#and under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you be wearing flip flops

[spineless-lobster]

I love that ben willbond is like an ancient weather goblin on twitter, he tweets every once in a blue moon to bestow his goblin knowledge upon us all through vague and menacing weather reports

[mysteroads]

Chapter 5: A Bit of Mayhem

I really enjoyed this chapter, so I'm posting it here for people to enjoy! Family fun and mayhem for everyone! (You can click the link for a more reader-friendly format than dear ol' Tumblr.)

Summary: Lydia's plan goes into action.

Friday afternoon was HOT. 

Summer had dropkicked Spring all the way into next year, and now was hovering over Winter Pines, rubbing its hands together and laughing maniacally. Heat haze shimmered constantly, the black top had turned into a tar pit, what bits of shade that could be found were pale shadows of their former selves, and the telephone poles along main street had begun to wilt. It was so hot that even the jingle of the ice cream truck sounded like a cry for mercy.

“Kid,” Beetlejuice said, drooping as he followed Lydia home. “You have got to let me teleport you. I’m a corpse. I’m going to start rotting in this heat.”

Lydia held her nose. “You sure you haven’t already?”

Rolling his eyes, he stretched his arm out so he could flick her forehead. “Oh ha-ha. Just for that, I’m going to take over the garbage truck and unload it right into your bedroom window. Then you’ll know the truth about stench."

“You could take off your coat, maybe loosen your tie?” He clutched at his coat and she sighed. “Or not. You do realize I have no intention of stealing your stinky old coat, right? I don’t think the even most desperate homeless person out there would even consider it as an option. Heck, I wouldn’t let an undead cat have undead kittens on it!”

He frowned at her. “Okay. Hurtful.”

"Truthful. Your whole outfit could use a wash even more than you.”

Grumbling, he folded his arms and went into a sulk. Lydia matched his silence until they got to the house. Her gaze moved to the window. Yes, there it was. A bright blue crystal set on the sill. That was the signal that all was prepared. 

“I’m going to go change into something cooler,” she said, quickly dumping her bag and shoes and heading for the stairs. “Why don’t you raid the freezer?”

He brightened. “Popsicles?”

“Why not? It’s the day for it.” 

Humming happily, Beetlejuice drifted into the kitchen and started poking around in the freezer. Finding his prize, he pulled the wrapper off, ate that, then stuck the popsicle in his mouth. Even though he was alone for the moment, (where were Delia and the Maitlands anyway?) he amused himself by wrapping his long tongue around the popsicle in a suggestive manner, and then giggling as he imagined everyone’s reaction. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him and he forced himself not to tense. God/Satan he needed to get over this ‘not liking people behind me’ thing. Sure, he’d never felt comfortable with anyone behind him, but after the whole ‘bad art’ incident, it gave him knots in his stomach like he was going to puke— He should get over it. 

Taking a breath, he put a grin on his face and gave the popsicle an extra innuendo-inducing lick as he turned. “Adam… hey s— my man. How ya been?” 

Adam gave him what he could only describe as a sheepish smile. “Sorry about this. Have fun, okay?”

“Wha—?” Before he could finish his question, the backdoor flew open behind him and Adam gave him a ghost-powered shove. 

Beetlejuice was unprepared, which was the only reason he went flying. And being unprepared was the only reason he hit the grass on his back, plowing up a furrow of dirt, instead of landing on his feet or doing a backflip, as he definitely would’ve done under any other circumstance. That was his story, and he would stick to it.

Groaning, Beetlejuice started to sit up when a shadow fell over him. It was Charles, wearing a dingy t-shirt, those dad sandals that were one step short of flip-flops, and… green swim shorts? The fuck? He was also wearing a huge grin. That was unusual, but it wasn’t what set alarm bells ringing through Beetlejuice’s head. What got the alarm bells going was the absolutely enormous water gun pointed right at his chest.

Still smiling, Charles pulled the slide on the gun and said, “You have to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?”

Beetlejuice had barely enough time to register that Charles was not only quoting Dirty Harry, but quoting it correctly, before he got blasted.

Swearing, he tried to get away, completely forgetting that he was a demon with powers stupid humans could only dream of. 

“BJ! Over here!” 

Delia’s voice got his attention and he looked to see her around the corner of the house. She was laughing! But she was also waving to him, urging him over, and all he wanted was to get away from the ungodly amount of water being sprayed on him, so he teleported. 

“Cheater!” Charles shouted as he reappeared next to Delia.

Still laughing, Delia used a towel to wipe his face, then pushed something into his hands. “I’m nicer than Charles. I’ll give you a ten second head start.”

“What?!” He looked down to find himself holding a super soaker (not as big as Charles’s, though). Another look showed that Delia was in a tie-dye bikini and a crochet cover-up, and was duel-wielding two water pistols. Normally, he would’ve made a comment, but he was kept from doing so by another stream of water. This one wasn’t aimed at him though, and Delia shrieked, dancing in place as Charles roared with laughter. She whirled on her fiancée, guns held sideways, gangster style.

“Oh, I’ll get you for that, Charles!”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Beetlejuice dashed off, still not knowing what in hellgates was going on. His confusion was compounded as he saw Lydia jumping out her window.  

He scrambled to catch her, only to realize that Barbara had beat him to it and was lowering the girl down. Both women saw him and started laughing. 

“I see the fight’s begun already!” Lydia shouted, and raised her own gun—which looked bigger than she was— and pointed it right at him as she floated. “Prepare for annihilation.”

“Not you too!” he wailed, back peddling and just barely avoiding the shot she took at him. The grass was already slippery, and the tread on his boots was so worn it was like running across a marble floor in socks. “What the fuck is going on?!”

“It’s hot, you doofus! We’re cooling off! Fight back!”

“What?!”

“Delia gave you your gun. Point and shoot, or surrender now.” Lydia landed, gave Barbara a thumbs up, then turned to Beetlejuice. Her smile frightened him and he found himself clutching his gun to himself like a shield and backing up. She must’ve seen his confused fear, because, more gently, she said, “This is supposed to be fun, BJ. Just a little bit of mayhem to beat the heat. A water fight.” She motioned to herself and the swimsuit she wore. “You have to have seen water fights before, right?”

Water fights?

He looked down at the gun, then back at her, and the smile she wore was suddenly less ominous. He knew what her fake smile looked like, he reminded himself. Lydia actually was a pretty terrible liar. She was smiling like she had when they were haunting the house, or singing during their revenge concert. Like she was… having fun. Not like she had when she’d come back from the Netherworld with a plan for murder.

Okay, so this was just playing? He heard Delia and Charles laughing behind him, and relaxed some more. They laughed like that while playing games, or cooking, or even cleaning the house sometimes.

This was playing.

He looked back down at his water gun again, smiled, and brought it to bear— and immediately got hit in the face. Sputtering, he swiped the water from his eyes and laughed, really laughed. “Oh you little nerk! It is on!”

“Bring it, bug boy!”

Beetlejuice had just managed to score a hit when both he and Lydia were ambushed by Charles and Delia, who had teamed up. The next few minutes were filled with chaos, which was right up his alley once he got used to the idea that he wasn’t the only cause. Didn’t mean he couldn’t be a major contributor though. 

Beetlejuice pulled off a fantastic slide through Charles’s legs, then shot him right in the butt. Charles yelped and did a most undignified dance, and Delia laughed so hard she fell down, which made her easy prey for Lydia. 

“You know what would make this even more awesome?” Beetlejuice asked, getting to his feet and holding his gun up like an action star. The three Deetz’s eyes widened in horror as Beetlejuice answered his own question: “MORE ME!”

The clones poofed into being, all of them holding some form of water gun. One next to Lydia tried to squirt her, only to find that his gun was empty. It glared at Beetlejuice and stamped its foot, gesturing toward the gun then at Lydia. Obviously, it felt cheated. She started to giggle, but kindly refrained from shooting the unarmed.

“I can’t make food or drink, remember? Go fill those up.” Beetlejuice pointed to the kiddie pool they’d been using for fast refills (and a dunking pond). There was a mass scramble in that direction. Delia tried to cut them off, only to get squirted by Beetlejuice. “Oh no you don’t! You people wanted some mayhem, so I’m going to make sure you get mayhem!”

“I’m on Beetlejuice’s side now!” Lydia shouted, defecting to the side with overwhelming numbers like the smart girl she was.

“Traitor,” Charles accused. “I buy you pizza and this is how you repay me?”

She brought her gun up. “Sorry Dad, but there is no loyalty in— Wait, you bought pizza?”

“Of course. We’re going to be hungry after this. Delivery should arrive in half an hour. Also, no betrayal take backs.” He soaked her from head to toe while she squealed and laughed. By that point, the clones had their guns ready to go and everything devolved into PVP.

Barbara watched Beetlejuice… playing, there was no other word for it, and could barely believe the difference. It was as if he’d shed some invisible, uncomfortable weight, and was now free to act like a… a person, not a demon. Soaked to the bone, hair and suit plastered to his skin, he laughed like a little kid as he scooped up a flailing Delia and dropped her in the kiddie pool, only to get pulled in after her. The splash as he hit the water was too big to be natural, because it managed to get both Charles and Lydia, who were standing a fair distance away. 

Delia and Beetlejuice both sat in the middle of the pool, leaning on each other, almost paralyzed by the cold water and their own laughter, but Beetlejuice didn’t hesitate at all when Charles offered him a hand up. He also didn’t hesitate to join Charles in hunting down Lydia after she sniped them both from behind some bushes.

Was this the Beetlejuice Lydia saw and loved so much? The one who had haunted their house with her, helped her play school-wide pranks, and practiced music and dancing with her? It must be. In that moment, Barbara understood why Lydia had chosen this particular method to bring the ‘family’ together. What better method to get a mischievous demon to let his guard down than to play a mischievous game?

She felt Adam put an arm around her waist and she leaned against him, both of them watching their family playing outside. Their job had been to keep the doors and windows shut so Beetlejuice couldn’t escape inside, but that didn’t look like it was going to be an issue anymore. He was having too much fun.

Beetlejuice summoned his clones and Adam kissed the top of her head, then chuckled. “Looks like it’s our turn.”

Lydia had wanted to make sure that the Maitlands were included in the fun and games today, and they had told her not to worry, that they’d be fine watching. What they hadn’t told her was that they had a scheme of their own. 

Giggling, Barbara took a leaf from a certain demon’s book and said, “It’s Showtime!” 

Beetlejuice, almost out of ‘ammo’ and on his way to get a refill, was the first to spot the garden hose uncoiling itself. It had been left in the kiddie pool, and none of them paid any attention to it except to make sure it was on enough to keep the pool full. 

Stunned, all he could do was stare, mouth agape, as the hose rose up like a particularly large and skinny snake. Then the tap turned and the hose hit him full blast. He tried to get away, slipped, and ate dirt.

“Holy shit! Retreat!” he shouted, or tried to shout. It came out more of a gurgle. Since he was facedown in muddy grass, he wasn’t witness to much, but he could hear the Deetz yelling and he felt his clones’ alarm as their weapons ran dry. Shaking his eyes clear of mud, he looked around and saw that they’d all been rounded up.

The sound of laughter directed his attention to the roof, and he was in for his third big shock that day, and probably the biggest of all. The freaking Maitlands were on the roof, Adam obviously directing the actions of the hose snake, but what was Barbara up to? His question was answered as she raised her arms and a veritable swarm of water balloons rose into the air.

“Blitz!” he hollered, just before the swarm descended.

As a fat, pink balloon splashed all over him, he discovered that these were no ordinary water balloons. They had bubbles in them. Was that even a thing? How was that possible? He sneezed and a bunch of bubbles flew away. It was so ridiculous he started laughing again, and used his magic to give the bubbles a boost so that when the next balloon hit Lydia, she resembled a snowman in an instant. 

This brought a whole new element to the game, and he couldn’t help but urge more bubbles into being, until the backyard was awash in them. The smallest of the clones and Lydia were actually able to army crawl under and through the mess, and they, along with Adam’s hose snake, became everyone else’s nemesis. 

Finally, actually tired for once, Beetlejuice sat down amidst the sea of bubbles, still chuckling as his clones vanished one by one with a flourish and a bow. 

Delia waded over to him, smiling broadly. “Tuckered out? Perfect timing. Pizza should be here soon, and we don’t want to give them a reason to take us off their delivery list again. Would you mind clearing this away, sweetie?”

Sweetie. Trying to ignore how being called by an actual pet name made him feel all fuzzy inside, he waved a hand at the frothy bubbles, sending the lot flying away in a strong breeze. Rule Three, after all. Clean up after yourself.

Charles had taken possession of the hose and was using it to rinse himself and Lydia free of bubbles. “Come over here, you two,” he called. Delia pulled Beetlejuice back to his feet and they obediently went over to get rinsed. 

“Did you have fun, Beej?” Lydia asked. 

Slicking his hair away from his face, he grinned at her. “Yeah actually. When did you come up with this, you little chaos gremlin?”

“Earlier this week. The news said a heatwave was going to hit today, and it had been a long time since I had a good water fight, so I figured it would be fun for everyone.” She looked up at the Maitlands, who were sitting on the edge of the roof, obviously pleased with themselves, and laughed. “They got me though. I wonder where they got all those water balloons from!”

He put a hand on his hip and followed her gaze, squinting up at the two ghosts. Then he smiled and waved for Charles to wait a minute with the hose. “You know, they should get the whole experience. Just to be fair.”

Barbara and Adam were watching the bubbles, still visible in the distance, and wondering how far they’d drift, when there was a pop! of displaced air in front of them. Beetlejuice appeared, floating and grinning ear to ear.

“Hey Adam, remember that Flashdance bit I did when we first met?” Reaching up, he pulled an invisible rope, and all the remaining water from the kiddie pool was dumped on top of them.

It had been more than a month since either Maitland had experienced the sensation of being wet, and a lot longer than that since they’d been soaked while fully dressed. It had also been a long time since they’d really experienced temperature. Having cold water dumped over them was a shock, to say the very least

Barbara managed a tiny shriek, while Adam just gasped and coughed. Once the flood had stopped, they shook water out of their eyes, looked at each other, then burst out laughing. 

“Oh my goodness!” Adam laughed, grinning broadly. He turned his smile on Beetlejuice, who seemed startled by this reaction. “How did you do that?”

“Uh, I dunno? I just do it.” Beetlejuice eyed them both warily. “You guys could do it too. It’s in the damn Handbook. Like, chapter seven. Re-uniting the state of immaterial with that of the material plane through the application of conviction and expectation."

“Thank you. And thanks for the tip,” Adam said encouragingly. 

“Yeah, sure.” Giving them a last confused look, he vanished, reappearing down with the rest of the family.

Adam turned to her, still smiling, and pushed hair away from her face. “That was refreshing. We should give those chapters another try tonight!”

“We’ll do that,” Barbara agreed. They sat, enjoying themselves, then a thought occurred to her. “Um, Adam? How are we going to dry off?”

Notes: Buy a water gun and soak someone you love today.

[ulamafashionblog]

The 13 Most Common Fashion Mistakes Men Make

Dressing well does not have to be synonymous with conformity or "dressing up." Is your man making these errors? This men's style guide will teach you the 13 most common fashion faux pas that men make, as well as what you should do instead to look nice and classy. Cool men's fashion tips that you can start using right away! That being said, look below for some fashion faux pas you should definitely avoid:

-  Photo created by halayalex on freepik Clothes that are too big or baggy FIT is the most important aspect of men's fashion. Even the most fashionable pieces will look dowdy on a body if the fit isn't nearly perfect. Make sure not to size up for comfort. When it comes to athletic clothing or inner wear like cotton vests, tighter fits with stretch material are preferable to baggy clothing. Basketball shorts should not be considered "general athletic shorts'' unless you are actually playing basketball. There are numerous options for athletic wear that are both functional and comfortable. Cargo shorts and pants Shorts with a lot of seams, pockets, and detail should be avoided. They add bulk and make you look frumpy and unkempt. These types of shorts and pants are appropriate for the right circumstances (combat, hiking, hunting), but not for everyday wear. Mixing incompatible fabrics or textures Mixing materials in your outfits should be avoided. Most materials are compatible with one another, but not all. A silky, gleaming dress shirt will look out of place with jeans. Athletic pants will look out of place with a short-sleeve button-up shirt. Athletic clothing, in general, can be worn with cotton but should not be dressed up. Smooth dress clothing, such as suit jackets and shiny shoes, will not look good with thick chinos or denim. Fastening all the buttons on suit jackets When wearing a suit jacket or blazer, always leave the bottom button undone (unless it's a one-button jacket). When you sit, unbutton them all, but you don't have to button them all when you stand. The origins of this rule can be traced back to King Edward VII, but honestly—just it's how things are done. Not all suit jacket buttons should be fastened. White crew socks Get rid of your white tube socks. There are alternatives that perform the same function while looking far superior. Instead, opt for black or gray ankle or calf-length socks, and only wear crew length socks when they're hidden beneath pants. Get rid of your white crew socks; they're unappealing! Socks with sandals When it comes to socks, never wear them with flip flops or sandals! How often does this need to be stated? If it's cold outside, don't make matters worse by wearing socks under your sandals. Simply wear closed-toed shoes. Crew socks with shorts When wearing shorts, you should never wear them with tall crew socks. Wear socks that are as close to the shoe's edge as possible (or completely hidden). Alternatively, you could wear sandals (without socks). Mixing too many patterns You can start breaking this rule as you develop your own personal style and become more comfortable with the rules. However, make sure that the patterns like in a printed lungi are of varying sizes. A small gingham can look good with a large striped tie, but if they're too close in size, they'll clash. Wearing the wrong shoes for the occasion Many men dress appropriately until they leave the house. That's when I put on my running shoes. They are, indeed, comfortable. Yes, they have the potential to ruin your entire outfit. Learn which shoes to wear with which outfits. If you're not working out, don't wear running shoes. Flip-flops always and forever Every now and then, swap out your flip flops for loafers or boat shoes. A good pair can be just as comfortable as a bad pair while looking a million times better. Wear something other than flip-flops to look instantly classier. Super wide ties Except for the exceptions listed in the fit guides above, your tie should be about 3.5 inches wide at its widest point. Wearing ties that are too wide will make you appear dated. Old, worn out jeans Upgrade to a nice dark-wash pair that fits well, and think about a medium-wash or tastefully ripped pair as a backup pair. These are the only type of jeans you should have in your closet. Light wash jeans are fine, but if the only reason they're light wash is that they're a decade old, it's time for a new pair. Pants with pleats Pleats will automatically date you and add bulk to your outfit. Look for flat front styles in your chinos and dress pants, and put away your pleated pants or shorts.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch42: Maybe Baby Part 2- Between The Toaster And The Fridge

Intro: Steve comes home to a very, special welcome…

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut! (NSFW) No under 18s. Teeth rotting fluff…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N- More thanks to @angrybirdcr​

Chapter 42 Part 1​

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The recruits around Steve were laughing, and he had to smile himself. He’d just told them the story about how he had managed to get a flag down from the top of a pole once when he was training, right before he go the serum. He’d taken the pins out of the bottom of the pole causing it to crash to the floor where as everyone else had tried to climb it, including Gilmore Hodge. God, what a prick he had been.

“So, the moral of the story is just because it’s the path of least resistance, it doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path.” Steve looked around at the assembled team, smiling to himself as he repeated the words Natasha had once said to him, words he hadn’t agreed with in that circumstance but here, well, they fit.  “Consider each task on its own merit. Decide what your end goal is and then look for the simplest, safest and least strenuous way to achieve it. Conserve your energy for when there’s no other option open to you because that’s the time that you’ll truly need it.”

With that he nodded to Rhodey and moved to the side of the room, folding his arms across his broad chest as he looked at the assembled trainees. They seemed like a good bunch this lot, receptive to his advice and teaching which was an improvement on the lot he’d had a month or so back in Colorado. They’d been a nightmare and when they were awkward it made being away from his girls so much more of a chore. At least when they were like this, it made him feel like it was worthwhile. He took a few more questions, gave a bit more advice before they called it for the day and he headed back to his room to make sure he was packed, ready to head home the next afternoon. It had been three weeks this time, and whilst he’d spoken to Katie and Emmy every night it still didn’t make him feel any better at being away from them, even though he knew it was part and parcel of his job. 

It also wasn’t helping their baby-making plans either.

His phone was vibrating in his pocket and he smiled when he saw who it was. Flopping down on the bed he beamed at Katie.

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Hey handsome.” she smiled, yawning slightly

“What you been up to?”

“Been busy with this Half Way Home proposal.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, Pepper’s giving it the once over before we send it into the Senate. I don’t think they’ll have an issue, I mean we’re not asking for funding but with them behind us it means the sale should go through easier.”

“Sounds like you have it all planned.” He smiled “Bet Natasha is pleased.” “Hmmm” Katie frowned. “She’s flown off again this evening.”

He groaned “Johannesburg?”

“Yeah.” she shrugged “She won’t give up. Says she owes it to Clint to try.”

“She’s on a hiding to nothing.” Steve sighed “I don’t know what she thinks she can do.” “Who knows, but if it makes her feel better who are we to argue. We’d do the same in her position.” And Steve had nothing else he could say on the matter, as he knew she was right. He had done the same, pretty much.

“Can’t want to get home tomorrow.” he changed the subject, smiling. “Three weeks apart isn’t exactly helpful on the whole trying-not-trying front is it?”

“Not really no.” Katie gave a soft laugh

Steve grinned cheekily “Every time I’ve jacked off in the shower I’ve had this horrible, guilty feeling that I could be washing a little me down the-“ “Oh my God!” Katie snorted as Steve laughed loudly, his right hand flying to his chest “You’re disgusting!”

“You love it!” he smirked, and she sighed and looked at him.

“I love you.” she said simply, and he could do nothing but grin stupidly back at the screen.

“Hi Jen!” Katie greeted as she walked up to the coffee counter, Emmy walking behind it like she owned the place, casually heading into the back to find Brooke.

“Hi!” Jen turned to her, “Usual?” “Erm, to be honest with you coffee isn’t what I’m after today.” she said “Had a disgusting hangover yesterday that I’m still recovering from so can I get a tea and one of those Danishes please?”

Jenifer chortled, “Take a seat I’ll bring it over and join you for a bit.” Katie smiled, paid for her drink and food and headed over to the comfy sofas by the window. Sinking into the well-worn leather she pulled out her phone and flicked through a few emails, pleased to see Pepper had proof read their proposal and made a few minor tweaks. She had just fired it off to her secretary to make the changes and forward on when Jennifer sat opposite her, pushing her food and drink over the table. Katie was that hungry she wolfed the pastry down in about four bits, before leaning back, wiping her fingers with a napkin.

“I think sugar and carbs maybe the way forward today” she laughed “I feel better already.”

“Why is it the older you get, the longer hangovers last?” the woman asked and Katie shrugged.

“Gone are the days I could sink shot after shot and still make it out unscathed.” she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea appreciatively “Being an adult sucks.” She spent a few hours at the coffee shop, leaving Emmy there after Jennifer had assured her it was ok for her to stay, before heading into the city to find Steve a gift. This year, four, was either fruit, flowers, linen or silk. Which was a random combination when you thought about it. But she found a really nice grey linen blazer that would suit Steve, and smirking to herself, bought a silk slip that she could wear to bed. Always nice to keep him on his toes as she had said last year.

She picked Emmy up and then stopped on the way home to fuel up the Camero, As she leaned against the side of the car, watching the numbers tick over on the pump, the smell of gasoline filled her nostrils, almost choking her and she was overcome with a wave of nausea and vomited straight onto the floor.

“Fucks sake.” she groaned, as she managed to compose herself, waiting for the feeling to subside. Thankfully Emmy was too engrossed in something on her phone to notice. Eventually, her stomach stopped flipping and she finished, paid and headed back to the Compound, wondering if she was coming down with a bug. But then, as she walked down the corridor with her bags the strong stench of bleach from one of the labs made her once again feel the need to hurl.  

Something clicked in her mind and she paused, suddenly feeling very hot.

“Hey.” Bruce looked at her as he appeared from the lab. “You alright? You look a bit pale.” “Yeah, fine.” she nodded, swallowing “Just remembered, I forgot to grab something. Emmy, can you take these up to the apartment and go straight to Nat? Bruce do you mind just…”

“No, course not.” He smiled, “In fact, I have something to show you Em. Remember that research I was doing into the…”

Katie didn’t stay to hear the rest, Emmy wandered off after Bruce chatting away, whilst she turned back the way she had come and hurried back to the car. 

***** Steve walked back into the apartment and was greeted by a whirl of sandy fur before Katie appeared hurriedly crossing the hallway to throw herself into his arms.

“Missed you.” He smiled, as he bent to give her a kiss.

“I missed you too.” she pouted, her hands fisting into his light blue button down “Three weeks is far too long, I don’t like it.” “I know, sorry baby.” he smiled “Where’s Emmy?”

“Nat’s” Katie said as she turned and headed back to the kitchen “I know it isn’t our anniversary until tomorrow but I wanted get you all to myself right away.”

“Yeah? Got something in mind?” He grinned, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nipping at her neck before he rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Yeah, feeding you.” she chuckled as his stomach gave a loud rumble “Hungry?” “I’m always hungry.” he pouted, his arms still wrapped tightly round her “Doesn’t help that whatever you’ve been baking smells so good.”

“Saffron buns.” She smiled and Steve let out a groan off delight as his stomach rumbled again “And seeing as you’re so keen to get your hands on one, can you get them out of the oven?” she nodded towards it and twisted away from his hold “I’m almost done with the rest of the food.”

Grumbling slightly at the loss of her warmth against his chest, he straightened up and pulled the metal and glass door open before he frowned. A single bun sat on the tray in the middle of the large oven. What was that about?

“Honey, what…” He turned to look at Katie who was stood behind him, biting her lip. He frowned, before he turned back to the bun in the…

Oh. Oh!

Steve spun round that fast he nearly fell over. Katie smiled at him, her eyes shining at the look of surprise on his handsome face.

“You’re - um. You - you’re…?” Steve couldn’t quite form his words. Katie smiled, as he swallowed hard “Katie…”

“Yeah. Although I think the correct term might be ‘we.’” 

“Sweetheart you…” he looked at his wife, not quite able to believe what she was saying “We’re, really having a baby?” “Yeah.” She nodded, sniffing slightly as she reached for him then with both hands, cupping his face in her fingers. “We are. You’re gonna be a daddy, Steve.”

“Shit!” He exclaimed with a laugh “I’m gonna be a daddy!” with that he pulled her into his arms and swung her up in the air, the same way he had done when she’d agreed to marry him, causing her to laugh before he gently brought her down again, her arms sliding around his neck as he set her on her feet, pressing another kiss to her lips.

“How far gone, do you know?” He asked, pulling back an inch. “Not sure. It can’t be that far but I have an appointment with the ob-gyn tomorrow morning. I wanted to make sure everything was okay after, you know…”

Steve glanced down at her stomach and moved his hand towards it, pausing.

“You don’t have to ask.” Katie smiled softly, taking his hand in hers and guiding it onto her stomach. Steve took a deep breath as his fingers splayed out gently across her belly under her palm, his face shining with pure unadulterated emotion as his eyes stayed focused on his hand.

He had never felt so happy or so alive in his life.

*****

A tiny blip. Nothing more than what looked like static brought tears to both their eyes as Dr Kellet pointed to the image.

“Well, Mrs Rogers” she smiled “from this I estimate you’re roughly eight weeks pregnant.” “Eight weeks?” Steve asked, as he did the maths in his head. Eight weeks took them back to the fourth of July, his birthday…

Katie grinned to herself as she felt Steve’s arms slide around her waist and his lips gently brushing on her neck, his stubble scratching at her skin.

“I’m trying to cook you lunch here.” she sighed as his hand worked beneath the waistband of her denim shorts. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers skated into her underwear.

“Want me to stop?” he asked as her head fell back against his shoulder and she bit her lip.

“Didn’t say that.” she muttered as his fingers slipped further into her folds, finding her spot. His other hand slipped up her vest top and splayed on her stomach, pulling her back into him further and she let out a soft squeak as he slipped one finger into her. He continued to work her, she was putty in his hands and eventually when he knew she was close he moved and spun her round, pulling her to him, his arousal pressing into her as he kissed her, hard, his hands cupping her cheeks as he backed her into the wall. Her hands strayed down to the buckle of his belt and she quickly undid it, wasting no time as she slipped her hand into his boxers, grasping him hard. He bucked at the touch and let out a hiss.

“Easy soldier.” she grinned into his mouth as he let out a groan, his hands dropping to her shorts. In a flash she was out of them and her underwear and he lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist, back pressed against the kitchen wall.

“Shut up.” he mumbled, kissing her hard and she laughed into his mouth, a laugh that turned into a gasp as he pushed into her with no warning at all.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you doll.” He growled and her head rolled back, banging slightly on the light yellow painted wall. “Say that again.” she moaned.

He punctuated each word with a hard thrust “I’m…gonna…fuck…a…baby…into…you…” he purred, one hand resting by her head on the wall, the other snaking under her top and pulling down the cups of her bra. He rolled each nipple in turn between his thumb and forefinger leaving her grinding down against him for more friction as she kissed him again, hard, her gasps coming thick and fast as he rutted up, his hips snapping back and forth in a fast and deep rhythm. Steve let out a groan, his tongue sliding against hers sending the familiar red hot pokers of desire straight to his belly. His wife still managed to turn him on as much as the first time they’d ever been intimate together, despite there being what felt like a life time of ups and downs since then. If anything he was convinced that’s what made it better. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, every curve, every dip, every scar, blemish freckle and she knew his, each and every single inch of his skin, his limbs. Her hands grasped at his back, sliding up his t-shirt, nails raking down his skin, the stinging sensation causing him to grunt again as his rhythm picked up slightly, gaining momentum as he could feel himself going. “Come on, baby.” He muttered, his forehead pressed against hers “Wanna see you let go.”

“Stevie.” Her voice was a whisper, as her eyes fluttered closed for a second and he felt her thighs tighten around him, her mouth falling slack for a moment as her head tilted back. He moved the hand that was against the wall to her neck, holding her head in place and when her eyes opened again, those beautiful green orbs locked onto his she gave a low, sultry moan and he felt her walls tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He mumbled as the strands in his stomach began to tighten “I love you, so much.” and with a final few snaps of his hips he came with a loud moan, his head falling to her shoulder, lips latching onto her neck as he thrust through his orgasm, before he stilled, both of them catching their breath.

Their baby had been conceived between the toaster and the fridge.

“So from that you’re estimated due date is the ninth April…” Dr Kellet smiled, tapping at something on her computer and then turning to gently wipe off the gel she had placed on Katie’s stomach. “So, do you have any questions?”

Of course Steve did. He spent a full thirty minutes drilling the woman about all the types of things Katie could and couldn’t do. Dr Kellet smiled, before she answered all of them, and some he hadn’t asked, in particular one about how sex was fine up until the birth if Katie was comfortable, warning him in fact that many pregnant women felt a spike in their libido in their second trimester. This caused Steve to flush and Katie to silently snigger.

“And lastly, I do hate to warn you about this as well but the term morning sickness, its bullshit. Should be called All Day Sickness”

“Tell me about it” Katie rolled her eyes. “Smells are the worst trigger.”

“Yeah, that’s very common.” the Dr Smiled “The good news is it should die down, if not go completely by about twenty weeks, but just keep yourself hydrated and rest up to avoid fatigue.”

“Thanks.” Katie smiled at her, “I’ll bear it in mind.”

As they walked back to the car, Steve’s arm curled round Katie’s shoulder and he pulled her closer, dropping a kiss onto her head. She smiled to herself, leaning into his touch as he gripped the scan photo they had been given with his other hand.

“I still can’t quite believe it.” He shook his head, reaching into his pocket for the car keys. “I know.” Katie’s voice was little more than a whisper. Steve turned to face her, his hands linking at the bottom of her spine “I can’t wait to tell everyone.” “We’re not telling everyone until twelve weeks is up.” she said, shaking her head “Bar Tony, Natasha, and Emmy.”

“Now?” He grinned, and Katie laughed as she snaked her arms round his neck.

“So impatient, Captain Badass.” She grinned as she leaned up to kiss him. “But yeah, let’s pay Tony a visit!”

Steve spent the entire forty-five minute journey grinning like an idiot, chatting about plans for nurseries and all sorts of stuff, he was incandescently excited. Katie simply let him go on, his happiness was infectious although she did at one point have to get him to pull over so she could vomit out of the passenger door.

Steve was out of the car like a shot and round to the other side, crouching down, his hand gently stroking Katie’s flushed cheek.

“You okay?” He asked, his face concerned as she reached for the bottle of water that was in the cup holder.

“Get used to this.” She groaned, laying her head back against the head rest.

As they walked up the driveway to the porch, Pepper spotted them immediately from where she was sat on a chair on the grass, Morgan happily led on her tummy on the tartan blanket. She greeted them as they approached and Morgan let out a loud shriek at the sound of their voices.

“Moo, you’ve gotten so big!” Steve smiled as he swept her up and she beamed back at him.

“Well you haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” Pepper chuckled, as Steve gently pulled faces at the infant, causing her to give him a huge smile. “They grow fast.” “You’re not kidding.” Steve mused and Katie smiled, unable to stop her heart blooming at the thought that he would be doing that soon enough with their own baby.

“Hey guys.” Tony smiled, walking out of the house and dropping onto a seat next to Pepper. “Not that it’s not nice to see you but we weren’t expecting you.” “Yeah, well, we err, have some news that we kinda wanted to tell you in person.” Katie glanced up at Steve as he gently placed Morgan back on the blanket and Katie sat on the wicker couch opposite her brother and Pepper, Steve perching on the arm next to her.

Pepper twigged immediately, smiling at Katie who grinned back.

“What’s the matter?” Tony frowned, “Are you sick? Is something wrong with the business?”

“Oh come on Tony, isn’t it obvious?” Pepper looked at him

“Errr no.” he frowned. “What-” he looked at his sister “-what’s supposed to be obvious?”

Katie glanced at Steve who gave her a grin before he turned and looked at his brother-in-law.

“You’re gonna be an uncle, Tony!” he smiled, dropping an arm round Katie’s shoulders.

Tony stared for a minute and then slapped his knees triumphantly, a huge grin breaking across his face. “You’re kidding me! Really? Really?” He leaned forward, intently scrutinizing Katie’s midsection until she tossed a throw pillow at his head. He dodged it, looked at her for a moment before he jumped up and swept her into an enormous hug. She stood up to greet him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Kiddo, that’s, wow, it’s awesome!” He spluttered.

“Thanks Tony.” She sniffed, stepping back as her brother reached up and cupped her face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Guys, congratulations.” Pepper gave Steve a hug and then turned to Katie when Tony had finally released her, giving the younger woman a squeeze.  

“Wow, Baby America - you gonna dress him in star spangled diapers?” Tony paused, faltering, as he was shaking Steve’s hand. “Or her, or maybe one of each?”

“One of each?” Steve frowned.

“It isn’t twins.” Katie rolled her eyes

“You gonna find out what it is?” Pepper asked.

“I dunno we haven’t discussed it.”

“Wait, they can find out?” Steve frowned “They can find out what it is before it’s born?” Tony looked at Steve “Remind me how long you’ve been defrosted?”

“Tony.” Pepper warned him before she turned to Steve “Yes, Steve they can.” “But you guys didn’t?” He frowned. “We didn’t want to know.”  Tony shrugged, dropping a kiss onto the side of Pepper’s head before he clapped his hands together. “This causes for a celebration, only not you young lady.” He pointed at Katie and she rolled her eyes “Yes, beers.” he continued chunnering away to himself, heading back to the house.

“You two okay to watch Morgan?” Pepper asked gesturing to where Morgan lay on her back, legs wriggling furiously “Just keep an eye on her, anything she can get hold of she’s sticking in her mouth…”

The two of them nodded and sank back into the chairs and Steve dropped a kiss to Katie’s head, his arm curling round her shoulders as she snuggled into him, kicking off her shoes so she could swing her feet up onto the cushion besides her.

“Happy?” He asked.

“Ridiculously” she responded, giving him a soft kiss.

***** Later that night they broke their happy news to Emmy, only she didn’t react the way they had expected.

“So,” she looked down at her hands as her fingers twisted around one another, the way they always did when she was worried, “does this mean I need to pack my bags?” “What?” Katie frowned, “Why would us having a baby mean you need to pack your bags?” “Coz, well, you’ll have your own kid now.” she shrugged “Not like you’ll want me around.” Steve and Katie shared a look and Steve shook his head, dropping to his knees in front of the girl as Katie sat on the arm of the chair she was in.

“Of course we want you around.” Steve looked at the girl “Emmy, you’re part of our family now, and all this means is that our family is getting a bit bigger.”

Emmy looked up at Steve, her eyes shining with tears, before she looked at Katie, and melted into her arms as the woman gave her a hug.

“You have a home with us for as long as you want.” Katie pulled back, smiling “And besides,” she winked, “you’ll be our chief babysitter.”

Later that night, when she was getting changed for bed, Steve couldn’t help but just watch Katie as she moved around the bedroom in her sleep shorts and bra. The fact she was growing his baby just made her all the more beautiful to him, and when he couldn’t stand not touching her anymore, he threw his legs off the bed and moved to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder into the mirror as she finished cleaning her teeth. One hand came to rest on her hip, while his other hand slipped down, palm spread protectively over her bare abdomen as he pressed tender kisses to her cheek and throat.

"I love you,” he whispered softly against her ear.

She leaned back against him, looking at the two - no, three of them in the mirror, her husband’s head bowed against hers, their child beneath his hand.

For once he fell asleep before Katie, and as she lay there, gently stroking the back of his neck she couldn’t help the immense happiness that overwhelmed her. Things were about to change, again, for them. But this time, it was a change they both welcomed.

**** Chapter 43

**Original Posting**

[george-mackay-macfine]

Their Royal Secret

Requested: YES / NO

Synopsis: Elodie’s life was pretty straight forward, go to work, come home from work, spend time with her parents and her Grandmother, until she’s invited to meet Prince Richard of England. 

Word count: 20335

Prologue

“Today marks the twenty-fourth year since the fatal car accident that took the life of Her Royal Highness Princess Eleanore. Her Royal Highness was only thirty years old at the time of her passing, and in wake of the accident she left behind her husband, His Royal Highness Prince Richard, and two young grieving sons, The Princes’ Michael and Alexander, both of whom were small children at the time of the accident.” I looked up from my copy of Catcher in the Rye to see pictures of the British Royal family mourning flash up on the screen, their bodies donned in black tuxedos. “Perishing alongside her mother was the newest member of the Royal family, Princess Rosalie, who was just a year old at the time of her death.” My eyes moved to my mother who was sitting forward, elbows resting on her knees watching the screen intently as my father sat beside her, nose buried in his newspaper. “Since Princess Eleanore’s death, there have been many who have claimed it was not an accident that took the young Princess’ and her daughters’ life.” I rolled my eyes picking my book backup, I’d already heard the conspiracy theories time and time again, and I was in no mood to hear anymore. “The death of the Princess and her daughter to this day still has many of us questioning the circumstances surrounding it, and wondering who would want to bring harm to the young family.”

                                                    Chapter One

“Elodie, you have a letter.” My mother called to me as soon as I walked through the front door of our house, “It’s heavy, and it looks important.” She added on as I closed the door behind me. Putting my handbag on the hallway table I walked through the house, the sounds from the TV leading me towards where my parents sat quietly. My dad, Jonathan Daniels sat in his favourite armchair, a newspaper in his hands.

“How was work? Busy?” He questioned me not looking up from his paper as I pulled off my shoes, dropping them beside the couch.

“Not the worst day I’ve ever had, but it’s never fun serving women who have no concept of manners, or basic politeness.” I flopped onto the lounge across from him, “And of course, they don’t know how to say thank you for the hours you spend helping them find that perfect outfit,” I rolled my eyes, fingertips moving to my temples, rubbing them in a clockwise motion as I remembered my day.

“Maybe this will make your day better,” Claire, my mother smiled at me as she held out a heavy looking letter towards me, “It came by a courier about an hour ago,” She thrust it towards me again, her cheeks pinking in excitement, “Open it,” Her eyes widened as I grabbed ahold of the envelope. I flipped it over to see my name written delicately on the front in gold script.

“Ms Elodie Daniels,” I muttered, thumb running over the deep burgundy wax seal. “Who sends letters with wax seals these days?” I laughed as I ripped the paper of the envelope open.

“Read it aloud!” Mum pleaded from her seat, her feet tapping in excitement.

“His Royal Highness, The Prince of Cornwall requests the company of Ms Elodie Daniels, and guest at the celebration of the Commonwealth at Government House on Saturday the twelfth of March twenty-twenty,” I paused, my hands and the lap falling into my lap. “Why are they inviting me?”

“Inviting the citizens to mingle with Royalty, how diplomatic.” Dad replied, his face still covered by the paper. “I’ve heard it’s something they do every now and then. It gives them good press.” The way he spoke, I knew my father was fighting with his anger. He was never fond of the Royal family.

“They’re allowing me to take a guest,” I handed the envelope to my mum. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Perhaps you should ask your Grandmother, I’m sure she would appreciate it.” She stood up from the couch, holding the envelope in her hands. “It’ll be good for her, to get out of the house, and hear about home. She hasn’t been back in twenty years,”

My Grandmother, Elizabeth, was born in Scotland, and moved to London with my Grandfather Francis right after they were married. Whilst living in London she worked for the palace for a while before immigrating to Australia, and that’s where my family has been ever since.

“But what will you two do?”

“Your father and I will come to Sydney with you two, and we will come home together.”

“If you’re sure,” I knew the affectionate my mother held for the Royal family and how she’d always wanted to meet them all one day. So to me she seemed like the obvious choice to come with me to meet them. “I know how much you look up to them,”

“I’m sure,” She held my hand. “My daughter, meeting the next King of England,” She placed a hand lovinging on my cheek. “We’ll need to find you something appropriate to wear.” She looked over me. “Something to make you look even more beautiful than you already are,” She walked towards the kitchen counter. “I’ll call your Grandmother,” She took the phone from the cradle. Her hands hitting the buttons. “We have so much to do, and only one week to do it in.”

“Well,” My father lowered his newspaper. “What do you have to say about all this,” For as long as I can remember my father had a very strong opinion about the Royal family, and I already knew he didn’t want me too meet them. He’d always told me if I were to meet any of them, by any sort of luck, or misfortune I’d be better pretending I didn’t speak English than bow down and kiss their feet.

“You know what I think,” He smirked. “I think that they’re all a bunch of pompous lunatics who put themselves on a throne and expect us to kiss their feet.” He raised an eyebrow. “The last true Royal died with Princess Eleanore, and ever since then there has been nothing but bad press and negativity surrounding those people,” He spat. “And you promise me you won’t bow down to this Prince when you meet him.”

“I think they’ll behead me if I don’t.”

“Don’t be silly, they abolished beheading in the seventeen hundreds.” He chuckled. “I’m serious El, be careful around them, it’s easy to get sucked in to the glitz and the glamour of it all.” It was obvious from the worry in his voice, and the look on his face my father was serious, something he rarely was.

“I promise, besides I doubt I’ll meet them. I’ll probably just be standing in a room with a hundred other people as he stands on a stage and waves at us.” I rambled, picturing it already hand going up in the air as I mimicked a wave, “Then some cheesy montage about Australia and Britain will play in the background and people will get teary-eyed about how amazing the Royal family is and then just like that,” I clicked my fingers together. “It’ll be over, and Nan and I will be back in the car with you,”

“That’s my girl,” He winked before pulling his paper up again. “Don’t let them fool you, sweetheart.” I stood from the lounge and went to the kitchen where my mother was animatedly talking to my grandmother. I sat on one of the seats at the kitchen bar and waited for her to finish her conversation.

“Yes, It’s on Friday, so we have under a week mum.” She smiled at me as she spoke. “No, Jonathan and I are going to come down to Sydney with you. We’ll go shopping, or something while you’re at the function.” She paused for a moment. “Yes, mother, we’re going to find her something appropriate to wear.” She laughed. “Okay, I’ll talk to you soon. Love you too,” I watched as my mother hung up the phone placing it back in the cradle. “She can talk a lot.” My mother laughed. “Did you need something sweetie?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to ask if you think I should dye my hair again before Friday.” Since I was old enough my mother and I had been dying my naturally blonde hair a dark brown, but as of late I had been too busy to upkeep it and had let it grow out. My hair was now a shade between brown and blonde. My mother picked up a piece of my hair and twirled it around her finger.

“No, I think we should keep it this colour. It looks lovely.” She smiled, dropping the strand. “We’ve been dying it for so long I’ve forgotten what it looks like.” She ran her hand through my hair, eyes glazing over as she thought about something.

“That was easy, I guess.” I smiled. “What do I need to wear? I assume jeans and a hoodie aren’t exactly Royal protocol?” I chuckled picturing myself meeting the crown Royal Prince in my black jeans and worn out hoodie, and I guess my black converses also wouldn’t cut it.  

“You’ll need a dress.” I found myself holding in a groan. “Something simple, elegant and formal.” She picked up her phone. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I yawned, stretching my arms above my head. “I’m going to bed.” I yawned again before standing. “Goodnight” I called out to my dad and my mother before walking up to my room feeling the weight of the day hit me. As I changed I thought about the Royal family, Princess Eleanore, and once I laid on my bed with my eyes closed, reality hit me. In under seven days, I would be meeting a future monarch.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--

When I was younger my mother used to tell me the sooner I would go to sleep the sooner something would come. Santa Clause, the Easter bunny, and now the same was true for meeting His Royal Highness the Prince of Cornwall. Before I even knew it was happening, I was dressed and walking inside Government House, my Grandmother by my side.

“Are you excited dear?” She smiled, holding onto my arm for support. “Meeting your first Royal,” She smiled fondly. “I remember when I met his majesty the King many years ago I was beside myself.” A true Royalist till the day she dies. “And now it’s your turn.”

“I’m sure I won’t meet him. It’ll probably be him on stage and us in the audience.” We reached the top of the stairs and walked inside.

“Ms Elodie Daniels?” I looked up to see a man no older than thirty walking towards my grandmother and I. He wore a black suit with a white button-up. A spiral cord hung down his neck.

“Yes,” I stood up straighter still holding onto my grandmother’s arm. “I’m she… I mean that’s me,” I cleared my throat.

“This way please, His highness is waiting.” He motioned for us to follow him. My grandmother took the first steps towards him, frail and slower than what I’m sure the man in the suit wanted us to walk. However, it only took us a couple of minutes to reach a conference room. “He’s waiting for you inside.” My Grandmother let go of my arm and walked inside her shoulders held a little higher than usual.  

“Thank you…”

“Collins ma’am,” He stood beside the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Thank you, Collins.” I stepped inside the room halting when I saw my Grandmother and the man I recognised as Prince Richard embracing.

“It’s so lovely to see you again Elizabeth.” Prince Richard’s voice was smothered in a deep British accent. “How have you been? Keeping well?”

“Of course dear.” My Grandmother tapped his hand. “May I introduce you to someone,” Prince Richard smiled, nodding his head.

“Please.” I heard his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a sigh of relief as he spoke.

“Elodie,” My Grandmother motioned for me to join them. “Come over here and meet Richard.” Mindlessly I walked over to where my Grandmother stood. She held her hand out for me as if the situation was the most normal in the world.

“Your highness,” I curtsied, looking at the ground. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I looked up through my lashes to see tears welling in his eyes.

“You look just like her.” He whispered, his bottom lip trembling. I stood up straight raising my eyebrow. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away from my Grandmother. “Why don’t we all sit and have some tea.” I followed my Grandmother's actions, sitting at the large oak table. “I’m sure you have some questions,” Richard spoke to me.

“A few,” I laughed awkwardly. Richard himself sat across from me, pouring tea for my Grandmother. “Have you two met before?”

“Once or twice,” My Grandmother replied cheekily. “Richard,” She motioned for him to speak.

“Elodie, what I’m going to say to you next will change everything for you,” He began, “And for that I must apologise… I wish it could have happened another way, sooner perhaps, later… at a better time.”

“Sir,” Collins knocked on the door pushing it open. “Jonathan and Claire Daniels are here.” He pushed the door open wider and my parents walked in, thanking Collins as the door shut behind them.

“Thank you for joining us.” Richard stood greeting my mother and father.

“Mum, Dad?”

“Hi, honey,” My mum smiled sadly as she and my father sat on the opposite side of the table. They all looked too comfortable together, this couldn’t have been the first time they’d met.

“You all know each other.”

“As I was saying, I am sorry this is happening this way, I wish it was happening another way.” Richard looked sadly toward my Grandmother.

“What’s happening.” I interrupted the confusion clouding my brain. “How do you know my family?”

“The more important question is how does your family know mine.” He corrected me. “Elodie, Do you know what happened to my first wife and daughter.” I nodded my head.

“They died in a car accident.” My heart began to thump in my ears.

“That’s what the media says.” He scoffed. “But my wife was murdered,” He corrected himself. “We’d been receiving threats on her life, and Rosalie’s for months before.” I didn’t understand where he was going with his story, why did he believe I needed to be privy to such secrets. “So after Eleanor’s death we decided as a family it would be best for my daughter to not grow up fighting against the same fate as her mother… As Eleanor did, so we decided to hide her, in the commonwealth.” I nodded my head although I was having trouble following where he was going with his story. “Do you understand?”

“You hid your child so she wouldn’t have to face the same scrutiny that her mother did?”

“Exactly,” Prince Richard smiled. “However, now we, my family and I, believe it’s safe enough now for her to come home.” He shared a look with my father. “Do you understand me?”

“Elodie,” My mothers’ voice tore me away from Prince Richard, her and my father sat together, my father comforting my mother with gentle calming circles on her hand. “Do you understand what he means, sweetheart.”

“Mum?” I whispered a thought of horror hit me.

“Rosalie,” My Grandmother’s voice caught my attention. I turned to her. “Her Royal Highness Princess Rosalie,” I shook my head.

“You can’t be serious...”

“It’s who you are,” My Grandmother smiled.

“No, I’m Elodie, not Rosalie.”  

“But you are,” Prince Richard replied. “My mother is close friends with your Grandmother from when she worked within the palace during the reign of my Grandfather. She knew we could trust her and her family to take care of you until it was time for you to come home to us.”

“Home?” I scoffed. "This is my home, not there,”

“It is your rightful home.” He countered. I stood.

“My home is here with my family.” I looked at my father. “Tell me this is all some sick and twisted prank. Please.” I pleaded feeling hot tears fall from my eyes over my cheeks.

“Honey,” He started. “We did what we needed to do for our Monarchy.” He stood. “For you, To protect you.”

“But you hate the Royal family… Don’t you?” It all hit me like a truck, my father didn’t hate the royal family, he was employed by them. “It was all so I wouldn’t catch on wasn’t it, changing my hair, pretending to hate them.”

“We’re sorry.” My mother wept. “Elodie, … Rosalie,”

“So now you want me? For what some good press.” I shook my head. “You’re all crazy,” I called before storming out of the room. I passed Collins ignoring his pleas for me to stop as I retraced my steps trying to remember the way Collins had led my Grandmother and me only minutes before.

When I’d managed to make my way outside I stopped taking in the crowd of people and photographers who had started to gather the news of a Royal being inside had spread, and now there were even more police holding them back. I rushed around the side and out to the back where I found a giant garden. Walking towards a small fountain I sat on the edge trying to console myself.

“Your Highness,” I heard a new voice call from behind me. I wiped away a tear that was under my eye and turned around intent on telling the stranger not to call me that. “Princess Rosalie,” I turned.

“Please don’t call me that,” I spoke as I turned to take him in for the first time. He is tall, he’d tower over me if I stood beside him. He, like Collin’s, was dressed in a black suit with a white button-down. A skinny black tie around his neck. His hair was a mop of neat brown curls on his head, pushed back of his forehead. He wouldn’t have been older than twenty-eight.

“What should I call you then?” I met his eyes, dark green. I wanted nothing more than to fall into them. I was captivated. “Your highness,” He held out his hand. “Your father is waiting for you.”

“Which one,” I muttered standing on my own.

“I have the Princess. We’re coming back inside.” He spoke into a microphone that was attached to the collar of his white shirt.

“So you work for them?” I stood still as I looked over the man again, trying to find it in myself to not be attracted to him.

“Your highness?”

“The Royal family,” I finalised. “You work for the royal family.”

“Yes, Your highness, I work for your family.” He smiled. “May I speak freely for a moment?” I nodded my head waiting to hear what he couldn’t say normally, “I know I speak for a majority of British citizens when I say we loved your mother, she was our Princess, and when she died, the whole country felt a great deal of sadness. Then hearing we’d lost our youngest princess too, the whole nation was beside themselves.”

“And how will they feel knowing they have been lied to for the past twenty-three years?” The man smiled faded slightly before it grew again.

“They will be happier that their Princess is alive, rather than upset.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure they will understand why the crown hid you eventually.”

“To protect me right.” I scoffed, something I’d found myself doing more times today than I had ever done. “Now they’re throwing me out to the sharks.”

“Your highness, we need to go back inside.” The man motioned for me to lead the way.

“What is your name?” I asked stepping beside him.

“George, ma’am.” He smiled.  

“George.” I nodded my head before walking back up the pebbled footpath towards the house again. As I rounded the front photographers started to take pictures of me, calling out questions of who I was and why I was at Government house.

“Ignore them,” George whispered down to me as he escorted me up the stairs and back inside. “The less you react, the less they’ll follow you and think anything of you being here.” I nodded my head and allowed myself to unwillingly be pulled back into the room where the liars of my life sat.

“Rosalie,” Prince Richard spoke as I sat down at the table, making sure to distance myself from everyone in the room. “I speak for everyone at this table, and in this room when I say we did not mean to hurt you we were trying to do the opposite. We wanted to protect you.” Prince Richard stood up. “I am truly sorry, but we need to move past this.” He walked towards me and sat in the seat beside me. “I want you to come to London, meet your family. Your blood family,” He spared a look at the people I had called my family for over twenty years. “Your country needs you.”

“My country doesn’t even know I exist, How can they need me?”

“Rosalie,” My grandmother stood, walking towards me. She sat in the seat across for Richard. “You are special. You are her daughter.” I knew who she was talking about. “She was a spectacular woman, and England needs someone like her right now.” She held onto my hand. “They need you, Rosalie.” I looked at my parents who nodded their head, each had tear-stained cheeks. “We’ll always be here for you.” She reached up and cupped my cheek. “But right now, you need to do what’s best for your country.”

“What exactly would I need to do,” I asked Richard, not breaking eye contact with my Grandmother.

“Come back, meet the family, learn the protocol of being a royal, and be the princess that the people need.” I turned and looked at him.

“On one condition.” Richard nodded his head. “If I don’t like it, I get to leave. I get to come back home and go back to my normal life.”

“As you wish.”

[elsaclack]

10 and/or 11 for peraltiago please? if you're still taking prompts :O

henlo i AM still taking prompts!!! i’m just working through them much more slowly than originally anticipated lmao but thank u for checking!!!!

once again this is not my best but i’m proud of myself for making it through and also!!!! for not adding one single IOTA of angst to this yes i am capable of writing straight fluff i know it honestly was a shock to me too

10. “Stay?”

11. “Do you know how to knock?”

To say Jake is annoyed with Gina would be an understatement.

Granted, not a huge understatement, but certainly narrow in terms of the full scope of emotions he’s feeling.  Gina just has this way - this I’m right and you’re wrong and those are the facts kind of confidence that, while sometimes endearing, more often than not lands both her and the people around her in hot water.  Jake’s honestly lost count of all the times he’s swooped in and saved the day for her over the years, just to be thanked with a hair flip, a roll of her eyes, and an I had it handled, doof.

He’s working very hard not to swoop in and save the day right now - trying hard to focus on whatever stupid sports game Terry is half-watching in the living room and not on the ever-increasing volume of the girlish giggles coming from the kitchen behind them.  He’s angled in such a way that he can glance back if he needs to, but he’s regulating himself to one glance per five minutes; at this angle, he can mostly see Gina’s face, framed between the doorframe and Amy’s body.

Jake can acknowledge that ninety percent of his agitation stems from the fact that Amy’s in there with Gina.  It would be one thing if it was just Gina and Rosa drinking themselves silly in the kitchen - but Amy’s a lightweight, plain and simple, a fact that Gina knows well and regularly takes advantage of on the annual lake house weekend.  It would be another thing if this was yet another year of fruitless pining and yearning for him - if Amy was nothing more than a partner and a dreamy what-if.

As it is, he’s watching his girlfriend drink herself into a stupor at Gina’s goading, and while he’s fully aware of the fact that she’s a grown woman fully capable of making her own decisions, he remembers in vivid technicolor just how embarrassed she was after Overly Confident Amy nearly got herself demoted last year.

A particularly loud, lower-pitched screeching noise - followed by an even louder laugh - echoes out of the kitchen, and Jake’s on his feet before he’s even fully processed what he’s heard.  Terry’s looking around now, too, face contorted in an irritated scowl; briefly he meets Jake’s eyes, before pursing his lips and returning his gaze back to the television.  “Not today,” he says simply.  “Knicks are playing, so Terry is stayin’.”

Jake rolls his eyes as he shuffles out from behind the coffee table, resisting the urge to snark at his sergeant.  Despite his massive size and general laziness while lounging on the couches here, Jake learned the hard way Terry’s reflexes never go on vacation.

The low-pitched screeching noise, as it turns out, originated from the legs of Amy’s stool scraping across the tiled kitchen floor; she’s still doubled over in laughter about it, leaning most of her body weight against the kitchen counter.  Rosa’s smirking over the rim of a sloshing tequila shot and Gina’s muffling her laughter behind one hand, her phone clutched in her other, filming Amy.  Empty plastic cups litter the counter between them, several fallen to the floor; there are dented beer cans and half-empty bottles of liquor strewn between them, too, the entire place a portrait of drunken debauchery he would normally find hilarious.

He’d find it hilarious under any circumstance, really, except the one where their extremely straight-laced captain is sleeping directly over their antics.

“Hey,” he says softly as he edges toward Amy.  He frowns at Gina when she pans the phone up into his face, blocking the camera with one hand while gently running the other up Amy’s back.  “You okay?”

Amy nods, her cheek now flattened against the counter, still laughing too hard to verbally respond.  “She’s fine, protective Polly,” Gina drawls, words slurred just enough to give herself away.  Jake shoots her a scowl, still rubbing his palm up and down Amy’s back.  “Why don’t you take a shot or twelve and catch up with us.”

“You might wanna consider pacing yourselves -”

“Oh, my god, don’t be that guy, Peralta,” Rosa sneers before throwing her shot back.  “We’re grown-ass adults -”

“Never said you weren’t,” Jake interrupts, “I was talking more about the fact that it’s our first night here and you guys have already burned through half of our booze supply for the whole weekend.”

“We’re having fun,” Amy slurs, reaching with numb fingers to pull fallen hair out of her mouth.  “You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, I should try having fun?  You’re talking to the father of the Jimmy Jabs, here, girl!  The father and original champion of the Halloween Heist!  Fun runs through my veins.”

“And orange soda.”

The three women before him burst into laughter, Gina dropping the phone with a loud clatter, and Jake finds himself scowling at all three of them.  Amy makes a sound at the back of her throat when Jake pulls his hand away from her back; she reaches for him weakly as he steps back, side-stepping her fingers at his naval before grabbing and briefly squeezing her hand.  “I’m going to bed,” he tells them, pulling his hand from Amy’s.  “You guys should keep it down, though, you’re right under where Holt is sleeping. And you,” he waits until Gina is meeting his gaze, knowing his expression is comically distorted but also serious enough for her to grasp.  “Don’t kill her.”

He points to Amy, eyes never leaving Gina’s face; Gina glances at Amy before meeting his gaze again, a defiant gleam in her eyes.  Amy’s making a noise in the back of her throat - some weird, high-pitched sound not unlike a petulant whine - so Jake salutes her before backing out of the kitchen.

His phone begins buzzing as soon as he’s on the stairs, but he ignores it, knowing without looking that it’s Gina trying to antagonize him.  It buzzes as he closes his bedroom door, and again on the bedside table as he changes into his pajamas, and again as he quickly brushes his teeth in his adjoining bathroom.  4 missed calls from Gina Linetti rolls across his notifications page when he plugs his phone into the charger; one swipe later, and they’re gone, leaving his phone peacefully undisturbed.

He stares up at the ceiling as he lays in bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the others trudging up the stairs, Rosa bidding someone goodnight as the floorboards just outside of his door creak beneath her feet.  It seems the last stragglers are finally settling in for the night; one particularly loud thwack against his bedroom door confirms that Gina, at least, is retiring for the evening.

The door at the end of the hall squeaks shut, and the house is enveloped in silence.

Jake rolls to his side and punches his pillow into place, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his chest.  Rationally speaking, falling asleep without Amy’s warmth against his back shouldn’t be impossible.  He’s done it before, even since they started dating.  Rationally speaking, he’s fully capable of falling asleep without Amy.

That doesn’t stop his heart from leaping up into his throat when he hears clumsy hands rattling his doorknob.

The way she edges inside might be an attempt at being smooth, if not for the whispered laughter escaping the hand flattened over her mouth.  Jake props himself up on one elbow, watching through the near-darkness as she eases his door shut and briefly leans back against the wall to the left of the door.  “Do you know how to knock?” he whispers.

She jumps, hand falling from her mouth to flatten over her heart.  “You scared me!” she whisper-shouts.

“You broke into my room!” he whisper-shouts back.  She rolls her eyes as she toddles forward, briefly grabbing onto the footboard of his bed before edging around the right side.  He sits up as he watches her progress, snorting when she flattens both hands against the mattress and slides them toward him until her fingers are trapped beneath his butt.  “Warm enough for you?”

“Not yet,” she sighs, clambering up the bed ungracefully, momentarily gripping his thigh to anchor herself.  She flops down beside him unceremoniously, huffing out a breath that makes the hair fallen across her face flutter, before blinking up at him owlishly.  “Come down here.”

“You smell like a bar,” he says, not moving.

She quietly whines, pushing the hair away from her face.  “‘M too tired to wear clothes,” she mumbles, before her brow furrows.

“You mean you’re too tired to change?”

“Yeah.  That.”

“Well, you’re gonna hate sleeping in jeans,” he tells her.  She hums, eyes already closed, and for a moment he can barely take a breath around the endearing bubble of affection swelling in his chest.  “C’mon, Ames, you can’t sleep in these clothes.”

“Pajamas are too far away,” she mumbles, eyes still closed.  “Lemme sleep.”

“Not yet,” he says as he rolls out of bed.  She whines again, reaching blindly across the mattress for him, but just like in the kitchen he side-steps her searching fingers with ease.  “Where are your PJ’s?”

“My room.”

“Where in your room?”

“Not tellin’.”

“Your other option is to borrow clothes from me, and while you are more than welcome to do that, you should know that Gina will never let you live it down.”

“Gina can bite me.”

“Gina will bite you, I have scars to prove it.”

“Whatever,” she whines, brow furrowed.  “You’re my murmzeep, we can do whatever we want.”

He snorts, already moving around the foot of the bed to reach her.  “I am your murmzeep,” he says, scooping both of her hands up in his and gently pulling her into a sitting position at the edge of the bed.  “And you’re my jinglebin.  I’d love to let you borrow some clothes.”

She cracks one eye open, a sly smirk slowly spreading across her face.  “Oh, you’d love that?  How much?”

“Not enough to do that, you freak.”

Now both of her eyes are open, an undeniably hurt expression darkening her face.  “Hey -”

“Not because I don’t want to, but because literally all of our colleagues are in the same house and I’m pretty sure they’d hear something,” he quickly amends.

The hurt fades, replaced instead by disgruntlement.  “We should buy them earplugs tomorrow,” she mutters, lifting her arms so Jake can pull her sweater up over her head.  “Or - or tie a sock on the doorknob.”

He snorts as he tosses one of his extra shirts at her, and a wide grin splits across her face.  “I’m sure sober you will totally go for that idea,” he says, digging through his bag for the extra shorts he knows he packed.  “I’ll definitely bring it up over breakfast.”

“Yeah you will.”

She flings her bra across the room before tugging his shirt over her head, leaving her hair even more mussed than before.  Jake pulls her up to her feet as she runs her palms over her face, trying and failing to get her hair out of her eyes as he unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down over her hips.  It’s odd, the feeling overtaking him as he kneels down to work them over her feet; he’s done this more times than he can count already, but it’s never felt quite this...domestic before.

Amy, oblivious to the unidentifiable feelings welling up in Jake’s chest, steps out of her jeans and stumbles slightly, doubled over to find purchase on the mattress once more to keep from face-planting into the bedside table.  Jake quickly tosses her jeans in the same direction her bra went, gripping her hips until she stops swaying.  “Hold onto my shoulders, babe,” he instructs softly.

She grumbles something unintelligible but does as he says, shifting her weight forward until her body bows over where he’s still kneeling on the floor before her.  She makes quick work of stepping into his shorts, yawning loudly as he pulls them up her legs; she’s still yawning when he pushes her hips down, settling on the bed with a bounce.  Her eyes are closed again as she shifts around to stretch out across the mattress, a contented hum emanating from her throat when he pulls the quilt up over her body and lightly brushes his knuckles over her cheekbone.

Both of his knees crack when he stands, sending an uncomfortable pang through both legs, but after a momentary pause he’s quickly stealing around the end of the bed again, back toward his side.  Amy hums when he slides in beside her, already rolling to her side to face him, frigid fingers sliding around his torso.  “Roll over,” she mumbles, her breath a puff of spearmint and tequila stinging in his nose.  “I wanna - jet pack.”

“You sure you don’t wanna be little spoon tonight?” he asks softly, closing his hands over her forearm.  “You’re gonna be super hungover in the morning and I don’t mind -”

“Don’t care,” she interrupts, so with a smile and a shake of his head, he complies.  He can feel her shuffling closer, her grip around his torso tightening until her cheek makes contact with the space between his shoulder blades.  He feels her lungs expand and contract in time with her billowing sigh; with one last nestle of her head, she goes still against him.  “Stay?”

“You’re in my room -”

“Stay.”

“You got it, babe.” he murmurs, lifting her hand up to press a kiss against her knuckles before returning her arm back to his waist.  She nuzzles a little closer, fingers gripping hard into the excess material of his shirt, before releasing another smaller sigh.  “Ames?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you came in here.”

He feels the cheek against his back swell with her smile, and her grip on his shirt loosens.  “Me, too,” she murmurs.  “I’m - I like you.  So much.”

Affection bursts through his chest, momentarily overwhelming his senses.  He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling - the giddiness in his chest makes him want to scream.  “I like you so much, too, Amy,” he finally manages to whisper.

Her response is a quiet, almost imperceptible snore that vibrates against his back, and it takes everything in him to keep from laughing so hard she wakes up again.

[tickly-trashcan]

Can I get number 9 “is that my ____ you wearing?” With kenma x Kuroo ( I don’t know the ship name😅) kenma stoke Kuroo hoodie and won’t give it back under no circumstances except getting tickled. Can you please add a lot of details to this

thank you for the prompt! sorry this took so long, i loooooove kuroken and this is the first fic I wrote for them aaaaaa, i hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Kenma’s a bit chilly, so he decides to take Kuroo’s hoodie while he’s at volleyball practice. But when he comes back, he decides to take back his property.

Word Count: 1,544

Rating: Gen

It was a rather chilly day in the Nerima Ward of Tokyo, and anyone who was outside was bundled up with a warm beverage in hand. However, not everyone was outside.

Kenma Kozume sat inside his boyfriend’s bedroom in his apartment, dawning an oversized hoodie and was wrapped in a blanket as he clicked away at his controller. It was the weekend, and after a long week at school, he had decided to skip Saturday volleyball practice. He never believed that he should spend extra energy on anything unless he felt like it, and right now he felt like a warm cup of cocoa and his console. He remained like this most of the day until a certain boyfriend showed up.

“Oi, Kenma!” Kuroo shouted, bursting open the door with a bag of groceries in one hand and his volleyball bag in the other. He dropped both on the floor and kicked off his shoes noisily, making Kenma jolt and disturbing his previous peace. 

He walked into the living room where Kenma had made his den, ruffling his ombre hair and planting a kiss on his cheek. He wrapped an arm around Kenma’s shoulders as he continued to calmly play his game.

“Why weren’t you at practice today? You’re a good setter but it never hurts to put in a little extra effort.” He lectured, which was very uncharacteristic of him. 

Kenma mumbled an “mhm” in reply and continued to tap away, not really paying much mind to Kuroo and his rambling. 

Kuroo sighed and stood up, walked into the kitchen and began to unpack the groceries. He called, “I got stuff to make for apple pie, you gonna help me?”

Kenma’s interest piqued at the mention of one of his favorites. He had always loved the taste of apple pie, the sweetness and tartness all mixing together was something he thoroughly enjoyed, especially when warm on a cool day like today. 

“In a minute…” he replied quietly, trying to sound more uninterested than he was. Kuroo chuckled and Kenma could hear him rustling around in the kitchen getting everything ready.

He walked out to the kitchen to see Kuroo had already sliced all the apples into cubes, just the way Kenma liked it. He smiled gently and walked next to Kuroo as he placed the apples in a bowl to be mixed with the spices. Kuroo wrapped an arm around his boyfriend affectionately and leaned down, kissing his forehead. “Why’d you stay home today? I missed seeing you in your cute uniform~”

Kenma tried to hide a slight blush as he shrugged. “It was cold.”

Kuroo groaned and let go of Kenma to finish the pie, his boyfriend mostly watching from the sidelines until it came time to crimp the edges of the crust, a part left solely to Kenma because of his delicate attention to detail in comparison to Kuroo’s aggressive baking approach.

Kuroo placed the pie in the oven and dusted his hands off. “That’ll be done in a bit, until then why don’t we - hey, is that my hoodie you’re wearing?” Kuroo said, pointing to the hoodie that Kenma wore.

It was pretty obvious it wasn’t Kenma’s hoodie, it reached just a bit past his knees and even though he had the sleeves rolled up, his hands were barely visible.

“My stuff was in the laundry, and as I said, it’s cold.” He said quite flatly, toying with the hem of the hoodie.

Kenma started to walk back to the living room to continue with his gaming session, but he was stopped by Kuroo creeping up behind him and wrapping him in his arms. Kenma made no effort to escape and leaned into him a bit, Kuroo’s warm body easily wrapping around him perfectly. Kuroo rested his chin on Kenma’s head and slowly guided him to the couch, Kenma relaxing along the way. He thought Kuroo was going to cuddle him until the pie was ready, so he let Kuroo take the lead.

That is, until, Kuroo threw Kenma roughly onto the couch and jumped on top of him, easily surprising his much smaller boyfriend.

“You gonna give me my hoodie back?” Kuroo grinned maliciously, wiggling his fingers. Kenma knew that no matter how he answered, Kuroo was going to torture him anyway, so with a vain effort, he tried to push Kuroo off of him before two claws dug into Kenma’s sides and tickled him.

He let out a very uncharacteristic shriek and bit his lip, grabbing Kuroo’s wrists and trying to pull him off of him. 

“Aww, does that tickle, kitten?~” Kuroo teased, his fingers easily pinching at Kenma’s small body.

Kenma wiggled uselessly under his boyfriend’s body, holding back the giggles that were ready to burst out. Kuroo’s fingers scribbled across his abdomen as Kuroo grinned, “Tickle tickle, kitten~”

Kenma flushed a bright pink. He hated Kuroo’s teasing, it made tickling so much worse for him. Kuroo glided his fingers across his torso, dancing along his ribs and counting them. 

Kenma shrieked and the giggles he had held back came out in full force, much to Kuroo’s delight. “There’s that beautiful laugh I love!”

Kuroo scratched right at the top of his ribs, right before his armpits and bucked. “Kuro! Not there plehehehehehease!” he wailed, clamping his arms down, desperate to defend his sensitive skin.

Kuroo nodded jokingly and tried to worm his hands out. “Okay, whatever you say kitten~” He relinquished his hands and instead began to squeeze Kenma’s hips, one of his worst spots. 

Kenma flopped around like a fish out of water, desperately trying to get away from Kuroo’s evil fingers. He flipped on his side, and Kuroo resorted to slipping one hand under Kenma’s hoodie to scratch at his lower back. Kenma yelled in ticklish agony, tears starting to stream down his cheeks.

“Kurohohohoho! Ack! NOHOHOhohoHOHO!”

“Gonna give me my hoodie back now kitten?” Kenma couldn’t even formulate a response, his laughter was blocking out any chance of him saying he’ll give it back. Kuroo shrugged and shoved his other hand under the hoodie, going straight for under Kenma’s arms. 

Kenma squealed and curled in on himself, flipping onto his back again. Kuroo pressed his body on Kenma to hold him in place and began to nibble up his neck in an excruciatingly ticklish way. Kenma’s bubbly laughter somehow got louder and Kuroo continued this unrelenting torture, nibbling at his neck, collarbone, and ears while his hands scribbled his armpits mercilessly. 

“Why don’t you take the hoodie off for me, hmm? I’m a little… preoccupied.”

Oh, that asshole.

Kenma gasped as Kuroo began to use his thumbs to stroke his collarbones as well, completely overwhelming his senses. Kenma reached his arms down as much as he could without giving Kuroo anymore leeway to try and start peeling off the hoodie.

He had gotten it up to his waist when Kuroo pulled his hands out of Kenma’s armpits and went back to kneading at his hips.

Surprised, Kenma let go of the hoodie hem and pushed at Kuroo instead, his most sensitive spot being violated by Kuroo’s evil digits. 

“Oho, you aren’t even wearing a shirt under my hoodie? Such a naughty little kitten~” Kuroo jeered, vibrating his hands in the dip of Kenma’s hips. Kenma cackled, his head shaking from side to side.

“STAHAHAHAHAP! God, not theheHEHEHEHERE!” Kenma yelled, grabbing at Kuroo’s wrists.

Kuroo pushed the hoodie up a bit more, and rubbed his hands over Kenma’s smooth belly gently, looking down at him. “Why do you need to wear my hoodie when you already have me to keep you warm?”

Kenma’s face flushed and Kuroo chuckled. “You’re so cute, it makes me want to do this~!”

Kenma could barely react when Kuroo bent over and blew a fat raspberry on Kenma’s belly button, making him scream.

“Kuro! StohohOHOHOp!” Kenma yelled as Kuroo shoved his hands back up into the hollows of Kenma’s underarms, his mouth blowing raspberries all over Kenma’s abdomen. He brought his hands back down to Kenma’s tummy and leaned towards Kenma’s thrashing head again.

“Does my little kitten have a ticklish tummy~? Aww, how cute!” Kuroo chuckled maliciously and kissed Kenma, muffling his laughter as his fingers continued to scribble all over. Kenma pushed at Kuroo’s head, his face bright red as tears began to prick his eyes.

Kuroo lifted his head and placed his hands on Kenma’s hips, gently massaging the bone as Kenma’s screaming laughter died down to bubbly giggles. 

“You’re really adorable when you laugh you know,” Kuroo teased, nuzzling Kenma’s nose. 

“Don’t say that it’s embarrassing,” Kenma giggled softly and pushed a bit at Kuroo’s wrist to stop the mild tickle sensations.

“That’s why I say it~” Kuroo purred, kissing the crook of Kenma’s neck, making him squeak.

There was a ding from the kitchen, making both Kuroo and Kenma’s attention go to the kitchen. Kuroo looked back down at Kenma with a smile. “Your pies ready babe, you want it warm?”

Kenma nodded, waiting patiently on the couch as Kuroo brought him a slice, warm and gooey and perfect. Kuroo wrapped the blanket around the two of them, picked up a controller, and kept each other warm and happy the rest of the night.

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 18 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters. Xoxo!

Chapter Summary: Someone’s planning a super sweet sixteen, and love is in the air...

Chapter 18: Those Magic Changes

Courtney skipped into the kitchen, trilling, “Gooood morning, mommy!” and giving Karen a big, warm hug. She turned to Karen’s new boyfriend, who was struggling with the coffee maker. “Hi, Todd. Let me help you with that.”

Karen raised an eyebrow at her daughter’s sunny disposition. “Okay, what do you want?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking about my party…”

“Oh god, here we go--”

“Moooom,” Courtney whined good-naturedly. “It’s my sixteenth birthday. We’re doing it here in the backyard, that’s saving a lot of money, right? I mean, Kim’s was at the Hilton.”

“Courtney, I don’t need to remind you that both the economy and our financial situation were very different back then, right?”

Courtney smiled and put her arms around her mom’s shoulders.

“I know, mommy. That’s my point. Kimmy had a booming economy and the emotional stability of two-parent family. I mean, I’m dealing with a divorce and two wars and a terrible president. I should have a nice birthday party, don’t you think?” Courtney pouted her lip.

Karen laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“So listen,” Courtney said, getting down to business, “Roy’s cousin Tomas is a DJ, and he said he’ll do it for the friends and family rate.” She placed a business card on the counter. “I found a caterer in Pasadena that has tons of vegetarian options and she gives a huge discount if you go pick the stuff up from her.” She put a printout of another business card down carefully. “And she’s like 2 blocks away from a bakery that does vegan cakes and look at this!” Courtney pulled out a picture of a black and white cake with a bright pink bow. “It’s my colors!”

Karen shook her head. “I thought we’d get a cake from Costco, honey.”

“Mother. Costco?” Courtney clutched her chest dramatically. “Omigod, this is worse than the divorce.”

Todd, who had been silent, began to laugh. “I’m pretty stoked on the vegan cake idea, Court.”

“Thank you! Oh, and Party Planet can deliver tables, chairs, lights, decor, everything, early in the morning and then pick it up the next day. They did April’s quinceañera last year, and they are AMAZING.” She put the last piece of paper down triumphantly. “I’ve been doing a lot of research and these are the best deals in town, mom.”

Karen shook her head. “Fine, I will talk to these vendors. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“Thanks, mommy! And remember, we’re also saving money since Darienne and I are doing the invitations and placecards ourselves.”

“You spent three hundred bucks at Michael’s, Courtney. I don’t know how much money that saved.”

“Mommy...have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Courtney batted her eyelashes. “And so young…”

“Go get dressed for school, Courtney.”

She kissed Karen on the cheek and departed from the kitchen, singing, “This will be the best party ever! Because I have the best mother!”

Todd shook his head. “You’re getting so played.”

“I know,” Karen sighed.

-

Adore and Willam were the last to arrive at lunch; Fame and Pearl were deep in conversation about who knows what and Violet sat across from Trinity, giving her answers to some homework that she didn’t do.

“What’s up, guys?” Adore asked, plopping down in the grass next to Violet and Trinity. Willam sat against the tree butting his way into Fame and Pearl’s conversation.

“Hey, Adore. Just trying to get this finished before class--heard Mrs. Davis is checking for correctness.” Trinity rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“And Violet's helping you. Aw, look who's being nice today,” Adore teased Violet, trying to elicit some kind of response from the girl. Violet had been ignoring Adore since the locker incident and she just wanted things to get back to normal between them. Or as normal as possible, under the circumstances.

Adore sighed when Violet stared at the paper in front of her.

“Did you read the story at all Trin? He dies at the end,” Violet grabbed pencil from Trinity, erasing her answer.

“Lenny dies?!”

“Yeah-” Adore started only to be interrupted by Violet.

“Maybe, you should have read the book. I don't even know why I'm helping you,” Violet passed the paper back.

“Because you love me and like to see me succeed in life,” Trinity flashed a smile and Violet playfully rolled her eyes.

“Never suggest such a thing.”

Adore let out a frustrated groan before flopping back onto the grass between the two girls, “Can you, like, stop acting like I don't exist.” Adore said, a pout on her lips, hazel eyes blinking at Violet.

“Fame,” Violet called over Adore.

“Yes.”

“Do you still have some grapes left?”

“Mhm,” Fame nodded, ready to toss the ziplock to Violet.

“I'll come get them,” Violet said, crawling over to the others.

Adore sat up on her elbows, watching Violet crawl away. Then looked up at Trinity who was shaking her head, “Can you talk to her?”

“I'll try, but you know how Violet is.”

-

The cast was scattered all over the place waiting their turn to get on the stage and go over blocking and lines. And Adore didn’t hesitate to find her way to where the other pink ladies sat in the back of the theater, plopping down beside Raja.  

“Hey,” Adore said softly, bright eyes admiring the beauty of the older girl.

“Sup,” Raja nodded, pulling the headphones off her ears.

“You look good,” the words left Adore’s lips before she could stop them and her face reddened in turn.

Raja was wearing a Cyndi Lauper t-shirt under a frayed jean jacket, patches sewed carefully along the sleeves and front. Her caramel skin peeked through the rips in her jeans, her long dark hair was braided back, bangs swept to one side, and battered black boots giving her more of an edge and pulling the entire look together.

“I ‘look good’?” Raja raised a brow and Adore face grew redder but she nodded, because it was true. “Thanks for the compliment but I threw this on in two minutes. You, look like you took some time getting ready this morning, though,” Raja said, putting her feet up on the seat in front of her.

Raja wasn't wrong, Adore had been spending more time in the mirror in the mornings than usual.

“Not really,” Adore lied, remembering how she kept messing up her eyeliner and nearly wanted to cry because her right eye wasn’t perfect.

The smell of weed and Raja’s perfume had Adore’s stomach doing flips as she leaned in close; the music from her headphones echoed between them.

“Well, you look good,” Raja looked over Adore, before moving to take her feet off the seat.

“Thanks.” Adore tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“Wanna go to the vending machine with me?” Raja asked.

“Yeah.” Adore hurriedly stood up, the pair making their way out of the theatre.

“Have you seen the jackets?” Raja asked as she put her money in the machine.

“No, have you?” Adore leaned against the machine as casually as possible.

“Yeah, I’m helping with the costumes. I gotta show them to you when we get a chance.” Raja said, moving closer to Adore after grabbing her pack of skittles. “Maybe try them on to make sure they fit?” Raja suggested, fingering at Adore’s jacket, brown eyes staring intently into Adore’s.

Adore’s thoughts raced with possibilities, but she only nodded in response.

“Uh, you wanna hang out later?”

“Sorry,” Raja smacked her teeth, stepping back and opening the bag of skittles. “Got work, but another time, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adore nodded.

Once back in the theatre, Raja put her headphones on Adore, going through her music seeing if the younger girl could name the songs from ear.

“You don't know this one,” Raja teased.

“Yeah, I do. Give me a sec; the song just started,” Adore smiled.

“Let me see what part it's on,” Raja leaned in, her scent filling Adore’s senses again. Raja’s hand found a spot on Adore's thigh as she leaned toward her. Raja put her ear to the outside of the headphones and the pressure on Adore’s thigh made it hard for her to concentrate on the song.

“If you haven't gotten it by now, then you're not going to get it,” Raja laughed, hand squeezing Adore’s thigh slightly. Adore turned to look at Raja, heartbeat speeding up when she noticed how close they were to each other; noses nearly touching.

“Whatever, it's all stuff from before I was born. It’s stuff from before you were born,” Adore pulled the headphones off.

“Exactly. When you come to my place… I'm going to have to get you acquainted with some real music.”

-

Courtney walked back to her seat, trying not to watch Adore’s ridiculously obvious flirting. Frankly, she found Raja to be a little bit pretentious and full of herself, but Adore seemed to think she walked on water, so she was just keeping her opinions to herself.

It wouldn’t be so bad, but she’d canceled their plans twice in the last week, which irritated Courtney to no end. She couldn’t be totally sure that the last time had to do with Raja, but Courtney had her suspicions. She sighed, approaching Roy and Darienne, who were of course dutifully studying for a US History test while everyone else in the theatre was fucking around.

“You alright, babe?” Roy asked.

Courtney looked down at him and smiled sweetly. “Mmmhmm…” She ran a hand through his thick hair and settled into his lap, demanding attention.

Roy grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks, and went in for a long, slow kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Roy, when did Teddy Roosevelt start the National--” Darienne began and then looked up, rolling her eyes. “You guys, come on...”

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Courtney asked coyly, batting her eyelashes.

Roy laughed and sucked on her pulse point, one hand trailing down her thigh. “Yes. And don’t stop.”

“You used to be a really responsible study partner, you know!” Darienne said.

Courtney giggled as Roy buried his face in her hair, giving Darienne an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. I guess I’ll just be ruining the curve by myself now.” Darienne flipped her hair and went back to her textbook.

Roy lifted his head, eyes blazing. “Fuck you, I’m still gonna ruin the curve. I’ll get a higher grade than you without even studying.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Twenty bucks says I beat your grade on Friday without cracking this book.”

“Deal. Give me the book.”

“You don’t trust me?” Roy clutched his chest in mock dismay.

“Not as far as I can throw you, Del Rio.”

“Hmph. Well, you’re smarter than I thought.” Roy handed over his textbook, chuckling.

-

“Knock knock…” Adore said, standing at Courtney’s back door.

Courtney pulled off her headphones, sweaty after just getting back from a run, and threw open the door. “Hiya babe, come in!”

“I’m just here to hand-deliver the RSVP for the most ridiculous invitation I’ve ever received.”

Courtney clapped her hands, jumping up and down excitedly. “Did the glitter go everywhere?”

“Yes. You goddamned asshole.”

“Roy was so pissed. He was sitting on his unmade bed and now it’s like, in his sheets. And when I saw him there was even a piece of pink glitter in his eyelashes,” she doubled over laughing. “He said he’s gonna have his mom put a Santeria curse on me.”

“I’d support that.”

“Too bad she loves me!” Courtney giggled mischievously, then sat down at the table, sighing dreamily. “This party is going to be amazing. I almost feel bad for using the divorce to manipulate my parents into spending so much money…”

Adore laughed. “Almost, but not quite?”

“Well, do you remember Kimmy’s sweet sixteen party, at the Hilton?! Come on! I deserve this!” Courtney pouted.

“Of course you do, princess. So...I wanted to ask you a question about the guest list.”

“Yes, I invited Pearl and Willam and no, I did not invite Violet.”

“Noted. But, I was wondering if I could invite Raja.”

Courtney stared at her for a moment, blinking rapidly.

“I mean, you know, we’ve been hanging out, and...things are...why do you look like that?”

“Because Raja has never even said one word to me.”

“Well…” Adore bit her lip. “Maybe, she can just be my plus one.”

“This party is about me, Adore. Why would you need a plus one?” Courtney whined.

“Uh...” Adore hesitated, knowing how Courtney got when it came to her birthday. She was the most important person that day and she’d fight anyone who said otherwise.

“Whatever,” Courtney finally sighed crossing her arms in annoyance.

“Whatever? So, I can-”

“Yeah, you can invite her, I guess. But I expect your present to be the best one I open at my party. I want to be wowed and everyone else to be jealous that you’re my best friend.” Courtney raised a brow, challenging Adore.

Adore let out a nervous chuckle at her friend’s ridiculousness.

“Okay, yeah, it’ll be the best present you could ask for. I promise.” Adore leaned across the table planting a kiss on Courtney’s cheek.

-

“Pearl, if you can do the school over here, I can work on the foreground,” Sasha said.

“Sure!” Pearl settled down over by the corner as directed, arranging her brushes, chatting with Sasha about the plans for the other backdrops. She was especially excited about getting to take the lead for the drive-in, since Sasha had loved her sketches.

“Sasha! Did you know that the US History test is tomorrow?!” Shea came running around the corner in a panic. She glanced down at Pearl and tried to regain her composure. “Hey Pearl.”

Pearl flashed a coy smile and Shea returned a shy grin.

“Yeah, hon, I know. Do you wanna come over and study later?”

“Uh, yeah, duh. And can I borrow your notes too?” Shea smiled charmingly at her friend.

Sasha laughed. “Sure. I’ll go get them.” She rose from the ground and walked over to her backpack.

Pearl looked up at Shea, standing with one hip cocked, head tilted. She was just so damn cute.

“Shea, I love that dress. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, um...I made it.”

“You made it? Are you serious?” Pearl jumped up to examine it closer. “You are kidding me; this is incredible!” She ran a finger over the colorful fabric.

Shea cleared her throat. “Thanks.” She took a small step back and Pearl wondered if she’d crossed some boundary.

���You know, I heard that they need someone else to do costumes. If you’re interested, I bet Thorgy would kiss your feet.” Pearl tried to give her a friendly, non-predatory, no-homo smile.

“Cool, yeah, that’s…” Shea trailed off, looking into Pearl’s eyes, clearing her throat.

Sasha handed a red notebook to Shea, looking between them with an amused expression. “Here you go. I’ll be done here by 4:30.”

“Okay, thanks. See you later,” Shea said, quickly taking the notebook and bolting.

“Something I said?” Pearl asked.

Sasha laughed. “Don’t take it personally.”

-

“So, mother,” Courtney skipped into the kitchen, a sly smile on her face and a piece of paper in hand.

“Courtney, please don’t tell me-”

“Just a few last-minute things that I must have for my party.” She held the list out for her mom to take, but Karen only glared at the paper.

“Come on. It’s not bad, I promise,” Courtney waved the paper in front of her face, coaxing her to take it out of her hand.

With a sigh, Karen took the paper from Courtney, folding it up.

“Wait, what are you doing, look at it.”

“I will, when I have time.” Karen assured.

“What’s more important than your baby girl’s sweet sixteen?” Courtney crossed her arms.

“Courtney, don’t start,” Karen squinted at Courtney.

“Ever since you and dad finalized your divorce, it’s been like I don’t even matter,” Courtney eyes watered and her bottom lip quivered for effect.

“You know that’s not true,” Karen sighed, knowing Courtney’s tactics, but couldn’t help feeling the guilt that would eat her alive if Courtney didn’t have the birthday she wanted. “Let me see what you wrote.”

“Two cakes and an ice cream cart,” she looked up with wide eyes.

“We’re doing the vegan cake from Sweet Pea, plus I want a regular chocolate cake for everyone else and an ice cream cart for people who don’t like cakes plus it’s cute and fun and the awning matches my color scheme.” Courtney smiled and Karen rolled her eyes.

“You’ll get the vegan cake and one or the other; not both,” she said before she continued reading. “Smoke machines, strobe lights? Disco balls? Courtney--”

“They are just little add-ons to the lighting package! It’ll make the dance floor sooo much more fun, Mommy, please!”

“Balloon arch? Confetti cannons? A photographer AND videographer? Do you want a clown too?” Karen murmured under her breath, but Courtney heard her mother and only rolled her eyes.

“Mom, we need production value, and the photographer is to capture the memories, it’s going to be such a special day.”

“We can all take pictures. I have a camera, and so does your father, and Todd, plus I’ll borrow the video camera from Bonnie. And doesn’t your friend Thorgy take beautiful pictures?”

“Yeah, but that’s not as good as a professional!”

“Whatever,” her mother shook her head.

“Keep going,” Courtney waved her hand. Her mother grew silent as she continued to read the list.

“Okay, Courtney. No!” Karen slapped the paper on the counter, wanting to get it out of her hands as quick as possible causing Courtney to frown.

“What?”

“No spray tan, no teeth whitening! Even if we had that kind of money, which we don’t, that stuff is full of toxic chemicals.”

“But, mom, it’s winter and I’m so pasty, I need a tan!” she whined.

“I said NO! And I’m not hiring a professional makeup artist, or hairstylist either. Kimmy can do your hair and makeup. I don’t have the money for this stuff and you know it.”

“What about daddy?” Courtney asked. Did she know her list was a bit much, yes, but did she think it was unreasonable, no.

“Pick out three things that you really want from this and then I’ll call your father,” she slid the paper across the counter to Courtney.

“Mommy!”

“Courtney. Don’t.”

They glared at each other, before finally Courtney decided to give in.

“I’ll rewrite the list.”

“Thank you, I’ll call your dad.”

-

Fingers intertwined with Roy, Courtney made her way to her locker, going on and on about her plans for the party in a couple of weeks.

“I already have it narrowed down between three outfits that I might wear for my party. I just can’t figure out which one would be the best one,” Courtney pouted.

“You’ll look beautiful in any outfit you choose,” Roy leaned in, placing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You haven’t even seen the outfits. How would you know?”

“That’s because you won’t let me and you’re the most beautiful girl no matter what you wear,” Roy smiled, tugging Courtney’s hand, pulling her into his chest as they walked up to Courtney’s locker.  

All Courtney had been able to talk about for the last week is party plans and Roy found it absolutely endearing how adamant she was on making sure everything was less no than perfect. His only job so far was to find the perfect birthday gift for her, which was stressful in its own right.

“Thank you,” Courtney said, stopping in front of her locker before pulling Roy into a sweet kiss, “but you’re no help right now. I just have to decide on what color I want to wear and then it’ll really narrow it down. Everyone else will be wearing black and white so that means I need to pick the perfect color to POP compared to everyone else.” Courtney continued as she unlocked her locker.

“I thought you’re wearing pink.”

“Oh my god, do you know how many shades of pink there are?” she rolled her eyes. “I mean- OHMYGOD!” Courtney squealed as she opened her locker, startling Roy.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Roy pulled the locker door open wider to see a black box decorated with glittery numbers saying “1996” sitting on top of a note. His brows furrowed in confusion as Courtney bounced on her feet in excitement.

She grabbed the box out of her locker and opened it, another squeal leaving her before she closed the box, looking up at Roy with teary green eyes. She reopened the box a big smile spreading across her face as she ran her finger over the pretty silver brush and pulled out a familiar bright red hair bow and slipped it onto her wrist.

-

Courtney sat at the table watching her mother take the cookies out of the oven, setting them aside to cool down.

“Are we going to take allll the cookies over there?” Courtney asked, blinking up at her mother, hoping that she would let her keep a few for herself; it had been her idea to bake cookies for the new neighbors instead of the lasagna Karen wanted to take over, secretly hoping that she’d get some cookies too.  

“We’ll keep a few here, since you were so helpful today,” Karen said taking her oven mitts off, “Now go wash up while the cookies cool down.”

Later, Courtney skipped down the sidewalk at her mother’s side, excited to be the first one to meet the new family out of all of her friends.

“Does the new neighbors have kids?” Courtney asked.

“Well, I saw a boy a little older than you and I saw a little girl around your age, when they were still moving yesterday.”

“I’ll ring the doorbell!” Courtney yelled, running up to the door and pressing the button, beyond excited to meet these brand-new kids.

“Just once,” Karen swatted Courtney’s hand away from the doorbell as she went to push it again.

Courtney mimicked her mother, smiling wide when the door swung open to reveal a woman with dyed curly blonde hair and a young girl hiding behind the woman’s leg.

“Hi! I’m Karen and this is my daughter, Courtney. We thought we’d welcome you to the neighborhood with some homemade cookies.” Karen held out the container.

“They’re vegan!” Courtney added, smiling up at the woman.

“Thank you! Vegan cookies, wow. Never had them before.” Bonnie gave a tight smile, taking the cookies from Karen.

“They’re really really good,” Courtney said, addressing the girl behind the woman’s leg more than the woman herself, hoping that they would like the cookies as much as she did.

“This is really appreciated. I’m Bonnie, and this is my baby girl Adore,” Bonnie said. “Do you want some coffee?”

“I’m not a baby!” Adore exclaimed, before hiding again, biting her lip.

Courtney smiled at Adore, wiggling her fingers at the dark-haired girl. She couldn’t see much of her as she peaked at Courtney from between Bonnie’s legs; but the bright red bow wrapped around the girl’s ponytail caught Courtney’s attention and she had an urge to tug it.  

Courtney was shaken from her thoughts as Karen’s hand on her shoulder guided her into the house.

“Adore, why don’t you and Courtney go play. You can show her your new bedroom,” Bonnie suggested, and headed into the kitchen, chatting with Karen along the way.

“I really like your bow. It’s so pretty, I don’t have any bows,” Courtney said reaching to tug at the bow, but Adore moved out of her reach, causing Courtney to frown for a moment until she saw a big smile spread across Adore’s face.

“Do you want to go upstairs and see my other stuff? I have so many bows,” Adore touched her own before turning to run up the stairs and Courtney followed.

-

She closed the box sitting it back in her locker and picked up the card that the box had sat on.

“Uh, so who is it from,” Roy asked even though he was ninety-nine percent sure he knew who it was from.

Courtney ignored him as she read the card:

Remember my favorite red bow I used to always wear? When we first met, you’d beg me to let you wear it. When I finally gave in, you lost it the next day. I can’t believe we stayed friends after that. :p It must be because you were the only one who had patience for my “tender-headed bullshit,” to quote my lovely mother. This is gift 1 of 10, for our 10 years of friendship. -Dory

-

Courtney watched Adore whimper, grit her teeth and stomp her feet as Bonnie detangled her hair.

“It's okay, Dory,” Courtney said softly, hating to see Adore like this. She sat in front of Adore, trying to distract her from the brush running through her hair.

When Adore let out a cry as the brush snagged on a particular knot, tears started to fall from her eyes. Courtney leaped forward, pulling Adore into a tight hug.

Bonnie shook her head, finding the whole scene adorable and over-dramatic.

“She'll be fine, Courtney.” Bonnie assured.

When the girls didn't let go of each other, Bonnie decide to send Courtney off.

“Courtney, can you be an angel and go get Adore's big red bow out of her bedroom for me.”

Courtney nodded, peeling away from Adore, running to get the bow, knowing that it was Adore's favorite and wanting to get back to her as soon as possible.

Running as fast as her little legs could carry she burst through Adore’s bedroom door, grabbing the red bow from her night table. Courtney hesitated for just a moment, admiring the brightness of it before Adore’s yelp from downstairs pulled her out of her thoughts, causing her to spring back into action.

Passing the bow to Bonnie, Courtney plopped back down in front of a crying Adore.

“Hold my hand, Dory.” Courtney said, shoving her hand towards Adore and they stayed like that until Adore’s hair was finished.

-

“Babe, are you crying?” Roy wrapped his arms around Courtney.

“No,” she sniffed, “I just really miss that red bow,” she turned around to face him.

Fuck, he thought, he completely forgot that he was going to be going up against Adore for the title of best gift. Best friend vs Boyfriend.

Around the corner, Adore watched Courtney’s emotional reaction to her gift with a satisfied smirk. Nailed it.

-

“Dory, pretty pleasssseee,” Courtney begged, hugging Adore tight.

All Courtney wanted was to wear Adore’s red bow, when her Grandma Muriel came to visit tomorrow, but Adore didn't want Courtney to wear it because it was hers.

“No,” Adore huffed.

“But I promise to bring it back,” Courtney pouted, blinking those wide green eyes.

Adore crossed her arms, red bow tight in her hand. Courtney smiled mischievously hand inching toward Adore's. She gripped the tip of the bow and tried to lightly tug it out of Adore’s hand.

“No, Courtney!” Adore yelled, hopping off the couch. Crossing her arms and turning her nose up.

“Pretty please! With cherries on top,” Courtney bottom lip quivered, her feelings hurt that Adore was being so mean to her to today. “I thought you were my best friend.”

“I am.” Adore uncrossed her arms nodding.

“No, you're not because you won't let me wear your bow.” Courtney pouted.

Hurt was evident on Adore’s face at Courtney's statement of no longer being best friends. She looked down at the red bow that she had taken off her hair earlier and contemplated her options. The red bow was hers and it was her favorite. She also liked being Courtney's best friend; they played together all the time, watched movies and did everything together.

She was scared Courtney would try to keep her bow, but she didn't want to stop being Courtney's best friend.

“Okay,” she sighed, “you can wear it.” Adore held the bow to Courtney, who squealed in delight, attacking Adore in a tight hug, sending them both to the ground.

-

“Here, hold this,” Courtney shoved the box and the card into Roy's hands. She raked her hair high above her head like she’d do on game days and wrapped the bow around her ponytail.

As Courtney fixed her hair, Roy noticed Adore moving toward them from the lockers behind them. Eyes wide in surprise that he hadn't noticed her there earlier, he moved to the side as Adore snuck up behind Courtney, wrapping her arms around his girlfriend’s waist.

“P.S. I'm still a little bitter about you losing my bow, even though your mom bought both of us replacements,” Adore snickered as Courtney squealed for the third time that day, turning around and throwing her arms around her neck.

“I didn't do it on purpose,” Courtney pouted and Roy cleared his throat. Adore immediately noticed the intimacy of their position and stepped back.

Courtney, distracted by the surprise, only turned back to the locker.

“Does it look good?” she asked straightening it out trying to look in the small locker mirror.

“Looks amazing,” Adore smiled.

“It looks perfect,” Roy nodded, before shooting Adore a quick glare, wracking his brain for the perfect gift to beat Adore’s.

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Words: 3,073 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Stacie Conrad Additional Tags: Fluff (ha get it, because FLUFFer... nevermind), Comedy

Summary:

Emotional fluffer: someone who takes care of the emotional needs involved in a relationship, but gets none of the physical benefits.

Beca is Chloe's fluffer.

* * *

“Becaaa!”

Chloe’s voice carries throughout the house, and she repeats the name until the person it belongs to hears her from all the way in her attic bedroom.

Beca walks over to the stairs leading up to her room, stopping at the top. “What, Chloe?” She yells back, too lazy to walk all the way downstairs.

“Can you come down heeeere?” Is Chloe’s yelled response.

Beca groans. “Why?” She implores loudly.

“I need something!” There’s a pause, and then, “Pleeeeeeease?”

Beca groans again, glances at her loving bed where she’s been laying for the past hour, then rolls her eyes and makes her way down to the first floor.

Chloe is leaning over the railing at the bottom of the stairs; head tilted up and seemingly ready to start screaming again. When she sees Beca appear at the top, a grin breaks out on her face.

“You came!” She squeals.

“That’s something you haven’t done in a while,” Stacie, who’s making her way down the stairs behind Beca, says under her breath. Beca swats at her without turning around.

“What do you need, Chlo?” Beca sighs, already resigned to her fate. She comes to a stop on the bottom step, halting Stacie’s movements as well.

Chloe moves in front of Beca to play with the strings attached to her hoodie. “I was wondering if you could mayyybe drive me to the store? I’ve got a date tonight and I want to look smokin’ hot in a new dress so that they’ll want to have sex with me afterwards.”

“I honestly don’t think that it will take that much convincing for them to want to bang you,” Beca says. “They’ll want to no matter what you’re wearing.”

Chloe tugs on her hoodie strings and beams up at her. “Aww Becs! That’s so nice!” Beca hears Stacie snicker behind her and swats blindly at her again. “But I still want to go shopping. And I don’t have a car, but you do. So…”

Beca sighs. “Fine, I’ll take you. It’s not like I’m doing anything anyways.”

Chloe smiles again and reaches up to pat Beca’s cheek. “You’re the greatest! Okay, I just need to go grab my purse and then we’ll go.”

Stacie and Beca move to the side so Chloe can rush past them up to her room. Beca steps off the stairs and makes her way to where her boots are placed by the door. She plops down on the floor to start tugging the first one onto her foot and notices that Stacie’s still on the stairs, watching her.

“Dude, what do you want?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stacie responds breezily.

Beca’s foot slides into the boot and she looks up at Stacie irritably. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Stacie waits for a beat. “You’re her fluffer.”

Beca recoils. “I’m her what?”

“You’re her emotional fluffer,” Stacie says with finality. “You do everything she wants with none of the rewards.”

Beca rolls her eyes and starts forcing her second boot on her other foot. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Stacie comes down the rest of the steps until she’s standing right in front of Beca. “You’re doing all of the things that her girlfriend would do, except without the physical reward.”

“Hey, that’s not-”

“You do everything that she wants, only for someone else to enjoy her goodies at the end of the day.”

“Okay, first of all, ew-”

“Face it, Beca. You’re her girlfriend, but without the sex.” Stacie finishes, placing her hands on her hips.

Beca stares up at her incredulously. “You’re crazy,” she decides, and then returns her attention to putting on her boot.

Stacie hums. “Just think about it, Becs.”

Beca’s foot slips into place just as Chloe comes bouncing back down the stairs. “Ready to go?” She asks, slightly out of breath.

Beca stands up and pulls her keys off the hook by the door. “Yep. Let’s do this.”

“Oh, and can we go to the mall on the other side of town? I know that it’s, like, half an hour farther away, but they have that really good store that I like that the closer mall doesn’t have.”

Behind Chloe, Beca sees Stacie smirk. “Fluffer,” she mouths.

Beca glares at Stacie for a moment before smiling at Chloe. “Yeah, dude, whatever you want.”

Chloe hops in place once and claps her hands, letting out a little sound of excitement before pulling open the front door and bouncing out of the house. Beca turns to follow her and jumps when Stacie slaps her butt on her way out.

“Good luck, Fluffer!”

Beca just grumbles and follows Chloe to the car, flipping off Stacie as she goes.

* * *

Stacie’s words weight heavily on Beca’s mind throughout the rest of the day. They’re there when she lets Chloe choose what music they listen to in the car. They echo in her head while she follows Chloe around some store, carrying all of the clothes she wants to try on so that her hands are “free to browse.” They’re ringing in her ears when Chloe convinces her to stop and get ice cream on their way out of the mall.

Could Stacie… be right? Was Beca Chloe’s emotional fluffer?

“Hey there, broody. What’s on your mind?”

Beca is pulled from her contemplation by Chloe’s words. She rips her eyes away from the spot she’s been staring blankly at for the last few minutes and focuses on Chloe.

Chloe, who has her hair pulled back in a ponytail because of how hot it was in the department stores, showing off her long, tan neck. Chloe, who has just a smudge of ice cream on the corner of her mouth. Chloe, who’s looking at her with the utmost concern and bluest eyes Beca has ever seen.

Oh god.

Beca decides to focus on her melting ice cream instead.

“Oh, you know,” Beca says, trying for a casual tone. “Just thinking about how the song playing right now would go great in our set list.”

Beca doesn’t even know what song is playing in the ice cream parlor at the moment. She takes a second to listen, and fills with dread upon the realization that it’s Shake It Off.

Chloe tunes into the song as well. “Really?” she asks, sounding surprised.

Beca swallows her pride. “Yes,” she affirms with as much seriousness as she can muster.

Chloe’s face immediately lights up. “I knew you’d come around to it! I’ve been telling you that we should add some Taylor Swift to our sets for forever now.”

A drop of ice cream drips onto Beca’s hand from the cone. She stares at it numbly. “Yep, you were definitely right, Chlo.”

They sit there for a few more minutes, Beca mostly staring at her melting cone while Chloe chatters away, before Chloe finishes her ice cream and stands up to leave.

“Beca, you’ve barely had any of you ice cream!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca stands up as well. “Guess I’m just not hungry,” she supplies weakly.

Chloe tsks. “There are starving children in Africa who would’ve liked that ice cream, Becs,” she teases.

Beca laughs a little and tries to shake herself out of the mood she’s in. “You know I don’t like that movie, dude.”

“Oh come on! It’s a classic!”

Beca lets Chloe loop their arms together and lead them out of the mall, all the while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.

* * *

“I hate to say it, Conrad, but you were right.”

Stacie looks up from her laptop in surprise as Beca invites herself into her room, flopping down on the bed with a huff. Out of the corner of her eye, Beca sees her turn around in her desk chair to face the bed.

“Not that I’m doubting I was right about something, but what exactly was I right about this time?” Stacie questions, grin in place on her face.

Beca turns her head to glare at the tall brunette for a moment before pressing her face back into the comforter. “I’m Chloe’s fluffer,” she mumbles into the blanket.

“Sorry, Shorty, didn’t catch that.”

Beca lifts her head up slightly. “I’m Chloe’s fluffer,” she repeats, louder and more aggressive this time.

Stacie hums in approval. “Oh, that,” she says, feigning innocence.

Beca struggles into a sitting position. “What do I do, Stacie? I don’t want this… this job of being Chloe’s bitch.”

“You’re not her bitch, you’re her emotional fluffer.” Stacie corrects.

“Is there a difference?”

Stacie ignores her. “Listen, you’ve just got to set boundaries.”

Beca stares blankly. “I don’t know what that means, Stacie.”

Stacie rolls her eyes. “As a friend, you can help her lift a heavy object, but you can’t drive her to the airport. You can go get lunch with her when you both have a break from classes, but you can’t pick something up for her on your way home from work. You can help her pick out her outfits for a date, but you can’t let her borrow your hoodies when she gets cold.”

Beca starts to protest about how ridiculous that sounds, but Stacie holds up her hand to stop her.

“And you cannot, under any circumstances, let her dance with you all night at parties and then ditch you to go home with someone else.”

Beca stays silent for a few moments. “Are you done?”

Stacie thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“How do you know about all this stuff?”

Stacie snorts. “Please. I’ve been using guys as emotional fluffers for years. They never suspect a thing.” She laughs. “They’re almost as gullible as you, Shorty.”

Beca grumbles at the comment and stands up from the bed, heading for the door.

“Oh, and Beca?” Stacie’s voice stops her in the doorway. Beca turns with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah?”

Stacie shoots a sly look. “If you want to keep fulfilling all of Chloe’s emotional needs, you might as well offer to fulfill her physical ones as well.” She winks at Beca with a laugh and turns back towards her laptop.

Beca blushes furiously and quickly exits the room.

If she had the choice, she would never interact with Stacie Conrad ever again.

* * *

Over the next few days Beca monitors her interactions with Chloe very closely.

Chloe asks her if she’d pick up a coffee for her before her 10:30 class. Beca makes up some excuse about needing to be at the radio station. Chloe wants to go get their nails done. Beca tells her she already got them done. Chloe tries to steal a hoodie from Beca’s closet. Beca claims that she’s going to wash them all soon so she needs to keep them.

She thinks she’s actually doing pretty well, but then Chloe bursts into her room a few days later.

“Beca Mitchell, what is your problem?” Chloe demands, stomping up the stairs to Beca’s room.

Beca’s sitting at her desk, working on a mix, but at the sight and sound of the red head, she immediately pushes her headphones off her head and turns to face Chloe as she rounds banister.

“What’s up, Chlo?” Beca asks nonchalantly.

Chloe stares at her incredulously, and the look on her face lets Beca know that she said the wrong thing.

Beca gulps.

“What’s up?” Chloe seethes. “What’s up!? You’ve been blowing me off for five days and you have the audacity to say what’s up?”

Beca shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking abou-”

“Oh, save it, missy,” Chloe cuts her off. Beca snaps her mouth shut and stares up at Chloe with wide, frightful eyes. “Did I do something wrong? Did I offend you in some way? Am I just so annoying to be around that you don’t mind ignoring me for almost a full week?”

Chloe’s string of questions is said in an aggressive tone, but underneath it Beca can sense an underlying hurt.

“No, no, it’s none of that,” Beca says gently, trying to calm down Chloe. “It’s just- well, Stacie was saying… You know, it’s stupid really.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. Beca tries not to stare how toned her arms look at the action.

“Well, I’d love to hear your stupid reason. I feel like I deserve some explanation for how stupid you’ve been lately.”

Beca winces. “Yeah, I deserve that,” she admits. “The other day, Stacie was saying – this is so dumb – that you were my… I hate myself. This is so ridiculous.”

“Spit it out, Beca!”

Beca lets out a breath. “Stacie thinks that I’m your fluffer.”

There’s silence between them for a few second. Chloe looks supremely surprised by Beca’s words. Beca can feel her face burning in embarrassment.

“Your fluffer… like in porn?” Chloe finally breaks the silence.

“No! No, nothing like that,” Beca quickly rushes out. “Like, an emotional fluffer.”

“… emotional fluffer?” Chloe sounds unconvinced.

“Like, someone who does all the emotional stuff in a relationship, but without any of the… uh, rewards.”

Yep, Beca’s face is definitely burning. She brings up a hand to scratch the back of her neck while Chloe processes her words.

“So, basically, Stacie thinks we’re dating, but without the sex?”

Beca covers her face with her hands. “Yep. It sounds even worse when you say it.”

Although her eyes are still behind her hands, she can hear Chloe start to pace. “So that’s what Stacie thinks, but what do you think?”

Beca’s head snaps up. “What?”

Chloe stops her pacing and faces Beca, though doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Stacie seems to have a problem with it, but do you?”

Beca thinks about it for a moment. Things weren’t bad by any means before Stacie pointed the whole thing out. Sure, Chloe seemed to get Beca to do things that she didn’t want to do with somewhat ease, but Beca still put her foot down whenever she really didn’t want to do something. “I mean… I never saw anything wrong with it,” she finally says. “I only got weird and started overthinking it when Stacie said something.”

Chloe snickers. “Then why did you let it get to your head?”

Beca shakes her head in confusion. “I- I don’t know,” she admits.

Chloe takes a small step towards Beca. “Could it be,” she starts slowly, “that you’re upset that you don’t get any of the so-called reward?”

Even though she was pretty sure her face couldn’t get redder, she felt herself grow impossibly warmer. “No! I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought… Well, it’s not like I’m not attracted to you. Like-”

“Oh, so you’re attracted to me, are you?” Chloe interrupts in a teasing tone. Beca’s eyes widen.

“Well, of course I am,” she stammers, gesturing wildly at Chloe with her hands. “Look at you!”

“So, hypothetically,” Chloe takes a few more slow steps towards Beca, “you’d be open to some ‘rewards’ for all the emotional fluffing you’ve been doing lately?”

“Uhhh,” Beca drones, at a loss for words. Chloe’s now standing right in front of her, and Beca feels all the heat in her face rush south when Chloe puts her hands on her shoulders and slowly lowers herself to sit on Beca’s lap.

“I just assumed, since you’re attracted to me and all,” Chloe says in a low, sultry tone. Beca gulps. Chloe leans in close to say the next words in Beca’s ear. “And you’re upset you’re not getting any perks out of this relationship.”

Beca’s hands move to Chloe’s waist on their own accord while Chloe drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders. She swallows again. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t say no to a little compensation,” she breathes. “For all my efforts.”

Chloe moves her head so that her face is right in front of Beca’s, their noses brushing. Her eyes look down at Beca’s lips. “Then it’s probably a good time to tell you that I’m attracted to you too.”

That’s when Chloe closes the small gap between them. Beca allows it with zero complaints.

* * *

The next day, Beca knocks timidly on Stacie’s door.

“Come in!” Stacie’s sing-song voice says from inside.

Beca opens the door slowly. Stacie’s sitting at her desk with one ear bud in, working on some sort of essay. She turns when Beca enters the room and looks at her expectantly. “Hey, Stace. I, uh, just wanted to, um-”

“Is that a hickey?” Stacie asks excitedly, shooting up from her desk chair to get a closer look. She runs her fingers over the dark bruise on Beca’s neck. “Tell me, who finally got you to loosen up and rocked your world?” She gasps suddenly and pulls her hands away from Beca to clasp them together in front of her. “It was Chloe, wasn’t it?”

Beca laughs. “How the hell did you know?”

Stacie wiggles her eyebrows at her. “It’s just my natural sexual intuition.”

Beca wrinkles her nose. “Gross.” Stacie just laughs. “Regardless, I just wanted to… thank you, I guess. Your horrible advice actually turned out pretty good, so I thought you should know.”

Stacie bites her lip and grins. “I like Beca after sex. She's a lot less grumpy. Maybe I should actually be the one thanking Chloe right now.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do, Shorty.”

* * *

“Becaaa!”

Beca rolls her eyes and gets up from her bed, already knowing that Chloe’s going to want her to come downstairs.

Chloe continues to yell for her until she sees Beca appear at the top of the steps.

“What do you need, Chlo?”

Chloe smiles sweetly up at her. “Can you take me to the mall?”

Beca rolls her eyes and makes her way down to Chloe. “I can’t wait until you get your own car,” she grumbles, but starts putting her shoes on regardless. Chloe laughs and runs to get her purse.

From the living room, Stacie makes a whip-cracking motion. Beca flips her off before allowing Chloe to tug her out the door.

Later, Beca decides that she really doesn’t mind doing things for Chloe. She likes spending time with her, they always have a good time when they're together, and sometimes she gets food out of it.

And when Chloe drags her into a dressing room so that she can kiss her senseless and let her hands wander all over her body?

Well, it’s not like Beca can complain about that, either.

[nonsensical-shitposting]

Petrichor (Seeker fanfic): Chapter 1

Here’s the first chapter of a @seekerquest reader-insert fanfic, the general premise of which is that the reader appears at the beginning of the story and proceeds to try to make things better, only to end up… not doing that. Huge thanks to @the-sans-the-sans-the-sans for cowriting parts of this- they were a massive help with dialogue, planning, and generally everything. The next chapter should be coming soon!

.

You open your eyes, and your first thought is that grass isn’t supposed to be purple.

Your second thought is that somebody’s hesitantly poking your shoulder.

Your third thought is that this feels way too real to be a dream.

You sit up abruptly, ignoring the sudden dizziness filling your head as you look around you. Purple grass, fog lingering over everything, gray cloudy sky…

“Uh. Who are you?”

Your fourth thought is whoever that voice belongs to, they sound kinda like John Mulaney, but female, and then you spin around and where you are suddenly becomes much clearer.

The “person” speaking to you is a small, white bunny with big yellow eyes, who is currently staring at you in confusion- not total, abject confusion, but it’s clear that she doesn’t know what’s going on.

It’s also clear, at least to you, that she is Seeker, the titular protagonist of the webcomic by the same name.

Under any other circumstances, you’d expect yourself to start thinking things like how did this happen and then quickly move on to freaking out over the implications of this, but somehow you’re able to keep your cool as you get to your feet and brush yourself off. Okay, looks like we’re in Pax’s world right now. When is this in the timeline? Seeker isn’t gray yet, so it’s still early- actually, hang on… You tilt your head to look behind Seeker, and sure enough, there’s the pillar/column thing she appeared on. So, probably really early on, then.

“Did you meet Darth Noodlecat yet?” you ask her.

Seeker furrows her brow. “What… does any of that mean? You’re the first person I’ve seen here, if that’s what you’re asking. I turned around and you were just…” She gestures aimlessly. “…lying there on the ground.”

Okay, so probably the very beginning of the comic, then. Great, you think, pressing your palms against your temples as you do your best to stave off the probably-inevitable panic attack looming at the back of your mind. Okay, think. What do you… actually, no, first things first, you need to find somewhere to hide before Impaxter shows up. How…

“Hey!” Seeker snaps her fingers directly in front of your face, causing you to flinch. “Can you hear me?”

“I need to hide.” you say, less to her and more just in general. You have a feeling Impaxter won’t react well if he sees you. Feeling distinctly idiotic, you crouch behind the column, glad it’s large enough to conceal you. “Pretend I’m not here,” you tell her. “I’ll explain as soon as the Impostor finishes his spiel, but I don’t want to find out what’ll happen if he sees me.”

You can tell Seeker’s still confused, but to her credit, she nods and gets back up onto the column. Honestly, you thought she’d be more argumentative. “Who’s-”

You shush her immediately, hunkering down even more behind the column in a desperate attempt to conceal yourself. Dread roils within you as you realize you don’t remember which direction the Impostor came from in the original comic- what if you’re crouching directly in his line of sight?

Fortunately, luck is on your side, and the footsteps you can hear approaching come from the other side of the pillar. You hold your breath and keep as still as you possibly can.

“You are back here.” the Impostor says. His voice “sounds” more like one of your own thoughts than anything else, but… clinging, somehow, as if it’s gradually filling your skull with a rotting, cloying odor until it spills out of your eyes and nose and mouth in horrible spidery tendrils. You’re distantly aware that you’re shaking and pray that he can’t hear you. “That is interesting. You moved, and then you came back to where I put you.”

“What?” Seeker asks. She sounds… scared, at least a little. Then again, given how you acted right before he showed up, you might have something to do with that. Oops.

“You are fearful.” observes the Impostor slowly. “That is also interesting. Why?”

Because you’re a creepy cat-shaped toothpick, that’s why, you think, desperately hoping Seeker doesn’t say something stupid in response.

“I’m not!” Seeker insists before jumping right into interrogating him. “Who are you? Why did you put me up here anyway? And what’s with your ears?” You would laugh at her last question- you almost forgot about that line- but you’re just too terrified to find any amusement in this.

“Ears.” the Impostor repeats.

“Yeah, you’ve got big, long ears. Is there a reason for that, or… are you just gonna keep staring at me?”

Their conversation seems to be back on track to how it was in canon, so you tune it out for now. Your lungs are starting to burn, so carefully, quietly, slowly, you allow yourself to breathe. Luckily, the Impostor doesn’t seem to hear you, which is weird considering how ridiculously large his ears are. (This time, you can feel nigh-hysterical laughter bubbling up in your throat at your internal quip, but you force it down.)

“The Seeker. That is you,” says the Impostor, drawing your attention back to their conversation.

“Is that my name, or my job?” Seeker asks.

“I will wait up there. Return if you find the truth.”

“Woah woah woah, hang on!” Seeker shouts, earning a slight smirk from you despite your fear. There’s the Seeker we all know and love. “What makes you think I’m just gonna do what you say?”

“You have something else to do?” the Impostor asks rhetorically. You hear his footsteps receding, and the creeping feeling of his presence leaves with him.

Once you’re sure he’s out of earshot, you sigh in relief (cliched a thing to do as it is) and sag back against the column, parts of you that you didn’t even know were tensed relaxing. If there was any upside to you being scared out of your mind for the past however many minutes, it’s that the majority of your existential panic over what might have put you in a world that is, as far as you know, supposed to be fictional was rerouted into being afraid of the Impostor.

There’s a sudden fwump noise, and a pair of bright yellow eyes are abruptly staring into yours as two floppy ears sort of swing awkwardly down and smack you in the chest and stomach. All you need to do is glance up to see that Seeker apparently thought it would be a good idea to flip her head upside down and over yours to stare at you, instead of just getting off the pillar and approaching you from the front like a normal person. “Okay, back up a little there, Seeks,” you say, instinctively leaning away from her.

Seeker grumbles but complies, pushing herself down off the column again and flopping inelegantly into a seated position next to you. “So. Talk.” she demands.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Where do I even start?”

Judging by the look she’s giving you, Seeker clearly thinks it should be obvious. “Uh, how about… who are you? What are you? Where’d you come from? What’re all these weird fabric things you’re wearing?”

“I’m a human, and these are clothing. Do you not know what clothing is?”

“Not like that.” Seeker pokes your hoodie. “Why were you hiding from that bossy weirdo- what’d you call him, ‘Darth Noodlecat?’”

You can’t help but laugh a little at that- you almost forgot you called him that in your panic to hide. “No, that’s just… an insulting nickname I came up with for him on the spot. I don’t know if he has an actual name, but I just call him ‘the Impostor’ or ‘Impaxter.’”

“You sound like you know him.” Seeker observes.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “I guess you could say that.” You can’t exactly tell her the truth, after all. Given that she’s probably only a few minutes old at this point, and also that she’s Seeker, she’s probably pretty gullible, but you doubt she’d believe you if you told her she was the main character of a webcomic- though, if she did, you have a feeling it’d result in quite the ego trip. Speaking of which… “You don’t happen to have any stupid voices in your head telling you to do dumb things, do you?”

“Uh. No? Is that something I’m supposed to have?”

“No, it just means things are going to be simultaneously easier and harder for us.” That is strange, though- why did she ask Impaxter the same things as she did in canon without them prompting her? Furthermore, the only reason you can think of why she wouldn’t have the askers telling her what to do is because you’re here, which raises a whole lot of other questions. On the other hand, if it means that Seeker’s going to do what you tell her to as if you were the askers… well, you can figure that out later. Right now, you need to come up with an excuse for why you’re here and then try to make things better. Other than exposing Impaxter earlier, though, you’re not sure there’s much you can do right now with what you know- last time you saw it update, the comic had only gotten up to-

Seeker snaps her fingers in front of your face several times again, bringing you back to reality. (Your new reality, anyway.) “Right, sorry. Uh… do you have any other questions?”

“Why’s that guy an ‘impostor?’” Seeker asks impatiently.

“Long story short, this world belongs to someone called Pax- nice dude, made a lot of cool stuff. Now that guy’s there in his world acting like it belongs to him, and I don’t know where Pax is, hence…” You shrug. “The Impostor. Or Impaxter- y’know, combination of ‘impostor’ and ‘Pax.’”

“Did you know this ‘Pax’ guy?”

“Not really?” While you can be honest, there’s no reason you can’t leave a few things out here and there. She wouldn’t believe the full truth anyway. “I never met him in person, if that’s what you’re asking. I… know some things about this world and the people who’re supposed to be in it, but not a lot, and I can’t say how I know them, either.” Tone is everything, and if yours just so happens to make Seeker interpret “I can’t say” as “I don’t know,” then that’s her problem. “I don’t know how I ended up here, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, that’s the general feeling I’m getting off of you.” Seeker nods.

“Wait, what? What do you mean by that?”

Seeker’s eyes narrow as she stares at you more closely, simultaneously demonstrating how little she understands the concept of personal space. “I… don’t really know? I dunno how to explain it, it’s just that… just looking at you makes me feel like you shouldn’t exist.”

“Huh.” You don’t have much of anything to say to that. You know what she’s saying is true on some level- you shouldn’t be part of this story- but yet, somehow, you are. “…okay, I have an idea.” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll help you figure out what happened to this world, and in return, you’ll help me figure out why I’m here. Sound like a deal?”

“…I mean, what are you gonna do if I say no?”

You hadn’t thought about that, actually. You should be able to find Fen as long as you get to that pipe thing and wait for him, and if he doesn’t show up, you think you know how to get to the door into the Family’s hallway, but you have no clue what you’d do after that or how you’d convince them to help you out. “I dunno. I guess I’d be kind of screwed.”

Seeker sighs reluctantly. “Alright, fine. I guess if helping you out means that… um, the Impostor has to wait longer to find out what happened to this place, it’s worth it.”

“That’s the spirit!” You try to give her a reassuring grin, but even you can tell it’s shaky. For a moment there, you were genuinely concerned she’d refuse to help you.

“Just, uh, one thing. What’s your name?” Seeker asks. “Do you even have one?”

You’re about to answer, but you realize with a shock that you don’t know what it is. You remember what your life before waking up here was like, you remember your family and friends, you remember every other detail of your however many years of existence- just not your own name. That seems like a very specific and arbitrary thing for whatever (or whoever) brought you here to make you forget, but what with how implausible everything else that’s happened to you in the last few minutes is, you’re inclined to set it aside for now.

“I don’t know.” you answer, brow furrowed. “I… don’t think I remember?”

“Well, how about ‘Speaker,’ then?” Seeker suggests. At your confused look, she adds, “Because you’re a weird… thing speaking to me, and it rhymes with Seeker!”

“Speaker?” You can’t stop a small grin from spreading across your face- somehow, that feels right in a way you can’t quite describe. “Yeah, that works. Alright, ‘Speaker’ it is, then.”

“Okay!” Just like that, Seeker immediately jumps on to a wholly different topic. “You said you know about this world and stuff, right?” At your hesitant nod, she continues, “Alright, so where should we go first?”

“Uh…” You consider. It’d be a good idea to find Fen as soon as possible- he probably has the best chance out of anyone at figuring out what the hell’s going on- but you also don’t think it’d be a good idea if Seeker skipped any of the memory orbs. With your luck, whichever one she missed would probably contain some major plot-relevant information that wouldn’t have become apparent until the end of the comic or something like that. “There’s some ruins in the fog over…” You spin in a circle, trying to figure out which way she would’ve headed originally. “Thataway. It’s probably a good place to start exploring, I think there was some important stuff going on there.”

“Alright,” Seeker nods, and just like that, she’s up and heading towards the ruins, and you hastily follow her, your mind immediately spiraling back into what comes next. At the very least, you can probably predict what’s going to happen in the near future, but everything after that is going to be more difficult to figure out as it diverges from the original comic- just Seeker knowing that the Impostor isn’t Pax is going to change a lot of things right off the bat as soon as the two of you encounter Fen. Furthermore, you think you remember the creator saying that the comic was about halfway done maybe a month ago, so that’s a lot of lore and plot you know nothing about that you’ll have to improvise your way through. While Seeker seems to have bought everything you told her, you have a feeling the Family’s going to be a bit more inquisitive about how you know the things you do know, and you’re not sure what you’re going to do then. You sure as hell can’t tell them they’re fictional characters, that’s for certain, but you don’t know what else you can tell them- pleading ignorance is only going to take you so far, and-

Your thoughts and worries are abruptly cut off by a sudden tug on your hair- not painful, but hard enough to make you flinch. You whip your head to the side and glare at Seeker, who raises her hands and takes a step back, face full of feigned innocence. “Don’t pull my hair.”

“I didn’t know if it was attached to your head!” Seeker protests. “It’s weird.”

You almost want to laugh, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to give her the satisfaction. Her antics were a lot funnier when there was a screen separating you, that’s for sure. “Just. Don’t, okay?”

“Okay!” Seeker keeps her hands raised, a slight whining tone entering her voice.

“Okay.” you repeat, shaking your head. I have a lot of work to do.

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

Ghost Kid Chapter Six: Awake

I hope none of y’all though Mu was gone from the story.

Mu woke to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. She shifted to try to sit up but stopped, wincing instead as her body protested the movement with a sharp burst of pain. It felt like she’d been run over by a steam roller. … Or beaten up by the Mafia again, far worse than ever before.

Except the last thing she remembered was watching Hat Kid scramble towards the controls of her ship as the ship’s alarms blared warning of imminent impact. They’d crashed. So then… where was she? And how she’d get here?

With a grunt, she tried to sit up and sort of managed to, just about enough that she could look down at herself and inspect the source of the pain. She was covered in a blanket but could tell that under it both of her legs were in what could only be casts, so was her right arm. Her neck was in something too. And she had an IV in her arm, ugh! On top of that she could feel that she wasn’t wearing her usual clothing but something thinner… a hospital gown? Or something similar?

She lifted her one good hand to her forehead only to find her head was bandaged too. With a groan she let herself flop back down to stare up at the ceiling again. She’d taken quite the beating. … She was lucky to be alive though; being in a spaceship as into crashed probably wasn’t a thing many people survived. All she could really do now was hope there was no permanent damage. At least she knew she wasn’t paralyzed or anything like that; she could wriggle her toes on both feet and wriggle her fingers on her broken arm.

So, she looked around her surroundings as best she could. She was a small room, plain and unexciting, just a bed adorned with a drab blue bedspread and a little desk and chair. There was a window on the wall next to her, drab blue curtains closed tight, only a small sliver of sunlight, coming through to illuminate the otherwise dark room. None of it was familiar.

So… what should Mu do? What could she do? … Nothing, she could no nothing. If this was a hostile location, she was doomed. She’d never been so injured she couldn’t at least walk before; it was… scary. She was at the mercy of whoever owned this place and had been taking care of her. … What if they expected her to pay for all this? There was no way she could, she was a broke orphan girl. Would they kick her out even before she healed? That’d be a death sentence. … What if they kept her as a slave to pay it off? Or sold her off to somebody? Or turned her into the Mafia? Or…

The door opened.

Mu flinched, balling her hand into a fist as if she had even a tiny bit of hope to be able to fight back should anyone try to hurt her. But the lady entering the room didn’t look threatening as she carried in a covered tray and flipped on the light, temporarily blinding Mu.

There was a soft clatter as she presumably placed the tray on the table followed a by a gasp. “You’re awake.”

Mu blinked open her eyes to look at the lady again. “Yes, I am. Who are you?” Just because someone looked unthreatening didn’t mean they were.

“People around here like to call me ‘the Doctor’ but my real name is Anna. Whichever you prefer is fine.”

A real doctor, huh? That might mean Mu was safe. Doctors were normally good guys, right? Though she could easily be lying about being a doctor to get Mu to lower her guard. … Though, considering the circumstances that wasn’t necessary; Mu was already at her mercy. So… maybe she was at least the kind of person to finish healing Mu before kicking her out because she couldn’t pay.

“People call me Mustache Girl.” She didn’t let her nervousness show in her voice. “So, you can call me ‘Mu’.” She didn’t give her real name out at all anymore because it didn’t matter. “What happened? How did I get here?” And what happened to Hat Kid?

The Doctor, or Anna – Mu wasn’t sure what she wanted to think of her as yet – pulled the chair out from the desk to sit down facing the bed. “I don’t know. A few weeks ago, someone rang my doorbell and ran off, leaving you alone on my doorstep, barely alive. I asked the neighbours but none of them saw anything and thus I have no idea who it might’ve been. Now that you’re awake I’m hoping you can shed light on that mystery.”

Had it been Hat Kid? Surely, she’d have been injured in the crash too though, right? Unless whatever alien species she was, was super sturdy and resilient. It was certainly possible, according to stuff Mu had heard she’d been running around doing all sorts of dangerous stuff and coming out unscathed. So, why wouldn’t she be able to survive a spaceship crash too? So it had to have been her who brought Mu here.

How unfair! Mu had barely survived and Hat Kid was just fine. And not only did she have the Time Pieces but she also basically had super powers, neither of which she was using for good. She was selfish! Mu hated her.

“I think I know who it was,” she finally said before the silence could stretch too long. “You probably don’t know her though.”

“You… sound like you don’t like her.”

“It was her fault I got hurt.” Though that was a lie, wasn’t it? The crash was mostly Mu’s fault; she’d started the physical fight and had been the one to push Hat Kid into the command desk, turning the ship on. But it was easier to say that than it was to explain the actual situation. Especially since, Mu’s actions weren’t the most defensible without explaining everything about the situation and that wasn’t something she wanted to get into with a stranger. “I don’t want to talk about it. But… you said you found me on your doorstep how long ago?”

Anna frowned but sighed and answered. “Just shy of three weeks ago now.”

How could that long have possibly gone by without Mu realizing it? She’d been unconscious in the care of a complete stranger for almost three whole weeks! Thankfully said stranger seemed to be a good person so far but if she hadn’t been… Mu didn’t even want to consider what might’ve happened.

And during that whole time, Hat Kid had most likely been repairing her ship, getting ready to leave with the Time Pieces. Ugh! Mu needed those to stop the Mafia.

“How long before I’m healed enough to leave?” Fixing a crashed spaceship had to take a long time, right? Maybe Mu still had a chance if she recovered quickly and found the ship before Hat Kid could get it into space again.

“Not for a while sweetie. I can’t really give you an estimate. But, now that you’re awake, you can tell me how I can contact your parents so…”

“That’s not why I want to leave,” Mu interrupted. “I don’t have parents. I need to leave because I have something important I need to do. I can’t tell you what it is but it’s important.”

Anna gave her a look filled with sorrow that only made Mu feel a little angry because she didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Well, it’s going to be a while. I’m doing everything I can but healing takes time.” And with how bad Mu was hurt, it would take a lot of time. All she could really do was hope it would take less time than it did for Hat Kid to fix her ship.

Previous / Next

[apprenticenerd]

"Anyone can send me an ask with one of the titles and I’ll post a snippet or talk about that WIP!" The Acropolis, Tacet, Checklist, A Tiny Galaxy, Hearsay, Going Back, Ella Disenchanted, Making Peace, The Slashed Circle, Wake Up, Tenno, Midnight, Heliotropism, Arrhythmia, the one about Among Us, the one about Library of Ruina, the one that’s a D&D world concept. Yes, all of them. I know you wanna talk about all of them. So go, go forth and do it!

Hoooo boy, this is gonna be a long post. Lots and lots of writing snippets under the cut to avoid dash stretch!

The Acropolis - original - length uncertain - 1.4k and counting

im not ready for this im not i thought it would be yrs i thought id at least get an english degree first

omg sal whats goin on

fuckin hell whyd it have to be now i have a chem lab tomorrow

sally-tate macpherson. u never swear. ever. wtf is goin on.

ok. jess. i need u to listen really really carefully. understand?

answer the goddamn question ur scarin me

shut up and listen and this will go a lot better

fine but u need to tell me wtf is happnenig

ok. im going to tell you a bunch of stuff. not giving u advice, thats not allowed, but im gonna tell u stuff it seems like itd be impossible for me to know.

?????????????

i said shut up this is really important dont question how i know it. just go with it and figure out what to do. and dont die. bc no matter how crazy stuff seems, if u die, ur dead. here and everywhere. ok?

This is an original story coming straight from a @/writing-prompt-s prompt about a crack in a kid’s hardwood floor that they fantasized was a portal actually being one. I originally intended to write the entire thing like this, as a conversation over text, but that may not be feasible given a certain world-building detail at the other end of the portal (and the limits of my creativity lmao).

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Tacet - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 3.2k and counting

She closed her eyes again, and there it was. Hallucination? Some new science trick with electromagnetic radiation off the visible spectrum? Evidence that she was actually going insane? Whatever it was, it burned behind her eyelids in bright, incontrovertible red - and was completely invisible when she opened her eyes again. There was just the usual mess of club posters and one big one about someone’s exceedingly dumb-looking lost cat.

Eyes open, there was only Sargent Snuggles. Eyes closed, there was the normal darkness and then three lines of text where the poster had been, wavering like scarlet fire:

JOIN TBC JOIN TBC JOIN TBC

TBC? What the fuck was that? She’d never heard of any group with that acronym before. Hardly aware of the flurry of weird looks from half the other people in the hallway, she crossed the hall to examine the lost cat poster more closely. It felt like perfectly normal paper when she touched it, and there wasn’t even a hint of red with her eyes open, unless you counted the cat’s tacky pink sweater. How the hell was this even possible?

“You’re finally cracking, Bri,” she groaned under her breath, then headed for her locker. She did have to get home. Add another big fat entry to the weird shit list.

A backstory one-shot for my Blackout Club OC Briar, telling the story of how she got into the club in the first place. I’ve been stuck in the same spot for a while now, after Briar’s friend Dani explains the club to her, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the scene’s over as is. Of course, writing the next one is the tough part.

---

Checklist - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 1.7k and counting

8. You still have a headache. Shouldn’t you go back to sleep and try to do this in the morning?

9. (wake up)

10. Nah, you’ve always been a night owl, and school starts criminally early, too early to get much done beforehand. It’s quiet, except for Dad snoring. Your parents are asleep already. You can stay up until this is done, and they’ll be none the wiser.

11. Your head hurts worse. It’s getting harder to think. At only 9 pm? 9:30? Whatever. You should sleep.

12. (wake UP)

13. What are you thinking? You have to read at least a little of this chapter, or there’s no way you’ll be able to bullshit your way through class tomorrow. Besides, all of a sudden, the silence feels...strange. Heavier? You can’t describe it.

14. You need to sleep. You need a drink of water or something. You need to finish this damn homework. You need to sleep. You need to sleep.

15. Stare at The Great Gatsby. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

16. Realize what’s up with the silence. Dad’s not snoring anymore. You aren’t feeling like yourself. You need to sleep.

17. Something’s weird.

18. (WAKE UP) 

19. ...No. Something’s wrong.

Another Blackout Club story and another Interface Screw, as it were, this time in the form of a (very long) checklist. None of the characters have names (yet). It describes another way a kid could find themself running around at night with the Blackout Club, this time by fighting off the Song just enough to run into a club member who could wake them up the rest of the way. As with Tacet, I still need to write the suspenseful part.

---

A Tiny Galaxy - Warframe - 4 chapters planned, 1 complete, 1 in progress - 7.8k and counting

Try it if you don’t believe me, the kid in the vent had said.

It was impossible. It was physically impossible. All of this was impossible. Had the Void...? Could the Void...?

The ship was at a standstill. Her mother had tried to kill her, and something had happened. She’d made something happen. There had been no holoprojector in that kid’s hand. Nothing was impossible anymore.

Jhia took a deep breath. How the heck was she supposed to do this? Was she supposed to feel something, some internal guide? Blue Hair hadn’t said. Feeling incredibly stupid, she did a quick mental checkup on herself. Nothing felt wrong, or different - but now that she thought about it…

Afterward, she would try many times to explain it, and fail every time. The best she could come up with was that once she found the Void, calling on it was as easy and as natural as breathing. She opened her hands in front of her, concentrated on that force like an extension of herself, reopened her eyes, and there it was: a riotous little ball of energy, wisps and motes of light and not-quite-light like a tiny galaxy, the Tau system in the palm of her hand, raging.

More OC backstory time! This one’s for my Tenno, a nerdy fourteen-year-old (at the time of this story, anyway) by the name of Jhia, going through the hell that is the Zariman Ten-Zero and what happened on it. This is possibly the first part of the story I actually wrote: the roll-credits moment when Jhia realizes the Void’s changed her more already than she thought.

---

Hearsay - Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina - one-shot - 1k and counting

"Oh? Did they investigate further?"

"They tried. Found a few fingerprints, but they didn't match anyone in the database."

"What's the update, then?"

"Reports from elsewhere in the district of someone not in uniform carrying a Zwei sword. They're slippery, good at avoiding us, which would suggest Syndicate operative to me and HQ. Except that in every one of the descriptions we managed to get, our sword thief is a child."

"What? How?!"

"You tell me, Iona. You're the one who went to the crime scene."

"Right... Jeez, if it's a kid, I guess that'd explain why Petrov thought they weren't a threat..."

"My thoughts exactly. HQ has a fair amount of hearsay to go on, but nobody can quite agree on how old the child is, or whether or not she's with a Syndicate. Most agree that she appears to be a girl, tall for a child, auburn hair, clothes and demeanor typical of a Backstreets native."

"We got a name?"

"They've heard Yeri, Kali, Redbird, Suma, Aelfin... No one knows which is her real one, or if it's even any of them at all."

"Damn. ...Say, are you going to drink that entire pot of coffee?"

"Help yourself."

This is one of those stories that turned into an accidental AU when more of canon came out. The idea behind it is that it’s Kali’s backstory told entirely in conversations in which she did not participate, showcasing the fact that a Fixer’s fame is their livelihood and Kali was about as famous as they come, before the whole L Corp thing happened. Of course, the vast majority of the headcanons here got invalidated with a certain Ruina update, so my motivation’s kinda down on this one.

---

Going Back has already been talked about here!

---

Ella Disenchanted - The Blackout Club - one-shot (maybe two-shot??) - 1.4k and counting

She woke. Her stomach went through a series of panicked flip-flops as she thought something strange had done it, Dad or a little-kid-nightmares shadow beast had made noise, but no - why had she fallen asleep in the first place? Her butt and shoulder were sore where they’d been leaning on the bottom and side of the windowsill, presumably all night, since the sun was full up over the trees on Old Growth Hill. 

All night. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep, but she did anyway. God dammit.

As she unfolded herself from her cramped ball, though, she froze. Under the comforter she’d pulled around her shoulders for warmth, she was wearing her gray jacket, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers getting dried mud all over the carpet. 

Last she remembered, she’d been in her pajamas.

In which a Blackout Club kid’s little sister wonders where he’s gone when he runs away to the boxcar, and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery herself. Usually she’d be too young for the club to recruit, but her investigations and an incident involving SAO are more than enough extenuating circumstance. Unlike most of my other WIPs, there’s a whole outline at the end of my doc for this one.

---

Making Peace - Warframe - multi-chapter - 1.5k and counting

“I…” Iksoh finally said. “Sorna, I hope you realize. I’m not into this. I never - I’m not doing this. Whatever you’re doing, I can’t.”

“I know,” Sorna said softly. The decision tore at her heart again and she almost backed out of the vent, but no. She had to go. She wouldn’t see another innocent crumple in her rifle sights. “I hope you realize. I’m not coming back.”

Behind her, Iksoh let out a long, shaky breath. “It’s taking all I’ve got not to report you right now. Sorna… the Queens’ll have my head for this. Please, please, let it be worth it. Go. Don’t let them take yours.”

“I won’t,” Sorna promised, and meant it.

Later, after her last fight for her freedom was done, on the Steel Meridian ship headed for Kronia Relay, Sorna looked out at the planet retreating behind her and thought of Iksoh. She’d just learned a new word from a Meridian soldier: vaykor tal, the defector’s spirit. Iksoh had let her go, at risk of their own life. They’d had a bit of the vaykor tal themself, even if they hadn’t known it, even if they’d thought it was just some weakness that was bound to get them killed.

“Ranre treri, duf krun,” she whispered into space, a Grineer well-wishing passed down from sergeant to tube-fresh lancer since time immemorial. May your hands be steady, and may life be kind.

This is an AU born of me and some friends wondering why in the heck Perrin and the Meridian hate each other so much in game. It’s about a group of Kavor - Grineer defectors distinguished from other Meridian members by their pacifism - who get to a Relay and start wondering the same thing. Besides Sorna (and, later in the story, Iksoh as well), there would have been Chakh, Beket, and Sydon, plus at least four of the syndicate leaders and a bunch of side-character OCs, all caught up somehow in what turns out to be a surprisingly far-reaching web of intrigue.

--

The Slashed Circle - Warframe - one-shot, probably - 429 and counting

In addition to their written and spoken language, the Grineer have a full language of hand signs. It has its quirks, as all languages do - be careful of confusing it with the Corpus sign language, in which the sign for “to pay” roughly approximates the Grineer sign for...a certain portion of the male anatomy. Among these is the common Grineer sentiment against those who defect from their ranks, baked into the sign just as much as their spoken words. 

The sign of the slashed circle, the sedashkur - a finger drawn in a circle on the chest, followed by a diagonal line - is the highest of taboos to any loyal Grineer. It shows support for such scum as the Kavor and Steel Meridian, enough so that it forms the basis for the Meridian’s battle standard. To sign the sedashkur is to betray your siblings, commit a grave insult to your superiors, paint a near-indelible target on your back. It is an object of hatred and fear throughout the ranks.

She fears it, yes, but she does not hate it, for all her life and into her death as well. It shouldn’t trouble her now, though. It is easy to hide a language, and she burned her journals before she was called to the fortress.

This is a fic about Jhia and her one (1) converted Kuva Lich, namely about the process of said Lich’s defeat and defection, that kinda never got off the ground. Contrary to this snippet, I think most of it would have been written in what are essentially space emails back and forth between Lich and Tenno? I definitely got as far as Jhia sending an audio recording of a bass-boosted dog fart, anyhow.

---

Wake Up, Tenno - Warframe - one-shot - 950 and counting

“Wake up, Tenno.”

She wakes. She is - she is Tenno, right? She is a Tenno? Her mind is confused, so full of fog and dead ends - how long was she asleep?

The voice that woke her seems familiar. She might have loved the speaker, in her scrambled past life, the woman in the purple helmet, the one called Lotus in her HUD vision. Her surroundings are a ruin of some sort. Her body is—

...what?

She can move just fine. Her fingers and arms and legs respond with suspicious ease, given how long she must have slept to be this scattered upon waking up, and yet there’s some fundamental disconnect. This is her Warframe, her body, but it’s not her body somehow.

...wait, where did the term “Warframe” come from?

A Tenno, unnamed but intended to be Jhia on my end, wakes up on Earth at the very beginning of the in-game storyline. Since the tutorial has gotten an overhaul in recent months, I may have to modify even what little I have on this a lot.

---

Midnight - Iconoclasts - poem - 280 and counting

been anything smaller than been anything

never been anything smaller than

“good morning, how’s miss grump doing today? i heard about that last mission...if you didn’t sleep well i can call you in sick, it’s alright-” “oh, shut up, grey”

there has never been anything

“oh, shut up, grey” “love you too”

smaller

“love you too”

than

me

A very fragmented, stream-of-consciousness-y poem meant to represent Agent Black’s failing sanity near the end of the game. The words of her famous one-liner (“there has never been anything smaller than me”) are interspersed, out of order until the end, with poetic descriptions of other characters and bits and pieces of a flashback involving Agent Grey.

---

Heliotropism - Iconoclasts - one-shot - 1.1k and counting

Lily, though she’s superstitious, will have none of these self-important truths, none of these semblances of certainty when really all it is is wishing on Ivory and hoping for the best. She calls for Miss Andress instead. 

A stout but severe woman with ten grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way, Miss Andress is perhaps the quintessential matriarch: nurturing, selfless, brutally honest. She is the one the people of 17 trust when they feel they can trust no one else. Lily needs the kind of reassurance only she can give, with the authority of ninety-one years and the wisdom of two sons, one daughter, and some five dogs raised under her care.

When Miss Andress visits House 4, she asks Polro and Lily to each bring an object they cherish the most. For Polro it’s his largest wrench, pitted with use but still polished to a brassy shine; Lily surprises everyone by pulling out a tiny, unloaded stun-gun, and surprises them more by not explaining it at all. Miss Andress doesn’t question it. She just turns the two tools over and over in her hands, head bowed, squinting at them as if trying to read the secrets of the universe in the scratches carved into them by time.

Finally she straightens up and sighs, pushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her forehead is slick with sweat, though the night is cool outside. “I don’t know what she’ll do,” the wise woman says, heavily, as if delivering bad news. “I just know she’ll change the world.”

Can you tell I like backstory fic? This one is for Robin, with one short anecdote for each year of her life, up to age 17 and the events of the game. It’s also an excuse to world-build a bunch, lol.

---

Arrhythmia - Crypt of the NecroDancer - one-shot(?) - 4k and counting

The creature didn’t say anything, just beckoned to the shadows. Before I could move, two other creatures came for me, sending the other humans - former humans? - scrambling away in panic. One landed a hard blow on the back of my head that sent me to my hands and knees, seeing sparks; the other said “Freeze!” and I could only watch as ice sprouted from the leaf litter, cementing me to the ground.

The one who’d hit me produced a dagger from the inside of its cloak. I tried to pull myself up, to do anything at all to keep myself from getting shanked, but it was no good. There must have been a secondary effect on that spell; my limbs wouldn’t respond. I felt the dagger tear cloth in the region of my back, and prepared for the pain.

It didn’t come. The creature cut a slit in the back of my tunic, then another. Neither one touched the skin at all. I can’t really describe what happened next - my brain was having trouble computing how my arms were in front of me, visible, unable to move, but it felt like the creature was pulling them through the gashes in my tunic, but that was wrong, they didn’t feel like arms at all.

“Holy fuck,” I heard someone say.

The ice holding me down melted into nothing as the spell wore off. I jumped back up, head spinning a little, ready for another fight, only to spot two flicks of scarlet in my peripheral vision. I spun around, but they moved with me.

I think I already knew what they were. I just couldn’t admit it to myself.

You’ve already seen this one, Nick, though I’m pretty sure it was well over two years ago. It’s a pile of old headcanons, some of them now outdated I’m pretty sure, about how Nocturna ended up a vampire in the first place and a little bit about how vampire society works. According to Google Docs, I’ve been stuck on this one since March 2018. Whoops.

---

untitled (working title “adult citra meets an impostor bc what is self-control”) - Among Us - one-shot - 572 and counting

“I know. You’re stuck, aren’t you?” Having well and truly gotten their full attention, Citra continues, “God, I can barely imagine. Having to take a weird-ass host whose biology might even be toxic to you, I don’t know. Needing to get to a whole other galaxy, feeling like the only way to do that is by deception and death.” “How…?”

She sighs. “I told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. One of your kind saved my life when I was a kid. Since he’d killed Mom and Dad had been out of the picture long before, he stayed here and helped raise me afterward. It’s how I learned to pronounce...a few of your words, at least.”

“You missed the ‘H’ sound.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s literally impossible to do right with Terran anatomy?”

“Maybe. You think I know Terran anatomy all that well?”

Citra chuckles. “Fair point. You let us find your buddy and fix the ship, I’ll raise Xai when we get comms back and he can try and help you get home. Deal?”

I found an Among Us comic on Tumblr, absolutely ran into left field with it to make a couple of OCs, and then made AUs of those OCs because of course I did. This one is from a future scenario in which Citra (typically orange) meets someone rather familiar on a mission with the crew of the Skeld.

---

untitled (working title “library of ruina but they adopt half the guests”) - Library of Ruina - length uncertain - 1k and counting

“And what happened to not caring about others because it’s a waste of time and heartache?”

Now it’s Roland’s turn to sigh. “I don’t care about him. I just don’t want the guilt of killing - look at him, he can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen!”

Raised eyebrow. “Finn will be twenty years old in fifteen days’ time. He is a legal adult. I fail to see why this should matter to either of us.”

“He’s fresh off his first Fixer license! I have years of experience! He had no idea what he was getting into when he signed that invitation and you know it!”

Angela fixes him with a glare that turns his stomach, his freshly remade body reacting to the memory of its sudden, and extremely painful, dismemberment. “I could quite literally hold your soul in my hands if I wanted,” she reminds him in an undertone of steel. “I must do the same for him, following the invitation’s guidance, or my entire plan will be lost, my coworkers’ sacrifices all for naught. Do not disappoint me or ask any more impertinent questions. You know what to do, and what will happen if you do not.” 

Look, some of the people you fight in this game deserved so much better, okay? I came up with an AU concept where if a guest willingly concedes the fight and agrees to stick around, you can get their book without killing them. Finn doesn’t die; neither do Tomerry or Shi Association; all the former employees realize exactly what’s going on with Philip after the Wedge Office fight and manage to calm him down, avoiding the whole Crying Children situation. (And then Gebura makes him collect his jaw off the floor by revealing herself as the Red Mist.)

---

The one that’s a D&D world concept doesn’t have anything concrete written for it yet. (Don’t read this bit if you might want to play in my campaign at some point!) Instead of your typical Forgotten Realms planar setup, the world at large would be called the Seven Spheres, each of them different in terms of climate, geography, native species and magic, etc. The First Sphere would be the most “generic” one (to our way of thinking) and the main setting of the campaign; it would also be the smallest of the Seven, its primary continent home to a former empire of dragons that spanned most of the Sphere until its mysterious fall a thousand years ago.

Now, since the empire fell, the dragons and their children have slowly been dying out. Best estimates are that there’s only a thousand or two left in the entire First Sphere, with fewer eggs hatched every decade. The player characters enter a world with pretty typical low-level quests to start with, but every so often, especially if they engage with optional story stuff (this would be a more roleplay-focused than combat-focused campaign), they get wind of changes in the air - a failed harvest here, an unusually hot and stormy summer there, a trade war once they start hitting mid-levels.

It mimics real-world climate change in all but cause. As coastal cities struggle to contend with rising seas and, more alarmingly, wizards all over the Sphere start to notice their magic falter and wane, the PCs’ goal becomes getting to the bottom of this. And what’s at the bottom is...your typical Nerd fusion of science with fantasy settings.

The Seven Spheres are not planes of existence in the normal D&D sense, but seven planets in the same solar system, each with its own ancient god far more powerful than any god in any mortal pantheon; the First Sphere is so named because it’s closest to the sun. These planetary gods are incredibly large and incredibly alien, thinking in geologic time and concepts far too broad and slow for most sapient beings to comprehend. A thousand years ago, the fall of the dragon empire was caused by an ill-advised ritual meddling with the god of the First Sphere’s natural process of rebirth, causing said god to die without a replacement.

It’s taken this long for the First Sphere to feel the effects because, again, geologic time - a thousand years is a blink of an eye in this kind of time scale. But now the ancient earth-magic that had kept the Sphere’s climate temperate and its magicians in business is failing. The dragons, as beings of magic intrinsically, have been failing all along. And now it’s up to the PCs, up at level 17-20 if not higher by that point, to figure out how to fix the situation and find a new planetary god for the First Sphere before the whole Sphere burns to death.

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 10/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Flashback: Weaver and Belle make a major discovery in the case.

Notes: So I hope this clears up some of the confusion with the plot of this story. This is majorly late and unbeta'd and barely read over. I'm so sorry for this being a total hot mess and probably riddled with typos. For the Writer's Month prompt#20: weird.

Warnings: Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags. No additional warnings for this chapter.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

9 weeks and 3 days ago...

Belle sighed heavily and sat back in her chair, tossing her pen on the table.

Four days ago she’d fucked her ex-husband on the sofa just behind her. She expected it to cause some fracture in their working relationship, for him to come in the next day or even show up at her apartment to start some huge argument, but things went on as if it never even happened. That unnerved her more than the shouting would have.

At least three different times, she’d almost brought it up, but chickened out at the last second. Things had been too good between them these last few weeks. It was - nice. They’d become some kind of friends again, a bit like it was after they first met, when it was sarcastic, flirty remarks after testimony, or over drinks at Roni’s, and she could admit to herself that she was loathing messing any of that up. Except of course it had escalated from there, just as it had when they finally started dating. One dinner and she let him push her up against the door to her apartment and kiss her senseless, and a minute later she was dragging him into her apartment.

That first time they didn’t even make it to her bed, and she was left with an amusing pattern of lines on her back from the exposed brick wall of her living room. He stayed the night, and by morning she ached like she’d done back to back yoga classes at the gym. She had never had a lover that attentive, who found every button she had and pushed them over and over, or who seemed to like everything she did; hard and rough one time, and soft and intimate the next. Sex was the one thing they never got wrong.

She shouldn’t have let things go that far with Ian, but for a moment while they were dancing it felt like old times, like none of the shit between them had happened, like there wasn’t a murder board behind them and autopsy reports on the table. It was always so damn good with him, and the case overwhelmed her so much that she needed something to push all of it away. Except when it was over everything came rushing back.

A tingling shiver crept over her, and she abruptly pushed back from the table and stood up, silently chastising herself for getting lost in such thoughts. Again. She rubbed at her tired eyes and wiggled her feet back into her shoes before moving across the room to the whiteboard.

The board was completely covered now with photos, reports, and scribbled notes in marker, all comprising a full timeline of some of the most heinous murders she’d ever seen. Her eyes scanned the top where they had taped pictures of the victims, then sectioned off the board between each of them to group the case elements together. Their names were burned into her brain, their smiling faces - faces that would never smile again - permanent fixtures when she closed her eyes.

She sighed again and the office door opened.

“Well, that was a bloody waste of time.”

Belle turned and watched as Weaver strode quickly across the room, dropping the folder he’d taken with him and his notebook on the table.

“What was?” she asked, almost grateful that they could talk about the case and pull her mind away from other things.

“Trying to find Eloise Gardner,” he said, giving her a flat smile. “As near as I can tell, she doesn’t fucking exist.”

Belle made a face. “What?”

He huffed and sat on the edge of the table. “Her last known address is an empty lot that up until a year ago was a community garden. She doesn’t have a driver’s license in this state. She hasn’t paid taxes, apparently ever. I can’t find a Social Security Number, state ID, W-2, forwarding address, employer, or any official piece of paper to prove she existed.”

Belle sank onto the sofa and dropped her head to her hands as she breathed. She looked up at Weaver feeling more tired and drained than she had in days. “So why did Branson say she could prove he was innocent?”

Weaver shrugged. “No clue. Though he did murder five people, so I’m not sure he’s making the best life choices.”

She snorted at that and shook her head. “Did you have any luck with any of the others?”

He turned and picked up the notebook, opening it and flipping passed a few pages. “I found Mr. Porter, the garbage man, at work, but Mrs. Emery was not at her apartment, and no one had seen her in days.”

Belle blinked. “You’re joking…”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Her head dropped again in defeat. “So, our eye witness to the disposal of the last victim, just up and disappeared? Fucking great.”

Weaver started to smile. “Not exactly.” She lifted her head slowly, eyebrows raised. “I tracked down the building manager, and he said she moved out. I went to the post office and they have a forwarding address of a nursing home. I went there and found out she’d had a stroke. Her daughter…” He paused and flipped another page in his notebook. “Laura, arrived from Cambridge last week and has been helping to get her settled in.”

“Cambridge...Massachusetts?”

His lips twitched. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she made a face. “England?”

“Her daughter teaches at the university,” he said, crossing to the sofa and sitting down beside Belle.

“Nice…” she muttered. “So, is she still with it enough to testify?”

“Seems so from talking to her.” He flipped his notebook closed. “She repeated everything the same as in her official statement. The doctor I spoke to said she should be fine now that she’s on medication, and that he’ll provide whatever documentation of her mental faculties is needed.

Belle flopped back against the sofa and slumped. “Thank god.”

“So,” he said, smiling. “That was the last six hours of my life. How was yours?”

“Lousy.” Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling and then she pushed herself up, crossing to the table to pick up a few photos. “I got copies of the crime scene photos we were missing from Crenshaw and Hughes, the last two. Nothing all that enlightening or helpful, though.”

She flipped through them as she walked back towards the sofa. “It’s all mostly background stuff that got left out, like the cars that were in the area, some random plant material, uh, shoe prints from Branson’s boots, and this which I thought you would ”

Weaver’s eyebrows lifted both at her tone and the smirking look she had on her face. She held out one photo and he leaned forward, holding the edge of it between his fingers as he looked at it. After a long moment, he groaned.

“Shit.”

Belle let out a snorting laugh. “Exactly.”

He shook his head as she set the rest of the pictures down on the coffee table. “Some crime scene tech actually took a picture of dog shit.”

She shrugged. “I guess they were being thorough?”

“Thoroughly fucking stupid, maybe,” he said absently, and she laughed.

She turned to grab something else, and as she pivoted on her right foot, her toes pulled back inside her shoe. A curse slipped out and she stumbled, the cramping pain contorting her foot and making it impossible to walk.

“Are you okay?” Weaver asked, sitting forward on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

She bent and took off her shoe, grabbing at her toes to try to relieve the tension. “It’s just a cramp. I think I’ve been pacing this office too much today.” She wobbled as she tried to walk wearing only one shoe and pressing the toes of her cramped foot against the floor. “Fuck.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Her look was dubious, but she hobbled over to the sofa and dropped down with a hiss. He reached for her leg, pulling it up and tipping her back on the couch. She let out a pained noise, as she struggled to point her toes and make the cramp stop.

“Relax,” he said softly, wrapping his warm hand over her toes.

Slowly, he worked her foot until the muscles stopped contracting, and she leaned back, resting her head on the arm of the sofa as she let him pull her foot completely into his lap. Under previous circumstances, this would have been more than welcome, and a possible prelude to other activities as his hand naturally crept higher and higher on her legs. Anytime she had to be in court all day, pacing and walking around, her feet would rebel and start cramping painfully by the end of the day. She blamed it on all the damage she’d done to them in dance and ballet in her younger days, followed by too many years of shoving them into heels constructed by masochists who thought all women had dainty, narrow feet that never went over a size seven.

After a few minutes, she was biting back moans as he worked his thumb against her arch, stroking the muscle up and down before making a sweep over the ball of her foot. Part of her wanted to let him do this for the next hour to both of her feet, followed immediately by her shoulders and neck. But a greater part of her knew she needed to stop things before they went to far. While those two factions warred within her, she rolled her head to the side and stared at the miscellaneous photographs.

A shoe print stared back at her from the top of the pile, the ones found at the last scene when Branson had been arrested, and she frowned. Something was poking at the back of her brain, something that was unsettled and curious at the same time. Abruptly, she yanked her foot away from Weaver, and pushed up.

Weaver let out a light grunt as Belle shoved against him. “What is it?”

“Hold on,” she said, scrambling to sit up. "Something's...weird."

She picked up the photo of Branson’s boot print, and stared at it for a few seconds, noting the size and the markers that had been placed around it. Then she set it to the side and shuffled through the rest of the photos.

Weaver frowned at her and then picked up the photo she’d set down. “What are you looking for?”

“The other print.” She was getting frustrated and wondering if she’d imagined it, when he reached out and snatched up the picture she’d been looking for.

“This one?” he asked, holding it out.

She grabbed both photos from him, and laid them on the table. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, as her eyes widened. She wasn’t crazy, but this case sure was. “Look.”

She pointed at the pictures, and he looked back and forth between them. There was nothing jumping out at him, but it had been a long day of driving around and making calls.

“Okay?”

Belle huffed and pointed at the marker on the first photo. “See the measurement on the one from his arrest?” Weaver nodded. “And now the one from the second crime scene.”

His head tilted slightly, and then it hit him. “They’re different.”

“Yeah,” she said, starting to smile. “Branson’s boot was a size eleven. But the first one is a ten.”

He shook his head. “They can’t both be his shoe can they?”

She shrugged. “They aren’t marked as elimination prints from any of the officers or techs. What’s his shoe size from his booking?”

Weaver got up and crossed to the table, sorting through the stacks of folders until he found the report of vital statistics from Nick Branson’s booking at the station. He scanned the page, his eyes going wide as he turned around.

“He’s an eleven.”

Belle stood up, her body practically vibrating with new energy. “There’s no way someone is going to wear a different size boot like that. A half size maybe, but not a whole size.”

He nodded and took a breath. “You know what that might mean then, right?”

She swallowed hard, her excitement waning in light of the new reality of the case. “We have two killers.”

[takemedancingmaine]

Second First Date

“Sorry I missed your call before.”

I slid my head buds in and slipped my phone back into my back pocket as I walked around the store. Cleo and I were meeting up with the rest of the group later for dinner. We were going to Liam’s. He was cooking and Louis was bringing some bread he wanted us to try.

Something about tomato and Rosemary Focaccia, I think?

For now, Cleo and I were strolling around a kitschy store that was one train stop down from me. I was admiring a cat mug when Mehar called for the second time. The first time had been when I was in the shower earlier and I'd forgotten to call her back.

“It's chill,” Mehar said casually. “I just wanted to see how you're doing. See if you've had anything exciting happen. I've got a paper to do and I'm putting it off.”

“What's the paper on?” I asked.

“Noooooo,” Mehar complained. “I'm calling to get away from it. You can't ask me about it. You're supposed to distract me.”

I rolled my eyes and put the cat mug down. “I apologize. I will not ask again; I will do my distraction duties properly from here on out.”

“So…” she started. “Anything fun or exciting happen?”

Yes. “Nope.”

“Nothing?” Mehar sounded sceptical.

Under no circumstances was I telling her about my date the other night. Especially since 1. I didn’t even know it was a date until after the date was over and 2. Cleo was well within earshot of anything I could say about it. If Cleo heard the whole friend group would know and I could see that future unfold behind my eyes.

Cleo would send a message to the group--the one with Niall in it this time--and our lives as we knew them would cease to exist. I’d already had a sneak preview after the binge-watching day, and I was not looking forward to hearing the remixed version of ‘We Told You So.’

I loved my friends, admired them, but knowing how we got whenever Cleo or Liam or Louis had a date was not giving me the best vibes to tell them about my date. We were actually ravenous for each other’s embarrassing stories, thrived off of them. It was unusual for me to go on a date--I was just kind of picky, not because I’m a prude or anything. So typically, the embarrassment was saved for my three other single friends. I was not willing to throw myself into the fire just yet.

Niall and I had texted each other yesterday after the group decided on dinner tonight, and we’d decided to keep whatever was going on between us to ourselves, at least until we figured out just what it was that was going on.

It wasn’t that we thought we’d act all that different around each other, not too much had changed between us, really. We hadn’t kissed or even held hands yet. We did decide to keep the physical contact to a minimum though. We could handle that easily enough. We weren’t teenagers who couldn’t control ourselves. We were adults, we could be normal, act normally without any trouble.

I knew that just being in the same vicinity as Niall, I would feel comfortable. With five other individuals there hell-bent on getting the two of us together, individuals who knew me--and admittedly Niall--better than anyone else, it was sure to be an entertaining evening, to say the least. It would prove to be a test for Niall and me, however hard that test was would depend on the diligence of our best friends. We’d been texting back and forth all morning about how to successfully avoid each other while surrounded by the crew.

I had faith in us.

I did not have faith in Mehar though, either. She was garbage at keeping her mouth shut, and she had Cleo’s number. Even if Cleo somehow didn’t hear me tell Mehar about the date or the one we’d planned for Tuesday night, Mehar would spill the beans. Of that, I was sure.

So no, I would not be telling my sister about Niall, at least until after my friends knew.

This was different from the other secret I was keeping. That other secret was in another realm, and would forever stay locked away in that other realm. This secret was just a little one that would be told when the time was right. I didn’t feel it weighing on my conscious at all. I didn’t feel anything remotely close to guilt keeping it from my friends, nor did I feel weird or heavy about not telling Mehar.

I moved over and picked up a notebook that had pre-written greeting cards that were puns. I was a sucker for a good pun. I started flipping through the pages as Mehar started talking again when I didn’t respond to her right away.

“I find that hard to believe,” Mehar said as I tried not to giggle out loud at a pun about bread.

“You shouldn’t,” I said now.

“You are absolutely horrible as a distraction,” she groaned. I could hear a thud. If I knew my sister, and I’d like to think that I do, she had just flopped down onto either her bed or the couch in her apartment.

I laughed at her.

“Mehar.” I shook my head and placed the book back down on its shelf, moving around to start looking at the rings on display. “I’ve told you before, I’m not all that interesting. I go to work, workout, sleep. Really not much to me.”

“So you’ve not given any more thoughts to dating apps then?” She asked, her voice muffled by something, probably a cushion or a pillow.

“I don’t need dating apps,” I told her, admiring a ring with a small, square green stone. “I’m fine without them.” I placed the ring on my middle finger. It looked cute.

I held it up to Cleo who looked up from the incense section and nodded her approval. I took it off but kept it in my hand. It was a decent price. I was going to get it. I liked wearing rings.

“You’re fine without them?” Mehar asked sceptically. “Ruby. When was the last time you went on a date? Or had sex? I mean, are you okay?”

“Mehar!” I whisper yelled into my phone. “I go out,” I said quietly.

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “Can you actually remember the last time you had sex?”

I love my little sister but she can be infuriating. I think that’s true for all people in your life. You even love the ridiculous things they do, like when your little sister calls you out for your lack of recent sex and you want to be mad but all you can do is blush with embarrassment and shake your head at her audacity.

“Mehar, I don’t need this from you.” I started walking around the store, looking at the posters on the far wall of various sights and attractions for Chicago. “I get enough of this from my friends.”

“Well if you truly were going out you wouldn’t be getting this from any of us,” she countered with a triumphant tone to her voice. “But you would be getting it.”

I could hear the insinuation. I bit my tongue and took a deep breath.

“You are the worst little sister,” I groaned. “The actual worst.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” I relented. “But you are annoying.”

“I’m just looking out for you, Ruby. I worry about you, big sister.” Her whole tone changed and she suddenly sounded sweet as Louis’ cherry pie. I wanted to vomit just hearing it.

“Oh no.” I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “You’re good. That was good.”

“I’ll take my Oscar now,” she chimed from the other end of the line.

“You’ll get nothing and like it,” I joked.

“Harsh.”

“Yeah, well, you did bring my sex life into this,” I said back.

“True.” She laughed. “But are you actually okay? I know we were joking before, but it really has been a long time since you’ve dated someone consistently, Ruby. I am genuinely concerned.”

“How do you know if it’s been a long time since I dated?” I asked. “I don’t always tell you everything, Mehar.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice went up in pitch. I instantly regretted my words. “You don’t always tell me everything? Does this mean that you are seeing someone? I mean, you’re saying no to dating apps and you’re being all uppity when I ask you about it. That could be because you are seeing someone and just don’t want to tell me. Your sister. Who tells you everything.”

“Some things she should probably keep to herself,” I said while looking at a backwards necklace--one of those that’s a choker in the front but hangs down your spine for when you’re wearing something backless. Which, for me is not often, but it was cute and I’m easily distracted by shiny things.

“Probably,” she said lightly, “but I don’t care all that much. Besides, we’re talking about you and these dates you’ve not been telling me about.”

“I’m not telling you because there’s nothing to tell, Me.” I rolled my eyes. “This is not some big conspiracy, I’m not keeping anything from you. I’m happy with my situation.”

“If you say so.” She gave in pretty easily. I knew she’d be thinking about it for quite a while, but at least for now she was going to let it drop. “So can I tell you about this guy in my abnormal psychology class? He is literally goals.”

“I’d love to hear,” I told her as I put her on mute and paid for my ring.

Once she’d told me the story of the guy in her class, we said our goodbyes and then Cleo and I crossed the street and went into a shoe store where our self-restraint was severely tested.

Once we’d finished there--Cleo having bought two pairs of shoes and me restraining myself to only one--we’d gone back to mine and flicked through episodes of Netflix shows to pass the time before we had to leave for Liam’s.

“Louis seems happier recently,” Cleo gave me a look as chose an episode on my laptop. It was Parenthood.

“You think?” I asked as I put my legs up over hers.

“Yeah.” She nodded, but her eyes were focused on the show. “Well, like he’s always happy, you know that. Our little Louis is literally sunshine. But it’s different now. I think it’s Niall.”

“It could be.” I shrugged as I leaned my head against her shoulder. “I think they were really close in college. They lived together for four years. It’s kind of like us after we graduated,” I said. “I was still happy, still going on with my life, but when I moved here and we lived together and even now? I’m a much happier person than I was back then.”

“Yeah,” Cleo said now. “I guess the difference there is that even though we talked when we were apart I didn’t really see you, so I didn’t notice the change.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Plus, I genuinely don’t think Louis ever expected to see Niall again. He was gone for almost four years.”

“Shit. I didn’t realize it had been that long. That’s probably a big part of it.”

“Plus, this coming week is Louis’ first week only working five days. It took a lot of strong-arming from his mom---and me--but he finally caved. He’s been lighter since he made the decision.”

“Oh no way,” Cleo actually took her attention away from the show to look up at me. “We’re really going to have him for the whole weekend?”

I nodded my head. “He’s nervous, worried because neither of us will be in the store on either day of the weekend, and he usually likes to keep an eye on things as much as he can, but he’s really trying to just take it in stride. I think he’ll be better for it.”

“I’m really proud of him.”

“Me too,” I said.

“He’s going to be begging us to go out more now though, isn’t he?”

“Oh, definitely.” I laughed as we settled in and watched the episode.

It was still warm on Tuesday, so I settled for a camisole and patterned cardigan. I looked in my bathroom mirror, double checking my lipstick and my hair and glancing at the watch on my wrist. I was actually trying this time, not in denial that this was, in fact, a date, like I had been the first time.

Because Niall and I only lived two train stops away from each other, we’d decided to meet in the middle at the Belmont stop and find somewhere to grab food. It wasn’t too long of a walk for either of us so neither of us would have to take the train, and I was hoping to convince Niall to go to this poké place with me. I was mindful of Niall’s possible lactose intolerance and thought it was just the right amount of casual for what we were going for. Truth be told though if he said no and we went somewhere else, I wouldn’t care.

I was feeling really good about tonight as I stepped out of my bathroom and grabbed my phone, cards, and keys. Sunday night had gone really well with our friends. Niall and I were casual. Not that we’d been more than that, not really, not even when we’d been alone together. Just like I thought, it had been easy to act like nothing was (possibly) going on between us.

We were mostly focused on Liam and Louis though, which helped take a lot of attention off of the two of us. Liam for telling us that he found a couple that was going to buy the condo he’d shown last weekend, and Louis for telling everyone about his taking an extra day off each week.

There was also Harry, who had a school assembly he was tasked with single-handedly organising and to top it off, he was worried that his fifth-grade chorus was going to mess up their performance at said assembly. Dinner at Liam’s was the first time he’d stepped away from his laptop and planner all weekend.

He was a little bitter that none of his friends had offered to help him with the planning, but Cleo remained firm on her ‘no additional duties outside of teaching’ stance while Ana claimed she’d been too busy creating the new end-of-term project for her fourth graders, and Liam blamed it on his trying to balance writing the contract for the couple and his weekly lesson plans.

Harry wasn’t actually upset with any of them, of course, understanding that they were equally busy, but he did do an awful lot of pouting throughout the night. It was quite endearing.

I did one last look in the mirror before I locked my door behind me, jogged down the stairs, locked the front door, and was out on the sidewalk, walking in the perfect temperature evening to get food with a guy I liked.

Niall had mentioned something on the way home on Sunday evening, while we were sat side-by-side on the train, that we should probably talk about what we were doing. When he saw the almost terrified look on my face he backtracked rather quickly.

“‘M’not saying we have to know what this is,” he gestured between us, “not just yet, anyway. But, in regards to our friends, Louis in particular, I think we need to be on the same page.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief and nodded. “Right, that’s smart.”

He gave me a soft smile, one that didn’t make his dimple pop but still transformed his whole face and made a warmth spread through me at the sight. When he got off the train, after we’d listened to the song, he’d made me promise that I’d text him when I was home safely.

Tonight was some kind of wonderful in terms of temperature as I walked South. It wasn’t cold and it wasn’t hot enough that I was sweaty from my walk either. With daylight savings time two weeks away, the sun had definitely already set, but the sky was still a light blue. The trees I was passing under were almost bare, and that was the most telling part of what was to happen in the coming months. With the passing of false fall, all of the trees had shed their leaves in the cold and only served as reminders of the harsh winter that was to come our way sooner than we might realise.

St. Louis was far enough South that in the summers it would be absolutely blistering, and the winters weren’t all that miserable. We’d get some decent snow a few times a year, but all-in-all it wasn’t all that bad. Ann Arbor, on the other hand, was freezing. Sure, it was hot in the summers, but I’d never known cold like that until my first winter there Freshman year of college.

Then I’d moved to Chicago. I learned the definition of cold when I’d moved to Chicago. My first year spring here we were still getting snow storms in mid-April. Once it was May the weather was clear and warm and perfect weather for shorts and a t-shirt, almost as if two weeks before there hadn’t been a foot of snow on the ground.

No matter where I was though, October was the time of year that really grounded me. All my life, I’d never liked one season more than another, but there was something about October. I’d read a quote that was about how trees reveal their colours in October and how people have October’s as well. I really liked focusing on what people could do when they were showing their colours, being true to themselves. I’d think about what it meant to be true to myself each October.

It wasn’t long before I found myself standing underneath the North side of the Belmont station, people watching while I waited for Niall. The man in question showed up just a minute or so after me. When he looked up and his eyes met mine the smile that spread across his face warmed me to my core. It made me smile back just as big.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waitin’ long,” Niall said as he came up beside me. I was unprepared for him to wrap an arm around me and kiss my cheek, but as it was happening I couldn’t help but think about how natural it felt, how I shouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

“Not at all,” I told him, leaning into him for a moment before he pulled back. “I only just got here.”

I couldn’t help myself from looking him over, even if I’d only seen him two days ago. His beard was filling in nicely, and his hair was just as floofy and soft-looking as usual, and there weren’t any dark circles under his eyes. He had on a striped long sleeve shirt under his jean jacket that was making me think irrationally. The power of a shirt, apparently.

“Good,” he smiled again and gestured for me to lead the way. “Ready for our second first date?” he asked.

I laughed and nodded. Seeing as this was the first time we’d gone out that I’d realized it was a date--something I’d told him over the weekend--we had deemed this our second first date.

“What’re you feeling like getting to eat?”

I shrugged as we started walking toward where I knew there was a lot of good food options for us to choose from.

“I’m up for anything,” I said. “What about you?”

“I defer to your preference,” Niall said and waved his hand a bit toward the busy street around us that was swiftly coming alive as the sky darkened and the lights in the shop windows began to glow. The sounds of the train in the background, people chatting as they walked by, and the cars all served to centre me. It was weird, but I found peace on a busy Chicago street. “I’ve been gone too long and you know the area better,” he told me.

“You good with Asian food?” I asked.

Niall brightened. “I love it.”

“All kinds?” I asked.

“Whatever it is, I’m in,” he told me, and quickly before I could process what he was doing, he grabbed my right hand in his left--intertwining our fingers--and gave me a look. “Lead the way.”

So I did.

It was only a five-minute walk, if that, from the station, and when I nodded toward the front of the shop Niall lit up. I took that as an affirmative and together we went inside.

“I just can’t do anything too spicy,” he said as we got on the line together. “So you’ll have to tell me if what I pick is going to kill me or not.”

I laughed. “I can definitely do that,” I told him. “The best part is that you can always choose whatever you want, a make-your-own option, and pick whichever sauces you’d like.”

Niall rubbed his hands together in excitement as he turned from me to start studying the menu. I already knew what I was getting, so I just watched him. His eyes scanning the words, occasionally squinting, as he tried to decide.

“What’re you getting?” he asked me after a bit. We were almost up to order but I shook my head at his question.

“I’ll order first so you can see what I get,” I told him. “But! You are not allowed to get the same thing as me.”

“You’re one of those people?” His face was riddled with amusement as he let me step ahead of him so that I could order first.

“One of what people?”

“One of those people that gets upset when someone orders the same thing as them,” he said. “My brother would never let me get whatever he was getting when we’d go anywhere.”

“I’m not that bad. I just don’t want you to blame me if you get the same thing and end up hating it,” I explained.

Niall thought about that for a second before he nodded. “Fair enough.”

He studied the menu for another minute.

“Kahiki?”

“Spicy.”

“Huli Huli?”

“Sweet.”

He nodded and was about to ask something else, but our conversation was cut off when the person behind the counter asked me what I was getting and I walked them through my order. I tried not to watch Niall and focus on what I was ordering, but my eyes kept drifting over to him as he deliberated his options. He folded his arms at first, but then he’d lifted one hand up to his mouth, brushing his knuckles along his chin, scratching at his beard while he chose toppings.

When my bowl was finished and I was at the cashier, I told her we were both on the same tab and then when Niall was still ordering I handed over my card and paid. The look on his face when he came up beside me as I signed the receipt was that of mild frustration.

“Is that the real reason you ordered first?” he asked as we found a table and settled down.

“It just happened that way.” I shrugged and handed him some napkins I’d picked up.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Not for the first time, but for the first time I admit it to myself, I wished it was my hand that was running through that soft looking hair.

“You paid for your own drinks last time, and now you’ve paid for our meal.” He shook his head. “You’re trying to make me feel bad, aren’t you?”

I bit my bottom lip to try and hide my smirk but he caught it anyway.

“I’m sorry. You can pay for drinks after this, or desert, or both. Whatever we decide on after this, you are absolutely going to be the one who pays for it,” I started rambling.

He just looked at me for a moment, nothing given away by his face before I noted the way his lips picked up just slightly on the left side.

“You’re somethin’ else, Ruby.”

“Good something else, or?” I asked. I had a feeling he meant it as good, what with the smile it appeared he was trying to hide, but I could never be too sure.

“Good.” He nodded. “Definitely good.”

“Then I’ll take that.”

“Would you ever get a tattoo?” I asked him as he took a bite of the chocolate cake doughnut he’s chosen, into his mouth.

After we’d finished our dinner we’d decided to get dessert, and again Niall had let me choose the place, so I chose Stan's Donuts not too far a walk from where we’d eaten dinner. He did get to pay this time, so that seemed to relax him a bit. Together we had taken our doughnuts--and Niall got himself a coffee as well--and we’d just started walking around, toward the waterfront, but as it was getting late, we didn’t really have a destination in mind, just walking a bit aimlessly.

We’d gotten onto the subject of tattoos when we’d passed a shop and I mentioned that Louis’ place wasn’t far off from here and that he’d been thinking of adding something else to his left arm’s smattering of tattoos. He’d introduced Cleo, Ana and Liam to it. Cleo had a mess of small, simple tattoos in various places all over her body. We’re talking side-boob, ankle, shoulder, back of her elbow, top of the thigh…. Each tattoo was something small and simple.

Ana had a massive flower scape on her left thigh that she’s always extending, and as a result can only wear longer skirts, dresses, and pants to work for fear of seeming unprofessional when she’s teaching twelve-year-olds. What started as a sunflower in tribute to her relationship with her mother had extended into a conglomerate of flowers all over the front of her leg. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had it wrap all the way around at some point.

Liam was different when it came to his tattoos. We’ve only seen glimpses of the tattoo scheme on the back of his neck, peeking out from the collar of his t-shirts. He said it was a massive outdoor scape. It started at his low back with evergreen trees and extended up to a massive and intricate compass that had two arrows intersecting behind it. Extending up from that were mountains and more trees that traversed the span of his shoulders. One shoulder was a daylight sky with the sun and birds and the other side is a night sky that has a crescent moon and the Virgo constellation.

It took him a ridiculous amount of sessions to get to where it was now and I don’t think any of us have seen it in its entirety. He had started it at the beginning of the year and was still getting bits done over the summer, so he was cautious about getting it sunburnt and even when we went to the beach he was always wearing a shirt to cover it up, protect it.

“No.” Niall shook his head in response to my question.

“Afraid of needles?”

“Terrified.”

I nodded and took a bite of my own doughnut--a peanut butter pocket. I might have to get to the gym early tomorrow and do a bit of a workout before class with all the food I’ve eaten tonight. I felt like I was going to burst.

“What about when you lived with Louis? I mean, he’s covered. You never thought about it even then?”

“I mean…” he paused a bit for suspense. “No.”

I laughed just a little at his clear discomfort at even the thought of getting a tattoo.

“What about you?” he asked after a minute. “Would you get one?”

“I’ve got one,” I said.

He whipped his head toward me so fast I thought he might’ve gotten whiplash. The shock on his face was clear. I gave him an amused look as I ate another bite of my doughnut.

We stopped at a light, waiting to cross, and he shook himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was judging you.” His face crinkled as he backtracked a bit.

“I understood what you were trying to get across,” I assured him. “I didn’t take offence.”

“So what is it?” he asked.

“It’s a lotus flower,” I said. “It’s on my upper back if you’d like to see it.”

He nodded as the light changed, and so we just kept walking.

“Does it have a meaning?” he asked as we arrived at the harbour and started on the LakeFront Trail, a bit out of the way of the traffic behind us.

I nodded. “Cleo was getting her third tattoo our junior year and has asked me to go with her so that we could get dinner afterwards. It was a small tattoo but I had to wait a couple of minutes as she was filling out her forms and I started talking to one of the other tattoo artists. Eventually, he started drawing up designs for what I was talking about. I scheduled with him to go back the next week and get it inked.”

We passed under a light so I paused my story and stopped under the light. I shrugged my cardigan down and it fell low enough on my back to show the flower on my spine right between my shoulder blades.

While Niall looked at it, I continued on.

“Lotus flowers are a symbol for the human condition,” I said and I felt him bring one hand up and start tracing it lightly with his fingers. I could feel myself get goosebumps at his touch, and fought off the shiver that threatened to go through me.

“Even in the dirtiest waters they still bloom some of the most beautiful, vibrant flowers,” I explained. “It’s just a reminder that even though I may sometimes feel like I’m in dirty water I can still bloom and grow. It’s on my spine so that I remember to keep my back straight and my head up.”

Niall’s fingers dropped from my back, but I still felt the ghost of them even after the loss of contact. He lifted my cardigan back up to its proper place for me, and he was looking at me with what I could only describe as a wistful look.

“I sometimes wish that I wasn’t scared of needles,” he said, his voice soft as we continued on walking. He'd finished his doughnut but took a sip of his coffee.

“I know a lot of Louis’ tattoos are stupid ones that he just got because they seemed cool, but he has quite a few that are really meaningful to him, and yours is so meaningful to you… I admire that you have these reminders of such important things etched to your skin to constantly remind you to be who you want to be. Your tattoo is beautiful, by the way.”

“Sometimes our will and our want overpower our fear,” I shrugged. “Maybe someday something will happen or come up that will make you feel so strongly about wanting a reminder that you’ll put your fear aside. But then again, tattoos aren't for everybody, even if they're not afraid of needles. And thank you.”

Niall was quiet for a while after I’d said that, just walking in silence next to me. It wasn’t awkward. I could tell he was thinking through what I’d said. He was contemplating something as we kept going. Eventually, we both finished our dessert and when Niall finished his coffee he threw out his cup. Niall turned us around, back toward the city, away from the lake and when he did so, he took my hand in his.

“We should probably talk about this, huh?” he asked, squeezing my hand gently.

“Probably.” I took a deep breath.

“I guess I’ll start by saying that I very much like you,” his voice was quiet but I definitely heard that, and I felt my cheeks warm. “I also know that this could get tricky if, well if, y’know…” he trailed off and then cleared his throat. “But, I would like to continue seeing you, like this, despite all of that.”

I took a deep breath and steadied myself against the swarm of emotions that was filling my mind. I was anchored by the feeling of Niall’s hand in mine. That feeling he gave me, that comfort, emanating from where we touched to every cell in my body. His presence beside me both scared and excited me. I wanted to keep him there, beside me.

At that moment, it was easy to keep thinking about all of the bad that could happen from this. We could permanently damage relationships with our best friends, we could isolate ourselves if things went awry. It was terrifying. I was reeling thinking of Louis and the rest of my friends.

If something happened and things between Niall and I went poorly, we’d have to struggle through what had once been our easiest and closest of relationships until our wounds healed or one of us decided to bow out gracefully so that the other could keep their friends. The second option was less than ideal given that one of us would have to lose everyone we cared about. Then we’d forever be bitter about the situation.

But I had to admit, that despite all of this, being with Niall felt easy, felt natural. Hearing his laugh and seeing his smile, watching his eyes as he thought through something before speaking, getting acquainted with the way he fidgeted when he was watching a scary show and the way he sang softly to himself now that he knew the words to Somewhere on Fullerton.

It was the way he made me feel, safe, that I didn’t want to give up, more than anything. More than the fear of us not being right for each other, more than the fear of failure.

It had been a minute since Niall finished talking and I could feel his anxiety starting to roll off of him as we walked. He wasn’t saying anything though, which I found myself appreciating. He wasn’t going to keep talking just to ease his anxiety, he was letting me think and weigh my options and choose my words. I felt myself smiling.

“Okay,” I nodded. “So we’re doing this.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide under the streetlights and neon lights. “Dating,” I clarified. “I like you too, Niall. I say we go for it.”

He let out a breath and visibly looked relieved, I saw the tension leave his shoulders as he practically shook under the weight of his exhale.

“Wait, really?” he asked, his voice breathless as he stopped in his place on the sidewalk, our joined hands forcing me to stop as well.

“Really.” I smiled at him as I pulled his hand a little bit to guide him out of the way of foot traffic.

“You are somethin’ else, Ruby.” He smiled as he stepped close to me.

“Good something else, or?” I repeated our interaction from earlier. He clearly remembered too, because he let out a small laugh and shook his head before meeting my brown eyes with his blue ones.

“Good.” He smiled. “Definitely good.”

“I’ll take that.”

“C’mon,” he said now, tugging my hand in his and pulling me back into the sidewalk flow. We continued walking toward the station.

“So are we telling our friends or no?” I asked.

“Oh Jesus,” he groaned. His head fell back as he looked up to the sky and I bit my cheek to keep from laughing because honestly, that was my reaction as well to the thought of telling them.

“Fuck.”

I laughed at the exclamation that came out of his mouth.

“We’re gonna have to at some point, aren’t we?” he asked.

“We are.”

“Louis will be relentless,” he groaned again.

“Louis won’t be the only one.” I shuddered, thinking about literally all of them. Plus my sister. Maybe my sister could wait it out a while before I told her. She’d never forgive me for waiting, but the thought of her response compounded with the simultaneous response of my friends was giving me an ulcer just thinking about it. Yeah, Mehar could wait to find out I was seeing someone.

“You’re right.” Niall shuddered. “We’ll never hear the end of this.”

“Never,” I agreed.

“And you’re still okay with us dating? Even knowin’ that?”

“I am.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” He asked as we came up to the station, where we would be parting ways. We paused underneath it, our faces with crisscrossing shadows from the platform above making it hard to tell features clearly, but we were very aware of each other at this moment.

“I don’t know what you did, but you sure do look cute in a jean jacket with your hair all mussed up,” I told him and reached my free hand up to run through said hair. It is just as soft as I’d thought it would be.

He blushed a vibrant shade of red and looked down at his feet, embarrassed.

“Why thank you,” he said, looking up. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

I shrugged. “I mean, I don’t even try,” I teased with false modesty.

He laughed, his head falling back and the sound echoing in the framework around us.

“Let me know when you get home safe?” he asked.

“You too.” I nodded at him. “And I’ll probably spill the beans to Louis tomorrow, so brace yourself.”

“I am thoroughly braced.” He nodded and tried to give me a smile, but he looked like he’d just gotten the news he would have to go in for a root canal.

Just like last time we’d finished a date, Niall kissed my cheek quickly and with one last squeeze of my hand, we parted each other’s company.

[sarcasticdebate]

Two Photos from Last Christmas

Relationship: Emori/John Murphy

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,275

Summary: Murphy got Emori’s Christmas gift back in March. Since then he’s lost his job, been dumped, lived on Bellamy’s couch, changed career paths entirely, and has finally gotten his own place only to rediscover that Christmas present. The problem is he has no idea what to do with it now. [Modern AU]

“John?” It’s Emori, calling out at the mouth of the stairwell, the rain matting down her hair, her cheeks and nose a violent red, and her lips cracked. She’s beautiful. He wants to tear his heart out. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t sound angry at least, tentative and wary, sure, but not angry.

“Uh,” he says, even knowing that with each second he leaves her question unanswered her frustration will only mount in preparation to spear him. He flounders for a moment, trying to think of an excuse that would explain his presence. Typical. For the first time in his life the only lie he can think of is the truth.

“It’s--I got you a Christmas present,” he says, digging his index finger into the hole in his glove, “From before we broke up. Not exactly something I could return, and I thought you should still have it. So, uh, I was just going to drop it off. You weren’t supposed to see me.” He licks his lips, still chapped from the cold, and dares to meet her eyes and criticism.

Murphy’s new landlord isn’t thrilled that he’s coming to pick up his keys on Christmas Eve. But that’s hardly Murphy’s fault. His new schedule is still kicking his ass. Being the new guy who’s still rotating between twelve hour day and night shifts is a big difference from eight hour construction work days, but he’s handling it, so his landlord can too. It’s not like he’s asking a lot.

His new building has an elevator that’s only ‘a little finicky’ so by Murphy’s standards its high living. He shoves his stuff into it after getting the key and allows himself to slump against the dirty mirror wall. Finding a place is such a hassle, and moving on top of it just sucks. Especially when he has to do it all alone.

He shoulders his way into the new place, boxes precariously balanced in his hands. He sets them down without ceremony, wishing some grain of excitement would rise up in him, but nope.

Under normal circumstances Murphy wouldn’t consider unpacking the worst part of moving. A pain, sure, but it usually meant the hard work was done, and left the anticipation of a new place to grow into and explore. It’s different when all he has to his name is three boxes, groceries, a duffel bag filled with his clothes, and the blow up air mattress Bellamy had lent him. Depressing really. But he has his own place again, so he tries not to let it get to him.

He leaves the single set of dining implements on the kitchen counter, plugs in his old laptop to charge, and throws the sheets onto the bed once it inflates. There’s little to be done after that since he’s not going to put his clothes in the closet right now, other than set up the one lamp he has, and leave his toiletries in the bathroom.

He debates removing the stuff in the third box, not quite remembering what’s in it. As far as he can remember it mostly holds miscellaneous stuff: a throw pillow, a first aid kit, three books—only one of which he’s read— and the contents of his old junk drawer. But there’s also a picture frame at the bottom.

His pulse quickens as he lifts it out of the box, shame and disappointment running in his blood. The boxes had been tucked away for the months he’d been subsiding on Bellamy’s couch and wavering patience, and he had forgotten what he’d shoved into them in the emotional turmoil following the day Emori had walked out.

It’s a two-photo picture frame that he’d bought back in March. The picture on the left is pretty normal, just something he could put into the second slot. It’s from last Christmas, when Harper had insisted that they get one good non-selfie photo of the seven of them. They had ended up taking three, because Bellamy had messed up the timer, but that first picture, snapped a moment too early, is still Murphy’s favorite. It features Bellamy tripping over Murphy’s legs, his arms outstretched in the second before he went careening into Raven and Echo who were squeezed in together on the armchair, both their faces unmasked in shock and amused horror. Monty stands behind them, his wide-eyed face somehow funnier than Bellamy’s; maybe because his arms are full of Harper, who had been perched on the back of the chair and promptly went careening into him at the disturbance. Looking back on it, Murphy can’t remember if he had stuck his leg out and tripped Bellamy on purpose or not. His own smile doesn’t reveal if Bellamy’s fall was premeditated or not, but looking at Emori sitting on the floor next to him, her face caught in a laugh and eyes bright, he thinks maybe they had come up with the idea together. It’s something the Murphy and Emori of a year ago would have done.

His thumb can’t help but trace the curve of her cheek as he relearns the photo, when he realizes he’s doing it his attention shifts to the second photo, forcing himself to hold onto the edges of the frame.

The second photo is the special one. It was complete luck that he had come across it. A local paper he had flipped through out of boredom one day had a featured story about one of the group homes downtown to commemorate its fiftieth anniversary. Pages six and seven were dedicated to photos through the years, and one of them, in the bottom left corner was of Emori and Otan, sitting on the front steps of the home. Neither of them were credited in the picture, and the caption read only ‘Christmastime, 1998’ but of course he recognized Emori, even with all her miniature features not looking directly into the camera and despite the fact she was sitting on her left hand to hide it away.

Emori didn’t have any pictures of herself from when she was younger, and only a few of Otan that she refused to display, and he knew she deserved more than a newspaper clipping, so he had contacted the journalist who had done the article, and through persistence and some lying had gotten a proper printed copy.

The pictures were going to be her Christmas present.

Historically, he’s been a pretty lousy gift-giver, and after putting the frame together back in March he had thought he’d actually succeeded in being a thoughtful boyfriend instead of just getting whatever generic item Emori claimed she needed. Of course the whole ‘thoughtful boyfriend’ thing had gone down the drain back in June. Being jobless hadn’t been good for him, especially when McCreary had gotten off scot free because he was the forman and Murphy got saddled with criminal charges on top of getting sacked even when he wasn’t the one who’d started the fist fight. Still, taking his frustrations and built up turmoil out on Emori was a shit thing to do, in retrospect.

But at the time her promotion and raise (she didn’t even need his income to cover the other half of the rent anymore) just seemed put into place to spite him. Sitting home alone all day had made it worse. Hoping for a call back from just one of the places he’d sent out his resume, only for Emori to come home for half an hour before going out to get drinks he couldn’t afford with their friends who were all too keen on charity.

The insults hadn’t been warranted, and neither had the yelling, or the childish refusing to talk to her. Distancing himself from the group had only compounded it all. And he only really recognized he was self-sabotaging after he had gotten back on his feet and had been living with Bellamy’s near daily lectures, which came after she’d dumped him.

“So you learned a lesson,” Bellamy had said sometime back in September. “You’re an asshole. I could have told you that ages ago, but hey, at least now you can grow from it.”

“Fuck off,” he had said at the time, but even back then he’d been working on it. Meeting Raven’s new boyfriend, going to Echo’s work thing when Bellamy was sick, attending Monty and Harper’s garden party even though he had to wear a button down. Stuff he didn’t want to do, until he had done it and remembered there was a reason he was friends with these people.

He still avoided Emori for a long time though. Raven rolled her eyes everytime he asked if she was going to be around, but as far as he could tell that was pretty normal. Emori is the only ex he has, but he thought keeping his distance was pretty par for the course.

But keeping that up was near impossible, considering all their mutual friends. So he stuck around when she came over for Bellamy’s movie nights and he doesn’t have the groupchat on mute anymore. Sometimes he even replies to stuff. The group acts as a good buffer, making it so that he and Emori only have to have tangential interactions. Of course that doesn’t prevent him from wanting to throw up his heart everytime he sees her. So it’s not like they’re having one-on-one conversations.

But maybe he should give the gift to her. It wasn’t expensive or anything, and it might get them closer to being Just Friends, which he really dreads the idea of, but would still be better than being nothing. Unless she still hates his guts, which is definitely a possibility and a good reason not to give her a Christmas present.

He slips his phone out of his pocket. He could ask Raven, she and Emori talk the most and she’d know where Emori is on the spectrum of liking to hating him. But that’s dumb. Not only is there probably some girl code that would get in the way of her telling him, but asking someone else where you stand with your own ex-girlfriend is too sad of a concept for him to stoop down to.

That’s something he should actually talk to Emori about. Technically there’s nothing stopping him from calling her. He flops into his shitty bed, staring blankly at his phone, as his thumb catches on Emori’s name. He still has her number of course. The green heart sits next to her name in his recent contacts, as if the last time he texted her wasn’t two months ago.

What a stupid message it was too, Emori?, sent at a quarter after midnight on a Tuesday, and he’d actually thought she’d respond. Show’s what loneliness can do to your brain.

Scrolling through their old messages is probably some kind of fucked up anti-therapy, but he does it anyway, maybe because six months later he’s still being sustained by the hollow itch in his chest he feels whenever he thinks about her. It’s motivating at least, better than feeling nothing.

Their texts from when things were going downhill aren’t the worse. Most of them are brief—neither of them are the kind of people to take their frustrations to a third platform. If anything, the worst part is seeing how little they were talking. It’s the ones from when they were happy together that hurt the most.

Making plans for dinner or when they’d go out, coupled with random links to articles or youtube videos that made them think of one another. Stories from work that couldn’t wait till they got home and screenshots from the groupchat they had to dissect one-on-one. The I miss yous and I love yous and Emori’s adorable affinity for the vulcan hand emoji.

He’s lost track of the amount of times he’s clicked the ‘load more messages button’ when the blue light makes his vision start to blur. He blinks hard and scrolls to the bottom again, that same stupid message there for him to reread, the echoing lack of response. There’s no way she’d want him to call her. He drops his phone to his chest and tugs on the ends of his own hair, a frustrated growl escaping from his throat and bouncing off the ceiling of his mostly empty apartment.

He plugs his phone into an outlet on the wall, far enough away that he won’t be tempted to get out of bed and check it. He doesn’t call her.

The good thing about working for emergency services is that people still need to work on Christmas. It’s a good thing for Murphy at least, his usual partner found someone to switch shifts with so she could spend the day with family. The guy working the shift with him today is Jewish, and even he doesn’t seem to want to be there. Not that Murphy doesn’t also want to still be in bed after the shit night of sleep he had, but this at least provides a distraction. He’s sort of hoping someone’s arteries get clogged after one sugar cookie too many just so he can have something to do.

They get three calls out, but nothing overly exciting or worrying. Their shift ends at five, so at least he doesn’t have to deal with all the merry drunks who’ll no doubt crawl out of the woodwork and crash into light poles later that evening. His partner wishes him a Merry Christmas as they part ways, which is nice of him, but only really serves to annoy him.

He gets home and has every intention of reheating leftovers and going to bed at seven, but that stupid picture frame is still sitting on the floor of his remarkably empty apartment, his own smiling face from a year ago mocking him. He can’t look away at it as he slurps wonton soup, for the first time noticing the way one of Emori’s legs overlaps his in the bottom photo. Her smile is so wide.

Fuck it. The guy in that picture would do anything if he thought it had a chance at making Emori happy. There’s no point in him keeping it, and throwing it out would be a waste. She might not want anything to do with him, but if he leaves it at her place, no confrontation, with a note to explain, she can’t be too mad.  

The note he writes is short, no frills. He debates signing it for a long time, but she’ll recognize his handwriting regardless so in the end he writes down his full name, not just J. Murphy like how he normally does, and tapes it to the back of the frame.

The walk to Raven and Emori’s apartment isn’t long, but the spitting rain and biting wind don’t make it pleasant. Tears sting his eyes by the time he makes his way inside on the heels of a tenant. He was planning on leaving the present in the mailbox, but it’s far too small. He makes his way upstairs, two at a time because he doesn’t want to linger in the building. Raven’s apartment is the furthest one down the hallway of the third floor. He takes over-large footsteps down the checkered carpet floor, as if that might make the urge to check over his shoulder lessen. He should have succumbed to it.

“John?” It’s Emori, calling out at the mouth of the stairwell, the rain matting down her hair, her cheeks and nose a violent red, and her lips cracked. She’s beautiful. He wants to tear his heart out. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t sound angry at least, tentative and wary, sure, but not angry.

“Uh,” he says, even knowing that with each second he leaves her question unanswered her frustration will only mount in preparation to spear him. He flounders for a moment, trying to think of an excuse that would explain his presence. Typical. For the first time in his life the only lie he can think of is the truth.

“It’s--I got you a Christmas present,” he says, digging his index finger into the hole in his glove, “From before we broke up. Not exactly something I could return, and I thought you should still have it. So, uh, I was just going to drop it off. You weren’t supposed to see me.” He licks his lips, still chapped from the cold, and dares to meet her eyes and criticism.

The moment is flat and awkward as she steps forward slowly, unlacing her scarf from around her neck as she approaches. Her steps seem over large too. He hands over the gift when she’s close enough but he’s careful to keep the distance far and impersonal. She takes it in hand, a little frown between her eyebrows, and he kind of wishes he went to the trouble of wrapping it now. He doesn’t want to see her reaction.

“I’ll just...go,” he says, his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets as he steps around her, a good arm’s width between their bodies.

“John?” Emori says, and of course he stops and turns back to look at her. “You didn’t have to-”

“I know,” he interrupts, “But it’s been sitting in a box for the last nine months. You should have it. I promise I’m not trying to make a gesture or anything.”

“Okay,” Emori says lowly, her hands on the edges of the frame clenched as if they’re cramped from the cold. “You still didn’t have to, though. So thank you.”  

He offers a quick nod and grimacing smile, having every intention of leaving, but his gaze catches the tears floating on Emori’s waterline and suddenly his feet are stuck in his shoes.

The thing is he knows what to say to comfort her. It sits on his tongue like a pearl, a gift he could give her if he just opened his mouth. The problem is it’s not his place anymore. So he swallows instead.  

But Emori has never been one to sit with her emotions, and it’s no surprise that a few blinks later her eyes are clear. Maybe even brighter.

“Have you eaten?” Emori asks, quickly enough to confuse him. “Monty doesn’t know how to cook for only six apparently. I have leftovers. You can come in if you want.”

There are so many reasons to say no. He has eaten. She’s his ex-girlfriend. It’s Christmas and he just worked a twelve hour shift.

“If you’re sure,” he says instead, and when she gives a nod he follows her inside.

“Uh, where’s Raven?” he asks, as they move to the kitchen. The apartment looks the same as the last time he was here, as if Emori hasn’t added any of herself to the place.

“She’s meeting Shaw’s family,” Emori answers, turning on the stovetop, “Apparently they have a Christmas tradition of driving around after dinner to look at the lights, so she got invited to tag along.”

“Oh,” he says, watching her dish out some of Monty’s famous green bean casserole and a bit of ham from his place on the far wall, “I didn’t realize they were that serious.”

“Yeah,” Emori says, “She really likes him.”

He nods, tugging on the loose thread in his glove until it’s close enough to unraveling that he has to stuff them in his pockets if he wants to have both gloves to wear on the walk home. There’s a long silence as Emori stands over the stove with more dillegance than is really required, and as he hates himself for being fixated on her small movements. Her eyes flick back to him too many times to count, but she tears her gaze away countless times too. Her expression is held tight.

She pours herself a glass of water, and grabs a plate and fork for him. She drinks as he eats, and it’s clear both of them are grateful for the occupation of their hands and mouths. If he had more courage he’d ask her why she invited him in. As it is he’s grateful, despite the pressure on his chest and the awkward eye contact.

“I’ll have to tell Monty he’s triumphed again,” he says, taking his last bite. He makes a big show about scraping the plate with the side of the fork, hating himself for not wanting to leave yet.

Maybe Emori knows that because the next thing she says is, “We missed you at dinner.”

“I was working,” he answers automatically, but when he thinks about what she said it’s like his heart is shaking in his chest.

“I know,” Emori says, “Bellamy said...How do you like it? Being an EMT?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says, “The courses were cool, hands on, and Abby wrote me a letter of rec, so they overlooked the charges...I like it a lot. It’s exciting, different all the time. I get to drive an ambulance. There are sirens. Blood and guts.”

“Sounds good for you,” Emori says, maybe at the joke, maybe because she’s happy for him. “What’s your grossest story?”

And her smile is still there so of course he has to explain the guy who had somehow managed to get his thigh impaled by his own bike. Emori scrunches her nose and laughs at all the appropriate places, and he hadn’t noticed them drifting towards one another until he almost hit her with his fork while miming the angle of the bike seat.

“Sorry,” he says, moving around her to get to the sink, “I’ll just wash up and get out of your hair.”

“John, you don’t have to…”

“Nah, I ate your lunch for Monday, pretty sure I’m an asshole if I make you do dishes on Christmas.”

“I already did dishes at Monty and Harper’s,” she points out, but she lets him put soap in the ratty sponge and clean the plate. And maybe he scrubs for longer than he needs too, and rinses it twice, and towel dries it too when the rack is right there. It’s already been established that he’s pathetic, doing an overly thorough job cleaning dishes really isn’t the worst thing he’s done.

“Sparkling,” he says, presenting it to her to put away. She smiles, and for a moment it isn’t awkward, they’ve done dishes together a thousand times. Of course, just thinking about how it isn’t awkward makes that squirming feeling in his chest reappear. He coughs. “Well, I’ll get going then,” he starts, “Merry Christmas.”

“Wait,” Emori says, reaching out to grab his wrist. He doesn’t look down to where she’s touching him because he knows if he does she’ll let go. She licks her lips, which she really shouldn’t do when they’re standing this close together. “Could you hang up the picture frame for me?”

He nods without thinking, considering for the first time that maybe she doesn’t want him to leave either. Sure, he worked in construction for nearly five years, but she’s a mechanic. She shouldn’t have any trouble putting a nail in her wall “Where do you want it?”

She holds the frame crooked in her arm and leads the way out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into her bedroom. He stops in the doorway.

Emori has always been something of a mess, perfectly okay with living in her own clutter. They had spent an entire afternoon bickering about her actually hanging her clothes up in the closet once, but those habits are incomparable to this situation; her room now is something out of a reality tv show. Cardboard boxes are stacked up on one another in almost all the available floor space. There are three side tables next to Emori’s bed, a rolled up rug leaning against the dresser which has four lamps sitting on it.

That carpet used to lay in their living room. There’s probably still a stain from when he’d spilled chili on it after Emori had him laughing too hard. Those lamps used to be the only light they had in their bedroom because the one window was snug against a brick wall an alley over. He still remembers all the slightly different clicks they’d make as he turned them off in preparation for bed.

“Um,” he says, stuck in the threshold. Emori shimies her way through the disorder to hold the picture up to the wall.

“Here?” she asks. It’s the left wall. She always slept on the left side. In that spot the frame will be the first thing she’ll see most mornings. He blinks hard several times.

“Sure,” he says, “You have a hammer and nail? I’ll probably need a measuring tape too.”

“Of course,” Emori says, “One sec.” She roots through some of the boxes until she pulls out a toolbox. His toolbox. The one filled with odds and ends he’d stolen from work over a handful of months. He hasn’t thought about it in the longest time. She hands it over and he takes out what he’ll need, sticking a nail between his lips. Finding a stud isn’t a problem, and too quickly the frame hangs on the wall.

“That straight?” he asks, taking a step back.

“I don’t really care about it being straight,” Emori says and his eyes can’t help but fall to the disarray about the room as he nods in agreement.

“I know it’s a mess,” she says, but not like she’s offended. “I haven’t gotten around to unpacking yet. Didn’t seem worth it when half this stuff is yours.”

That doesn’t make any sense. It’s been months, and it’s not like he’s asked her for any of his old shit, and she hadn’t tried to pawn it off on him either. Keeping it that long without using it seems pointless. Emori knows that, no doubt, judging by the way she sinks onto her bed, looking at the frame. It’s the only thing hanging on any of her walls, he notices.

“We could sort through it,” she says. “If you want.”

“Emori.” He shakes his head, he’s barely stopped looking at her this whole time, but he has to now. “I don’t really want to be in your bedroom right now.”

That sits between them, like a rotting apple no one wants to throw out of the bowl. So far they’ve managed to avoid talking about them, because this is the first time they’ve spent any lengthy amount of time one-on-one since they broke up. But now it sits out there to be prodded and examined.

“Oh,” she says, and she sounds hurt. He grimaces, and that gray, niggling part of him that hates himself bruises even more. He forces himself to explain.

“I can’t be just friends with you right now, okay? I’m still in love with you, and it doesn’t…” he drifts off upon noticing the pink in Emori’s cheeks, the strain in her throat. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to say that, was he? “Sorry. I’ll...I’ll leave.”

Except that maneuvering out of the room in his semi-frantic state makes him knock over one of the boxes, it’s contents spilling onto the floor. Emori springs to her feet, and he scrambles down, replacing the items while he tries to avoid even the sight of her shoes. His heartbeat skitters in his chest regardless.

“John, John, it’s fine,” Emori says, her hands reaching out and lying on the back of his, and of course that catches him, the only option to look into her eyes. She has such an expressive face, but he’s not used to seeing it any more. Her jaw is held solid, maybe so it won’t tremble, and her eyes are wide. “I’m sorry,” she says, and his brow twitches in confusion.

“Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who was such a jackass. I shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he says, and then, because he’s just realized he’s never said it, “I’m sorry about that. Really.”

Emori blinks, twice, and know that he thinks about it, he might have blurted that out of left field, from her perspective. Keeping things inside the box has never been a specialty of his apparently. Part of the reason he needs to leave, and he should, but Emori had caught him in her net a long time ago.

“I accept your apology.”

He feels lighter, a weight on his chest he hadn’t know was there is gone. Emori doesn’t hate him.

“Thanks,” he says, because it seems the only reasonable thing to say. He straightens, the mess on her floor mostly cleaned up.

“I was going to say I miss you.” He must look as confused as he feels because Emori repeats herself. “I was going to say I miss you, that’s why I wanted to…” she throws her arm in a gesture, towards her apartment at large or these weird and precious collection of moments they’ve been having. “I’m sorry that’s not what you wanted. It’s just…” she pauses, looks him straight in the eye, and then says with conviction, “I still love you too.”

He grinds his teeth, the taste between them bitter and sweet and dissolving on his tongue. But then he shakes his head a little, because he knows by now that it’s not enough, that he doesn’t deserve it.

“What?” Emori asks, searching, prodding, something watery in her voice.

“I don’t know? What am I supposed to say to that?” He asks, and in his head he sounds more outraged, more overwhelmed. In reality, the words come out soft. And scared.

Emori swallows something down. “I don’t know. Don’t you want to try again?”

There it is. He wants to throw up his heart. “You do?” he manages to choke out. He’s only just learned that she doesn’t still hate him. It seems too far a jump.

Her jaw stutters before it snaps shut, and he was right, it was too far a jump. She doesn’t know how to handle this any more than he does. So where does that leave them?

“Yes, John, I do,” she says, surprising him. “I didn’t really think you’d get back here again. I thought you’d keep falling apart.” She’s sounds ashamed about not having faith in him, but he can’t really be offended when he hadn’t had any in himself either. “But you still care about your future, and our friends.” She bites her lip, turning a bright pink. She looks at the picture frame. “You still care about me.”

He never stopped, but it’s not like his past behavior is very reflective of that. And now who he is and who he was a few months ago is blended together in his head. Just a bunch of mush Emori doesn’t deserve.

“It’s just a Christmas present,” he says, an ache in his throat coming up with the words, and Emori looks at him with disbelief.

“John, Christmas didn’t mean anything to me until I met you! God, for me and Otan, Christmas was just the day where we even more unloved. But that…” She points at picture frame hanging on the wall, that first picture of all of them, the one he had printed out as an afterthought, had taken for granted. “You, with all of them, made it actually mean something.”

It takes a lot for Emori to cry. As a teenager she had thought it made her weak and had beaten it out of herself. But there’s that shine to her eyes again, the same as when she had first seen it, and a wet break in her voice.

“It’s my favorite Christmas present,” she says. “And if you got it back in March, I think it’s important to you too.”

Damn it. She knows him too well.

“Of course it means something to me,” he forces himself to say, some previously unknown courage swelling in him. “Because you do. You mean...so much to me.”

“Then let’s try again,” she says, insistence pushing at the end of each word. And he finds himself nodding, because that’s what he wants, even if there’s that quibbling part of him still thinks she deserves better; but if he was meant to learn anything from all of this it was probably that Emori gets to decide what she deserves.

Emori smiles, dazzling, like she always is, and the doubts rush from his mind.

“You’re coming to Echo’s New Year’s party, right?” He asks, and Emori nods, smile widening.

“Was she nagging you about it too?”

“Oh, yeah,” he confirms, the corners of his mouth beginning to ache, but in a pleasant way he has no intention of stopping. “I didn’t mind too much, though. I’ve got this feeling it’ll be a good year.”

[leelee10898]

The King and I (2/?)- The one that got away

Summary: Serentity packs for cordonia, Liam reads the book and makes a conclusion about its author, will Drake believe him?

Rating: fluffy... for now

A/N: I may have confused some, but mc(serenity) is writing under a different name. She also changed all the characters names in the book. Andrew is Liam, Derek is Drake and siena is Serenity. I will also be writing from different POV unless its shared scenes. I will note whos pov it is. *I edited in a hurry, on mobile.. excuse any errors lol*

Tag list: @bobasheebaby @scarlettedragon @annekebbphotography @speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @stopforamoment @mind-reader1 @hopefulmoonobject @alicars  @katurrade  @indiacater @bella-ca @blznbaby @blackwidow2721 @liamxs-world  @simsvetements @furiousherringoperatortoad @choicesfannatalie @crookedslimecreatorpasta @coldcollectornight08 @laniquelovely @museofbooks @syltti78 @ao719 @3pawandme @blubutterflyy @lodberg @brightpinkpeppercorn @cocomaxley @darley1101 @blackcatkita @mynameiskaylabella

Liam pov

"Liam, hello. Have you heard a word I said?" Drake waves his hands in front of Liams face.

"Liam, give me that." He snatches the book out of Liams hands.

"What the hell are you reading anyway? You haven't put that book down in two days." Liam continues to ignore Drake, completley engrossed in the book.

"What in the hell Drake, what's the matter with you, I was reading that." Liam reaches for the book, but Drake holds it back. He flips to the cover.

"A Royal Romance?" He snorts "I'm pulling your man card, you're reading romance novels now."

"Look at the author." Liam points.

"Ren Faith? Who the hell is that?"

"Ren, as in serenity."

"Harper? You think Harper wrote this? Drake arched his eyebrow "Liam man, I thought you moved past this. Her name isn't Ren Faith, and she didnt write this." Drake shook his head, feeling sorry for his friend. He was still caught up in a girl who walked away 3 years ago. From all of them.

"Drake, Renny was my nick name for her, I would call her Ren too. Everything written in here. It's our story, we did these things. " Liam argued. Drake stared silently at his friend.

"The blue grotto, the hege maze, her middle name is Faith, Drake. Its her." Liam threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

Drake flipped the book open and stopped on a page and began to read

"I followed Derek into the study, "how'd you know this was here?" I snuck up on drake.

He turned around to see me, schocked look on his face." You followed me? I used to come here alot when I was younger, you know being friends with Andrew." He ran his fingers through his hair, I could tell something more was on his mind. "My sister Sabrina, she used to worship the Belmont brothers." "

And you?"

"Heh, well they were an acquired taste." Derek chuckled

"So you mean they annoyed the hell out of you? I joked. He may act like he can't stand everyone, but deep down I know he is just a big Marshmallow. A silence fell over us, the air thick with tension.

"Derek we need to talk about last night. " I said breaking the silence. "Ah hell Harrison what is there to talk about? He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "We should at least talk about it." I took a step forward.

"I wish I never said anything. Truth is my best friend is head over heels for you. Andrew has always been there for me, after my father passed. Even if I wanted to, my feelings do not matter in this." He turned away from me. "The rest of court wanted to push us out. They didnt care my father died protecting the royal family, but Andrew. Andrew made sure we always had a place. I cant betray him for falling for his girl."

"Im so sorry that happened. " I reached out and cupped his cheek. He pressed his head against it and turned to me. "I care about you Siena, more then I should." "And I care about you too, Derek. But I am in love with Andrew." The truth was I did care about Derek very much, we spent alot of time together, it was hard not to have feelings, but Andrew had my heart and like his bestfriend, I could never betray him.

Drake slammed the book shut. "Your middle name is Andrew, Liam." Drake looked up at Liam knowingly.

"You see?" Liam flopped back into his chair at his desk. "Ok, so what does this mean?"

Serentity pov

She tossed clothes out of her dresser drawers, and ransacked her closet. Panic was setting in. "What the hell happened in here?" Ginny poked her head in the room

"Nothing to wear, I have no clothes. Everything I own sucks!" Serenity paced the room grabbing random garments and inspecting them, only to toss them aside in frustration.

" Whoa, dial it back to 5 and chill. You have more clothes then anyone I know. Does this freak out have to do with going to Cordonia?"

Serenity nodded her head, dropping it and sulked over to the bed next to Ginny. "Are you worried about running into a certain king?"

"Its not just Liam Gin, its all of them. Drake, Maxwell, Hana, Bertrand, even Olivia." She threw herself back on the bed. "I cut them out. If I see them, they will just hate me."

"You don't know that for sure. And what are the chances of you actually running into them? They don't know you wrote a book, and they don't know your pen name."

"Yeah, they probably didn't read my book anyway." Serenity mumbled.

"Thier loss, miss best seller!" Ginny came out of the closet holding a black dress. "And if I were you, I would wear this to the book read." Serenitys face lit up "its perfect." She grabbed the dress. " now help me pack."

The next morning Ginny and Serenity arrive at the airport. Serenitys nerves were a wreck. "Look, normally I would try to talk you out of this, but given the circumstances, I think we should do a little day drinking." Ginny motioned to the airport bar.

"I say let's fucking go." They sat at the bar sipping a few rum and cokes. "You know you never showed me what this Liam looked like. Do you have a picture?" Ginny blurted out Serenity scrolled through her phone and handed it to ginny. "Well damn, he's hot as shit."

"Uh huh."

They over heard the call for their flight to board so they made their way and boarded the plane. First class accommodations came with booze, and boy did she need that. They took their seats and Ginnys phone rang.

Ginny: hello?

Royce: Ginger, its Royce. I just wanted to let you know the King of Cordonia has accepted an invitation to attend the meet and greet. Be sure you get a photo so we can use it on the website.

Ginny: Oh, OH! Well that's just, err, perfect. I will be sure to do that. Talk to you soon.

Well this is going to be bad. She mumbled under her breath.

"Everything ok? Serentity asked. "Mmhmm, that was just Royce. He want's me to get pictures at the book read." Ginny lies. Serenity was already freaking out she had no idea how to tell her that Liam would be there. No idea at all.