.

Talking about little: Yuzu can be quite a pillow prince sometimes. At least when the initiative doesn’t go back and forth as it frequently does, you often alternate with suggestions and ways of tweaking an ongoing play session. You blindfold him or tie his wrists, He might be standard tired from practice or just fascinated to watch you work your magic on him.

He also likes music to set the tone for intimacy, who’s surprised. Prepare: Yuzu likes dramatic classical music all the way. He’s probably one of the few people who can make it more than ‘classy’ and definitely more than cringe. He selects pieces very well. This is gonna be a practice template to cum together when the music reaches its peak. Makes the whole thing full of adrenaline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Lots of fun to him. Would beat it 24/7 if the ice wasn’t calling him. Drowns himself in lube. This guy’s me-time is so rated R, Cardi B would be inspired to remix WAP to wet ass penis as an anthem just for him. A dry dick is a ruined day for Yuzuru, as is a session without teasing his prostate in whatever way he currently fancies. Once he tried it, he never went back. The intensity knocking him out is something that Yuzu thinks about all the time. Strokes like a pro, does all these little moans, can do it forever, loves the feeling, chases the high. Adrenaline junkie on the ice? No different with his hand around his cock.

Will masturbate everywhere in the house and has to really get his head in the game to make sure he won’t ruin any carpets. So, he always has at least two towels with him. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, in the shower, the bed. Watches his fair share of eclectic porn, he gets really desperate. Especially before you started dating, Yuzu would shut himself in until the lotion ran out. Can jack off to something romantic (he starts crying) or something extreme (he loves shocking himself and ).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very curious about sadomasochism. Googles a lot of things that make him hard during the day. Often jawdropped by his research, but once he tries things out with you, nothing can really shock him anymore. Absolutely wants to be collared, it’s his biggest fantasy. Another little secret he has, Yuzu is decked out in skating gloves, right. He wishes he could feel you wearing them, or he keeps them on for sex himself, the lacey transparent ones. Looks especially pretty when his wrists are tied so, major photograpy material. Oh yes, Yuzu likes the camera, he can work it. The guy is photogenic in any position and can strike any angle you want. Your phone background is a new Yuzu snapshot every week already, imagine your gallery, 5800 kinky pictures.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I’m gonna say it. The frozen lake out of town, late at night, condoms and lube with you. A quickie that will leave your genitals frozen. Yuzu might get stuck inside you because it’s -15 Celsius. Call that fantasy on ice. Jokes aside: Come on, Yuzu is the biggest ever hermit homebody. The couch will have a bunch of indents after your week-long fucking sessions after he comes home training. Also, at his desk while he does work for university. You ride him, Yuzu studies. Double the ambition. His dick is completely sore. The lake out of town thing might go down, but without sex. Just skating together under the stars, Yuzu doing amazing spins and spirals around you, very very romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yuzu is a crazed Sagittarius. Have you seen these men? They just want it all. Must be the influence of Jupiter. Zeus was definitely vibing that way. And yes, Yuzu has borderline unhealthy gold medal thinking in bed. He wants to be not just good but damn good with pleasing you. If you don’t have a good time and head home without an orgasm, he’ll consider himself a failure. Yuzu won’t cut himself any slack there. You’d have a hard time changing his ways into something more chill and moderate. Instead, you will see the benefits of rolling with it once you see how improvement fuels him and does make sex really mindblowing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Couldn’t do things like slapping you, spanking. Yuzu makes for a terrible daddy dom, it’d not suit him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cum-dripping oral mess, Yuzu is the brave kind. Totally into it, and can’t resist a good blowjob. Will act different afterwards, there’s a lot of erotic tension. “This evening again?” is what those eyes are saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Outstanding kinesthetic intelligence. Every inch of his body follows his intent, and yours if you have him take on certain ways of kneeling. Yuzu can do it all, whatever you want. Tantalizing, moderato, overwhelmingly fast. He can take it, he can portray it. And knows the value of a pause like a true connoisseur. Not just when he wants to prevent cumming early, also just because the moment is right. That’s why cockwarming is a staple, as well as you having him wait patiently for kisses. To top it off: If you give him a blowjob, building up the tension by doing nothing is damn effective. The ruined orgasms you’re gonna give him... delicious.

Everything’s gonna have nice transitions as well, no awkward climbing and rolling and tangling limbs. If he gets something from another room that you need, no slouching. The university course as good as the extracurricular activities. Being inconsistent with any subsidiary details? Not in the Hanyu household, he’s keeping it classy. Yuzu feels like if he makes the bridges to new positions even remotely messy, the feeling is killed and it’s as if he’d break character mid-skate. Although he’ll have to practice and refine and test a lot of things because he’s not super experienced and adapting to your own movements is an individualized thing to do, he’s a masterclass of quality, period.

Even when things get fast and heated, nothing feels off. Having that kind of body smartness also means: Yuzu learns by touch, whatever you do. He knows by the way you pull his hair what comes next. How much saliva drips off your tongue when you suck at his neck, he knows how hard you’ll to ravage him in five minutes. This guy observes things you aren’t even conscious of because his physical understanding is just so fine-tuned.

The sense of rhythm, and every skating programme of him will showcase that, unbeatable. Unless his mood is really impacted by something severe, your guy feels it in every bone. He’s an artist, after all, he listens to music all the time. Dissecting rhythms to turn them into movement is what his line of work is all about. The pace will always fit the mood. Everything is precise, but never crude. Instead, the way he moves is dictated by an inherent flow. With little accents that match right with any thrust, like putting his hands on your sides when you’re on top of him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hit it Shakira: Whenever, wherever! He seemingly carries an entire condom factory with him. Or, to be more exact: At least three of them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This one’s a complicated case. Yuzu being reckless on the ice may or may not mirror in your private life. He might need some downtime, so bring out the soft domme stuff. No trial and error stuff, just going through a routine of things you love the most. On the other hand, he always gives it all. This guy’s endurance at your hands is amazing. Advanced kinds of BDSM he will not feel deterred from at all. Rough toys, anal hooks, sounding, whips, why not is Yuzu’s motto. But then again. He has such a confusing mix of innocence and feeling like he’s completely hardcore. You might end up experimenting a lot, but also not daring the leap sometimes because the mood is different. And then rather go for softer hours, where Yuzu will be all shy shy and more bursting with excitement than ever. A good, interesting mix is what I’m saying.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuzuru, once he gets a bit of practice to gauge the situation... Viagra on two legs, absolute unexpected powerhouse. You might end up pondering to work out a little and go for a run because this guy is in a consistently outstanding shape to say the least. Olympic athletes are literally hard to fuck with. And since Yuzu is starfishing sometimes (which is very adorable), or he’s in bondage for some time, that presents a further problem: For a second round, he’s full of energy, while you already spent energy. So, you alternate with who’s active, and the other leans back entirely. He has to remind himself since his body is programmed for it: This is no contest — the point is feeling good.

You might ride him reverse cowgirl all the way while you watch TV, and after the overstimulation fades he will eat you out ad nauseam, full course slobbering, sweeping the whole menu. That way, it’s less about keeping up with him, which would be hard for most people not doing sports at his galactic level. He understands, Yuzu knows he’s not normal in that regard, you don’t have to worry. Some exercise still doesn’t hurt, just to further increase the quality of sex anyway.

Then again: Why go jogging and do some laps wasting valuable together time when Yuzu’s lap is the best workout? And running doesn’t guarantee your stamina in bed is perfect even if it does help. You rather wanna manage how to draw out the arousal. It’s a self-control thing, with the goal of having you match up in every aspect as good as you can. In which case, you can count on him to pull it off: Have you seen Yuzu doing jumps side by side with a bunch of female skaters? Copy paste. This guy knows how to synchronize with the ladies.

Something that has to be mentioned beside that, though. Yuzu has asthma since 2 years old, and it’s often a mind thing to him still these days. He doesn’t let it stop him from sleeping with you because as always, he’s not letting anything get in his way. He has learned to live and thrive with it. But you both have to mind the possibility of an attack, he prevents it with inhalers, and the mood plays a crucial role. Yuzu being comfortable and confident is so important to his breathing, and keeping a good rhythm rather than being chaotic in bed. So, you will plan most of your sexual activities rather than improvising.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would stuff an entire sex shop into his every available orifice. Yuzu is a toy freak, he wants to try everything. Motto: a new one every day. Well, almost. But he can afford it. Buys stuff he uses solely on himself, things you use on him, things he uses solo and you use on him, and as the cherry on top, every possible high end vibrator on the market for you. Any size, too. This bitch will browse through the latest innovations, prepare to get off. He’s obsessed with seeing you use it on yourself. Yuzu owns a separate phone just for videos of you buzzing your clit, and him fingering you for minutes and minutes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely so. Loves to be a total brat only to get put into his place. He does it so you’ll pull the chin grab on him. He likes getting choked out as a punishment as well. Yuzu also tends to be very around the corner if you will when it comes to soft subbing, he lays over expecting cuddles but doesn’t say so. Buds his head against your chest, nuzzles, and so on. Lighter forms of teasing come to him very easily. Loves to prompt. Roughhousing, banter, favorite thing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud because his voice is very very light, but unsurprisingly — he’s just beautiful. What a nice tone. Gorgeous whimpering sounds. And when you go hard on him, voice cracks! And really heavy breathing. What’s gonna be the most striking though is his expressiveness. We know it from the ice and interviews, and he can really amp it up even further. No need for screaming, that face will speak the volumes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You’ll be blessed with him if you have a huge crying kink. Yuzu definitely opens the waterworks every other week in bed. Happy tears, horny tears, relief tears, aftercare tears, orgasm tears, masochist tears, romantic tears, subspace tears, he has it all. He also begs for the type of pain that makes it stream down his face for minutes. He’s touchy-feely all the way and feels like he can really connect with you that way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His ass twitching is kind of a spectacle, but I don’t have to tell you, do I. Yuzu has muscles for the gods in there. So voluptuous, you can’t call it any other way. Big booty boyfriend, Jesus you can show him off, he loves it. Around the house, he will flaunt them big ole athlete buns in particular, acting like it’s unintended. Um, Yuzu, those are joggings. Smack it, he is sure to moan.

And may I respectfully mention as well — this guy has some major big ass balls figuratively and literally. How else would someone be motivated to jump a triple axel like it’s nothing. Not kidding, they’re big and round and ugh. His love for tight pants doesn’t help. He knows what your eyes like and dresses just to flex the goods. Screams for more spanking and pinching if you ask me. Yuzu is definitely serving it. Well-endowed, you lucky girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mega horny, ready when you are. On a scale from zero to hundred? Breaching into the 90 percent right there. Yuzu’s hormones are literally insane. On paper he’s 26, but his dick wants the 18th birthday party. Jesus is he gonna be clingy when he’s in the mood. All wrapped around you in a backhug in the kitchen or when you iron a costume of his, and that’s sexy of him. He’s not gonna hide what’s filling out those sweatpants. He’ll desperately grind up against you like it’s Christmas.

Paired with his puppy eyes and little “Do you have some time... I’ll iron this tomorrow” — instant pounce. He’s admittedly a bit hard to keep up with sometimes, though. The reason: With that level of exercise, he has major pent-up energy. That machine is definitely running. Heavy sports changes your hormones, nervous system, and especially blood flow. Now take that to the scale of his performances and regimens? That equals a firework of horny. No wonder he masturbates all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes some time. He cools down, sweats it out, chugs water. However, don’t underestimate how tired Yuzu can already be. His daily routines and competitions have a toll on him. Ironically, he’s not a deep sleeper, however. Yuzu might toss and turn and have sudden energy bursts, or ideas, or gets hungry. So, he needs his plushies, he needs a weighted blanket, warm pajamas, a hot cup of his favorite warm drink, a light snack, and you by his side. Spooning him excessively and sometimes even humming to him. Yuzu looks like a certified angel on his pillow, his well-deserved rest from everything is so important, too.

NOTE - hope i could indulge you, thank you for reading!

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abarbaricyalp · 3 years

Note

Idk if you are still taking prompts, but you know the vine two dudes chilling in a hot tub 5 feet apart cause they're not gay, and a girl quoting it in a park about two girls in the distance and one of them hearing and going "Actually I am gay" Like that scenario, only involving them fixing the boat? Maybe Sarah quoting it to give Sam shit when she thinks Bucky cant hear and Bucky goes "Wait, no I'm gay" or something, or just the general gist of that. Sorry if this us too specific, I've never sent anyone a prompt before :P

Hello Friend! Thank you so much for sending anything in at all! I know the vine you're talking about, but I couldn't find it on Youtube. (I did find a two day rabbit hole of old compilations though) This was also my first foray into writing Sarah as a fully fleshed character! I was excited to get the practice 'cause I had an idea bouncing around in my head about her and Bucky talking after he wakes up in the Wilson house. I kept her a little more like she had been in my other fics pre-show here. I so wish we got a little more of her!

Feel free, anyone, to send me Sambucky prompts!

The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation

Sarah Wilson loved her brother deeply. The kind of soul crushing love that could only be formed through family, loss, and approximately four thousand brawls around the living room throughout their life. She looked up to her brother more than she could ever imagine looking up to anyone. Even when they were fighting or picking on each other, she couldn’t help but feel a swell in her chest when he came into her line of sight.

That didn’t mean she understood him. In fact, from the age of eight, watching her brother interact with the world had become her go-to pastime. Why did he have to roll every pea around the plate individually before eating them? Why did he and his friends spend seven years socking each other in the arm to prove friendship? Why did he talk to himself in the mirror, even when he knew Sarah or someone else was standing in the doorway?

Sam Wilson was just deeply weird. She had no idea how he had tricked the Avengers, a plethora of bad guys, and half of the media world into thinking he was remotely cool. She saw a news story once that had King T’Challa standing on a platform with Sam and the newscasters talked about how impressive Sam’s suit was. It was unnatural, the effect he had on people.

And in all her years, she never thought she’d see anyone weirder than Sam. But then James Barnes had showed up. It was like a complete reversal of Sam. Sarah was taken in for approximately three hours by his charm and face before she realized he too was deeply, deeply weird.

She justified sitting on the edge of the Paul and Darlene, watching her brother and James Barnes spar off about some dumb trivia fact, by deciding it was an anthropological expedition. The North American Superhero in a Domestic Situation. She watched Sam watch Barnes take a long pull off his beer. She watched Barnes kick his feet up near Sam’s legs and then draw them back quickly when a current jolted the boat. She watched Barnes’ fingers tap-tap-tap against the edge of the boat, inching closer to Sam’s shoulder before he chickened out and brought his hand back to his own lap. She watched Sam suggest Bucky take his jacket off, ‘unless you plan on sun blinding me with the robocop arm.’ She watched Sam look away when Barnes did shrug his jacket off.

When she was seventeen and Sam was fifteen, she had found Sam crying in his room, pillow pressed to his face to muffle the noise. They were at the age where going into each other’s rooms uninvited started international conflicts, but Sarah, who watched her brother intently, felt like she knew what was going on. So she let herself in through their Jack-and-Jill bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Sam didn’t stop crying, not even to yell at her to get out, so she sat on the end of his bed and rolled a baseball under her foot for a while. Finally, she’d said, “You don’t have to tell Mom and Dad, y’know.”

Sam had just about wailed and bit the corner of his pillow to stop himself.

“That’s gross, stop it,” Sarah ordered and pushed Sam’s shoulder back enough to yank his pillow free and then reached over to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I should make you do the laundry this week so I know I’m not touching your snot germs,” she teased softly.

“How did you know?” Sam hiccuped out. Tears were still brimming at his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

“I’m your older sister. I made you. Like a doll. You think there’s something about you that I don’t know?” she joked. And when the tears did spill over his long lashes, she sighed and pulled him closer to her side. “I just know the way you interact with that boy from the basketball team ain’t just friendly.”

“Jesus, do you think he can tell?” Sam asked and she could hear the mortification in his voice.

“Sam, he’s a freshman in high school. The only thing he knows is that he’s scared of everything too. No one’s paying that much attention to you.”

“Screw you,” Sam muttered.

“What’re all these tears for you if you didn’t make a move and get shot down?”

“God, Sarah, can you not say things like that?”

“Watch your mouth,” Sarah warned with no heat in her voice. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“I just…” Sam sat up and worked his jaw for a while. His chin dimpled and his eyes watered but he managed to control himself. “I’m scared, Sarah. I’m scared of never being in love. Of having to leave if I am. I’m scared to say something and I’m scared not to say something. I’m so scared of...losing any of it.”

“Sam,” Sarah sighed and pulled Sam into another hug. “You’re fifteen. You’re not supposed to be in love yet. You don’t have to think about any of that. You just have to focus on passing Geometry, alright? Mom’ll whoop your ass more for failing than anything else.”

“I have a B+, that’s not failing!” Sam snapped. He kept his face against her shoulder for a second long before he sat up and wiped his tears away. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who am I gonna tell? I told you, my friends don’t like you as much as you think they do.”

“Your friends like me more than they like you,” Sam shot back and he almost sounded normal.

Sarah smiled softly and patted Sam’s cheek. “I won’t tell Mom or Dad. Of course not. That’s for you to do. But--”

“I’m always going to tell them when you sneak out the window.”

“No! Sam! You can’t! You owe me now!”

“Going to field parties is not the same thing!” Sam said in a shriek as Sarah leaned over to pinch his sides. They grappled for a second before Sam managed to push Sarah off the bed.

“You owe me,” she reminded him as she walked back to the bathroom.

Sam wiped his eyes again and nodded. “Sure, Sarah. I do.”

Sam almost had the same look on his face now. Like there was something he wanted to reach for that he thought was too impossible to hold. The Older Sister Instinct to Antagonize into a Solution kicked in.

“Two bros, chilling on a boat, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay,” she sing-songed. Sam looked mortified again but masked his face into something more irritated with a roll of his eyes when Barnes looked over at him.

“Ignore her. It’s this old video--” Sam started.

But Bucky interrupted to say, “Actually I am gay,” as he looked back over at Sarah. “Sorry if I got your hopes up,” he added with a grin that really did get the hopes up.

“What?” Sam asked and Sarah, ever watchful, could see the beer bottle shaking in his hand.

“What?” Bucky repeated innocently.

“He said he’s gay,” Sarah clarified.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Sam ground out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky snorted. “When would I have said anything? ‘Sorry for ripping your wings off and kicking you off of a hellicarrier, by the way I’m gay.’?”

“You did what?” Sarah asked.

“‘Sorry for claiming I didn’t bomb the UN only to be reverted back to the assassin who would have done that and then fighting you again. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Thanks for saving my life. Sorry about the giant undersea prison. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘There’s an imminent battle with weird ass space dogs that want to eat our faces. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Sorry about Tony Stark, whose life I kind of ruined. Lovely funeral. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘I’m in the middle of being pissed at you about the Shield. By the way I’m gay.’ ‘Maybe don’t take me rolling through a field of flowers. It does things to me ‘cause I’m gay.’ ‘John Walker’s fucking insane. I’m gay, but definitely not for this bullshit.’ I mean, come on, Sam.”

“Flowers?” Sarah asked.

“Besides, why would you care? I don’t make it a habit of telling straight guys I’m into guys.”

“You don’t seem to make a habit of telling many people that,” Sarah pointed out. “I googled you. Nothing suggesting that came up.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m a guy from the 30s. It was trained out of me.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sarah said quickly. “Back up away from that because we’re not gonna try to Oppression Olympics our way through our histories. Did you just say Sam was straight?”

“Sarah!” Sam hissed.

“Sure. I mean, I saw him with Romanov. Hill. He has Tinder on his phone.”

“Samuel Thomas, you better not,” Sarah warned lightly. “You’re better than that.”

“He’s a lady-killer.”

Sarah snorted and had to bring her hand up to her face. “He definitely is not. There has been no lady-killing on his end for a long time.”

“Sarah!” Sam tried again.

“You explain it to him then. Mr. 30s is gonna need the long way round explanation.”

Sam sighed and dragged his hand over his face. “Dammit. Fine. I’m not straight either, alright? I’m...bi, or something. It’s been a while since I’ve had to think about it.”

“What?” Bucky asked, not unlike Sam had.

“He said he’s bisexual. Interested in both parties. Swings either way. Hit a homerun and then hasn’t really swung since.”

“Sarah, Jesus Christ,” Sam groaned.

“What?” Bucky asked again.

“I was engaged. To a man,” Sam said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked, clearly missing the irony.

“Oh, it was inconvenient for you but I had plenty of opportunities, huh?” Sam asked. “Ms. Tell-It-All over there wasn’t joking. I haven’t swung any direction in a while. Not since before I met Steve. My fiance died. And then it never came up.”

Bucky blinked at Sam. He kept bringing the bottle halfway up his body and then setting it back on his leg without ever taking a drink. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, which was not what Sarah was expecting and it clearly wasn’t what Sam was expecting because Sam finally moved closer to Bucky on the bench.

“What for? You didn’t do anything. This time.”

“Yeah, but if I’d known you were into me too, I woulda kissed you in Germany.”

“Oh, I am so not into you,” Sam denied. “And I wouldn’t have our first kiss ruined by immediately running into the government’s roving show monkey.”

“That’s the worst,” Bucky agreed and also finally moved over on the bench until they were pressed thigh to thigh. “Tell me how much you don’t like me again,” he challenged.

“I can’t stand you,” Sam answered and brought his hand up to Bucky’s jaw.

Sarah couldn’t fight down the grin that came to her face and turned to prop her feet on the pier, back to Sam and Bucky. Just this once, she didn’t need to watch her brother to understand him.

Read on AO3 here!

#anonymous #prompts #sambucky #writing #fanfiction #i answer things #sarah wilson #sam wilson #bucky barnes

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fansofvow · 3 years

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Interview with Eve Golden Woods!

Many of you know who is Eve is. She's a writer and artist, a part of Dreamfeel studios whose beautiful game If Found won Best LGBTQ Narrative and Best LGBTQ Indie game at the first ever Gayming Awards presented by EA games. I am really excited I had the chance to ask Eve some questions about herself, her time at Lovestruck and her creative process.

Congratulations on the two Gayming Awards (Best LGBTQ Narrative, Best LGBTQ Indie Game) for "If Found" from your game studio, Dreamfeel. What was the inspiration behind making the game?

If Found... was a game that emerged out of a collaboration between Llaura McGee, the founder of Dreamfeel, and artist Liadh Young. Liadh's background is as a comic artist, and so when they started working together Llaura had the idea of showing off Liadh's art by making a diary game, and using an erasing mechanic she had previously developed to let the player move through the diary in a fun way. By the time I came on board at the start of 2019, the game had already been in development for a while, so in some ways my work on that game was similar to the work I did for Voltage, because it was taking existing characters and concepts and writing a lot of scripts for them. Unlike Voltage, though, my work for Dreamfeel was a lot more collaborative and I had a lot more creative input. I really enjoy taking something and helping to make it the best version of itself that it can possibly be, but I was also really happy that I got to reflect a lot of my own experiences in If Found. Llaura and I both grew up on the west coast of Ireland, and although If Found... isn't autobiographical for either of us, it was definitely really meaningful to be able to tell a story that reflected our own experiences of growing up as queer teens in a similar kind of environment. Since the game came out we've had fans reach out to us and tell us that they also connected to the experiences of the main characters, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes me feel like I achieved everything I wanted to.

You are a writer and a visual artist. Does one come easier to you than the other?

I used to think of art and writing as talents, and I always felt like my art was at a very mediocre level (that's probably still true, lol). So when I was younger I focused a lot more on writing. It was only later that I started genuinely trying to improve as an artist, but when I did, I think I had a much healthier mindset, and approached it as a skill I could learn with patience and effort. Because of that, even though I still have a lot more confidence in my writing, I find art more fun and relaxing, and I don't stress about it as much.

Did you always know you would follow a creative path?

Kind of? Both my parents are artists, and I grew up surrounded by artists and writers, so it was something that was always very familiar and accessible to me. On the other hand, I didn't exactly have a clear idea of how to make it into a career, or what kind of work would be involved. But there's never been a point in my life where I wasn't doing something creative, even if it was only writing fanfiction.

What did your path to working professionally as a writer/artist look like?

I did a creative writing masters in college, but after that I spent years teaching English as a second language. That was really fun and I got to live abroad, but it was so busy and tiring that I didn't have time to do any writing outside of the occasional fanfic. I only started to take art seriously again when I became interested in games and comics as ways of telling stories. I did some critical writing, which led me to speak at a few local events and get involved in zine fairs. That was how I met Llaura, the director and lead of the Dreamfeel studio, and it's also what gave me the confidence to start applying for actual writing jobs.

Is there any work of art, visual or written, that you look to for inspiration?

So many! I try to read and watch as widely as I can, although there are touchstones I always return to, like the works of Ursula Le Guin and Terry Pratchett. Right now I feel very passionate about the actual play podcast Friends at the Table, which manages to combine really thoughtful worldbuilding and storytelling with cool, fun characters and great action scenes. I'm also reading a book called The Memory Police by Youko Ogawa, which has extremely beautiful prose.

Do you have a favorite piece of your own art, whether it is something you’ve drawn, a screenshot of something you’ve written or something else?

My favourite piece of art is usually whatever I finished most recently (I think that's true for a lot of people). Especially with visual art, once a bit of time has gone by you look back on it and start to notice all your mistakes, which is very annoying. But actually I do still really like the first piece of Fiona fanart I did last year. I managed to use some effects to give it a kind of nineties anime quality that I find really fun, and I think it conveys an emotion pretty effectively. That's always one of the hardest things to predict with visual art, whether the different parts will come together to create the exact mood you're looking for.

I also really like the compass I did for Bycatch. Krissy (@xekstrin) was the one who suggested filling it with fingernails, which was such a good, gross idea! As soon as I heard that I knew it was perfect and that I had to try and draw it.

Many people who read this blog know you as a writer for Lovestruck. When you look back on your time there, what stands out in your mind?

Lovestruck was very important to me when I first started because it was my first ongoing, regular, paid writing work. It gave me a lot of confidence and helped me to get into the habit of writing consistently and rapidly, which is a really useful skill to have. I know I was right to leave when I did, though, because I am just brimming with energy to work on my own projects, and channeling that power into something that you can't control will always end up disappointing you. Also, I made a ton of incredible friends, through Lovestruck itself but then even more so through VOW (@vowtogether), and that is more than worth all the difficult parts.

Is there any character that you would have liked a crack at writing?

Oh gosh, what a fun question! There are so many, but one I do sometimes think about is Axia, just because I know there are a bunch of fans who want her route, and because I had fun writing her as a villain in Zain's route. I can see in my head the shadow of a storyline that takes place after Zain's route is over, where she's in prison and trying to understand how she lost the battle with Zain and MC. I think there's, like, a gap there, where you could see her downfall forcing her to reconsider her assumptions about power, and that could build into a very interesting redemption story. But maybe it's for the best I never got to do that, because I would have wanted full creative control over it, and also I think the story in my head is very different to the sexy, in control, menacing version of Axia that her fans enjoy.

Do you have any upcoming projects you can talk about?

Most of my current work is under NDA, but I will say that I'm doing something very exciting with other VOW members that we should be able to talk about soon(ish). Maybe I can even give a little teaser... It's not a game, but it is something you can read, and my part involves cakes, swamps, and a museum.

Do you have a favorite quote or song lyric?

It's a big long, but there's a section from The Dispossessed by Ursula le Guin that has stayed with me ever since I read it:

"For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was ever piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think."

It's such a profoundly radical way of imagining the world, so different to everything I was raised with, but whenever I think about it I feel like I can see something very beautiful and powerful that I hope to come closer to understanding some day.

And of course, "Solidarity forever, the union makes us strong."

I was a big fan of the show Inside the Actor’s Studio. Host James Lipton asked every single guest the same 10 concluding questions. I’ve picked 3 of them:

-What is your favorite word?

My favourite word: for sound, I like words you can really roll around on your tongue. Chthonic, alabaster, insinuation. For meaning, I think simple words that encapsulate big concepts have a kind of power to them. We use them so often we forget how big they are, how much weight they really have, but they give us the space to imagine new possibilities. Love. Freedom. Revolution.

-What is your least favorite word?

I've heard that "moist" is a lot of people's least favourite word but it doesn't actually bother me. My least favourite word is probably one where I feel like the sound doesn't match the meaning. One of the Irish words for rain is báisteach, which I feel has a much weightier and more onomatopoeic sound than rain. Rain is just very flat and uninteresting.

-What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Oh, so many! I love history, and I think being a historian/archaeologist would be fascinating. Or something that had a physical component to it, like being a potter or a carpenter. I don't think I'd be any good, but I'd love to take the time to learn.

What would be your advice to anyone who wants to pursue a creative career?

All the work you do matters. Even the failed experiments, the things you hate when they're finished. It all helps to make you better. Also, creative career paths are often really unexpected, so chase any opportunity that seems remotely interesting. Don't work for free for anyone who can afford to pay, but work for yourself and put it somewhere. On a blog, twitter, whatever. You'd be amazed how many people get noticed and get offered opportunities because of something they made in their spare time. You'll probably have to work another job for a long time, so don't be hard on yourself if you're too tired to devote much energy to creative work. Try to make art consistently, but don't feel like that has to mean every day. Don't chase after celebrities. Make friends with your peers.

#vowtogether #vow interview #writing #art #lovestruck #dreamfeel #iffound #gayming #gaming #mod atlas

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

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dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl.

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else.

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil.

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it.

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed.

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?”

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?”

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face.

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that.

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing.

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home.

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour.

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully.

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move.

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’.

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else.

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support.

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while.

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence.

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off.

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment.

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.”

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him.

“Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago.

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.”

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens.

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word.

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.”

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space.

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens.

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk.

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps.

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away.

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him.

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy.

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe.

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint.

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle.

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets.

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face.

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note.

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car.

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking.

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said.

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands.

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort.

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more.

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home.

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation.

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly?

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform.

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter.

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response.

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving.

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door.

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street.

#nikki sixx #Razzle Dingley #Tommy Lee #mick mars #the dirt #motley crue #nikki sixx x oc #razzle dingley x oc #tommy lee x oc #dirtbags #the dirt imagine #the angry lizard writes

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ofmermaidstories · 3 years

Note

Spoilers for the latest chapter of Something!

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize now because this is long; please feel free to ignore my wordy ass, I just have a lot of feelings about a certain someone that showed up in the new chapter lol.

I am still trying to get my shit together enough to write a proper review, but I did want to come yell at you for making the grape boy somewhat likeable, like...

Firstly, how??? Secondly, why?????!?!

Lmao, in all seriousness tho, it's nice to see him have a personality that isn't just "Mmmm, tits" *drools* I like to think that everyone in the series grows up and (mostly) out of the worst of their habits, and while Mineta is still a bit of a lecher here he isn't nearly as offensive/creepy as he comes off in show. In fact he's actually sympathetic in a lot way. The bit about seeing his first dead body before "getting laid" hit different like... He tries to play it off like a joke, but dude has to have just as much PTSD as the rest of them, maybe even more given that he wasn't able to fight back in the same way as someone like Bkg or Deku would be able to with their super powerful offensive quirks. They were all just kids, but they had to face hell full on from jump, and let me stop before I get too in my feelings lol.

In a lot of ways, he reminds of you the boys from school — crude. Taking for granted the safety from being in a pack, unchallenged. Leering at posters, saying off-colour things because no one corrects them.

That's exactly the way I view him, just a crude little thing that refuses to be put in his place for long lol. Still, with his being a hero I would hope that he keeps a cap on it while he's on the job--in fact I'm sure he does; if he didn't I'm sure that Aizawa would've yanked his licence by now, the likes of Deku and Kiri wouldn't continue to associate with him, and that's saying nothing of the shit that would get posted to social mead and such. I feel like the only reason he says what he says to the Reader is b/c she's a little gremlin herself and he knows he's got a bit more leeway, yanno?

The little hangout session that they had at the end of the chapter was weirdly heartwarming?? I want a friend(???) that I can be a surly little shit with and draw on and that will call my bf that's not really my bf but should be my bf because he's (that is Mineta) got more emotional intelligence than me lmao. Never thought I'd see the day when the grape would make for such an excellent wingman--tho I gotta wonder what that text he sent to Deku said. Probably something along the lines of "come get yo girl, she must be bored/lonely af because she asked to hang out with me" followed by "are you ever gonna close the deal or not? or have you already hit it??? >:)" just to give the guy an extra push (or maybe he's got a better sense of self-preservation than what I give him credit for, idk lmfaooo...)

Okay, this is WAY too long, I just had to get it out of my system lol. I loved the new chapter lots and I cannot wait to see how things play out in the next one!!

LOL, oh Puck, i adore you sdlkfjsdlkfjsdlkfj

me being a shit-stirrer/asking myself questions i don’t have answers for under the cut

Cat asked me this question earlier today, actually — why Mineta. And honestly? Part of it is the challenge he represents — like, how do you write him into a fic and mature him up so that he’s at the very least, tolerable, but also keep the backbone of his character (which is being a little degenerate). Like, is it possible? One of the most popular tags on ao3 for mineta minoru is something along the lines of “mineta minoru is replaced with shinsou hitoshi” LOL so…….. why didn’t I just use Shinsou? Or Aoyama or Iida, as Cat suggested? And beyond the part of me that delights in giving myself perceived challenges, there were two stark reasons that stuck out to me, when i was first mulling over his inclusion.

1) the fact that he can draw. it’s literally as simple as that. ever since the BNHA exhibition opened up in Japan and it was revealed that there was a scene in there with a class blackboard and the kids having their little drawing competition — and that Mineta was objectively the most skilled — i was like, “i have to include that”. LOL. it’s like you say, Puck, our Reader is a little gremlin herself — i thought if I was going to write a Reader that could handle interacting with him (ie, be in a position to pay him out) it was going to be this one. I think being in the manga industry and starting out on this journey of creating and drawing a Shonen manga sort of put Reader in this unique position of… being in what seems like a boys’ club? So she’d be used to the male gaze within her field. I follow Horikoshi’s assistant (former assistant?) on twitter and let me tell you, that man is not shy about the things that he likes to draw LOL.

the 2) thing was the philosophy i’ve sort of accidentally given myself LOL and that’s the fact that — as a Bakugou stan, if i’m giving grace to a character who was a literal violent bully then………. i can use my magic powers and hand it around to the other characters, too, LOL. and like, i would argue that with Bakugou it’s different, like we’re currently seeing in the manga how he has grown and learnt and is actively changing, which is the key to any kind of redemption. do i think Mineta will ever undergo that in cannon? absolutely not lmao, i see him as being being Hori’s idea of comedic relief, he’s always going to be a horrible little degen. but i want it for him…… if only to justify why the boys of Class-A collectively ignore his bullshit, for the most part? Like, none of them actively call him out on it?? i think of the time he tried to climb the wall to spy on the girls in the onsen — and how it was literally only Iida scolding him and how it took a child to stop him. Or the one when he found the stupid hole into the girl’s changing room and while the boys all looked grossed out….. Jirou’s the one that point an end to that?????? I saw a TikTok (derogatory) suggesting how like, none of the girls of Class-A would trust Aizawa, as adults, because he didn’t do anything to put an end to Mineta’s bullshit, and it was a devastating suggesting. None of us want to believe that our favourites would be passively okay with this kind of behaviour, right?? Which means……. Mineta’s gotta change LMAO. And if Hori isn’t going to do it then imma borrow him and do it myself. Does it work? I have no idea LMAO i can’t judge anymore, my meter is broken. but i’m gonna work with what i’ve given myself and it either will, or it won’t LMAOOOO kldsfjlksdjflkdj fic is about having fun at the end of the day. :’)

But it’s like you point out, Puck — Mineta is also a child, when these kids get trotted out to their first War. And he’s also not as offensively built as the hard-hitters like Deku and Bakugou and Shouto are. Even if it’s not explored in the manga, that War is going to change them all somehow.

So, my gameplan for Mineta was to grab ahold of the tiny things about him — the talent for drawing, the like one [1] observation he has about the wreckage of the war/pro heroes during the war arc, his tears for Bakugou when B wakes up afterwards and how he tells Deku how cool he was and how much he admires him, in the current Bring Deku Home chapters — and try to envision a sleaze bag who learns that the bullshit he pulls won’t be tolerated, even if he’s still ultimately a skeeze LOL. i mean, he’s never going to drop that er…. appreciation for the female form. and i mean, hey, live your best life King, i’ve distinctly noticed a hand-fetish floating around on this site lately so i’m not gonna be like “NO men can’t like ANYTHING”. But the thing with him being a sleaze and open with his leering is like, he’s actively made the girls of his class uncomfortable with that in the past — how do you write it so that he’s not doing that in a position of power with the women he works with (and saves!), as an adult?? Maturity only goes so far. How much can I bank on the war and the subsequent bullshit they’re gonna face from it on…. transforming him??? It shouldn’t be up to the girls he’s learning with to police him, they’re just children. I have a vague gameplan for it — whether or not it works will be one thing; whether i can naturally shove it into the fic is another, LOL. Guess we’ll see. 🧐

SAYING ALL THAT,,,,, i’m actually really glad you liked (???) the ending scene with him because it’s my favourite LMAO lkdjflkdsjflkdjfkldsjf. 😭😭 Reader is by no means perfect, and she and Mineta both need to start treating each other with more respect, but her bullying of him was fun to write and I like imagining a Mineta who considers himself to be close with Deku (whether or not Deku thinks the same is up for debate) going along with it. i could see this version of Mineta being enough of a shit-stirrer to say something like, “gotta lock that shit down” to Deku LMAO kdfjlkdsjflkdsfjdklsfj and then getting left on a skyscraper somewhere…. RIP short King.

#the puckish rogue: adventures and magic 🪄✨🔮#something just like this - fic #mer-spoils-everything #ofmermaidstories-asks #mermaids talks about 🍇#puck you are always thoughtful and lovely with your comments and i want you to know how much i appreciate them — but mostly how much #i appreciate you for existing in this world 😭 and how by chance we exist at the same time and like the same things 😭💕🌷

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salty-ironstrange-shipper · 4 years

Text

Being Known Is Being Loved

being known is being loved

“i know your pizza order” “you have freckles on your ears” “you make this face when you’re tired” “you order green tea on a good day black on a bad day” “you always make that face before you try something” “the tips of your ears turn red when you’re angry” “i knew you’d say something” “you must be exhausted to miss the class” “your favorite pie is pumpkin, right?” “i know your phone number, don’t worry” “you miss me, i can tell” “you fiddle with your pens when you’re bored” “you don’t like converse unless they’re high tops” “your favorite cereal is cinnamon toast crunch and you first ate it when you were 8”

being known is being loved.

(@natasharxmanov) (post since deleted, see here and here)

(read on ao3)

“You do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.”

Tony stopped, feeling air brush against his stomach where his tank top had ridden up. His hands carefully caressed the new arc reactor model, even as the rest of him focused his attention on the man sitting on the workshop’s sole couch. “Huh?”

Stephen’s ears turned red, as though even he didn’t know why he’d spoken. “I said, you do that thing with your tongue when you’re curious or excited.” He gestured at Tony’s mouth, trying to replicate the little tongue-rolling gesture.

It didn’t really work, but Tony smiled anyway. “I never noticed.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Stephen shrugged before looking away almost snappishly, returning his attention to the research he had open on his laptop. “I noticed.”

“Because they’re your favorite flower.”

“You can’t blame me!” Tony insisted, trying to defend himself as Stephen wrestled the urge to laugh. “I thought it was a good idea!”

“How was sending me flowers that I’m allergic to a good idea in your head?”

They were standing against the railing on the Brooklyn Bridge, looking out on the East River. They’d finished their Chinese takeout as the sun set, and now they were enjoying the display of white and gold lights on the blackened water. Tony had his back to the river, speaking with grand, sweeping gestures of his hands as he tried to justify himself to a laughing Stephen, who was leaning over the metal bar as though daring the water to rise up and take him.

“Because, they’re your favorite flower.”

Stephen shook his head, brow scrunching. “What?”

Tony nodded insistently. “They are! Whenever we walk by a flower shop, or a store with flowers in it, you stop to look at the lilies.” He paused before adding. “I know remember that it was usually from a distance.”

Stephen tilted his head, trying to think. He guessed that was true. He’d always thought they were pretty, particularly the stargazers like the ones Tony had sent to his office at the hospital. And he wasn’t even the type to care for flowers or other naturey things like that. He definitely hadn’t thought Tony had cared to notice.

Tony had his head tilted back, looking up at the few stars that managed to shine in the light-flooded city. “Maybe I can get someone over at R&D to look into making a new strain . . .”

“Or you could just buy plastic ones,” Stephen suggested, smiling despite himself. “Instead of inventing a new flower.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Stephen chuckled. “My mistake.”

“You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter.”

Tony held his hand out, frowning when Stephen ignored him. “Doc? Coffee?”

“Hold on.” Stephen awkwardly held up the cardboard drink tray with one hand while the other fished around one of the pockets in his long, dark-blue wool coat. His eyes, grey today, lit up when he found what he was looking for. “Got it.” He held out a small paper bag. “Take one.”

Tony arched a brow. “There better not be something gross in there.”

“What gross thing would I be carrying around?”

“I don’t know. Brains? Figure they have to go somewhere after you take them out.”

“That’s not what my job is.”

“Sure.” Tony did, finally, reach into the bag, surprised when he pulled out a red-and-white striped candy. “Ooh. Have I earned a treat?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You prefer a peppermint stick in your coffee in winter. Thought it would be a good idea to stock up.”

“Man after my own heart,” Tony said blithely, ignoring the warm feeling that stirred in his stomach. He took two sticks, pulling the lid off of his cup when Stephen handed it to him and dropping both inside. It took a few minutes for the flavor to seep into the entire drink. When he finally took a sip, he couldn’t help the not-so-tiny moan that escaped his lips.

Stephen smirked. “Enjoying yourself.”

“Obviously.” He took another long drink before grabbing the front of Stephen’s coat and pulling him in for a kiss, smiling when Stephen’s tongue ran over his. “Doc, if you wanted a taste, you could get your own candy.”

Stephen stepped forward and away from him as though nothing had happened, enjoying a draw if his own burning hot mocha. “Bold of you to assume I’m sharing again.”

“Oh, that’s just evil.”

“You always listen to this album when you’re thinking about your sister.”

Stephen didn’t bother to look at him, keeping his eyes steadily trained on the water pouring outside their window, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, not quite drowned out by the Nirvana soundtrack playing in the bedroom. Everyone now and then, lightning cut through the sky.

“I know.”

Tony nodded as though this was the answer he’d expected. Then he started walking across the room, shutting the door behind him, and crawled into the bed arms opening instinctively to wrap around Stephen’s shoulders as the doctor silently nuzzled his chest and neck.

“You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene.”

“I do not get emotional—”

“Yes you do! You always play with your phone so you don’t have to pay attention to this scene!”

“It’s. SAD, STEPHEN!” Tony snapped back. “The mother whale tries so hard to save her baby, but in the end the goddamned . . . killer whales . . .” Okay, maybe he DID get a little bit emotional when they watched nature documentaries. It wasn’t his fault the circle of life was brutal.

Stephen sighed as Tony completely failed at not being emotional, shaking his head slightly before holding his arms open. “Come here.”

“Thank you,” Tony muttered later as Stephen dutifully fast-forwarded through the scene.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry, I know your order.”

“Goddamn—” Stephen pulled his ringing phone out before absently glancing at his fiancé. “It’s work. Do you mind?”

Tony shrugged absently, looking down at his menu. “Don’t worry, I know your order.” He looked up. “The special butternut squash ravioli, right?”

Stephen smiled before leaning forward to brush a kiss against his cheek. “You know me.”

“You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

“C’mon . . . where is it . . . I know I left it . . .” Actually, he had no idea where he left it. Giving up, he leaned back on his knees and away from the open compartment. “Jarvis, do you know where—”

“Here,” Stephen said, slipping down from his stool and walking over to a completely different set of drawers on the other side of the room from where Tony was searching. “I’ve got it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m looking for—”

He stopped as Stephen pulled out the exact thing he’d been looking for, a laser cutting tool he often used when making repairs to the armor. Stephen dropped it into his hand as he explained, “You’re always losing this, so I put a label on the drawer.”

Tony couldn’t help the amused expression that crested his lips. “That’s the nerdiest way to say ‘I love you’ I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Tony scoffed before leaning forward to “innocently” nip at his ear. “No.”

“These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Stephen stared at the offering in Tony’s fingers, the soft black leather that he knew would be lined with devastatingly soft white fur repurposed from one of Maria Stark’s old wraps. His throat tightened.

“Steph?” Tony said cautiously. “These gloves are easier on your hands, right?”

Forcing himself to move, Stephen nodded sharply before taking them, his own fingers shaking. “Right. Yes.” It took too long to pull them on, but once it was done, it was as though a burden had been lifted, his scarred hands stilling some as they adjusted to the comfortable warmth. “Thanks.”

Tony nodded once before starting to walk away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Stephen stopped him with a gentle hand on his elbow. Tony froze in place as Stephen stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the nape of Tony’s neck. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Tony reached back, pulling one of Stephen’s hands around so it was resting on his stomach then covered it with his own.

“You smell different.”

Tony paused, looking away from the small herd of children running around the lake house or playing on their phones to face his husband. “Is that a come-on or some kind of sick way to tell me to take a shower?”

Stephen shrugged. “Neither. You’re just . . . different.” He learned forward, being far too open with the fact that he was sniffing Tony’s neck in plain view of everyone. “Are you wearing a new cologne?”

It took Tony a moment to think, somewhat preoccupied by the (annoyingly innocent) feeling of Stephen’s lips brushing over his neck. “Um . . . yeah, actually. I, uh, started using a new one a few years ago. After you, you know.” It was perhaps not the most graceful way to refer to someone being dead for five years, but hoe was he supposed to think with Stephen practically draped over him like this?

Stephen nodded, sitting back slightly. Tony fought the urge to pull him right back. “That’s probably it.” Then he went right back to sitting a respectable inch away from him, watching the children to make sure they didn’t get too close to the water.

Tony hesitated, watching him. “I could . . . go back to using the old one.”

Stephen glanced at him from the side before allowing a small smile to grace his cupid-bow lips. “I’d like that.”

“I made sure to get the pens you like.”

“I made sure to get the pens you like,” Tony said casually, passing a paper shopping bag over to his husband, who looked through it with mild interest.

When Stephen looked up, his eyes were mildly amused. “Yeah? And which pens do I like?”

“The blue ones. Inky, so if you hold it still for too long you’ll make a huge mess all over the paper.”

“My favorite.”

“Told you.”

“Your arm must be giving you trouble after today.”

Tony winced as he sat down on the bed, head aching as surely as his shoulder. It took a few minutes for him to even start removing the metallic arm for the night.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” Stephen asked, suddenly appearing on the other side of their bed, even though Tony was sure he hadn’t even been in the house a moment ago. “Robots in Toronto . . . your arm must be giving you trouble after today. The hot water will help.” His hands twitched at his side, as though reminding Tony how his husband knew that.

Tony smiled softly despite himself. “You always know just what I need.”

Stephen returned his gaze, pale eyes soft. “Do you want a bath bomb?”

“Vanilla and rose, please.”

Stephen shook his head good-naturedly. “Pampered little rich boy.”

“Gold digger.”

“You know it.”

“That tub’s big enough for two, right?”

“You’re always starving after a trip like that.”

“I’m late,” Stephen said, gritting his teeth as he stumbled through a portal into the dining room. “I know I’m late . . .”

It was immediately obvious that everyone else had gone to bed — but Tony was still there, hunched over the table as he read something on his starkphone. He looked up when he heard Stephen, smiling. “Hey.” The oven light was on. Tony stood, opening it and pulling out a still-warm lasagna, though only half of it left in the (frankly, huge) pan. “Made sure there was plenty left for you. You’re always starving after a trip like that.” He glanced over his shoulder, removing his oven mitts. “When you go all extra-dimensional and all.”

“That’s not really what it’s called.” But Stephen went ahead, feeling the Cloak of Levitation detach itself from his back as he sat down. He smiled as Tony set his plate in front of him. “Thank you. For waiting up.”

Tony smiled that too-bright smile of his, dark eyes almost glowing. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulder.”

Tony shifted in bed, not turning around, but just moving his head enough to catch sight of Stephen tracing lines along his back. “Come again?”

Stephen’s hand, tired and shaking, traced gentle constellation along Tony’s tired back and arms. “You have forty-eight freckles on your shoulders. I must have counted a hundred times by now, and it’s always the same, summer or winter.”

“It’s a universal constant,” Tony said thoughtlessly.

The corner of Stephen’s mouth edged up in a smile. “I hope so.”

“Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Around them, the beach was nearly deserted, a tiny bubble of solitude. They could hear Pepper and Christine corralling the children in the distance. The sun was setting, drops of gold splashing upon the watery horizon. Tony leaned back on his metal red-and-gold arm, gazing at Stephen, who was meditating beside him. He spoke without thinking. “Your eyes are always blue in this light.”

Stephen looked over at him, eyes instinctively opening. Tony smiled. “Yeah. Like that.”

#incorrect-ironstrange #ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #fanfiction #ironstrange fanfiction #ironstrange fic #oneshot #fluff #soft #romance #ao3 #from the top #being known is being loved #ironstrange fanfic #ficlet #my fanfiction

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crystalessenceswrites · 3 years

Text

Burden of the Survivors- Chapter Two

Burden of the Survivors

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence *no spoilers- takes place in Season 1 timeline* Summary: Mando works alone- except for when the absolutely can’t. There are few people Din trusts – trusts as in he doesn’t expect a viroblade in the back the second he’s turned around. She’s one of them. Just as cautious and nearly as tight lipped about her past as he is, Din doesn’t mind her around too much. A/N: My inspiration is a fickle thing, I’ve been swinging back and forth between Shadows and BotS for a few weeks now. Finally got enough to sit down and finish this chapter, so cheers to that.

[Masterlist] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] Cross-posted to AO3

Chapter Two

When Vero found you, you were nothing but a pickpocket on the lower-level streets of Coruscant-the byproduct of the horrors of the Clone Wars and the rise of the Empire. You were nearing sixteen and beginning to lose your touch. When you were younger-and smaller-it was easier to weave through crowds and avoid attention. Puberty and a growth spurt made it much more difficult for the teenage you to blend in. You made it work, you had to if you wanted to get by, but it took twice as much work to get folks to look the other way. Ever observant Vero caught on quick but said you had potential, just not as a street thief. The alabaster skinned theelin approached you with a job, a job that paid more than you could scrounge up in two weeks selling your stolen treasures. All you had to do was deliver a small parcel to a pilot friend of his at a docking station a few levels up without getting caught by the city guard before the pilot was scheduled to leave in two hours. It seemed easy enough and you desperately needed the credits. The last thing on your mind was what was in the package you carried. You knew better than to stick your nose where it did not belong, especially when you were getting paid. That decision changed your life.

The job was a test to see if you were capable and trustworthy enough to bring on for a real job as a runner, and you passed with flying colors. Vero took you under his wing and had you running smuggled goods and other products all over Coruscant. It was a reckless job, you knew that-even as a child-but it kept a roof over your head and food in your belly at a time in your life when you had forgotten what that was like. You were one of many street kids on Coruscant that had to turn to life in the underworld to get by, but you thank the Maker you ended up with the one crew on Coruscant that had some small sense of morals.

Vero worked for Shan Tillis, who had grown up on the streets of Corellia himself. Shan was sympathetic, smuggling had been his way out of the gutter, and he offered you that same opportunity. It had not taken long for Shan and the others to realize you were too smart and too quick on your feet to just move goods, that you and your brain could be used elsewhere. So, they taught you. Kom and Redarr, Shan’s lead muscle heads, taught you how to fight and how to fight dirty. Sola bought you your first proper viroblade (you’d nicked one years ago but it was made for hands much larger than yours so you’d always been rather clumsy with it) and taught you every trick in the book she knew, every weak spot on the body, how to wound but not kill and where to bleed someone out the fastest. Her lessons were always your favorite. Tala taught you how to pilot every kind of ship you could get your hands on, and how to hotwire a landspeeder- Vero was not thrilled when he discovered that lesson had been performed on his precious baby.

Everything that made you into the infamous bounty hunter you were now had been taught to you by that crew. Every cautious tick had been drilled into you by Kom and Vero. Redarr had schooled you on blasters, made you practice in-between jobs on how to take them apart and put them back together with your eyes closed. Zena taught you how to read people and how to know when a deal was about to go south.

Shan imparted you with the most practical wisdom of them all. How to know when you’re fucked.

This job seems pretty fucked to you.

The Mandalorian is silent as the two of you settle on the ridge above the compound. Scope out, he looks over the cluster of buildings. Even from a distance you’ve already counted ten nikto out and about, and you can safely assume they’re all heavily armed.

You tighten the various straps and holsters on your person before slipping your tactical mask into place. The contraption covers the lower half of your face and has always been more for the intimidation factor than much else. Redarr had gifted it to you all those years ago as more of joke than practical gear but you’d grown attached. Between the mask and its voice modulator, your hood and dark, nondescript clothes you could remained relatively anonymous when you wanted to, which was most of the time.

“If we come along the east side I think I can make it up to the roof without being seen, provide you with a little more cover.” You did always prefer the higher ground.

Mando nods, continuing to scan the scene, “there’s two on the northwest corner you’ll have to manage.”

Your scoff crackles through the modulator, “they won’t be an issue.”

He grunts before his head snaps back towards the edge of the compound, “shit. Bounty droid.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You whip out your own scope, focusing in on where Mando was watching. Sure enough, you spot an IG unit bounty droid making its way up to the group of nikto lingering outside.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

You roll your eyes as the shooting starts. Droids had to have figured out by now it was never that easy. If it was, anyone with a blaster could join the guild.

The droid has a handle on the gunfight, but you groan as you watch the compound go into lockdown, all the blast doors slam shut before the last shot is fired.

“Droids.” Mando snaps as he stands, one hand clenched around the hilt of a blaster.

You jump up, following behind him. Again, with the acting first, thinking second.

As you approach the encampment Mando jerks his head up, “you take the topside.”

“Gladly.”

You scramble up the side of the building with relative ease, there are plenty of odd pipes and vents that make convenient grips as you haul yourself and up over the lip of the roof. When the droid had ruined any chance at a surprise attack, you’d lost sight of the two guards on the roof. You keep your rifle aimed in their last known direction as you settle onto your stomach, ready to cover Mando as needed.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset,” the droid repeats.

Maker they really have no learning curve.

“IG unit! Stand down!”

The bounty droid has split second reaction times, shooting at what you can safely assume is Mando when he groans from somewhere down below and out of view. “We’re in the Guild!”

“So I suggest you stand down before you take a bolt to the brains, droid.”

Your quip draws the droid’s attention to your vantage point on the roof.

“You are Guild members? I thought I was the only one on assignment.”

“That makes two of us,” Mando grumbles. “So much for the element of surprise.”

That was a kriffing understatement.

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

“Unless I’m mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed.”

“This is true.”

You have to restrain your eye rolling to keep monitoring the roofline.

“I have a suggestion.”

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

How many people was he going to offer to share your credits with? This was beginning to get out of hand.

“This is acceptable.”

Well considering how much Mando hated droid he at least knew how to manage them considerably well.

“Great. Now let’s regroup, out of harm’s way, and form a plan.”

You were sorely doubting that the droid was capable of forming a decent plan or following whatever you and Mando came up with, but it was worth a shot considering the situation had become even more fucked thanks to him.

“I will of course receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.”

“Is this really the time?” You shout down at the pair.

Mando seems to have the same idea, “can we talk about this later?”

“I require an answer if I am to proceed-”

An orange head pops into view on the roof across from you, “we’ve got company!”

The nikto takes a shot at the droid, “oh, no. Alert. Alert. Alert.”

Whole lot of help this one was. You land a headshot just as the doors of the compound slide open, more soldiers swarming out, blasters drawn.

“Let’s go!” Mando dives for cover and the droid follows after.

Your spot affords you a decent line of sight into the courtyard but there’s more of them then you thought there would be out in the middle of nowhere guarding who knows what you were after. It takes you picking off three of them before they realize you’re shooting at them from above. There’s a flurry of shouting and pointing in your direction and Mando makes a run for the main set of blast doors at the back of the courtyard. You were going to have friends on the roof soon. Lucky you.

Rolling back you jump to your feet, taking a couple pot shots into the courtyard as you make for the far end of the roof. The droid is a decent shot, covering Mando’s mad dash while you focus on the nikto popping up across the roof. One hauls himself over the edge to your left, making a swipe at yours leg with his blaster. The loud crunch of your boot to his skull cuts through the blaster fire around you as the body falls into courtyard. Gross. Two more appear out of thin air, their shots barely missing your head. Losing your blaster you duck and roll, knocking both over as you draw a viroblade from your thigh holster. Neither have time to react before you’re on them, each taking one clean slice to the neck.

Mando and the IG unit have made it to the main door as you duck behind some ventilation equipment at the northwest corner of the building. You appear to have control of the roof for now, but you can see the soldiers in the courtyard beginning to regroup. They have Mando and the bounty droid pinned. Shit. You can hear Mando’s modulated shouts from below but you can’t quite make out what he’s going on about. Hopefully he’s chewing out the dumbass droid who go you into this mess.

The IG unit steps out again, laying out a spread of blaster fire that doesn’t seem to do much. The nikto have plenty of coverage behind debris and the series of pillars lining the courtyard. Their numbers also seem to be steadily growing. Just how many of them were set up out here? Who needed this many bodyguards? It was nearly a small army. The IG unit cannot keep up with the incoming blaster fire, even with your help from above.

Your stomach drops as you catch sight of another incoming nikto on a hover blaster at the encampment entrance. You were all fucked. All you can do is hope Mando’s found good cover down there as you drop to your stomach, bracing behind the ventilation unit. The nikto lets it rip, covering the area with a spray of bolts. Most sound like they’re striking below you, focused on where you assume Mando and the droid are hiding.

Then as suddenly as it started the gun stops. Poking your head out you watch as the nikto is flung backwards and Mando yanks the blaster to him. You thank the Maker for whatever good fortune he earned for that to work. It takes only moments for Mando to swing the blaster around and mow down the rest of the small army.

“Well done,” the IG unit cuts through the eerie silence following the blaster fire. “I will disengage self-destruct initiative.”

“Wait, you guys can self-destruct?” Seemed a bit counterintuitive.

Mando’s visor snaps to where you’re hanging over the edge of the roof, looking for a spot to climb down. He wordlessly offers you a hand and you toss your pack and blaster down to him. Its not too high up so you simply ease over the edge and drop to the ground, ignoring the harsh jolt to your knees.

“Manufactures protocol dictates I cannot be captured; thus I have a self-destruct initiative.”

So the droid could have killed you all if had deemed the situation too risky. Great. You’re glad you hadn’t been aware of that during the shootout.

Mando helps the droid back to its feet. “You know, you’re not so bad. For a droid.”

Had hell frozen over? Mando was as droid adverse as they got, and now he was complimenting one? The universe must be ending.

“Agreed.”

“That blaster hit looks nasty. You okay?”

“Running a quick diagnostic… it has missed my central wiring harness.”

“Is that good?”

“Yes.”

Mando glances back to you, “good?”

“Never better,” you grin. This could have gone significantly worse, so you had no room to complain at the moment.

“Well, now we just need to get the door open.”

The way Mando’s helmet whips back to the large blaster makes you groan. There were easier, less messy ways to go about things. You don’t attempt to talk the hunter out of it, he most likely wouldn’t listen to you anyways. It almost looks like he has fun shooting out the blast door until in collapses inwards.

You all take tentative steps inside the compound. One head appears around a far corner to the right. Mando’s quick draw has him downed before anyone blinks. “Anyone else?”

As if any survivors were going to offer themselves up to be shot.

“I’ll clear the west side,” you offer and Mando nods before heading off with the bounty droid in the opposite direction.

An unnerving silence settles over you as you stalk down the halls of the mysterious compound. The small army camped here had been prepared and well supplied. There are crates upon crates of food stuffs, weapons and ammunition. Some places are nearly packed floor to ceiling with it. What exactly was going on out here? How did they get all this out here in the middle of nowhere?

You worry your necklace pendant with one hand, an unconscious gesture you have yet to train yourself out of. Something was not right about this job, or at least more than normal. Over the years your own morals had morphed to accommodate your line of work. You worked for the guild and were often paid by unsavory individuals, but that was what you did to survive, and you refused to let that get to you. This however was picking at an old wound, long forgotten.

Another shot echoes through the compound and you find yourself racing back towards Mando and the droid, blaster held at the ready. Swinging around a corner you find Mando standing over a small floating pod, the bounty droid smoking out of its “head” on the floor. Maybe he didn’t want to split the bounty after all.

“Mando?” Your voice seems to cut through whatever trance the hunter was under, head snapping back towards you. “What happened?”

His shoulders drop, the tension seeming to fall away at your appearance. “He was going to kill the bounty.”

“I thought you said the client specified they wanted it alive if at all possible.”

Mando nods, “they did say that.”

That gnawing sense of dreads returns. Stepping up next to Mando you glance down into the pod-which appears to be functioning as some kind of traveling pram-and are greeted with wide dark eyes and pointy green ears.

Oh Maker no…

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #fic: burden of the survivors #din djarin #the mandolorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #x reader #fanficiton #chapter two #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian imagine #bounty hunters #crystalessences writes

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words-for-holland · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Series: Birthday Date Night

Summary: It’s Y/N’s birthday, but Tom faces a slight problem. How does a boyfriend top off an accidental proposal while his girlfriend is working on her birthday...again!

Masterlist

A/N: Sad to say that Quarantine Series may end real soon with 3 more parts to go 🥺. Also this was inspired by my birthday which just happened fairly recently! Thanks for all the support!!

“Tom, mate. You’re pacing back and forth is making me dizzy.” Harry warned Tom, as he lied down on his bed, laptop in hand.

“Sorry, but I don’t know what to do! Y/N’s birthday is in a few days and I have absolutely no plan.” Tom reasoned as he plops on the couch across from Harry. “I mean I already blew the proposal which was supposed to be her birthday gift, but thats gone to shit.” He mumbled, biting his thumbnail.

“Just be happy she said yes.” Harry chuckled as he recalled the day. “I mean has she given any hints? You know Y/N, if there’s something she really wants, she’ll tell the whole world.”

“I know, but she hasn’t said a word and everytime I do ask her, she says ‘I dont know.’”, Tom groans as he rubs his temples. “I just want to do something really nice for her.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he continues shopping for his gift for Y/N. He and Y/N always loved to share memes and compete in board games, so it was only fair he’d get her an exclusive edition of Exploding Kittens. The one with a hard cover box, that plays mariachi music when you open it up. To be fair, he also really wanted it too, so imagine all the rounds they could play in a single day. “You always say this every year, but ever year you always deliver. I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

Tom sits still to ponder on his brother thoughts. “Yeah..Yeah I guess. Maybe I could take her out for a picnic lunch date. I know she’ll love to get out of the house. I’ll ask her to take off on Friday and it’ll be perfect!” He plans excitedly. He stands up, proud of his well thought out plan, already thinking of the perfect place to settle, the blankets to bring, and the smooth moves he’ll plan to swoon her away. It was completely foolproof.

Just two days before, Y/N displays a noticeable frown on her face. Sludging through the house, only made Tom drop his smile twice as fast when he noticed. “Hey, darling is everything all right?” He asked with worry written all over his face. Deep down, Tom prayed, hoping it was just something she liked was sold out or that she found out the ending of Hamiliton or something..anything but...

“My boss needs me to work Friday. Apparently they think it’s a great idea to put me as the President in charge of IT while he’s out.” Y/N says in a disappointing tone. “Im sorry, I know you wanted me to take off and I definitely wanted to for my birthday, but I guess it’s not happening.” Y/N’s heart feels heavy as she sees Tom’s equally disappointed face. “I did ask for Monday off, so whatever it is you planned we can do it then!” She mentioned, trying to cheer him up.

Tom let out a sadden sigh. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but of all days? Right when he was about to leave for Berlin in less than 4 days? Right when he and Y/N could spend another birthday together? At this point Tom felt like a hopeless man, as he stood in front of his girlfriend, who showed remorse and sorrow. Her long hair draped over her shoulders, and lips forming into that adorable pout that he could not resist. It almost made him smile, but only a little. “I know, but its not the same! You’re turning 24 and you have to work? Can’t you make some excuse?” He asks coming closer to her, smiling mischieviously.

Y/N’s brows knit together as she cautiously observes Tom’s behavior. She knew that look, that smile, that little bite lip he was pulling. “Oh no. No. No. No.” she says repeatedly, resisting the charm. “Im not gonna make some excuse.”

Tom comes even closer, his face bending down a little to meet her eye level, smiling as he runs the very tips of fingers on her sides. “C’mon darling, break the rules a little. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He whispers kissing down her neck. “Please?”

Y/N looks up and away from those deep brown eyes, still resisting. “Tom, you know I can’t, no matter how bad I want to say yes.”

Tom draws a line up to her jawline with the tip of his nose. His breath warm against her soft skin. He hums and smiles, “Is your boss a fan of spiderman? What about his kids? I for sure remember you telling me Zach was a huge fan.”

Y/N laughs as she rolls her eyes, but she found it so endearing. The fact that he even remembered your boss’ kids’ name even though he’s probably caught a glimpse of them once or twice during her zoom meetings. “No. You are most definitely not using your celeb status to get me off from work.”

Tom shrugs his shoulders, as if it weren’t a big deal. He wasn’t one for flaunting his fame, but if it meant he could spend another day with Y/N, he would gladly use it. “Please...” he pleads one more time. “Just wanna spend time with my girl on her special day.”

Y/N thinks about it. She really did want to take off, and Tom’s efforts were quite convincing to say the least. It was only a matter of time before Tom would have to leave for Berlin, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to spend every minute with him. But Y/N also knew that if she didn’t do as she was asked by her company, the higher ups would probably have a bad impression of her or worse...fire her on the spot. Yet she knew her boss was also an understandable and chill guy. It wasn’t like she couldnt take off, just not when he’d be out at the same time, especially when she was asked to be in charge of the entire department.

Then, it hit her. She quickly excused herself out of the room to talk to her boss, and quickly came back to Tom with a smile on her face. Tom loved the way she smiled, and how her one little dimple formed on the right side of her mouth. He knew she was really happy, and he had just an idea of what it was. “You got the day off.” He answered excitedly.

“No.” Y/N responded, “But I did ask for half a day, so I’ll be free after 12.” Y/N continues as she comes closer to Tom, wrapping her hangs around his neck. “Hows that for a compromise? And I’ll do anything you wanna do for the rest of the day.”

“Good because you’re gonna love what I have in store for you.” Tom says, almost ready to brag about his well thought out romantic plan. He was ready to treat her like the queen she was on her birthday. How could anything go wrong?

On that faithful Friday, Tom woke up Y/N to many many birthday kisses. Reciting how beautiful she was, and how he couldn’t wait to celebrate with her. Reluctantly he had to let go, as she padded her way to the bathroom to get ready and head into her makeshift office for the next 5 hours.

Tom was all smiles, excited to take Y/N out. While everything felt like it was going according to plan, his mates had other news. “Ninety percent of thunderstorms?!” Tom exclaimed to his best mates in the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a major storm out there. Probably the worse that London’s had in a while.” Tuwaine informs as he reads the news on his phone.

Tom became a stuttering mess not sure how to justify or ask how that could be possible when it was beautiful this entire week. “But...But...It’s so nice out now!” He says discouraged. “No, this ruins my entire plan.”

“Hey mate, dont be like that. You can still find a way to celebrate it. Maybe you can do something romantic inside?” Harrison offers. Thats when it clicked. Harrison smiles, knowning the answer to Tom’s problem. “Yeah..make a date night here. We can set up the living room to be all fancy like.”

“Yeah! Tuwaine Harrison and I can be your waiters and make your dinner. Then just leave you two alone to do whatever you want you want.” Harry suggests.

“Just please...don’t mess up the couch.” Tuwaine groans, thinking about the potential possibity. “Im getting grossed out just thinking about it.”

Tom looks at his mates, giving thought into the new back up plan. He smiles at the group saying , “Lads, I think we got a new plan.”

Its exactly three in the afternoon when Y/N logs off from her laptop. She looks up at the window to notice how dark and dreary it was outside. Thunder was booming, and rain droplets came down hard, splashing off the window. It was her favorite kind of stay-in weather, but she hoped it didnt interfere with Tom’s plans if they had anything to do with being outside. As she opened the door, Harry and Tuwaine greeted Y/N with their own gifts and hugs. They made sure, she got dressed up, and led her downstairs. “M’Lady, your fiance will be right out.” Harry says in the most posh accent he could muck up.

Y/N rolls her eyes, and the moment she sees Tom walk into the living room, her heart skipped a beat. He dressed up with a bouquet of flowers and balloons in his hand. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He says. “You look so beautiful.”

Y/N takes the gifts from his hands, placing them on the table. She runs to Tom, kissing him passionately, savoring the sparks that came and left with every push and pull of their soft lips. “You had plans to go outside for my birthday didn’t you?” She teases.

Tom laughs, as he throws his head back. “Yeah...I was planning a picnic and everything, but thats why I made sure Plan B would just be as romantic.” He takes her hand as they sit down at the candlelit table, eating, drinking , and talking away about anything and everything. When it was sometime Harrison, Harry, and Tuwaine brought out a cake that Y/N had only been fantasizing and drooling about since May.

“No way! How did you guys order it?! I thought they didn’t do international shipping for Milk Bar!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Actually..they didn’t. But the recipe was online and we made it ourselves, with Sam’s help of course.” Harry answered, as he placed the candles in the center.

Her jaw dropped for a good ten minutes as she looked at the rainbow sprinkled cake, and the fluffy white frosting that sit perfectly in-between the layers. The crumbs on top were surprisingly uniformed and formed a perfect circle border, she was very impressed with them. Harrison lit the candles as all the boys sang along...off key of course with hints of laughter coming off every other note. Tom moved to her side, placing his arm around the back of her chair and leaned in to place a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Make a wish darling.”

Y/N looked up to see her favorite people in the entire world, smiling. “I dont need to. Everything I could possibly want is right here.” Y/N quickly blew the candles out and everyone left with their fair share of the cake. It was just Tom and Y/N left. They quickly changed out of their fancy clothes and back into their sleep wear, ending the night with watching Stardust and cuddles in the dark. Y/N tries to look behind her to see Tom’s face, who in turn looked down at her. She smiled at him whispering, “I love you.”

Tom quickly leaned in to capture her lips before answering, “I love you too. Happy Birthday Y/N.”

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @parkerspillow @joyleenl @kihyunwifes @holland-bowen @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @marvelobsessedteenager @viwihere

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Everybody Knows You're High, 4/4 (Rajila) - Dartmouth420

Summary: It’s not just the weed this time, Raja’s in love, and Manila’s about to make a confession.

A/n: this is one long-ass chapter of feelings and lesbian porn lmao. this is specifically for the anon from a few weeks ago who requested manila smut, here ya go :P also thank u to V&albatross for your encouragement and for letting me play in your world lol <3

tw: weed, mild second-hand embarrassment, smut: 80% sexy, 20% disgusting, 100% dumb ;)

Manila stood in her steamy bathroom leaning against the edge of the sink, with a towel wrapped around her body, and stared at herself in the mirror.

Last night had been… a lot.

She’d just gotten out of the shower, and there were dark circles under her eyes from the late night, the stress and the hangover. The hangover wasn’t as bad as Manila thought she deserved. Chugging straight vodka from the bottle in a state of emotional turmoil had been a terrible idea.

However, a part of herself that she’d been suppressing for too long was raising its head, this time with hope. Parsing out what Raja had been trying to say last night had practically required a cryptographer, but Manila was like eighty-seven percent sure that Raja had said she liked her, and was interested in… maybe dating. Or something. It all got a little blurry after she’d kissed Raven.

Manila stuck her tongue out at herself in the mirror and left the bathroom, walking quickly down the hall in her towel to her room to get dressed. She examined one of her nicer shirts, and that corduroy mini-skirt she liked, and then decided not to get her hopes up. She pulled on a pair of dark blue sweatpants with the college’s name written across the butt. But her hand lingered over her one of her nice bras, an elegant black one with red lining, and after a brief but eventful internal wrestling match, she put it on. And covered it with a T-shirt and a hoodie.

After having breakfast, drying her hair, scrolling through her phone, cleaning the bathroom, killing time and receiving no texts from Raja, but not sending any either, Manila put her hands on her hips and sighed.

Manila had two choices. She could go across the street and actually talk to Raja about her feelings, or she could drop out of college, move to Canada, change her identity, burn her fingerprints off with acid and start again as an entirely new person.

Despite the strong temptation of option two, Manila chose option one and rushed out the door before she could psych herself out. She hurried up to to the familiar house across the street and a few doors down. Manila took a nervous breath as she knocked on Raja’s front door, immediately regretting that she hadn’t texted or something before just showing up. Maybe Raja wasn’t awake yet, or maybe she didn’t want to see her after she’d been so messy last night-

The door opened and Raja stood there. Her long black hair was wet and brushed straight like she’d just showered, and her loose, green linen shirt was damp where the ends sat on her shoulders. She looked suspiciously fresh and clean for the day after a party, but then Manila remembered that Raja had been sober the entire time.

“Hey,” said Raja, with a goofy, knowing smile.

Manila’s palms began to sweat, and her heart leapt out of her chest and prostrated itself on the floor.

“Uh- hi,” said Manila.

Raja stepped aside and Manila walked in to the living room, slipping off her shoes and glancing at the familiar couch. An empty bag of chips and a couple loose video game controllers sat abandoned on it. Usually she’d go right in and sit down, but that didn’t quite feel right today. Carmen’s voice drifted over from the kitchen, one half of a conversation she was having over the phone.

“We could talk in my room?” suggested Raja, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. Her deep brown eyes were without expectation.

“Sure,” said Manila decisively, and walked quickly to the stairs and up to Raja’s bedroom, the first door on the left.

Raja’s room always surprised Manila. The first time she’d seen it she’d expected a total stoner disaster zone, but instead it was surprisingly neat. There was a beautiful piece of blue and gold paisley fabric tacked up on the wall, some clothes piled up on the back of the chair, and several mugs on the nightstand. Books, her laptop and some weed paraphernalia were scattered on the desk, but the floor was clean and the bed was pretty much always made.

Manila sat down on the edge of the bed, and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. Raja sat down next to her, close but not touching.

“So…” began Manila, drawing out the word and wondering what exactly she was going to say. She didn’t want to be the first to admit her feelings. Part of her still felt afraid, instinctively evasive when talking about how she felt. “You like me, apparently.”

“Yeah,” laughed Raja, amused, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder, “Yeah, I said that.”

“Mm,” acknowledged Manila, already a little flustered by how Raja had just openly admitted it, like it was that easy. Everything was so easy for her. “Are you mad at me for kissing Raven?”

“For like a minute last night, but uh, it seemed more like you were mad at me, actually.”

“Yeah, I was kind of upset-” said Manila, and hesitated. Talking openly like this was outside of her comfort zone and she felt too warm and too awkward and… she would rather all of this be a big joke, to laugh it off again and hide how she really felt behind the humour.

“I’m sorry I decided to make that joke about you missing your opportunity when I was trying to be all serious or whatever,” said Raja quickly, all in one breath, “That was really stupid. I really did mean everything I said, except for that part.”

Manila nodded, the hurt rolling back over her for a moment. The feeling of rejection had been awful. But maybe that was how Raja had felt the first couple of times Manila had rejected and mocked her for expressing interest.

“It’s okay,” said Manila, cracking a smile, “You are incredibly stupid after all.”

“But I’m still getting better grades than you,” replied Raja, raising her eyebrows and grinning.

Manila looked at her hands. Raja was next to her, but she felt simultaneously closer and farther than she’d ever been. They were steering out of familiar territory towards something Manila both hopelessly longed for and horribly feared.

“I didn’t do anything with Yara, by the way,” confessed Manila, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“What, really?” replied Raja, cocking her head to the side.

“Yeah I lied about that, she and Alexis love each other so much it’s gross,” said Manila, rolling her eyes. “I thought you’d been acting differently around me, so I… said that.”

“They do seem to love each other a lot,” confirmed Raja, nodding, a sneaky grin growing on her mouth, “You wanted to see if I got jealous?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe in jealousy,” sniffed Raja imperiously, “Love should be free.”

“You’re such a fucking hippie,” said Manila, shaking her head, amused, “And you were jealous, you were stomping around like a six-year-old having a temper tantrum.”

“Fine, maybe a little,” acquiesced Raja, with a laugh. “You were really winding me up, though!”

Manila laughed as well, following the shift of energy between them into lighter territory. She twisted her fingers in the sheets on Raja’s bed for a moment, and sat up straighter, looking at Raja carefully. Raja’s green linen shirt draped elegantly over her tall, angular frame and it suited her nicely, despite the damp shoulders from her hair. A curl of interest announced itself in Manila’s core.

“So, uh,” said Manila, regretting her decision to wear sweats and wishing she’d at least tried to look nice. Raja’s expression was open, but her shoulders were a little stiff, almost nervous. Manila wanted to ease the tension, she wanted Raja to be comfortable around her again, and get rid of this stupid distance she’d built up between them.

Manila decided she was going to be brave, and asked, “Do you still wanna make out?”

Raja blinked in shock and then grinned and gave a happy little shrug, and said, “Yeah, totally.”

Before Manila could stop herself, before she could let herself think, she leaned in. Raja did the same, and shifted closer to her on the bed, pressing their legs together. Manila hesitated for a moment, the tension between them burning hot, more intense and awful than it had ever been, before Raja brushed her lips over Manila’s and they captured one another in a soft kiss. A high-voltage thrill shot down Manila’s spine, turning to instant, uncontrollable heat between her legs.

Raja’s confidence was contagious, and Manila kissed her back, tentatively parting her lips and tasting Raja with her tongue. Raja touched Manila’s waist, her other hand going to the back of her neck and tangling up in her hair. Manila’s body was taking over completely, the thrill drowning out her every doubt.

Raja was very pleased with how the morning had progressed so far, as Manila broke their kiss to push her down on the bed, a look of pure, unadulterated desire in her eyes.

“Oh, hello,” purred Raja as Manila straddled her, and Raja shifted a little so that she was at a better angle, her head propped up on her pillow. Manila lifted her hoodie up over her head, and the plain T-shirt undershirt underneath hiked up so that Raja caught a glimpse of her toned stomach before Manila threw the hoodie to the floor. Raja’s breath quickened, and she fumbled at the buttons of her shirt. She was so happy that this was finally happening, that Manila wasn’t angry with her and seemed quite interested in being more than just friends. There were so many fun directions this could go-

“Hi,” breathed Manila, leaning forward and quashing Raja’s efforts to get her shirt unbuttoned. Manila kissed her again, this time taking charge in a way that Raja found very sexy indeed. Raja caressed her waist through the thin fabric of her shirt. Manila stroked Raja’s still-damp hair, her hands exploring Raja’s scalp as they made out thoroughly. The smell of Manila’s lavender conditioner filled Raja’s nose.

Manila ducked her head, going for Raja’s neck. Raja sighed, gasping when Manila introduced her teeth to her skin. Oh, this was excellent, this was lovely. Manila was so much more than Raja had expected, and pleasant excitement filled her mind. Raja’s hands drifted from Manila’s waist down her back to grip her beautiful, muscular, college-logo-emblazoned ass.

Fuck yes.

Manila laughed quietly into her neck, pausing for a breath, and rolled her hips against Raja. Raja pushed her thigh up a little to give Manila something to grind on, if she wanted to. Even the hint that Manila was truly letting her guard down and trusting Raja like this was very exciting-

Manila breathed in sharply, her face still pressed into Raja’s neck, and rolled her hips again, and Raja felt Manila’s warm body through her thick cotton sweatpants. Raja took her opportunity and lifted her head slightly, kissing Manila’s neck in return, still gripping her ass and encouraging her to grind against her thigh.

“Raja-” breathed Manila as Raja kissed what must be a sweet spot. Raja couldn’t wait to learn all her sweet spots.

Manila sat back, pulling Raja with her so they were both sitting up, Manila still straddling her lap.

“Can I…?” murmured Manila, touching the buttons on Raja’s shirt.

“Yeah, for sure.”

Manila fumbled to undo Raja’s shirt buttons and Raja kissed her neck again. Now that they were sitting up, Raja touched Manila’s lower back and guided her to keep grinding on her thigh, since they were in an excellent position for her to do so. Manila bit back a little moan, visibly distracted from her task and it sent a tingle throughout Raja’s entire body. Manila was getting so hot and bothered already, and they were still practically fully clothed.

In fact, Manila’s hips were moving quicker now, rocking against Raja’s thigh, but she finished with the buttons and pushed Raja’s shirt back down to her elbows, then blinked with surprise.

Raja wasn’t one to wear a bra unless it was absolutely required of her.

“You can touch me,” whispered Raja, kissing Manila’s ear.

Manila did, gently palming Raja’s small breasts, and continuing to roll her hips. Now Raja could really feel the heat between Manila’s legs and let out a surprised half-moan herself as Manila caught her nipple between her fingers. Manila’s expression was hazy with lust, as she bit her lip and rutted down even harder, and Raja was almost surprised that Manila was so turned on by this minimal amount of contact.

“Is it okay if I-” said Raja, and touched the front edge of Manila’s sweatpants.

Manila nodded semi-frantically, and Raja went for it, reaching past her waistband to feel how gloriously warm and wet she was, even through her underwear. Manila moaned aloud, and ground down against Raja’s fingers and Raja, absolutely thrilled, slid her fingers inside her underwear.

Manila inhaled sharply at the skin-to-skin contact, rolling her hips hard and fast and clutching Raja to her. Raja decided to go for more, gently slipping two fingers past her folds and up into her soaking wet pussy-

“Oh my god, fuck-” managed Manila.

Manila’s back arched and her hip thrusts became erratic, quick, and she let out another barely suppressed moan, burying her face in Raja’s neck, panting hot breath against her skin, clenching around Raja’s fingers with a sudden gasp-

Suddenly Manila stopped moving, she pushed herself back. She flopped backwards off of Raja’s lap onto her ass and covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide, her expression utterly surprised and embarrassed.

Raja realized what had happened.

“You are so into me,” stated Raja, unable to resist the urge to tease Manila for it, wiping her fingers unceremoniously on her sheets and laughing. “You came from just that? Really?”

“Don’t,” whined Manila, covering her face with both hands and curling up into a ball.

“We’ve barely been going for five minutes-”

“It’s just been a while for me,” complained Manila, her voice muffled behind her hands, “I’m sorry…”

Raja crawled over to her, taking her hands away from her face and kissing her.

“No need to apologize, you’ve got more where that came from, right?” asked Raja with a grin. The dull ache of Raja’s own arousal was still present between her legs.

“Yeah…”

“Great, hopefully this time I’ll get to actually take your clothes off.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” replied Manila dryly, sitting up. She looked slightly less embarrassed, pushing a few stray curls back out of her face.

Raja kissed Manila’s face again, unable to stop herself from smiling, smug. It seemed like Manila did actually like her, or was at least very, very attracted to her. Raja appreciated the vindication, and imagined the afternoon ahead. It looked like they’d be spending it here, making out and having sex, and taking a few breaks for food and weed, and that seemed most excellent.

“What do you want to do?” asked Manila. She reached out and hesitated, before running her fingers across Raja’s collarbone and then down her arm. Raja vaguely remembered her shirt, which was mostly off, open with the sleeves caught around her elbows. She took it off entirely. Raja was comfortable with her body and didn’t mind being naked, especially when it was making Manila so distracted.

“I want to…” began Raja, before shrugging, “Actually, I just want to roll a joint and share it with you, if you’re into that, and then eat you out for like forty-five minutes.”

Manila laughed and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, let’s get a little high, it won’t hurt.”

“It might even help you last longer…” teased Raja gently, not that she really cared. If Manila got off so quickly and easily, then Raja would gladly spend the entire day making her come over and over and over-

“Stop!” protested Manila, but she couldn’t help her smile.

Manila was so embarrassed that she’d pretty much finished immediately from the barest of contact like a desperate, touch-deprived lunatic, but luckily the feeling was fading. Raja didn’t seem to mind, despite her gentle teasing.

Manila had surprised herself more than anything. She was usually a bit… well, stiff maybe wasn’t the right word, but during hookups or sexual encounters she wanted to make sure she came off as sexy and fun, and that she did everything right. This was always particularly strong in her mind when she was with guys. But what was right was a vague and every-changing notion, a bit of a performance, kind of acting like girls did in porn except more chill, and trying to read what the other person liked and expected of her. It was difficult to relax. Certain walls always remained up.

But not today.

Today, Manila had completely melted the second her lips had touched Raja’s. Her body had taken over, unmitigated. Tasting Raja’s neck, grinding on her thigh, touching her skin and feeling her hard nipples, and Raja slipping her knowing fingers inside of her had made Manila feel so alive-

Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like.

They had the entire afternoon ahead of them, so Manila lounged on Raja’s bed in her sweatpants while Raja got out a jar of weed and a grinder, confident and relaxed and wonderfully topless.

“Ugh, I left my rolling papers in the living room again,” sighed Raja, leaning over to give Manila a lingering kiss that sent a thrill right down her spine again, “I’ll be back.”

With that Raja got up and strolled across the room, opening her door-

“Don’t you need a shirt?” asked Manila.

“Nope.”

Manila laughed as Raja left and padded down the stairs. Her voice drifted up from the living room.

“Hey Delta.”

“Hey. So it’s a tits out kind of day?”

“Yeah, have you seen my rolling papers?”

“Over there.”

“Thanks! Did you hook up with that guy last night?”

“Yeah, and he was surprisingly good in bed-”

Manila tuned out the conversation, remembering her nice bra and wondering if she should just take her clothes off now and maybe fix her hair and find some way to recline on the bed so she’d look hot when Raja came back up-

But then Manila realized Raja didn’t care about that, and that really, she didn’t either. Manila lay back down on her side, breathing in the smell of Raja’s pillow. It smelled just like her hair, and honestly, Manila would be totally happy just to exist right here in this moment and never leave it. The voice in the back of her head chimed in, you know you still haven’t told her how you really feel-

“-yeah, she’s up in my room, I think we’re figuring it out.”

“Oh thank god! You’ve been stressing about that for ages. So that’s why you don’t have a shirt on…”

“Yeah, we might get kinda loud, so… sorry in advance.”

There was a smug evil to Raja’s voice, and Manila couldn’t help but feel smug as well. She imagined what exactly she could do to make Raja get loud…

“I was planning to go to the library anyway, bitch, I’ll send the bat signal to Carmen.”

Manila smirked at Delta’s sarcasm.

“Love you too!” sang Raja in response, and then Manila heard Raja’s footsteps on the stairs again. Her heart beat faster in anticipation. She should probably tell Raja about her stupid feelings. Raja had confessed her own, and while it was all still a bit vague, things were changing between them. Hopefully for the better.

Raja reentered the room, and flopped down on the bed next to Manila. Manila sat up and watched as Raja put a few weed buds into her little grinder and ground them up. Then she balanced a rolling paper in her palm, and carefully tipped the weed into it. Raja’s tongue darted out and wet the paper before rolling it into a cylinder, and something stirred in Manila’s core while she watched. Raja still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Manila couldn’t help her eyes lingering. Of course this too was easy for Raja, she didn’t seem self-conscious about her body at all. Manila was always a bit in awe of Raja’s effortless confidence.

The joint was ready before Manila knew it, because when it came to weed Raja was nothing if not efficient. The sun outside broke through the clouds and streamed in through the thin curtains on Raja’s window, hitting the side of her face, and she was so beautiful that Manila’s breath hitched with disbelief. Raja brought the fresh joint to her mouth, grabbed a lighter from her bedside table and lit up, breathing in deeply with a contented sigh.

Raja passed Manila the joint with a suggestive smile, and Manila took it, putting the filter between her lips and drawing in a deep breath, the gentle smoke seeping deep into her lungs.

“I-” said Manila, passing back the joint and coughing, “I should probably tell you something.”

“Mmm, what?” replied Raja, taking another hit and leaning in, nuzzling Manila’s neck.

“Uh,” continued Manila, now very distracted by the feeling of Raja’s luxurious lips on her warm skin, the slightly smoky air and the joint that was now in her hands again. Did she even want to tell Raja she’d been idiotically in love with her for like two years? Would it ruin everything?

Manila took another pull and blew the smoke out into the air, while Raja kissed her neck and snuck her hand into her shirt, tracing her waist with delicate fingertips.

“I’ve actually,” whispered Manila, noticing with interest the way Raja had pressed herself into her side, her nipples getting pointy again, “I’ve actually been into you for a while.”

“Really?” purred Raja, without stopping what she was doing. It felt really good. Manila passed her the joint and Raja took it, turning away from her neck only momentarily to inhale the sweet smoke.

“Yeah,” said Manila quietly, desperately wanting to make it all a joke, somehow, worried her confession would completely freak Raja out. But maybe it wouldn’t. “I’ve kind of had a crush on you like since we met.”

Raja pulled back from Manila’s neck. But instead of laughing at her, or looking awkward and pushing her away, Raja’s expression was open and curious.

“No way,” said Raja, cocking her head to the side, “Even that time I got those fireworks from my dealer, and we accidentally lit that tree on fire?”

“Yeah?” replied Manila, confused. “I mean, Delta was the only one with the wherewithal to call 911, but we survived.”

“Even that time I spilled coffee all over your good white shirt?”

“Yes,” said Manila, flatly, recalling the incident. The shirt had never recovered. And the burn had hurt.

“Okay, but what about when I was too high in the grocery store a few weeks ago-“

“All of the times, Raja!” exclaimed Manila impatiently, practically squirming with the discomfort of having confessed her feelings, “Every dumb thing you did, I still liked you. So I, I don’t know, maybe that makes me the stupid one.”

“Nah, you’re like the smartest person I know, other than me,” chuckled Raja affectionately, taking another drag on the joint and exhaling the smoke slowly, so that it drifted up around her face, ethereal, “I’m learning so many cool new things about you today.”

“Well,” sputtered Manila, defensive and insecure, “I don’t know if it’s cool-“

“It totally is,” continued Raja, utterly confident, “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because, you know,” shrugged Manila, taking the offered joint and hoping it would calm her down a little, “You obviously prefer casual hookups or whatever, and I couldn’t really stand being just that to you- I just didn’t want to have to say it was totally fine and chill if you didn’t like me back-” Manila paused with horrendous panic, “I mean, you do feel the same way, right?”

“Yeah, I-” said Raja, her face suddenly shifting into to an expression that normally appeared when she was trying really hard to beat Manila at Super Smash Bros, “Wait, so you thought I’d think you were too intense or something?”

Manila passed her the joint and looked away, already knowing that she was too intense, that her feelings were nothing other than a humiliating mess and always would be. Well, she thought wistfully, it had been nice while it lasted…

“Manila,” sighed Raja, and Manila looked back at her and Raja was smiling, and blowing smoke into her face, “I can’t predict like the entire future, you know with the Mars colonies and stuff, but I really like you. Maybe you like me a little more than I realized, but that’s good because I thought you weren’t into me at all. So like, it’s cool. Let’s just see where it goes?”

Manila nodded, as her heart beat faster and she felt herself blush. She supposed she’d just have to trust Raja, and herself.

“But you really fucked up with Raven when you two were dating,” stated Manila, unable to stop her doubts from surfacing.

“Well… ” said Raja, hesitating, and then she sighed, “Yeah, I did. The whole relationship thing was her idea and I went along with it because, well, I wanted things to be easy… but I should’ve found a better way to end it.” Raja paused, and took Manila’s hand, weaving their fingers together and squeezing, “I feel super differently about you, and about this. We’re friends first, right, before anything else.”

“Okay, yeah,” murmured Manila, plucking the joint, which wasn’t much more than a tiny roach, from Raja’s fingers and inhaling deeply, burning it right down to the filter. It seemed like Raja was genuinely on the path to some kind of self-awareness.

Manila reached around Raja to stub the end of the joint out in the decorative glass ashtray, and then let the smoke out through her nose with a giggle. Raja laughed along, and Manila finally began to feel the relaxed buzz under her skin. Getting high was nice, no wonder Raja did it all the time… Manila leaned in and kissed her again. Raja kissed her back, her hands going immediately to her waist again, pushing up under her shirt to touch her skin. Manila stroked Raja’s hair, and delicately held the back of her neck. Raja was already topless, but Manila was getting very interested in taking Raja’s shorts off as well…

They just had to trust one another, figured Manila, and maybe everything would be turn out alright.

Raja was happy and relaxed now that she’d had some weed and they were making out again. Manila had seemed stressed when she’d admitted her years-long crush, and while Raja was certainly a little surprised, more than anything she was pleased that her instincts had been right. It was making the strange new feeling in her chest glow a little brighter. But maybe that was just the weed.

“I want to take your shirt off,” murmured Raja. She’d seen Manila out running in her sports bra enough times to be real curious about what was underneath…

“Yeah, go ahead,” said Manila, moving her hand from the back of Raja’s neck down to her chest, running her thumb over her nipple in a way that sent a jolt of interest directly between Raja’s legs. She tugged Manila’s shirt up, and Manila lifted her arms and was momentarily caught with her shirt under her chin and around her elbows and Raja laughed at her and eventually they got it off.

Damn. Manila looked good, cute and toned and was wearing a suspiciously nice bra…

“You knew this was going to happen today, didn’t you?” said Raja.

“I might have suspected something,” said Manila with a smirk, sitting back on her butt as she easily tugged her sweatpants off of her legs.

“You’re so sneaky.”

“It’s my tragic flaw.”

Now that Manila was just in her underwear, the animal part of Raja’s brain kicked in. In an instant, Raja wanted to kiss Manila’s entire body, fuck her thoroughly, cuddle all night, move in and have a baby together, raise a bunch of feral kids and dogs, run a full-scale weed grow-op out in the country somewhere and just chill in the glorious California sunset until the end of time. Hmm. Raja decided that odd little fantasy was definitely just the weed talking, and took off her shorts and throwing them over the side of the bed, revealing her plain blue cotton underwear.

Now, that they were both pleasantly stoned and significantly more naked, things were starting to get interesting. Raja scooted closer to Manila, and ran her hands up her legs, letting out a weird gremlin-like giggle.

“You so don’t get to accuse me of being the horny one anymore,” chuckled Manila, taking Raja’s face in her hands and kissing her.

Raja sat back and pulled Manila into her lap, taking her time to kiss her. They explored one another, gentle and stoned. Raja stroked her way up Manila’s smooth back, her fingertips extra sensitive, and felt the band of her bra, reaching to undo it.

“Wait, don’t,” said Manila, and Raja’s hands stilled. Was something wrong? But Manila hadn’t pulled back, in fact she was pressing little kisses on Raja’s face, and kissed the shell of her ear in a way that sent a shiver throughout Raja’s entire body.

Raja dropped her hands to Manila’s hips and had a brilliant idea.

“Turn around,” suggested Raja into Manila’s ear.

“Mm, why?” replied Manila, shifting to kiss Raja’s neck.

“Because it’ll be fun…"

Manila laughed at her reasoning, and turned around so that she was sitting in Raja’s lap with her back to her. Raja immediately hugged Manila close, pressing her naked chest into her back and taking the opportunity to nip at her neck, eliciting a little yelp.

Raja ran her hand up Manila’s stomach touch her chest through her bra. Manila ’s breath hitched in response, and Raja took that as a positive sign, and reached up to ease her bra-straps off her shoulders.

“I don’t want to take my bra off,” stated Manila and Raja stopped again, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Do you not like being touched there?” asked Raja, momentarily nervous that she’d overstepped an invisible boundary, as Manila twisted in her lap to make eye contact.

“No, I like it, but,” said Manila, and hesitated.

“But?” asked Raja, in what she hoped was a gentle way, planting a little kiss on Manila’s shoulder.

“I just don’t like people looking at my tits.”

“Why not?”

Manila hunched a little, looking uncomfortable, and said, “Uh, this girl in middle school used to tell me they were a weird shape and I’ve kind of never gotten over it.”

Raja glanced down at Manila’s chest. Her breasts were contained in what was a truly nice bra and Raja found nothing weird about her body whatsoever.

“Well, fuck that bitch, she can die,” said Raja, in full seriousness.

Manila burst into laughter, “What, you’re gonna murder some girl from my seventh-grade gym class?”

“Yeah, what’s her name?”

“Jenny.”

“She sounds basic, I’ll shove her into traffic.”

“That’s very sexy of you but I’m still not taking my bra off,” chuckled Manila, blinking slowly. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, but her body was relaxed with trust again, leaning back into Raja. Raja wrapped one arm around her waist and squeezed her close. As badly as Raja wanted Manila to be fully naked, she respected her wishes.

“I went to alternative school on what was basically a gay hippie commune,” murmured Raja, gently kissing the spot behind Manila’s ear, and tracing her fingers down her stomach, “There wasn’t really bullying. We all made flower crowns, ate quinoa, studied beekeeping and Buddhist philosophy, it ruled.”

“No wonder you’re so weird…” sighed Manila, with a little gasp as Raja ghosted her fingers over the sensitive skin just above the edge of her black underwear.

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” purred Raja, now running her fingers over the distinctly damp fabric between Manila’s legs and then kissing her neck again. Manila shuddered and let out a whine, the sudden note in her voice that reminded Raja of how easily turned on she was. “And so do most bees.”

Raja shifted a little so Manila was more comfortable in her lap, and Manila spread her legs and Raja stroked the inside of her thigh, moving slowly closer to her centre. Manila didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and after a moment of confusion she rested them on Raja’s arm across her waist.

“You’re like really hot, you have nothing to be insecure about,” murmured Raja in her ear, resting her head on Manila’s shoulder and wondering how she felt about praise and dirty talk.

Manila whined and arched a bit, trying to press into Raja’s hand. Then she turned her head, catching Raja’s mouth with her own in a sudden, intense kiss. Raja kissed her in return, and Manila reached back, tracing the back of Raja’s head and stroking her hair with a loose, exploratory hand.

“You’re definitely the hot one,” chuckled Manila, “But I really need you to start touching me, like right now.”

“Ask nicely,” purred Raja.

“Hmm…” hummed Manila, drawing it out, and then, her voice breathy and demanding, whispered, “Please?”

Raja’s own breath caught hearing her beg, and she immediately slipped her fingers past the waistband of Manila’s underwear, finding her clit in no time and stroking her with slow circles. Knowing how very sensitive Manila was, Raja went about her task with utmost delicacy.

Manila’s hand grasped into a fist in Raja’s hair on the back of her head and she arched her back and moaned aloud. It seemed she was lot more expressive after the weed and the conversation about their feelings. It sent electricity directly into Raja’s core, and she squeezed Manila to her with her opposite arm around her waist. Raja couldn’t help but increase her pace, Manila’s reactions were so exciting.

Raja slipped her fingers down lower, stroking experimentally over Manila’s folds to feel her utterly soaking wet pussy. Yes.

“Do you like this?” asked Raja.

“Yeah,” breathed Manila, tilting her head back to rest on her shoulder.

Raja slipped her fingers inside of her once more and Manila tried to rock her hips for more friction but Raja held her in place and began to move her fingers, agonizingly gentle, teasing and testing for the right spot that would make Manila lose her mind.

Raja found it, and Manila bit back a broken moan, her body jerking forward a little as she grasped Raja’s arm around her waist, her fingers digging in. Raja kept going, rubbing against Manila’s clit with the base of her thumb and pressing her fingers inside her, hitting the spot that made her react, again.

Manila panted and gasped, arching her back, and Raja kissed her shoulder. There was a sheen of sweat on her cleavage from the warm, sunlit room that Raja really wanted to lick, but she wasn’t in the right position to do so. Oh well. This was also very good, Manila’s wetness was dripping all over her hand as she gasped and rutted down with her hips.

“I’m- I’m getting close,” gasped Manila, digging her nails into Raja’s arm.

Raja then decided to something utterly evil.

Raja stopped, and slid her fingers out of Manila entirely.

“Wha-” panted Manila with desperate frustration as was she left on the cruellest edge, “Why are you-”

“Lie down on your back,” said Raja, letting go of her Manila’s waist, a plan forming in her mind.

“You are the worst-” complained Manila, and she shakily got out of Raja’s lap and crawled forward, giving Raja an excellent view.

“Have I ever told you that you have a fantastic ass?” commented Raja, shifting up onto stiff knees and cracking her neck in anticipation of the task ahead of her.

Manila glanced over her shoulder with a pouty, false-innocent look that set something inside of Raja on fire, and then she flopped down on her back, propping herself up on her elbows.

Manila looked so beautiful laid out like that that Raja paused for a moment just to admire her, the sheen of sweat on her chest, her messy hair, her blown-out pupils and the look of intense arousal on her face.

“Are we going to be here all day?” challenged Manila, pouting.

“Wow, someone’s a little brat,” teased Raja, leaning down and kissing Manila’s stomach.

Raja quickly hooked her fingers in Manila’s underwear and pulled them down her thighs as Manila lifted her hips to help. Then Raja lay down on her stomach between Manila’s legs and ran a finger over her wet, sensitive pussy, amazed by how turned on she still was. Raja couldn’t help but be flattered by the physical effect she had on Manila.

“When it’s my turn I’m going to make you suffer,” said Manila, but her threat was very much undermined by the broken moan that left her as she arched her back and bit her lip as Raja stroked her again.

“Ooh, I can’t wait,” smirked Raja, heady and pleased.

Raja ghosted gentle kisses around her thighs and her lower belly, and then laughed as Manila practically growled at her. But she wouldn’t make Manila wait much longer, Raja ran her tongue experimentally over her folds, the taste and sensation firing constellation-like synapses in Raja’s mind. Manila let out another whimper as Raja swirled her tongue around her clit.

Mmm, pussy.

Raja went to town, spreading Manila’s legs a little wider and adjusting the angle of her neck to stay comfortable. She built it up, keeping the rhythm on her clit with her tongue as she pressed her fingers up into the lovely wetness once more.

“This feels so good,” sighed Manila, and Raja flicked her eyes up at her expression. Manila’s cheeks had flushed pink, and she reached her hand inside her bra to play with her nipple, her eyelids fluttering momentarily with pleasure. She looked absolutely excellent, far more relaxed than Raja had ever seen her before.

Raja continued, building up her rhythm as Manila began to gasp and moan and roll her hips against Raja’s face. It felt so good to please her friend like this, the ache of Raja’s own desire still warm and insistent between her legs.

Raja hooked her fingers, finding her g-spot once again, and flicking her tongue over Manila’s clit, hard and rapid while Manila clenched her thighs and arched her back even more and moaned, pressing herself up against Raja’s face until Raja had to hold her firmly against the bed with her opposite hand. Raja steadily increased the rhythm on her clit, and Manila got louder and louder, cursing over and over, and moaning Raja’s name until Raja felt her movements get erratic, and her internal muscles clenched and-

Sudden liquid dripped out onto Raja’s hand, as Raja brought Manila through an orgasm so good it could move tectonic plates. Manila moaned pathetically, her breath heavy, clutching desperately at the sheets as she let Raja take care of her.

Someone banged on the door.

“Oh my god, Raja, this is excessive even for you-”

“Go away Carmen!”

“Sorry, Carmen,” called Manila in an unsteady, breathy whimper of a voice.

“Wait, you’ve got Manila in there? Congratulations, bitches!”

Raja laughed, and sat up, wiping her face clean on her loose shirt before flopping down next to Manila and curling in to her side. Manila propped herself up on one elbow and swallowed dryly, shaking her head, her eyes glazed over in amazed disbelief. She looked like she’d been thoroughly fucked, thought Raja with keen affection, along with immense satisfaction on her own part.

“Ugh, that was really nice, that was so good,” repeated Manila, rolling onto her side to face Raja, and Raja practically glowed with the praise, “But how do Delta and Carmen both already know about this?”

“I’m not great with secrets,” shrugged Raja, nuzzling Manila’s neck and cuddling up against her.

Manila didn’t respond, instead she cuddled back into Raja with a happy little sigh, shutting her eyes. There was nothing in Raja’s gently stoned brain but post-sex satisfaction. After a few minutes Raja sat up, tracing her finger down Manila’s body from her shoulder to her chest, then down the dip of her waist and up and rise of her hip.

“You’re a bit of a pillow princess,” teased Raja, with a smirk, “I’m not sure what I expected, but you’re such a bratty little bottom-”

“No I’m not!” protested Manila in offence, sitting up.

“Yeah, you are,” taunted Raja, with a what-can-you-do shrug.

“Bitch, I’m about to destroy you,” said Manila, stretching her arms over her head and cracking the knuckles in fingers intimidatingly. She gave Raja an evil smile that was only slightly off-set by her blissed-out expression.

Raja gulped, now regretting her choice to tease her friend. She knew Manila was competitive, but what beast had she awakened?

“Now show me where you keep your vibrators and get on your back,” ordered Manila, with a deliciously authoritative grin.

Raja’s heart leapt and the warmth between her legs, which had much been waiting for this moment all day, flared back to violent, excited life. She told Manila where the sex toys were and rolled onto her her back, pulling off her underwear and tossing them aside, so glad to be fully naked. Raja couldn’t wait to see what Manila could do.

Finally.

Manila selected a small purple vibrator from Raja’s extensive collection in the plastic bin under her bed, and sat back up. Raja lay out before her, stretching like a happy cat, a pleased expression on her face under her half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. Her body was beautiful, long and lithe with subtle curves. Manila couldn’t help but feel honoured that Raja was showing herself to her like this. A few days ago she’d have never thought this would happen in like, real life, outside of her fantasies.

The earth-shattering orgasm from a few minutes ago had been, uh. Phew. Manila’s body responded strongly to Raja’s presence, and she felt tired and a little faded. But the opportunity to please Raja in return was one Manila couldn’t pass up.

Plus, she kind of liked the whole bossy thing that Raja was bringing out in her.

Manila crawled on top of Raja and gently kissed her neck, holding herself barely an inch above her so that their bodies weren’t quite touching. All those abdominal workouts at the gym were proving handy. Raja’s neck tasted amazing, and she made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a purr that Manila really really liked. Raja caressed her waist, and arched her back, pressing herself up into Manila, their skin practically tingling where it met.

“You’re so beautiful,” sighed Raja. “I’m like so lucky,”

Manila smiled to herself and then sucked down hard on the corner of Raja’s neck where it met her shoulder. Raja let out an undignified squeak and Manila bit her just a little, knowing she’d have a reddish purple hickie bloom on Raja’s light brown skin later, and Raja moaned and arched into her further, wrapping her arms around Manila’s back and holding her close.

Manila tried to make some more space between their bodies, but Raja wasn’t really letting her. But Manila managed to sneak her hand between their bodies, flicking on the vibrator, and slid it between Raja’s legs, which she spread eagerly for her with a happy sigh. Raja was incredibly uninhibited, and that only encouraged Manila, making her bolder. It was so freeing to be intimate with someone like this and not worry about judgement. Or maybe that was just the weed talking.

But Raja was moving against her, rubbing herself up against the vibrator pressed between them, tangling her hand in Manila’s hair as she kissed her neck. Manila couldn’t help but fantasize about what else they might do as she held the buzzing device against Raja, drawing her pleasure out, from lazily fucking all afternoon to maybe a few more hardcore things… hopefully involving strap-ons, she was fairly sure she’d seen something like that in Raja’s box of sex toys.

Manila shifted the vibrator to a slightly different angle and Raja whimpered into her ear. Manila moved it gently against her, and reached between them again with her opposite hand to toy with her nipple.

Raja seemed to really enjoy that, because she arched her back and moaned something incoherent, rutting against the vibrator. Manila shifted down so she could lick and suck on Raja’s opposite nipple, pinching the other one as Raja let out an exhilarated yelp, and clutched Manila close, pressing her fingers into her back and rolling her hips. Raja’s body lithe arched and her breath was heavy, and then she slowed her hips, with a final little twitch.

“Did that feel good?” asked Manila, as she stood back up on her hands and knees and clicked the vibrator off, tossing it aside. She couldn’t help but ask, she wanted the approval.

“Mmm, yes,” replied Raja, sitting up and kissing her lazily. “But I’m not done, I want more of you…”

Manila smiled, almost blushing at Raja’s raw, simple statement of desire. But then Manila had an idea, and she turned on her back, lying next to Raja, who cuddled into her instinctively. It was so cute that Raja was physically affectionate, both platonic and romantic in equal measure, just like the way she’d been with her since they’d started being friends, but now with a different energy.

“Get up and sit on my face,” ordered Manila.

Raja blinked at her, and then grinned and got up with a slight grunt, straddling Manila’s chest with her long, beautiful legs bent at the knee.

“Have you ever done this before?” asked Raja, looking down at her, her long dark hair framing her face.

Manila narrowed her eyes, trying to keep her gaze on Raja’s face and not just stare at her pussy, which was really very much in her line of vision. Instead she ran her hands up Raja’s thighs and gripped her hips, pulling her closer.

“A lady never tells.”

“Oh, so you’re a lady now?” chuckled Raja, brushing Manila’s hair back so that she didn’t kneel on it as she shuffled forward, holding herself just above Manila.

“I’ve done it a couple times, it’s not that hard, come on,” whined Manila, vaguely realizing that her vow to tease Raja and make her suffer wasn’t going very well at this rate. Somehow she’d ended up being the one begging, again. In the future, when Manila had gotten used to this and was a little more, uh, composed around Raja, Raja would be the one begging. Definitely. For sure.

But Manila had a lot more important things to focus on, as Raja carefully lowered herself onto her face and Manila tilted her head back slightly, and held Raja’s hips. For once Manila didn’t doubt herself, they were figuring all of this out after all, emotionally and physically, and had plenty of time to do so.

If Raja was the kind of person who felt embarrassment about sexual situations, she might’ve felt a little embarrassed sitting on Manila’s face right now, or even embarrassed by how badly Manila seemed to want her. Luckily, Raja didn’t really feel embarrassed about sex, especially when she had a little weed in her. So, she very carefully held herself in place, sitting down but not putting the entirety of her weight on Manila’s face. She really didn’t want to break her friend’s neck, and/or accidentally suffocate her, that would not be a fun way to end the afternoon.

Manila lapped gently at her folds, quickly locating her clit and swirling her soft, velvety tongue around it. Raja exhaled through her nose, pleasure mixing with the hazy sensation in her mind, her aroused body quickly shifting back into gear. Mmm, Manila was so soft…

Okay, maybe she was a little more than soft, because she holding Raja’s hips very decisively, and encouraging her to rock against her. While Raja definitely didn’t want to hurt her or put on too much pressure the temptation to move was really strong. So Raja did, just a little.

Vaguely aware that she her own bodily juices were dripping all over Manila’s face and chin, Raja leaned forward slightly try to get a grip on the wall, her palms flat out.

“Is this- are you okay?” asked Raja, the shake in her voice giving her away as a a ripple of pleasure went through her body.

Manila nodded, confidently wrapping her arm around Raja’s thigh and pressing her in even closer.

“Mmh-” managed Raja, grinding slowly against Manila’s nose and mouth as Manila flicked her tongue against the delicate, tender skin around the entrance of her pussy, before pushing her tongue up inside her.

The wall wasn’t giving Raja much support, her sweaty palms were slipping and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. But this felt so good, the precarious feeling like she was unravelling. Manila’s lidded gaze flicked up to meet hers, and Raja was sure her face must have been ridiculous, her mouth open, panting and desperate with pleasure. Manila’s gaze was mischievous. Damn it.

A moan escaped Raja, and she wondered if it was the weed that was making her hyperaware of her hands right now, as Manila slipped her tongue in and out of her, building her up, and Raja ground herself on Manila’s face, hoping she wasn’t hurting her, babbling, “This feels so good, I- oh my god, fuck, Manila-“

This only seemed to invigorate Manila further, as she sucked on her clit in a way that made Raja’s eyes roll back in her head, as she felt the slick of sweat on her back. Raja slumped forward, and her hands managed to find the low board running across the head of her bed, which she’d forgotten about until this moment. Raja gripped it with one hand to make sure she wasn’t putting all her weight on Manila, and looked down again.

Manila’s beautiful hair was all shoved up behind her head to keep it safe from Raja’s knees. Raja tangled her hand in the beautiful black curls, the texture practically alive under her extra-sensitive fingertips. Manila somehow managed to nod that that was okay, and it electrified Raja even further and the entire world could have been burning and Raja wouldn’t have noticed, gasping as the pleasure wound higher and higher and her entire body tensed and unravelled.

After a several long moments of white-hot pleasure and astral-projection into outer space, Raja blinked and shuffled off of Manila, shivering from the aftershocks. Manila blinked, and turned her head to the side, cracking her neck. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, attempting to clean up the combination of Raja’s slick juices and her own saliva that was all over half of her face.

“Is your neck okay?” said Raja, her voice weak as she slid down next to Manila to cuddle. “Also, you might need a towel.”

“Yeah, my neck is fine,” replied Manila smugly. “Did I destroy you?”

“Yeah, you really did,” sighed Raja, pressing her face into Manila’s neck and breathing in, “I knew this was going to be awesome.”

Manila laughed quietly and kissed her cheek.

“I think we should have a nap,” whispered Raja, hazy relaxation taking over her limbs, “Then a snack, and some more weed, and then we can make out again later. Do you want to stay?”

“I have that research assignment I should be working on…” replied Manila, but she didn’t make any effort to get up, instead she reached over to the other side of the bed and grabbed the end of Raja’s blanket, pulling it around them both and snuggling in, “…but a nap sounds nice too.”

Raja couldn’t help but smile, slipping her arm around Manila’s waist and holding her close as she relaxed into a a gentle doze.

They’d finally stopped joking and dancing around each other, and it felt really, really good.

“I’m like so happy you rescued me from the grocery store that time a few weeks ago,” sighed Raja, reflecting on how it had all began, and passing her joint to Manila, who was tangled up in her lap on the living room couch.

After the excellent sex-filled afternoon a week ago, and several more conversations about feelings and boundaries, Raja and Manila had arrived at an arrangement of casual dating. They’d both just handed in major assignments and as such, were taking a break from the endless deluge of schoolwork to chill out. The relationship so far was great, relaxed and low-pressure enough for Raja to feel comfortable, but intentional and committed enough to suit Manila’s needs. Raja hadn’t felt this way about anybody else before, and was still working out what it meant, if anything. But more importantly, they were being honest with each other, and that was very sexy, and things felt really fucking good.

“Ha,” chuckled Manila, inhaling and blowing smoke back into Raja’s face, “Anytime, Raja. You’re a ridiculous human.”

“No, you are,” said Raja affectionately, kissing her ear and then moving a little lower to gently nuzzle her neck.

“They’re disgusting,” stated Delta from their left side, with a smile at the edge of her mouth as she played Super Smash Bros with Carmen, “I knew this would happen.”

“Yeah Raja, you’re so embarrassing,” laughed Carmen from their right side, leaning forward with the controller, and competing with Delta on the screen. Manila laughed along with her, and poked Raja’s side, teasing her.

“Aren’t you gonna fight her for my honour or something?” whined Raja to Manila in complaint.

“Nope,” chuckled Manila, kissing her cheek.

“You’re right, they’re terrible,” complained Carmen to Delta, but she accepted the joint that Manila passed to her anyway, with a smile.

Something interesting stirred in Raja’s stomach at Manila’s casual threat and she cuddled her a little closer, already excited to head up to her room later.

“We should make some ground rules,” stated Delta, jabbing at the controller, “No sex on the couch, for example.”

“Yeah, we already broke that one,” said Raja, with an evil grin.

“Oh my god, the couch is communal!”

“Wait, this couch?” demanded Carmen, mildly disgusted, glancing down at the cushions she was sitting on.

“Do we have another one?”

“No…”

“Okay, let go of me,” said Manila, gently removing Raja’s hand from around her waist and leaning forward, reaching for a controller. “I’m gonna join the melee.”

Delta and Carmen finished up their round as Manila got set up, and Raja reached past Carmen’s back to the side of the couch for some chips. Mmm, salt. Raja didn’t particularly feel like playing video games today, she just wanted to keep smoking and relax, but she didn’t mind if her friends did so around her. She shuffled so that she was sitting with her legs open with Manila between them, leaning forward. Manila’s body language was focused, and her thumbs moved rapidly over the joystick and the letter buttons, her grip was confident on the plastic controller.

Without needing to ask, Raja gently took Manila’s hair out of it’s ponytail, and carded her hands through it. Manila gossiped back and forth with Carmen and Delta, letting Raja gently weave little braids into her hair while they fought and trounced one another on the screen.

An easy, affectionate feeling came over Raja, one that was both familiar and new, glowing in her chest. Raja wondered vaguely if it was just the weed talking, again.

No, Raja realized as she heard Manila laugh and smiled to herself, this feeling had nothing to do with weed.

It was love.

#rpdr fanfiction #rajila #raja gemini #manila luzon #lesbian au #college au #smut #fluff #everybody knows you're high #dartmouth420 #tw weed

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Note

Prompt 15?

Thanks for the prompt, dude!

15. Drunkenly confessing feelings

That Floaty Feeling

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 3927

Summary:

How long has Michelle been the kind of girl who stays long after the party's over? About as long as Peter's been the kind of guy who passes out drunk on a pool float.

Michelle doesn’t go home because there’s nothing interesting to go home to. Griping parents, or maybe sleeping parents, and the inevitability of there being nothing good on TV, everything determinedly uncompelling enough to counter the secret pleasure she gets from sitting on the floor in the dark, too close to the screen with the volume on low. She’s fifteen. She’s ready for her simple pleasures to be a little less simple.

Anyway, it’s nice here now. She sits on the kitchen counter, both knees up and legs crossed at the ankles, to feel the air coming through the window screen. It’s not quite cool, but it’s a breeze and therefore better than the sticky stillness of the large house. Why does anyone like the weather in mid-August?

When Michelle slides reluctantly off the edge to stand on the tile floor, her movement rattles plastic bottles and tin cans, sloshes water from a forgotten ice tray―the tools of mixed drinks concocted by an amateur hand. Or dozens of them. Every teenage boy becomes a bartender at a house party, by his own estimation. That’s why she’s getting up. It may seem quiet enough from her perch in the kitchen, but drinks made too strong have their predictable effects and there are some people at this party that she cares about. So what if she’s never exactly mentioned it? Michelle figures the words will come in their own time, like the vomiting that will come to anyone who drank some of the combos she identifies based on which bottles are clustered together on the countertop and kitchen table.

She wanders.

Ned and Betty are on the couch in the living room, staring at each other shyly and sleepily like they forget that they were making out hard the last time Michelle passed through. Flash is sitting against a wall by his DJing stuff, rhythmically (and irritatingly) clunking the side of a plastic cup in and out. He attempts to draw her into an argument that she can barely decipher with his slurring and more changes in dynamic than he uses with music, so she ignores him. The person Michelle doesn’t find is Liz, who is presumably upstairs. She could be drunkenly reapplying and overexaggerating her makeup in the bathroom, going van Gogh-swirly on the eyes and Picasso-pointy on the lips; or weeping over an unrequited crush in her bedroom while her best friends hold her hands, petting her shoulders and the tops of her feet; or even banging some guy in the spare room just because they’re both young and alive and not immune to the rituals of summer’s-almost-over high school parties. Michelle has no problem with any of her decathlon captain’s theoretical choices. As long as the guy with Liz is not the same guy Michelle has not yet admitted she’s looking for. Even coming close to acknowledging her feelings makes her too warm, the back of her neck clammy, so she darts quietly through Liz’s parents’ house, re-entering and exiting the empty kitchen, pushing out the heavy back door.

Her sudden breathy snort is disbelief. She’s found him. Peter’s in the pool.

Specifically, he’s lying on an inflatable lounger, drifting on top of the water, which is great news because it looks like he’s asleep and if he wasn’t riding this lime-green floaty he probably would’ve drowned. He still could. The idiot might roll over and flop right into the deep end. The floaty could be defective and slowly deflate beneath him. Michelle doesn’t want to rescue Peter Parker, but she’s here and she could. Calling Ned to deal with his friend himself or just throwing empty cans at Peter until he wakes up don’t occur to her. Instead, Michelle glances around the backyard, dark but for the wavering shine from lights along the walls of the pool below the surface. Aha, pool shed. She approaches.

It’s really more of a pool gazebo, practically a pool guest house, as she swings the door open and tries to judge the size of the space in the dark. Luckily, she doesn’t need to venture far; the tool for the job at hand is cradled in a pair of hooks mounted to the wall just inside. Michelle emerges with the pole of a blue leaf skimmer gripped in her hand and returns to the pool’s edge. Where she hesitates.

Peter shifts in his sleep. She’s hardly seen him since school let out a month and a half ago. Is he taller? Unlikely. She doesn’t mean to be watching him, but when she realizes she is, she takes a swift look over her shoulder. Nobody staring out the back door, no curious faces in the windows. There’s honestly nothing to see. At most, someone might think she’s come out here to murder Peter with a leaf skimmer, which everyone would probably accept as so on-brand for the sarcastic asocial girl (who only really lights up when she overhears words like ‘unsolved,’ ‘conspiracy,’ and ‘cereal’―homophones are the source of many of her day-to-day disappointments) that her quietly simmering crush would remain unnoticed. When his chest rises and falls peacefully, Michelle starts to lean forward. PANIC. She plants the end of the skimmer in a gap between the large patio stones to prevent herself from toppling into the pool. This will not turn into a situation where she’s the one who needs to be saved. She sighs and accepts that she better reel this dork (crush? Who said crush?) in.

Balance regained and heart rate returning to normal, Michelle takes hold of the skimmer’s net and reaches across the water with the handle. It takes some adjusting, some extending and angling, but she gets the end of the pole in the floaty’s cupholder. She breathes deeply, always watching Peter’s face, as she tows him along the surface of the water, walking at the pool’s edge to the shallow end. A soft swish, the bright noises of bugs at night. Then, the inflatable chair is bumping the wide steps and Peter stirs. No, shhh, Michelle thinks, go back to sleep. But that’s ridiculous. He has to be awake for her to get him out of the pool. If he doesn’t get out of the pool, her rescue is incomplete. He has to get out, say an awkward thanks, and stroll into the house to find Ned. Or Liz. Oh, Michelle’s aware of the way Liz has been warming to Peter. She likes Liz a lot―at the same time, she wants to stand between the two of them like the Great Wall of China. That’s a normal thing to feel, right?

Peter seems groggy from sleep, but Michelle’s voice shoots up in alarm as he begins to stretch. She won’t have him ruin her rescue by dunking himself at the last minute. The grin he gives at her warning makes her realize it’s not sleep grogginess. This guy is drunk. Incredibly, a nap on a pool floaty has done nothing to speed his sobriety.

“Michelle,” he tells her, “get off the roof.”

“I’m not on the roof, you’re in the pool.”

He gives her a look like he doubts this very much and tilts to the side, trying to check out his surroundings. It sends a surge of worry through her, panic like when she almost fell in.

“Just… trust me. You’re in the pool.”

“Oh. You coming in? D’you wanna share this…”

Either he can’t recall the word ‘chair’ or he’s having trouble identifying the thing he’s lying on as a chair. She kinda can’t blame him. It’s a weird place to wake up.

“No, I’m trying to get you out before you drown like a moron.”

“Aquaman can’t drown,” Peter protests.

Michelle groans.

“I didn’t say Aquaman, I said a moron.”

“S’not my favourite either, but I wouldn’ call him a moron,” he mumbles disgruntledly.

“Would you stop being so…!” She takes a breath. He’s smiling up at her again. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

She tosses the skimmer away onto the lawn, steps onto the pool’s dry top step and crouches, extending her hands towards him.

“I’ll help you out,” Peter counters.

It’s weirdly suggestive, the way he says it. Like a drunken doofus who stranded himself on a pool floaty has any possible power of seduction. Like he’d want to use it on her if he did. Michelle’s pretty sure the Liz thing is mutual.

“Where’s my Ned? M’Ned. Ned. Ned?” he asks as they clasp hands (his are smooth and cool) and Peter eyes the wet stairs that he’s going to have to navigate since he seems to lack the necessary coordination to pull himself out onto the stones. If he picked one step higher, he wouldn’t dip the legs of his shorts in the water, but of course he does. Thankfully, he appears to find his footing (where are his shoes?), still sitting on the edge of the floaty as it squeals and tries to tip.

“Inside. Possibly defiling a couch with Betty.”

“S’not a bad idea,” Peter jokes with a sloppy grin as Michelle tugs him forward.

He slips on the wet step and she slips on too much momentum, but he’s somehow competent enough to steady her, their hands now squeezing each other. He’s close. His breath is warm and beery. What fifteen-year-old goes to a party and gets this drunk on beer? Gross. Michelle only holds his hands long enough to make sure he gets up the steps without falling back in. When she tries to let him go, Peter holds on.

“S’slippy,” he points out. He skates one foot out along the stones and leaves a slick trail of pool water.

“Fine. But only to the door.”

He beams to be allowed to hold her hand. She assumes he’s really afraid of slipping and cracking his head open. That’s… not unreasonable.

“Not with Betty,” he blurts right after making her pause. There’s a pine tree in the yard and Peter’s pulling a needle out of the soft arch of his foot.

“What?”

Michelle’s losing patience for this whole thing. It’s too much! He needs too much! She should’ve just gotten Ned. She can’t care for Peter like this, like a babysitter. Why didn’t she go home? She didn’t need this night of holding his hand and feeling his wet shorts touch her leg when he staggered too close.

“I don’ want Betty on the couch.”

“I hope you don’t want Betty at all. Because she’s into your best friend,” Michelle clarifies with a nervous swallow.

“Right.”

What the hell does he mean? Is she supposed to know?

“They looked pretty tame when I left,” she volunteers.

“Sometimes people do,” Peter replies with the cryptic wisdom reserved for the inebriated, and young children having a Wednesday Addams-type phase.

“Yeah, well.”

It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a couple blunt words meant to shut him up, neutralize any thoughtful implications of what he says. Michelle finally shakes off his hand and gives his back a gentle shove towards the door. She isn’t anticipating Peter bracing his arms against the frame, making her collide with his back because she expected him to keep moving. It’s really bad that she doesn’t back up immediately. Really bad. So bad. She can feel his heart beating through his back and her front, his science t-shirt and her striped one. What if she raised her hands to touch his back again, softer? What if she lowered her head until her forehead found the nape of his neck? Michelle’s lips part. In a few seconds, Peter opens the door and moves on like nothing happened.

Not totally though, because while she’s preoccupied with closing the door after them, he grabs her hand again. Michelle jolts, then notices his fingers are more than the welcoming cool she felt outside. They’re chilled. That stupid inflatable wasn’t a lot to have between his body and the water of the pool as the temperature finally started to drop after midnight.

“Michelle,” he says seriously, fingers wriggling as he holds her hand like he’s trying to figure out a way for his not to slide off. “I really―”

“You’re cold,” she says. “You’re too wobbly for me to have any confidence in letting you warm up by moving around. Maybe you should borrow a shower. They have one in the ground floor bathroom, isn’t that weird? I saw it before.”

Yes, Michelle’s rambling. Shower. Peter.

“You’re really great. I think you’re so… the best. Smart pretty.”

“Oh,” she replies. He probably means ‘pretty smart.’

Suddenly, his sort of dreamy expression changes.

“Might throw up before I shower.”

“Good call,” Michelle says, racing ahead of Peter’s stumbling steps to fling open the bathroom door. She closes it much more carefully to offer privacy while he pukes.

With a heavy exhalation, she sinks to the floor, back sliding down the wood door, bevelled detailing abusing her spine. She hears a flush, a splash of water, and maybe the rustle of clothing. Thinking about Peter dropping his clothes to the tiles makes her antsy and wary of being caught here. Not that she’s actually doing anything more than sitting alone on the ground a couple hours past the party’s peak. Idly, Michelle hopes he did get totally naked. Just because, if he entered the shower with some item of clothing still on, what was the point of so carefully extracting him from the pool? She’s not worried, she just doesn’t want him to cancel out her considerable efforts. Her moderate efforts. It’s basically been no trouble. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered. She thinks about Liz upstairs. Yep, why help Peter? There’s nothing in it for Michelle.

The water shuts off after a couple minutes. Peter makes a sound like he’s about to fall and Michelle bolts to her feet, hand hovering over the doorknob, before she hears him catch himself and sigh in relief. She lowers herself to the floor again, embarrassed by her reaction. He doesn’t need her here. He’ll probably be surprised if she’s hanging around when he comes out.

“Michelle?” Peter asks through the door. “You there?”

Her eyes widen and her body tenses. Should she jump up and run away? Hightail it to the living room and pretend she’s been there with Ned and Betty while he showered? If they’ve started making out again, they won’t even notice that she hasn’t been there the whole time. Peter taps feebly at the door. Or maybe he’s resting his head against it. She stays put.

“Yeah. What?”

“Thanks for helping me.”

He sounds about as pathetic as a Victorian orphan.

“I had nothing better to do,” Michelle assures him, tracing the grout between tiles with her fingertip.

“You coulda jus’ watched me. I know you do that. Watch me. Sometimes. I think you do.”

Shit. She should’ve run. Her mouth opens and a squeaky groan comes out as she tries to compose a response.

“I didn’t know you were such a narcissist. Trust me, I have more important things to do with my time,” she says, still outlining tiles like they’re tiny tracks and her fingers are trains she could board to escape this conversation. “You must’ve imagined it.”

He opens the door so quietly―Liz’s parents must take care of their hinges―that Michelle flops backwards as Peter goes to step out and tumbles against his shins.

“I really like you,” he says as she cranes to stare up at him. His wet hair drips on her cheek.

Michelle just shakes her head and starts to scramble to her feet. Peter attempts to help her up by grabbing beneath her arms, nearly groping her boob in the process, though it’s clearly not intentional because when she turns, standing, she can tell he’s still not his soberest self.

“Wanna forget I said that,” Peter says.

She scrutinizes his flushed face and the slightly dazed look in his eyes. Was that a question? Is he requesting that she forget, for the sake of his own self-consciousness? Or is it a statement? He regrets saying it so much that he’s expressing, to her face, that he wishes he hadn’t. Her gaze drops to his t-shirt. The neck’s getting wet as water continues to drain down from his hair. Has this boy ever heard of a towel? Michelle should not have to look at him with his pink cheeks and his normally gelled hair loosened into hanging, wet curls along his forehead.

“You helped me,” he says, and wraps her in a hug.

Which she quickly wriggles out of. This is not the relationship, not the friendship, they have. He’s drunk and he likes Liz―mature, responsible, gorgeous Liz―not her.

“You smell like beer,” Michelle informs him, so he won’t be offended by the way she rejected physical contact. Or maybe so he will be offended. She doesn’t trust this. He’d probably be all cozy and grateful with any idiot who happened to haul him out of that pool. At least he doesn’t smell like barf.

“I didn’ even like it.”

His expression is scrunched and adorable in, like, a toddler kind of way. Whatever, he’s dumb and she doesn’t have a crush on him.

“You just, what, drank every bottle you found to make sure?”

Peter sighs dramatically and tilts sideways, clearly intending to lean against the bathroom’s doorframe and clearly going to miss it because his spatial awareness is not the greatest right now. Michelle grabs his arms.

“Coffee,” she blurts. “Do you like coffee?”

“No,” Peter whines. “I jus’ like you.”

“You keep saying that,” Michelle mutters to herself, glancing away like Ned will appear and reclaim his best friend if she looks around for him enough times. She takes Peter’s hand again (he smiles like he’s happy to give it) and leads him to the kitchen.

“What are we doing?”

“Um,” she says, pulling open cupboards, “making you coffee.”

“Ok.”

“Ok? A minute ago you said you don’t like it. I was kinda expecting a tantrum.”

“S’gross,” he states as he rests against the counter next to her. “But I like being with you. I like you.”

Michelle laughs weakly.

“Sure you do,” she says.

“Yeah and this is gonna take forever.”

“Why would it take forever?” she asks, digging into a drawer.

“Liz’s parents don’ drink coffee.”

She straightens up and stares at Peter, who slides closer, grinning innocently.

“How do you know that?”

He frowns in hazy thought.

“She was drinking it one time and said her parents wouldnapprove. Wouldnapprove,” he repeats, struggling to separate his words. He gives up. “They wouldn’ like it.”

“Right. So. There’s no coffee in this house?”

“Don’ think so.”

“If you wanted to spend time with me, you wouldn’t have told me that,” Michelle points out. “Now I don’t have to search this kitchen.”

“Why were you?”

“For coffee, dumbass.”

“Why?”

“To… clear your head. Make you stop acting weird.” She blushes and turns away from him. What’s her next move? Drag him to Ned and finally leave this house and its lingering party guests?

“Because I was in the pool,” Peter says gravely.

Michelle turns back.

“No, not because you were in the pool. Because of… because you said… Other reasons.”

Annoyingly, he just smiles at her.

“I’m nice,” he tells her.

She snorts.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m nice. Lemme be nice to you.”

“Well, it was already super nice listening to you vomit, so I think I’m good. I’ll go find Ned and he can take it from here.”

She’s two steps away when Peter speaks.

“I thought I liked Liz.” Michelle flinches. “She’s really great, but I feel different about you.”

She wants to flip him off or tell him to shut up―simple methods she’s used to push him away at school, but between the vulnerability in his voice and the fact that he’s still tipsy, she’s scared that being too harsh could make him burst into tears.

“You’re just… you think I saved you. You’ve got some kind of drunk hero-worship thing going on,” she diagnoses, not turning around.

“I thought I would be able to talk to you,” he says quietly. “I saw you over and over all night and I was never really, never ready,” he corrects, “to talk to you, so I kept getting another beer.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says gently.

“Don’ remember why I went in the pool.”

“You’re just dramatic like that.”

“Maybe,” Peter sighs. “Am I still drunk?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“I’ve been drunk forever.”

“That’s why I was getting you coffee,” Michelle reminds him, turning back.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Coffee. I should… tell Ned.”

This plan is vague and it’s possible that he’ll abandon it, but she can’t abandon him because Peter pushes off the counter and grabs her hand as he barrels out of the kitchen. The plan holds long enough for them to find Ned (and Betty) asleep on the living room couch. Michelle assess them and decides they look minorly dishevelled―enough that they probably made out again, but not enough that anything more than that went down. Betty’s hairband is askew where she laid her head on Ned’s chest.

“He’s asleep,” Peter says, too loud. Michelle shushes him and pulls him away. “Now what?” he asks in a noisy whisper.

“Well, you should probably stay with―”

“You. I’ll be better after coffee,” he promises. “Way better.”

“Better at what? At remembering you don’t actually like me?”

“I like you.”

“You’re confused.”

“Great comeback,” she says flatly.

“Let’s see. After coffee. I’ll still like you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Parker,” Michelle says because she’s scared of his insistence. He’s making it harder and harder to brush off as some stupid thing he said to her when he was drunk with every reiteration.

“If we don’ get coffee, you’ll never know if you were right. Don’ you wanna know if you were right?” he baits.

She glares at him. He beams.

“Look,” Peter continues, yanking something from his pocket, “I didn’ drop my wallet in the pool!”

“Congratulations.”

“I can pay for coffee!”

“You’re not paying,” she says with a firmness that startles them both. “Because, because you’re under the influence and shouldn’t be making financial decisions.”

“A coffee decision isn’ a financial decision,” he argues.

“Of course it is. So, I’ll pay.”

“We’re going? Yes!”

“Shhh!”

Michelle rolls her eyes and frees her hand from Peter’s to let him follow her to the front door on his own two feet. There are his shoes, at last, kicked off to the side. She waits while he stomps his feet into them, then blinks in the darkness as they step out into the early morning. It has to be coming up on four o’clock.

“There’s probably a twenty-four-hour place nearby,” she says, nervous as they set out.

“’K.”

“You’re too trusting. What if I was kidnapping you?”

“I could get away,” Peter brags. “You don’ even have that thing.”

“What thing?”

He mimes for her.

“The skimmer,” she interprets. “Right. Every would-be kidnapper’s weapon of choice.”

Peter’s holding her hand again by the time they reach the end of the street. Michelle doesn’t know how it happened.

“Why’d you help me?” he asks while she looks left and right, considering the likeliest direction for the cup of coffee that’ll assist Peter in his return to sobriety so they can clear this whole thing up. Back to the reality of her one-sided crush. “I forget.”

She makes her decision.

“Because,” she tells him. “There was nothing good on TV.”

more clichéd tropes and prompts

#my writing #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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chibimyumi · 4 years

Note

Hi Chibi! I’m kind of obsessed with your blog. I’ve loved Kuro for a long time so it’s nice to see someone make very thoughtful posts about it. I was reading some of your posts about the kuro anime and was wondering. What is your opinion of the season 2 OVA The story of Will the reaper? I love the reapers so getting to know about their world is great, but will kicking grell’s ass was not great 😖.

【Response to: “are there any S1 or S2 OVAs you enjoyed?”】

Dear Dagonl,

Thank you very much for your interest! I’m happy you like my content, and it’s always nice to hear that somebody is interested in long-winded posts deep-analyses! ^^

Short answer:

As for my opinion on ‘The story of Will the Reaper’: as I said in the original post, in my opinion “[a]ll OVAs for the second season were (almost) as awful as the season itself, save for ‘The Making of [Kuroshitsuji]’.” Though, ‘the story of Will the reaper’ is actually the one that made me add the ‘almost’ in the previous sentence, meaning that it’s marginally better than the rest.

Click for Full Answer: The good things and the... awful things.

1. The good things

The reason I found this OVA marginally better is because I do respect the ambition and (attempt at) creativity the makers have shown. At the time of release the manga had not revealed anything yet about reaper origins. So I guess they could be forgiven for their artistic liberties (unlike the spoiler-revelation of Undertaker’s nature that ruined his big revelation in the manga.)

1.1. Fair world-building

The world-building works well with the idea of Yana’s satire on the Japanese Salaryman through William. As William is something of a self-proclaimed ‘model’ and so unforgivingly rigid, it gives us reason to believe the Reaper Dispatch Society is built on this type of ideal; aka the Japanese office environment. We have also seen that the technology of the Death Scythes is a century more advanced than Kuroshitsuji’s contemporaries, so the 1980s setting was well done in my opinion.

1.2. Fair reflection on reaper/Salaryman doctrine

The biggest critique on Salaryman culture is the robotic attitude employers demand. The Japanese Salaryman™ is expected to be no more than silent executors of the will from above. As explained by William, reapers don’t actually do all that much; all they do is meaningless double-checking JUST IN CASE something might be off.

As a satire this OVA is not ‘complete’ because you do need the information from the manga that came out many years later to understand why the reaper world is a satire in the first place for the actual punch. But in the very least the OVA pays adequate lip-service and does not disrespect the satirical origins of Yana’s design.

One thing this OVA does arguably better than even Yana is showing that most reapers are robotic work zombies like Will, rather than that the Dispatch Office is filled with eccentric youngsters as the named reapers of the series might suggest. (Though there is a downside that I will discuss in section 2.2.)

2. The awful things

So, to me this OVA has two good things, but they are insignificant in the face of the awful things that’s the rest of this OVA.

2.1. Raging homo and transphobia, etc.

This OVA handles Grell extremely poorly. First of all, this OVA makes it explicit that Grell is a homosexual man, blatantly defying both canon and Yana’s explicit statement of her female gender. Why? Because the most obnoxious shippers want their Yaoi, and this sells. This one literally needed to sell because it’s an OVA.

As explained in more detail in this post, Grell was called a man and she eagerly responded “oh, yes”, and later she herself confirms this statement by making it explicit that she dreams of herself in a m/m relationship. (Yes, these subs are accurately translated. Click the link for a Japanese to English breakdown).

Some fans have explained this as Grell’s words before she realised her own identity, and I understand why. We all want something to not be this gross and try to make sense of the nonsensical, and some actual identity discovering journey would have been nice. For Grell as a character however, it only serves to give Man!Grellers more ammo (even though they have the destructive power of cotton wads).

As I said in the post linked above, “[if this statement] used to be [Grell’s] thoughts that are no longer relevant in present time, the script should have addressed that in present-timeline of the story. As it is now, it is clear as day that the writer Nemoto Toshizou did not take that into inconsideration.”

Secondly, this OVA is desperately trying to cater to Grelliam shippers. Fans have always come up with different reasons to ship this, but this OVA had to choose the most toxic one to capitalise on. Why make Grell so shitty to Will for no reason? Being degrading to him is one thing, but Grell was outright deadly violent to William for trying to do his job. And then Grell only stopped being so hostile because she got beaten back and therefore fell in love?

Yes, people justify this by saying that it’s charming to Grell because she’s a masochist, “whatever”. This however, paints a very askew image of real people who enjoy masochism as a kink. Any responsible adult in the SM community would tell you how painfully shallow Grell’s masochism is portrayed as, and how this portrayal takes away all accountability from someone who harms a kink-masochist if something went wrong.

This OVA would ironically have been more effective as an anti-Grelliam story, except that it sells itself as the opposite. With just the manga, people could just say: “oh, Grell doesn’t respect William’s personal boundaries, and William is very aggressive to Grell, but they can sort that out...eventually.” Add this OVA however, suddenly William is an indisputable abuse victim, and Grell is just an “in your face gay” (as the gay stereotype dictates...)

2.2. Contradicting Canon

I am actually not all that harsh about this OVA contradicting canon history because at the time of release nothing about the reapers had been revealed yet. Like I said above, I even respect the creativity to some extent. The only real problem is because this fandom tends to conflate canon with anime information by using cross-media information to understand Kuroshitsuji.

As discussed in section 1.2., the glimpses of the Reaper office are interesting, but the downside to this is that it suggests reapers are a race one is born into because all newbies are approximately the same age. Without the manga, this information in a vacuum is fine. Later however, Yana reveals that all reapers are suicides and are being punished for this sin. If a fan accepts both pieces of information and tries to piece them together, then suddenly this bit of creativity becomes a totalitarian nightmare.

People of all ages commit suicide. If a fan were to try shoehorn the OVA info into canon material (for lack of more stories), then we get: 1. reapers are suicides who get punished, and 2. all reaper newbies are approximately the same age and able bodied. The only conclusion we can draw then is that only able-bodied suicides who fit the ‘newbie age’ are punished. What happens to people who fall outside this norm? Is becoming a reaper and ‘paying off’ your sin the only way to “serve your term”? If so, then do suicides who fall outside this norm never get a chance to redeem themselves?😱 Or...... do only able-bodied youngsters get punished for committing suicide because they still had “societal value” but wasted it? Either way would be f*cked up!

But again, none of this is a real problem as long as a fan can distinguish canon from non-canon information ^^ So, moving on

2.3. Are reapers God Almighty?

Unlike the second, the third issue I have with the OVA is actually something I am quite harsh on. In this OVA we see that even trainees like William and Grell have apparent power to judge over somebody’s life and death based on their intellectual value. However, this begs for an urgent question!

Under section 3 of this post I discussed whether the law of “a human dies because a reaper says so” according to Grell would be feasible. It’s a relatively long discussion, so please click the link if you’re interested in the details. If you just want it to be quick then just ask the following question: “why give trainees/reapers with human subjectivity an almighty God’s** power to decide over life and death of others?” If we then add the manga’s canon information that reapers are being punished for having committed suicide, then why give people whose sin was ‘deciding over life and death wrongly FOR THEMSELVES’ the power to do so for OTHERS????

Still, even if we disregard the manga and view this OVA in a vacuum, it is still VERY alarming that trainees are given this power. Perhaps if a trainee misjudges there will be due consequences from above, but why give a trainee this power in the first place? Are human lives just test objects to this “reaper race”?

This third issue is so awful to me because it shows how little the OVA creators thought through matters and just wanted a quick money grab by selling the most toxic version of the Grelliam ship.

**TLN: A ‘shinigami’ is Japanese for ‘Death (shini) God (gami/kami)’, but please note that in Japanese definitions, a ‘kami’ is not ‘god’ in the same way it is in the Abrahamic sense. A ‘kami’ is more similar to a ‘spirit’, and is therefore not a supreme being. Entirely accurately, a ‘shinigami’ would be more similar to ‘death angel’ or ‘death spirit’.

Why would Sascha have committed suicide? Rutger, Will and the JP Salaryman

How does a scythe kill a reaper? A discussion of MBD musical’s horrible writing of universe laws, and canon reaper laws

Can reapers teleport?

A reaper’s dormitory

#Shinigami #reapers #reaper #Grell Sutcliff #William T. Spears #William #Shinigami Will's story #The story of Will the Reaper #OVA #Kuroshitsuji 2 #Season 2 #Black Butler OVA

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ozymandiascezn · 4 years

Text

ocean eyes

chapter one | chapter two

fandom peaky blinders

paring thomas shelby x oc

rating teen

warnings cursing, angst, potential ooc thomas

"You didn't have to do that, Tommy. I could've found a place of my own."

Millie walked alongside Thomas, feet shuffling against the ground as she struggled to meet his gaze. How many times had he stood there for her, protected her? She could handle herself now, after all, she was the one who had tricked the Lee family even if it didn't end as well as she had wanted it to. She could've found herself a place to stay, one that wouldn't impede on him.

"I know." He responded, lighting a cigarette.

"I can handle myself, you know! I'm practically a Shelby with how often I'm helping out. I'm not a baby anymore, you don't have to worry about that promise. Just give me a gun and I can protect myself." She looked at him, studying his expression to see if he would even entertain the idea of giving her a gun, or letting her handle things on her own. "I'm a burden enough with that promise you insist on keeping, let me protect myself so you won't have to."

He sighed, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Do you not want to stay with me, then?"

"That's not -! Tommy!" She huffed lightly, turning her gaze elsewhere. "It's nice to know you haven't changed much. You've always been there for me, and I know you don't particularly like talking about business, but I need to know... what do you plan on doing about the Lee family? I know you, better than you think, and I know you are going to do something about it. You won't let me take part in it, I'm not foolish enough to hope you will, but I'd like to know what you had in mind."

"They can't know we suspect them, last thing we need is for a bigger mess." He exhaled the smoke, offering the rest of the cigarette to Millie. "Don't. Don't go off getting revenge, I will handle that. You've been through enough tonight."

"I ought to be sobbing, inconsolable even. I've lost everything I love, but I don't even have it in me to cry. Am I broken, Tommy? Is there something wrong with me?" She looked up at him, stopping on the sidewalk.

Thomas returned her gaze, expression softening as he dropped the cigarette on the ground. "We're all broken, Mil. Now, come on, you've had a rough night."

That didn't necessarily make her feel any better, but she knew Thomas had a point. After the war, everyone was broken. Danny had gotten the worst of it, but you could tell that the ones who came back, even if they seemed okay, were far more broken than anyone could imagine. Thomas was no different. He had his own problems that he would never talk about, but he never had to. Millie had known him since she was seven and he was ten. She knew the things he never talked about, only because his eyes told her what she needed to know.

They walked in silence until the had approached his home, of course it was something discrete and not easily noticeable. It was like any other place on the inside, scarce of most decorations and held enough to comfortably fit two people, although, something told Millie it would just be her living in the home for the most part. Thomas had more important things to do that weren't staying at home with her - that was fine, of course, she'd rather not know of the things he would get into. She'd worry too much that it'd make her sick.

"Room's upstairs, second door on the right." Thomas gestured upstairs before turning to, most likely, return to the Shelby House to carry on with the bets. "Don't break anything."

"There's hardly anything here to break, Tommy. There's hardly anything here!" She sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest, ignoring the fact that whining probably wasn't the best thing to do considering his act of kindness. "Can I at least decorate a little?"

He paused, hand floating above the doorknob. "There's a sketchbook if you want to draw."

Millie was thankful he remembered she adored drawing, but that did little to help to answer her question. She had watched him quickly leave, preventing her from asking any further questions. It was always like Thomas to leave so quickly like that, but it would've been nice to have gotten a less cryptic response.

Now alone, she decided to just head upstairs, shoulders heavy from the weight of it all. He was right though, the moment she had entered the room, she had noticed a sketchbook on the bed. Did he know she would have to stay here, or was that just an unusual coincidence that was a little creepy? She couldn't decide, but she couldn't care more than the small amount she already did so she simply fell onto the bed, dozing off shortly after.

Morning came with ease, and the deafening silence of being alone, but she was safe. She was safe and even if she had nothing, she still had her life which was a lot more important than most would give credit for. Her head, however, was in a disagreement with the rest of her and throbbed like a steady beat of a drum. Even her body felt heavy and icky in the gross, sick way.

She slipped from the bed, moving to look at the sketchbook Thomas had left for her. It was empty, but it wouldn't remain so for long - if she could get her mind to focus enough on the paper. She already had an idea of what to draw, but her mind argued - no - begged for darkness and soft comforts. Agonizing pain throbbed in her mind the longer she tried to think about art, so she didn't try it. She moved it aside left it as was, maybe she'd get to it later if she was feeling better. Despite the pain, there was not much else she could do other than return to The Garrison or to the Shelby household. Either one of those seemed to be a gamble considering important things occurred at each. She'd rather not get caught up in whatever Thomas consumed himself with this time, but she had a guess it had something to do with Billy Kimber when it came down to it.

She stayed. Even if the boredom ate at her very being, she refused to move too far from the bed. At one point she had woken up without even realizing she had fallen asleep, yet even then there was no one to keep her company. Thomas probably wouldn't be home until late, if at all, and the others would not be there if it meant risking her safety. The Shelby's had eyes everywhere, but so did the Lee clan and Billy Kimber. It wasn't too far to assume they would have jumped at the opportunity to attack if they knew she was here, and unguarded. She was still, in every sense of the word, alone.

It was another few hours of aimlessly wandering about the home, and sketching, until she felt better to at least go out and stop by Shelby home. No one stopped in the streets to look at her like they had the night before, but she chalked that up to not being half naked. She would have to get more clothes, though.

Thomas spent most of his time here, as did the others, but they each had little areas of their own, homes away from home. It was still a bit odd entering the Shelby home, knowing that this was the true place of the brains and the brawn. Little Finn was out on the couch in front of the curtain protected doors that led to the betting shop, but he didn't seem all that concerned to see her.

"Tommy isn't here if that's who you came to see." He stood, moving to stand with Millie as she wandered into the ever bustling betting shop. "But Aunt Polly and my brothers are! They're working on bets for Monaghan Boy!"

"I can tell. Shouldn't you be helping, Finn?" She raised an eyebrow, staring down at him with a small smile. "Mind telling me where Polly is? I've got something I want to ask her."

"She's talking with Arthur in his office!" With that, he stumbled off to help sort and collect the money for the bets.

Polly and Arthur were busy discussing separate matters, but quieted when Millie had entered. It wasn't the words that made Millie uncomfortable, but it was the mere fact that they looked at her with such pity, such sadness, as if they understood exactly what it meant to lose everything . Arthur may have gone to war, but he still had his family. He had Thomas, Finn, John... He had so much more and she had nothing. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, and if anyone wanted to suggest it, she had Thomas too.

"Ah, Mildred. How are things settling with Tommy? I hope it hasn't been too troublesome for you." Polly led Millie from Arthur's office, guiding her towards the parlor of the home, away from the betting room. "We would've offered for you to stay here, but I fear it was for the best that you stay somewhere safer, and Tommy - you know how he is - insisted."

"Please, Millie is fine, but Tommy... He was quick to leave, gone before I had woken up." She shrugged lightly, looking down as if to hide the hurt feelings it brought. "Can't say I'm surprised, he was never one to stick around for long, even before the war. I'm sure he's got other things to occupy his time that don't consist in babysitting me. That's actually what I came here to talk about."

"Oh? Well, I suppose any reasonable person would be wanting to get to doing things, but are you sure? You look a bit pale. Tommy would never forgive himself if you got hurt while he was off and about." She waved her hand dismissively, smiling. "But you know he'd never allow you to put yourself in danger, not after last night."

"There has to be something I can do, Polly. You and Tommy have done so much for me, more than I need, more than I deserve. I have to repay your kindness, Polly. Somehow." Millie shook her head, hands middling nervously with the cloth of her skirt. "I could've gone back home to America, but you... you and Tommy helped me. I can't just sit here and feel utterly useless while Tommy keeps a promise he never should have made in the first place."

Poly was silent for a while before, with eyes as kind as a mother's, she sighed. "Why do you say he shouldn't have made that promise? You know he adores you, more than he lets on, especially after the war.... Point is, he'd always look out for you. To him, you're a Shelby, and to us, you are family. You are always welcome here, Millie, remember that."

"He only adores me because I know him better than anyone else, even him. I listen to him, I give him what many cannot, but he doesn't come around anymore. Before, he spent quite a bit of time with me at the tracks, at least just for tea and small talk. I feel as if he is only here out of obligation for that promise. It feels as if he doesn't really care for me much anymore, just that ridiculous promise." She looked down, inhaling sharply. "It's not just the war, but his eyes are so sad when they look at me. I can't help but think I am keeping him from something more."

Polly smiled sadly but turned when the door opened, she kept herself quiet to greet who had entered. "Oh, Tommy! We were just talking about you. I believe our little Millie has something she'd like to say to you."

"What? No I don't. I have nothing to say to anyone, I was just leaving to go, uh, somewhere else? Preferably for more clothes, that don't smell like sadness." She was about to turn tail and leave when Polly closed the door behind her, barring her from going elsewhere.

Thomas was quiet as he watched Polly leave, turning to face Millie with a small sigh. "You're pale as fucking hell, you should be resting right now. I'll send Ada out to get you some more things to wear. How are you feeling?"

"Like a baby, Tommy. I can do things on my own, I can just get some clothes myself. I know what I like." She retorted, crossing her arms. "Did you come back home last night, or did you stay out doing whatever it is you do? You've been so distant with me lately, I never know what you're thinking anymore. It's like you shut me out, and for what? Do I need to prove to you that I don't need your protection? What happened, Thomas?"

"You know what happened." He responded, shaking his head lightly as he pulled out a cigarette to smoke before her hand stopped him. "What?"

"The war didn't stop you from visiting. You always visited. Always." She looked up at him, a small frown on her face. "Suppose now I gotta ask if there's someone else you're going to these days, someone else who's replaced me as your confidante and friend. But I know you and you won't say a damn thing, even if it's the best thing."

"It doesn't fucking concern you." He snapped, pulling his hand away from hers as he lit the cigarette. "Go home, Mil. Ada will bring more clothes for you."

She paused, sucking in a breath at his response. Things really had changed, hadn't they? She didn't say anything more as she turned and left, returning to the home Thomas had given her, but it might as well have just been her own home.

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