#chill sketch; I want to be more comfortable sharing my ideas and playing around again

[choilacanth]

mr sharp is fantastic and he threatens to take bataqq's stuff when bataqq is incapacitated. perfect buddy.

Sharp is a big guy but Bataqq is an...even bigger guy

[fandomsilhouette]

to be seen

There are so many hopes that exist in one heart, so many expectations that pull them apart, so many people they’re desperate to be, so many voices they’ll never flee. They’re shrouded in secrets they can’t quite explain, but if there’s a person where they can abstain, avoid the disdain, inane, insane, and find a way to be human again, then they’ll take it with both hands outstretched, and hold on before they find themselves wrecked. 

Happy @felinettenovember, y’all! This was supposed to be an easy prompt, some dumb lighthearted joke at Felix’s expense, but I can never be that simple, and when I asked @musicfren to help me brainstorm, we had the terrible wonderful idea to write companion pieces. So! You can read what Felix is thinking here, and fall in love with his very wonderful writing as you do. 

Showcase night is finally here. Marinette’s fingers dig into the fabric she was pinning around her mannequins before she remembers that there’s no time to iron out any wrinkles. Luckily, the final pieces were sewed and on the models already, no pinning required, but Marinette had opted to show off stages of the design progress by pinning half-completed scraps of fabric on mannequins: a choice she would be sorely regretting if she weren’t so excited.

She’s prepared, of course, she’s been scarcely able to think about anything else for the last month.

Marinette’s parents will see her project for the first time tonight, despite how relentlessly they’ve attempted to wheedle clues out of her for as long as they’ve known about it-- which is about as long as the concept has existed. But she’s been insistent not to spill a single secret about it, wanting it to be unapologetically, undeniably her own, all the way through, every missed stitch and tangled thread and crumpled up note tossed at the trash can late at night showing in the final outfits.

She finishes the final touches on her poster board, checks that her models are ready in place, shuffles her flashcards into order one more time. Everyone else around her seems relaxed, chattering excitedly, flitting from station to station in an eager buzz; Marinette is overwhelmed by the motion and the optimism of it. Her gaze flicks from person to person, moving away faster than it can catch on anything until--

Felix looks pale, nearly translucent halfway under the stage lights, still half in shadow as he steps up onto the platform to perform. He meets her gaze and it holds, but it’s vacant and glazed, almost as if he’s not seeing her at all, even looking right at her. And knowing that someone is just as anxious, maybe more, than she is makes Marinette feel… alright. There is so much of herself in this presentation, more than anyone will ever know. It matters. It’s going to be okay.

Marinette only hopes her presentation won’t sound like pouring ketchup from a bottle: timid at first, then gushing out faster than she can control it, too much to be palatable or interesting, spilling over her plate and dripping onto her shoes with her tears.

Then the parents flood into the room, and chaos ensues.

The presentations go better than she expected: a lot of people flock to her stall, lured by the motion and the flash of fabric in a room full of the fantastic; Marinette suspects it’s the traditional familiarity of the Parisian civilian wrapped up in the novel familiarity of the heroes of Paris that draws their attention. Her parents ooh and ahh, gush over all the right parts and ask her enough questions that she doesn’t worry that her point won’t be made.

“I wanted to remember that the heroes of our city are people too: that for all that they pretend to be larger than life, magical beyond belief-- miraculous, one might say,” she tosses out a wink to laughter that delights her, even if some of it comes with a deadpan look, “they are not pretentious. They are people, and they are people who deserve respect, compassion, empathy… privacy and support, where we can manage it.”

The small crowd around her table is silent for a moment that stretches too long, and anxiety drips and dribbles into the spaces their silence leaves behind. Their gazes settle heavy on her shoulders and her blush heats up her cheeks like a blood-red mask she’s too comfortable wearing. Has she finally managed to be seen, under all of the pretense? Will they manage to care?

Then Tom sweeps her up in a hug, tossing her into the air, and it takes her and Sabine’s combined strength to bring her back down, to remind him she still has the rest of the evening to keep presenting. Marinette talks, and glows, and shares and explains and laments all of the things Ladybug wishes she could say and doesn’t, and doesn’t stop for a second.

She doesn’t stop, except to listen to Felix. The auditorium has had music drifting in the background all night, between Nino DJing and Kitty Section, and a handful of other students on various instruments, but it’s Felix’s melody she cuts herself off mid-sentence for.

It’s the presentation she’s been waiting all night, and when his fingers lift from the strings, the last note still echoing around the room, she feels gutted.

The rest of her presentations go on without a hitch, but she’s a little quieter now, gestures a little less broadly. Something of the spark is missing, and she’s just glad her parents have moved on to celebrate the other students’ presentations instead of sticking around long enough to notice. Finally, finally the day is over, and Marinette knew she’d be looking forward to this moment, exhausted and exhilarated, but she didn’t think she would meet it like this.

She wraps up her presentation one last time, and the crowd thins, drifting off to help their children clear up their stations or pick off the last remaining crumbs from the snack bar. Marinette’s own parents are nowhere to be seen, so she turns and starts unpinning the mannequins herself.

“How quaint of you.”

Felix’s voice is chilled as he leans his hip against her already-wobbly table. Marinette worries for a moment about it spilling over and then decides she doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” she accepts, knowing full well it isn’t a compliment. “I liked yours a lot, Felix.”

“No, you didn’t.” She doesn’t have to turn to hear the sneer in his voice. “You have no appreciation for true art. You think this,” he gestures wildly at her half un-pinned mannequins, the models drifting away, “is art? This is derivative. This is… this is nothing more than a false pretense of an understanding you don’t have in a failed effort to curry favor with someone who is never going to notice you.”

“I liked the way your composition sounded in the rehearsal room,” Marinette cuts in quietly, tiredly, so hurt she can’t resist, too hurt to resist.

“What.”

“I’ve spent most of class time sitting outside the rehearsal room you always choose-- you’re very predictable, Felix-- and sketching there. That’s what my designs are based on: that mournful, hopeful, determined, resigned haunting tune that you practiced day by painstaking day. That’s how I imagine the heroes feel. I can understand how you’d know that. I do too.” Marinette thinks about the way his presentation today was so polished, the way it reverberated around the room, every note rich and mellow-- but it felt so hollow.

Hearing it today has torn out the very heart of what she had built her designs around.

“I wish you had played it like that today.”

Felix moves forward, drags a finger down fabric that seems a little softer, a little more somber. He looks at her, a sidelong glance that goes too long, and doesn’t respond until he looks away.

“I wish you would’ve worn these yourself.”

[wheresmynaya]

Lopez’s 8 Ch.10 | Brittana

And that's a wrap! It's been fun & I've really appreciated all the engagement this story has received, really brought me back to the good ole Brittana days. THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everyone that has commented, reviewed, kudos'd(?), sent asks, PM'd, DM'd, MADE A WHOLE AS TRAILER and FIC ART etc... It really has been a pleasure writing for you all.

Maybe I'll see you again in the near future when I finally publish my Quarterback!Britt and Cheerios!San verse? Look out for a little something called Lost in the Lights *smirky smirk, wink wink*

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

Sugar let’s out a dramatic sigh as she stares longingly out of the front window. She’s surrounded by the others – minus Rachel, Santana and Brittany – and they’ve been doing their best to keep themselves busy.

Quinn considers it a nice break before she has to return to her boring life in the ‘burbs and has been catching up on some reading. So lame, Sugar thinks.

Emma’s busy scribbling new designs inspired by the heist in her sketchbook like non-stop and Sugar’s sure that Santana would confiscate it if she knew what the so-called designer was coming up with. Sugar’s not going to tell though, she’s no snitch bitch.

Mercedes is up to something shady for sure. Sugar thinks she has an online gambling addiction, but like…do you, boo. She considers asking if Mercedes would hook her up with an account too, because she thinks she’d probably be good at scamming people online. Afterall, she’s an ace doing it in real life! Maybe that’s her next venture?

Tina’s trying her hand at Tinder and failing miserably. Sugar’s tried to help, but Tina’s got such questionable taste in men that she loses interest.

So now, Sugar just stares longingly out of the window waiting for the day Santana finally gives them the okay that it’s safe to come out of hiding. She lets out another dramatic sigh and this time Quinn gives her a pointed look from over the top of her book. The bossy blonde really has that mom-glare thing down pact, but Sugar’s seen worse.

“I’m so bored,” Sugar grumbles and knocks her head against the window to rest there.

“It’s been two days,” Quinn points out as she turns the page.

“That’s so long,” Sugar pouts, “I hate it.”

“Me too,” Tina pipes in from the couch, “I didn’t know we’d be stuck in this musty old loft after everything.”

“Mercedes?” Sugar calls out as she turns away from the window, “Can you put on Run Joey?”

Mercedes pokes her head out from behind her laptop where she sits at the poker table and her brow is raised high, “Hell no.”

Sugar frowns, “But it’s so good.”

“It really isn’t,” Mercedes replies.

“Speaking of Run Joey, I’ve been thinking…” Tina wonders aloud, “How come Rachel gets to leave while the rest of us are stuck on house arrest?”

“Because she can’t draw attention to us by skipping out on her previous engagements,” Quinn responds, “She has to continue with her life as normal.”

“What about Santana and Brittany then?” Sugar questions.

Quinn rolls her eyes and shuts the book in her hands in favor of sitting up from where she was lounging near Tina. She can feel the other’s eyes on her, she knows they’re also curious as to why the rules don’t apply to Santana and Brittany too.

“They’re doing a lot more than you know,” Quinn replies and she makes a point to glance at everyone, “This job didn’t just end at the Gala like it did for all of you. There’s still working being done in order for us all to get paid and stay out of jail. They’ve both got a lot on their plates so be grateful all you have to do now is lay low.”

That seems to shut Sugar up for the moment.

Quinn’s quite pleased with herself for that so she rests back and reaches for her wine glass before opening up her book again.

“Besides,” She says in a calmer voice, “Being in here isn’t so bad, it’s kind of peaceful.”

Tina eyes her as she takes a sip, “You just day drink and read all day.”

“And it’s amazing when you have a kid at home and a husband who sometimes acts like a kid too,” Quinn replies before she’s lost in her book again.

“I like it too,” Emma speaks up from her work station. She smiles with a little shrug, “I’ve been so inspired by all of this and all of you. I’ve been using this time to sketch out designs. I’m thinking about using my share to open up my own place.”

Everyone nods and starts to wonder what they’ll do with their share after all of this too.

\\

A moment later, Brittany’s pulling open the heavy loft door with Santana close behind her. They’re holding hands – which is new – and talking excitedly about something until they realize that everyone but Quinn is staring at them.

Santana frowns, “What? You all look like we just walked in on you talking shit about us.”

No one speaks. Quinn she keeps her eyes on the page she’s reading but there’s a hint of a smirk there that Santana notices. The brunette narrows her eyes at the others.

“Wait, were you?” She questions and there’s a slight edge in her voice.

“No,” Tina says a little too eagerly, “We were just talking about how much we appreciate having this little break while you two are out there doing…whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Santana doesn’t know if she believes her or not, but she doesn’t really care at the moment. She’s still high on how great of a day she’s had with Brittany. She was intending to attend these auctions alone just so she can observe their hired actresses at work, but Brittany offered to keep her company and Santana figured who is she to deny her girlfriend of that? In fact, it kind of worked out in her favor because if Brittany hadn’t come then she would’ve had to eat lunch alone and there would’ve never been a quickie in the car between auctions.

Even though they were technically working, it was nice to be out and about together as an actual couple. This whole hand-holding thing is also pretty awesome too!

“Well good,” Santana responds with a smile, “As a matter of fact, I have some news that you might like.”

The others perk up and gather around Santana while Brittany takes a seat next to Quinn.

“Our merry band of lovely old ladies that we’ve hired are making great progress with selling off the pieces of the Toussaint,” Santana explains, “Sales should be finalized tonight so once everything’s deposited in Dani’s account then we’ll be golden.”

“Wait. Dani’s account?” Tina asks.

“What are we getting paid with then?” Emma asks too. The others look around at each other confused and begin to talk amongst themselves.

Santana catches Brittany’s proud little grin and matches it before turning back to the others, “You’ll get your money, don’t you worry about that. Just have a little patience.”

\\

It’s late in the morning the next day when Brittany gently wakes Santana with kisses all over her face. Santana blinks away the sleepiness with a content smile while Brittany hovers over her whispering, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Santana mumbles back. This little cocoon of warmth that’s a combination of being wrapped up in the comforter and Brittany’s arms is the perfect place to spend all day, but she knows she can’t. At least, not today.

“What time’s your meeting?” Brittany asks as she dances her fingers along Santana’s hip.

“Two,” Santana replies with a sigh. When she glances over at the clock on her nightstand, she groans at the time there, “I should be getting ready.”

“Yeah you should,” Brittany says but she only holds her closer.

Santana nods, “A few more minutes.”

“Okay.”

So Santana cuddles further against Brittany for a few more minutes. Leaving this bed is the last thing she wants to do, but there’s a lot riding on this meeting and she knows it needs to be done. She knows there’s not much to worry about, she knows what she’s doing, but she’s still nervous about it.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Brittany asks like she’s inside Santana’s head.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

A moment later Santana’s tilting her head up to kiss the hinge of Brittany’s jaw. There’s a little flinch and Santana smiles at how Brittany so easily fell back asleep, “I have to get up, Britt.”

“Yeah okay,” Brittany nods a little sleepily.

Santana smirks as she plays with Brittany’s hair, “You can stay. I just need to shower.”

“No, no. I’ll get up too,” Brittany says as she begins to stretch her tired limbs, “A hot shower sounds like a good idea.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Santana agrees and plants one more kiss to her lips before she’s going to get the water started.

They’re a little sluggish as they strip down and step in to the shower. It’s a stark contrast to the chill in the air, but it helps ease them both out of their slumber.

But it’s not the temperature of the water or the freezing air of the loft that Santana focuses on. It’s how Brittany offers to wash Santana’s hair for her, how they take turns standing under the warmth of the spray to wash off, how the wet kisses pressed to bare shoulders elicit moans, how hands disappear between slick thighs, how whispers of I love you can’t help but leave their lips as if they’re the only words they can remember.

Before they became a couple, showers involved hot, dirty sex. There was a common goal of getting off and making the other person come just as hard. Knees would ache from kneeling on hard tiles and there was always that threat of someone slipping and busting their ass. It was always quick, always rough in the best possible way, and sometimes it’s still like that, but most of the time it’s not. Now it’s softer, gentler, and there’s this care…this love they share and it’s like they’ve reached a whole new level.

Don’t get them wrong, they’re still always down for some hot, dirty shower sex but they’ve also realized that with feelings it’s so much better too.

\\

Once they finish with their shower, Brittany slips into her trusty overalls and heads downstairs to see who else is up while Santana continues to get ready. Thankfully, Quinn’s made a fresh pot of coffee and together they sit at the poker table just chatting about nothing too important. Quinn reads the morning paper because she likes the nostalgia of it and hands Brittany the comic strips because she knows they’re her guilty pleasure.

“Can I see that after you?” Sugar asks when she peeks over Brittany’s shoulder to see what she’s reading.

“Totally,” Brittany smiles and reaches for her coffee cup, “Almost done.”

“Morning all,” Emma greets cheerfully as she finally steps away from her desk to top up her tea.

“Morning,” Quinn and Brittany say in unison while Sugar’s got her mouth full of donut holes.

They make a little small talk while Emma waits for her tea to steep and in that time, Tina and Mercedes wander over.

“Sup y’all,” Mercedes says with a head nod before heading to the coffee pot. She notices how much is left and looks to Tina, “You want some?”

“I think I’ll have tea today,” Tina answers politely and goes to sit with Brittany and Quinn at the poker table, “You mind if look at the real estate ads?”

Quinn quirks her brow and hands them over, “Thinking of buying yourself a place?”

Tina nods, “I love my family but I can’t stand living with them. It’s time for a little space of my own, especially if I’m still single. Mom’s the worst matchmaker of all time.”

They all laugh at that and fall into this comfortable lapse of chatting about nothing in particular again. Brittany takes the moment to appreciate this; how just a few weeks ago they were all strangers to each other strung together by a common goal and now look at them. She doesn’t know if she’d go as far as saying they’re all friends, but they do make a pretty good team.

And for a moment, Brittany feels a little sad that it’s all going to end soon. They’re going to get paid and go their separate ways and continue on with their lives. Maybe she won’t hear from them ever again – aside from Quinn – or maybe they’ll keep it in touch? Maybe someone will devise a master plan of their own and try to rope her and Santana into just like they did to them?

Who knows, but for now she just enjoys the company.

“Where’s Santana?” Emma asks before she sips at her tea.

The others look around for her too then look to Brittany for an answer.

“She’s getting dressed. She’s got a big day ahead of her,” Brittany replies. She doesn’t want to give too much away just incase this plan happens to fall through and they need to devise another one.

Quinn looks to her curiously though like she’s trying to connect the dots on her own. She probably can and that’s what’s great about their friendship. Quinn just gets it most of the time and they don’t need to do much explaining.

The others on the other hand look around at each other like they’re trying to understand Brittany’s cryptic words. Surprisingly enough though, no one asks Brittany to elaborate. Instead, they get whatever they need from the kitchen and disperse.

Brittany’s brows rise at that, “I thought I was going to be interrogated.”

Quinn just chuckles, “They know better now.”

Brittany looks impressed but doesn’t ask. She just downs the rest of her coffee before passing off the comics to Sugar then heads to the garage to keep herself occupied.

\\

Upstairs, Santana spends a little longer on making herself look presentable. Not that she has to try very hard – she always looks presentable – but today’s going to be different and maybe she needs the extra confidence boost that comes with looking smoking hot. Her hair falls over her shoulders in perfect waves, her make up is on point, her outfit hugs her curves perfectly; she’s like a damn superhero and looking this damn good was her superpower!

She gives herself one last glance in the mirror before she’s grabbing her purse and heading downstairs. It’s no surprise that everyone’s spread out in the common area and Quinn’s already got a wine glass in her hand and it’s barely half past noon. She can’t really judge her though, she’d totally do the same if she was in her shoes.

“Going somewhere fancy?” Quinn questions as Santana appears by the poker table.

She just shrugs casually, “Not really. I just needed this.”

“You look like you’re on a mission,” Quinn nods.  

“I am,” Santana smiles proudly and looks around, “Where’s – “

“Garage.”

“Of course,” Santana chuckles, “Later Fabray.”

\\

In the garage, Brittany’s crouched beside her motorbike looking over something when she hears the door close behind her. She turns to find Santana standing there and her jaw drops.

“Woah,” Brittany breathes out as she slowly rises. A little chuckle escapes her as Santana saunters over, hips swaying rhythmically, “Now this is a look.”

“I try,” Santana smirks although a warmth rushes over her.

Brittany’s eyes drag up and down Santana’s frame and it’s like she’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Her heart swells and beats hard in her chest because she loves this woman, this beautiful, beautiful woman, and crazy thing is…she loves her too.

Brittany licks her lips and sighs, “You look beautiful, baby.”

And that’s what creates a crack in Santana’s cockiness. She can be all big and bad and drop dead gorgeous, play the role of HBIC like no one else can and run a whole girl gang practically on her own…but whenever Brittany calls her baby it just does something to her. She feels like this giddy, silly love-sick girl and as much as she finds it a little embarrassing how one word can have her walls coming down, she also kind of loves it too.

“Thanks,” Santana smiles before she’s leaning in for a kiss. It feels like a sigh of relief and she does it again and again until Brittany’s mumbling against her lips.

“I really can’t get over how good you look,” Brittany says a little dreamily before she teases, “Sucks you’ll be wasting it on a meeting with someone trying to lock us all up.”

Santana throws her head back with a laugh, “Please. You’re the only one I dress up for.”

Brittany quirks a brows as Santana draws even closer until her lips are brushing the shell of Brittany’s ear.

“Wait until you see what I’ve got on underneath,” Santana whispers huskily.

It sends a shiver down Brittany’s spine and settles low between her thighs. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too big, but the anticipation just eats her up. She can’t wait for Santana to come back and she hasn’t even left yet.

Santana looks pretty pleased with herself as she watches Brittany’s thoughts drift and her pretty blue eyes become darkened with lust.

“Such a tease,” Brittany mumbles as she pulls herself back from drifting too far off. She wants to touch her but her hands are already a little greasy and she doesn’t want to wreck Santana’s dress – at least not until she comes back – so she twists her rag in her hands instead to keep them busy, “You positive you don’t want me to go with?”

Santana smiles fondly, “Yes Britt, I can handle him on my own.”

“I know you can. Just thought I’d go for like emotional support or something,” Brittany replies with a shrug.

“I love you,” Santana tells her, “But I got this.”

“Alright,” Brittany nods then glances over at her bike, “Need a ride then?”

“With this dress on?” Santana laughs, “Not on that thing.”

“Fair enough,” Brittany giggles and goes over to grab the keys to the Fastback before handing them over to Santana, “How about this one?”

Santana recognizes the keys and smiles, “You know me so well.”

Brittany buffs her nails on her overalls and grins coyly, “Duh.”

“Okay well, I’ll be back later,” Santana says, “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Brittany winks as Santana walks the short distance over to the Fastback and gets in.

“Well in that case…,” Santana smirks and beckons Brittany down to her level. The blonde obliges happily and leans on the frame of the door so she can be pulled in for a kiss.

“Good luck,” Brittany mumbles against soft lips before she’s pulling away and closing the door after Santana.

Santana only parrots back the words Brittany once said to her, “Don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

\\

The meeting place decided upon is some random diner Santana and Brittany have walked by countless times. When Santana pulls open the door, the bells above jingle and alert everyone of her entrance. She sees the double-takes from the older men lining the bar and curious glances from the waitstaff. She knows that all eyes are on her, she’s the hottest bitch in the place so that’s a given, but she’s there for business and quickly glances around the place for the man she’s meant to meet.

“Miss Lopez,” Someone calls out to her and Santana turns towards the voice.

The insurance investigator smiles brightly and Santana has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as she makes her way over to him. She can already smell the hair product wafting off of him and the way he smiles at her just makes Santana want to punch him.

Blaine Anderson; just an overachieving, annoying little weasel that has somehow managed to climb ranks stupidly fast and has been breathing down the necks of her family for years. The Anderson and Lopez rivalry is a tale as old as time and here Santana is upholding that legacy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lopez,” Blaine greets politely once Santana’s close enough and goes to shake her hand.

“Anderson,” Santana nods and slides into the booth so that she sits across from him.

“Interesting place for a meeting,” Blaine notes as he looks around, “Why not my office?”

Santana scrunches her nose, “And finally see what kind of hideous bow tie collection you probably have set up there? No way.”

Blaine’s smile falters as he presses a hand to his bowtie.

“Besides,” Santana adds as she looks down at the menu, “Apparently this place does the best tiramisu and my girlfriend loves that stuff.”

Before Blaine can ask anything further, a waitress comes over and tops up his coffee.

“You want anything, dear?” She asks Santana.

“Coffee and one of those tiramisus to go. Please.”

“Sure thing, hun,” The woman nods and she’s off. It only takes her a few minutes until she returns with a warm mug and fills it close to the top with fresh coffee.

The pleased smile returns to Blaine’s face, “Girlfriend, huh? Maybe you really are on the straight and narrow.”

Santana quirks a brow, “Not so much the straight but yeah. I’ve been keeping myself out of trouble. That’s why I’m here. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs and shakes his head as he pulls out a few pictures, “Oh? Then explain this.”

Santana knew this was coming. She didn’t spend all night at the Gala in the camera’s view for nothing, so she leans forward to admire the pictures of her.

“Damn, I look hot!” Santana says as she looks over each one, “Can I keep these?”

Blaine’s easy-going demeanor begins to shift into something a little more serious, “Santana please. This is very serious. Millions of dollars worth of diamonds are missing and it can’t just be a coincidence that you were there the night of its disappearance.”

“Why not?” Santana questions as she sits back and cocks her head to the side, “I love a good party as much as the next person. You’ve got the receipts. Does it look like I was up to something? Because to me, I look like I’m having the time of my life.”

“And I wonder why that is,” Blaine questions with narrowed eyes.

Santana shrugs and averts her eyes to the pictures again, “Look at me, surrounded by beautiful people with a drink in my hand just as the good Lord intended. Who wouldn’t have a good time?”

Blaine let’s out a tired sigh.

Santana can tell he’s at a crossroads and getting frustrated so she’s pretty damn pleased about that. It makes her swell with pride because she really has this thing wrapped up so tight that not even Blaine can figure it out. But she knows he’s a smart son of a bitch so she doesn’t get too cocky just yet.  

Blaine continues to stew while Santana brings the mug close to her lips. Riling him up is a lot easier than she suspected. She figured he’d have way more on her than just a couple of pictures and she’s surprised considering his merit.

“Honestly, with your track record and your family history I don’t know what to believe,” Blaine admits. He looks up at Santana – like really looks at her like he’s trying to see something beneath the surface.

Santana’s a pro though so he’s not going to find anything there. She’s not going to crack and deep down Blaine knows that.

“Well, one look at these pictures I think gets me off the hook,” Santana explains and taps at one of the pictures, “Solid alibi right there, don’t you think?”

Blaine crosses his arms and Santana feels as though she’s almost won.

“Can I go now?” She asks even though she knows she’s not yet finished with him.

“I still have questions,” Blaine replies, “And don’t you need your tiramisu?”

“You’re right,” Santana smirks and lifts her mug to her lips, “You’ve got until the waitress brings it over and then I’m out.”

“Fine,” Blaine sighs, “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell this happened. How such a valuable necklace practically disappeared in thin air. I’ve got suspects who should be guilty but aren’t and then there’s you who had been smiling for the camera all night.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a real shit show on your hands,” Santana dismisses, “Doesn’t concern me.”

“But it does,” Blaine urges, “I know you had something to do with this but I just can’t…I can’t connect the dots.”

“Because like I said,” Santana replies, “I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs again before he sighs, “Listen Santana, I don’t want you.”

“Never heard that one before.”

“Let me clarify,” He says, “I don’t want you, I want the necklace. I don’t care how you get it back to me, I’ll make something up. I’m just tired of doing this.”

Santana perks up; this is going way better than she anticipated.

“I honestly don’t get paid enough so just tell me,” Blaine adds, “Where’s the necklace? That’s all I’m after. The sooner I wrap this case up the faster I can get back to my life.”

Santana smirks, “Which I’m sure is very bland and boring, just like you.”

Blaine doesn’t take her bait, “I’ll ask again. Where’s the necklace, Santana?”

“The whole thing?” Santana questions before she shrugs, “No idea, but I might no where some of it is.”

“Some of it? Some?” Blaine looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Hypothetically, yes,” Santana replies, “Maybe like ten percent of it? Give or take?”

Blaine mutters to himself beneath his breath while his face goes a little red. It takes him a minute to get himself together and then he’s turning to Santana and calmly asking, “Where?”

Santana doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she slides her phone across the table. On it is a picture of Dani from the Gala and it all begins to click for Blaine.

“Right,” Blaine nods, “A classic case of revenge. An eye for an eye so to speak.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“You know this isn’t healthy, right?” Blaine says worriedly, “It’s not good for the heart to hang on to so much pain, Santana. I know a great counselor that specializes in –“

“I process shit my own way and it’s working just fine for me,” Santana brushes off as she slips her phone back in her purse,” Now, for argument’s sake…how does one get a search warrant?”

Blaine bobs his head from side to side as he thinks, “I’d need probable cause.”

“That’s what I thought,” Santana smirks. In that moment, the waitress brings over her takeaway box and Santana smiles up at her in thanks before looking back at Blaine, “This was productive.”

“I suppose,” Blaine frowns as Santana stands and throws down a couple bills on the table.

“Wait for my call,” She tells him before walking out.

\\

Back at the loft, Brittany’s trying her hardest to keep busy while she awaits Santana’s call. When her phone finally does ring, she practically lunges for it.

“Hey San!” Brittany greets eagerly, “How’d it go?”

“Perfectly. He’s got nothing on us which I was really surprised about but I’m not complaining.”

Brittany feels like a weight has been lifted, “That’s so good. Did you find out about the warrant?”

“Sure did and you were right! It’s absolutely genius, obviously.”

Brittany blushes, “He’d need probable cause?”

“Yup and that should be easy to get.”

“It should,” Brittany nods, “I’ll make the call now.”

“Great, I’m on my way back. I’ll see you soon.”

They say their goodbyes and then Brittany’s dialing another number.

“Hello, Rachel Berry speaking.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “Hey Rachel. It’s Brittany.”

“Oh!” Rachel’s voice turns chipper, “Hello Brittany, how are you?”

“Good. I’ve got a job for you,” Brittany says, “It’s a very important task.”

“Of course, I’m ready. What do you need me to do?”

“We’re going to need a certain picture taken of an item,” Brittany begins to explain, “But this item currently resides in Dani’s jacket from the Gala. We’re going to need you to get in there and take a picture of it.”

Rachel’s quiet for a moment and Brittany begins to wonder if the call disconnected on accident.

“Hel – “

“This is amazing. Oh my God!”

Brittany bites her tongue while Rachel excitedly rambles. Really, she starts to tune out the more she talks but it’s one question that reels Brittany back in.

“You want me to seduce her?”

“I don’t really want to know how you do it,” Brittany responds, “Just get it done.”

“I’m on it. This is so exciting! My first job. I can play this so many ways, but which to choose? Maybe I can use those handcuffs I bought? I’ve been wanting to try those out on someone. They’re authentic.”

Brittany frowns with disgust. Imagining Rachel Berry seducing Dani with a pair of handcuffs is not an image she wants or needs.

“Gross,” Brittany mumbles.

“I see why you people do this! God, the thrill of it is invigorating.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well, text me the picture when you get it.”

“Of course. Should I wear a lacy – “

Brittany hangs up on her immediately.

\\

Later that night, most of the team has headed off to bed aside from Mercedes who spends hours on end on her laptop doing who knows what. Santana and Brittany wander up to Brittany’s room but neither of them are tired. They know Rachel’s out there doing whatever she can to get this picture and they can’t really settle in for bed until they receive it.

Instead, Brittany lounges on the bed with a motorcycle magazine in her lap while Santana lazily watches her turn the page. She’s got her head on Brittany’s shoulder and their legs tangle together for warmth. It’s a nice way to end the night, wrapped up in each other like this, and Santana basks in how easy it is to feel so comfortable around Brittany.

“I never thanked you for talking to Rachel,” Santana mutters like she’s lost in thought.

Brittany snickers, “That’s okay.”

Santana tilts to look up at her, “No, seriously. You came up with the search warrant idea and using Rachel…I never would’ve thought to do that.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Brittany shrugs.

“Not without you guiding me,” Santana replies and leans up to kiss the underside of Brittany’s jaw, “So thank you. Thank you for having my back.”

Brittany smiles fondly, “For you? Always.”

Santana blushes, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Brittany pretends to ponder, “Once before I think? But tell me again.”

Santana giggles and whispers I love you between sweet kisses.

\\

Brittany gets the text from Rachel shortly after. The picture shows a piece of the Toussaint Santana planted on Dani the night of the Gala and it’s perfectly framed alongside the necktie Dani wore.  

Rachel B. – Is this acceptable? I’ve got her handcuffed to the bed so I can take another if you need.

“Oh wow,” Santana laughs once Brittany shows her the text, “Rachel really does move quick.”

“Apparently,” Brittany nods, “And she found a use for those handcuffs she told me about after all.”

“She told you what she was going to do?” Santana scrunches her nose cutely.

“It was against my will,” Brittany sighed.  

“I’m so sorry,” Santana teases then glances back at the picture, “This is perfect though. I’m going to forward it to myself. Tell her I said thanks.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very happy that you approve,” Brittany says and gets to work typing a reply while Santana hurriedly sends off the picture to Blaine.

Santana L. – This should do it. Have fun!

Blaine texts back almost instantly and showers Santana with gratitude. All she cares about though is that she and her team are off the hook. Blaine assures her that they are.

Now, it’s only a matter of time before everything falls into place like pieces of a puzzle.

\\

Within a day she gets word that Dani has been arrested. It’s not looking good for her ex considering the amount of evidence pinned against her, but that’s what you get when you fuck over a Lopez.  

Santana hopes Dani feels everything she did when she got picked up. She hopes Dani squirms under the hot lamp in the interrogation room. She hopes Dani feels regret set into her bones for what she did to Santana. It’ll only be then that Santana finally feels like she can move on with her life, like that chapter is done and dusted.

Maybe she’s petty for setting Dani up like this, but she doesn’t care. In the end, Karma’s a bitch and so is she.

\\

“It’s official,” Brittany exclaims as soon as she finds Santana lounging on the couch with Quinn.

“What? What’s going on?” Santana sits up while Brittany dances around in front of her. The others notice the commotion and come in for a better listen.

The blonde has her phone in her hand and starts to read off some article for all to hear that explains the Toussaint debacle and how Rachel Berry’s mysterious last-minute date was the one who made off with the necklace and is now looking at a long time in jail.

“You hear that, San? She’s looking at a long sentence,” Brittany says excitedly before she’s wrapping Santana up in a tight hug. The others cheer too and exchange hugs.

It’s the best news Santana’s heard in awhile because this is it. This is the end. They did the job and Dani’s paying for it just like Santana planned and now all there’s left to do is celebrate!

\\

Similar to the day after the Gala, Santana and Brittany grab pizza and alcohol and let the team go wild. Mercedes sets up the music this time and everyone dances like crazy with a slice of pizza in one hand and their choice of drink in the other. Even Santana and Brittany let loose and the others can’t get enough of them.

“You’re so much better when you’re tipsy!” Sugar cheers as she clinks her bottle with Santana’s.

The brunette just laughs and continues to dance on Brittany until Rachel arrives with a box of champagne. Everyone flocks to her and for a moment Rachel thinks it’s because of her, but she’s quick to realize it’s only because she brought the expensive stuff. Still, she doesn’t really mind and pops a bottle to catch up to her new friends.

“You guys started without me!” Rachel looks somewhat offended but Tina just pats her back while Sugar takes the box of champagne off her hands then comes back around to give her a drink.

“Got you a whole box to yourself,” Tina says as she pushes a box of pizza into Rachel’s hands too.

“Is it ve – “

“It’s vegan,” Quinn assures her with a small smile before she clinks her glass with Rachel’s.

“You can never be too sure,” Rachel explains and shoots a weary glare in Brittany’s direction, “I’ve been poisoned before.”

Quinn just snickers into her glass.

“Wait, wait!” Santana stops before everyone gets too wasted. Mercedes stops the music and the others look at her curiously. Santana just climbs up on the coffee table with Brittany’s help, “I want to say a proper thank you.”

“Here we go,” Quinn chuckles to Brittany, “She going to turn into a weepy, hysterical drunk again?”

“She just has a lot of feelings,” Brittany giggles then slaps at Santana’s ass.

“Hey, quit it down there,” Santana swats away at Brittany’s hand.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Sugar starts to chant and soon the others are joining in.

“Okay, okay! Shut up, I’m going,” Santana laughs before she tries to compose herself. “I just wanted to say that you guys are fucking awesome,” Santana says with a raised bottle, “Thank you for being apart of this. Really, couldn’t have do it without you. We make a pretty awesome fucking team.”

Everyone starts to clap and cheer and Santana laughs as she steps down, bracing herself on Brittany’s shoulder.

“You’re cute,” Brittany whispers and plants a kiss on Santana’s cheek.

Santana just blushes and goes to reply but it’s drowned out by Rachel who’s still pretty sober.

“I do have one question. Really it’s an observation,” Rachel says and everyone turns to her, “I believe there’s a small discrepancy in the amount of money we’re all receiving. Something’s just not quite adding up? Not that I’m complaining, but…”

The others start to panic but Santana just smirks at Brittany.

“You want to tell them?” Santana asks and there’s this Cheshire grin spreading up to her cheeks.

Brittany shakes her head, “You do it.”

“Alright,” Santana shrugs and turns a proud smile to the others, “You thought we were only going after one necklace?”

Brittany chuckles, “You don’t know us at all.”

Now everyone’s even more confused than before, but their eyes follow Santana and Brittany as they walk away from them.

“While everyone was so focused on the Toussaint, no one even bothered to check on the other exhibit,” Santana explains simply.

Brittany moves to open the door of a fridge that had been moved off to the side of the kitchen. It’s filled to the brim with the crown jewels of eight different royal families that just so happened to be on display at the Met and the best part is…they aren’t replicas.

“Woah,” Sugar breathes out.

“All or nothing!” Brittany cheers while the others scramble to get a closer look.

“Oh my God!” Emma gasps, “They’re real?”

“Oh they’re very real,” Santana nods.

“I was wondering why we suddenly had two fridges,” Sugar mumbles, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Wait, how did you manage to do all of this?” Emma asks.

Santana glances over at Brittany and smiles proudly, “The floor’s yours, B.”

“Well like Santana said, everyone was distracted with the Toussaint missing and being on lockdown. We used that to our advantage and decided to go on a little private tour for ourselves,” Brittany explains simply, “Why go through all that trouble just for one necklace, you know?”

“Exactly,” Santana nods, “We weren’t just printing off the diamonds needed for the Toussaint either. Tina made replicas of all the jewelry on display in that particular exhibit.”

“I’ve never worked so fast in my entire life,” Tina admits quietly.

“And it’s very much appreciated,” Santana commends, “After that, it was all acrobats.”

“Yup! And that’s where I called in a favor,” Brittany adds then cups her hand around her mouth and calls out, “Yo Chang!”

Everyone turns as Mike Chang enters.

He’s looking dapper in his dress shirt and vest but his rolled up sleeves make him look just a little more casual. There’s this charming smile on his face as he strolls over to the others.

“Dibs!” Tina, Sugar and Rachel all yell out at once. They glare at one another when neither of them backs down.

“I said it first,” Tina urged.

Sugar waves her off, “No, I did!”

“Neither of you stand a chance,” Rachel turns up her nose, “I’m famous.”

“Just barely,” Sugar frowns.

“Mike here is a former Olympian,” Brittany introduces as Mike joins her side.

“Interesting. I too am award-winning,” Rachel comments.

“It’s nothing special,” Mike replies with a chuckle, “I didn’t win a medal or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sugar and Tina say in unison with these too-sweet smiles on their faces.

Santana rolls her eyes; the three of them look absolutely ridiculous fawning over the guy but she guesses that’s what happens when you’re cooped up in a house for weeks without sex.

Santana obviously wouldn’t know about that though, she’s lucky enough to get it on the regular.

“Anyway,” Santana pulls their attention back, “He used his sick gymnast skills to help us clean the place out.”

“Being flexible has it’s perks outside of the bedroom too, right Mike?” Brittany jokes with a nudge to his arm.

“Uhhh…sure. Yeah,” Mike shrugs awkwardly.

“You’re so hot,” Tina practically drools over him.

Santana looks embarrassed for her, “Jesus. Get it together, girl.”

“You have no game,” Sugar shakes her head disapprovingly at Tina.

“What?” Tina gasps, “He is!”

“Yeah, but you don’t just blurt it out,” Sugar argues, “It’s like you’ve never talked to a hot guy before.”

“Sorry Mike,” Brittany says coolly, “They haven’t been around a guy in awhile.”

Mike smiles, “That’s cool.”

“Like I was saying,” Santana continues, “While Mike and Brittany did that, I kept an eye out incase any guard decided to take a peek. It was a tight time frame but we made it work, clearly.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma applauds.

Santana smiles proudly, “So with this little diversion, everyone’s cut is now up to about 38 million.”

“Holy shit!”

Santana chuckles at the outburst and turns to Mike, “Mike, you’ll get a good chunk from me and Britt’s share.”

“Appreciate it,” He bows his head.

Santana sinks into Brittany’s side and the blonde wraps her arm around her shoulders while they watch the others implode.

“Spend it wisely, ladies,” Santana tells them and cuts her eyes to the only guy in the room. She gives him an apologetic smile, “And Mike.”

\\

In the coming days, one by one the girls on the team return to their lives with their bank accounts a lot fuller than they arrived. There are whispers of road trips and extravagant gifts to themselves and the start of small business ventures and Santana feels kind of proud that she’s funding that in a way.

She doesn’t really care what they do with their cuts, she just hopes that they enjoy themselves.

Quinn’s the last to leave and she joins Santana and Brittany for breakfast before she goes. She’s not really sure when she’ll see them again, so she makes the most of what’s left of their time together.

They talk, they laugh, they reminisce and then they say goodbye.

Santana actually gives Quinn a hug and she’s sure Brittany’s going to tease her about it later for being an undercover softie. She doesn’t mind though, she knows Brittany happens to love that part of her even if she teases her about it sometimes.  

“Don’t be strangers,” Quinn tells them as she gets into her car, “Beth misses you both dearly.”

Santana snorts, “I bet she doesn’t even remember us.”

“She’s a sharp kid,” Quinn replies, “She’s remembers everything.”

“We’ll visit,” Brittany says and hugs Santana to her side, “We’re her god parents after all.”

“Still don’t know why you picked us,” Santana jokes, “Don’t you have any other friends besides us?”

“You think I consider you fools my friends?” Quinn teases right back.

Brittany lets out a laugh, “Let us know when you get home, okay?”

“Will do,” Quinn nods, “And you two…be good.”

Santana and Brittany exchange a look and smirk.

“We’ll try,” Santana lies and they way goodbye as Quinn backs out of the driveway.

They watch from the garage until they can no longer see Quinn’s taillights. It’s weird how quiet it is now after so many weeks of having a full house. Santana can’t tell what that feeling is under the surface but when she looks over at Brittany beaming, it eases.

“So,” Brittany hums as she turns to Santana and sets her hands on the brunette’s hips, “Got anymore grand plans in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” Santana flirts as she melts into Brittany, “But I think I’ll take a little break for now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “I’ll probably do some of the things I told my parole officer I’d do.”

“Gonna get yourself settled down with a wife and pop out a couple kids?” Brittany jokes with this sparkle in her eye.

Santana smirks, “Is that a proposal?”

“Well I do have a shit ton of diamonds now,” Brittany ponders aloud before glancing down at Santana, “You can take your pick.”

Santana lets out a laugh, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Brittany winks.

“In the meantime though, there is something I’ve been wanting to try…” Santana husks.

Brittany quirks a brow, “Finally giving the armpit thing some thought? You won’t regret it, babe.”

Brittany starts to unbutton her top and Santana laughs as she stops her, “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh. Well, what’d you– “

Brittany’s words fall short as Santana walks over the short distance and slings her leg over Brittany’s bike. It’s probably the hottest thing Brittany’s ever seen and she watches in a daze as Santana run her hands over the handlebars. She has played this exact scene so many times in her dreams, but never would she have thought Santana would finally agree to it in real life.

Then again, Santana’s kind of been on a streak when it comes to doing things out of the ordinary. Just look at their relationship, they’re actually in one! Who would’ve seen that coming? Definitely not Brittany.

Santana clears her throat and it pulls Brittany’s attention back to her. There’s this sexy, sultry smile on her lips and this mischievous glint in her eye when they catch Brittany’s.

“Take me for a ride?” Santana asks but it sounds more like a demand that Brittany’s all to willing to participate in.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Brittany smirks before rushing off to grab their helmets.

[freejaybird]

hi!! i saw you opening requests for rdr2 hcs?? i was wondering if you'd write about how the gang members react when you gift them something out of the blue????? no limits to whoever it is.. just write whoever you like bcs i love them all!! thank u so much!!! stay safe 💜💜

this is such a MF CUTE IDEA!!! Thank you so much for requesting, I really hope I did your request justice! It was genuinely so much fun to create. I just did the boys on this one because I didn’t want it to be too long, however, if you’d like one including the girls too don’t be afraid to ask <3 stay safe!! 

Arthur Morgan 

You decided it’d be best to give him your gift outside of camp. You both had just finished scouting out a job, the sun resting high in the afternoon sky. It’s rays melted through your clothing, coating your skin in a growing layer of sweat. With a sigh, you look longingly at Flat Iron Lake, whose water you could see gleaming through the trees.

It’s on account of your invitation to go cool off at the shore of the lake, and you’re not surprised that the bulky cowboy next to you agreed almost immediately. He adjusted his gamblers hat, spurring his horse through a nebulous trail through the brush. You followed his lead, as you usually did.

Soon enough, you’re both chilling on the shore, boots long ago kicked off and pants rolled up. The water lapped up at your legs, creating a chill that rolled from your feet all the way up to your shoulders. A wonderful breeze kicks through the air, and it's now when you’re both in pure bliss to give him his gift. Your hand fumbled in your pant pocket, fingers squeezing around the object in an act to reassure yourself before you presented it to him with a smile. 

 “So- I thought you’d like this”

confusion.jpeg 

The first thing he utters is, “Darlin’, are you- you sure you meant this for me?” 

A blush coats your cheeks, the warmth a wonderful opposite to the cool water that swallowed your legs. You nod assuredly, pushing the gift towards him more to convince him to take it from you.

He’ll hold the gift extremely gently, fingers carefully wrapping around it as he turns it in his large hand. His silence worries you for just a second, and you’re just about getting ready to regret every single action in your life leading up to this moment. In reality, though, Arthur’s still reeling in the fact that out of everyone in the goddamn camp, you decided to give him a gift.

You shift your posture to divert your gaze to the water in front of you. The sun glistened off the lake, light rolling in symphony with the rhythm of the waves. The shaded spot you two were sat together in provided a wonderful paradise from the rest of the world, and, as you take a deep breath, you relish in the feeling. You shift your eyes to his again, delighted to see that he met your gaze this time.

His eyes almost seem to twinkle when his gaze falls into yours, and his hesitant, heavy hand comes to rest on your shoulder gently, as if he was afraid that if he rested the full weight of his hand on you you’d sink into the ground. He then proceeds with the goofiest, most sweet smile on his face to say,

 “I.. well this is beautiful, Y/N. Thank you.” 

You don’t think you’ve smiled so hard in your life. 

After that encounter, Arthur will absolutely agonize over what to get you back. Every time he rides out of camp, his mind is extremely distracted by what to give you. He cherishes your gift nearly every day, so he wants to get you something you’ll like nearly as much.

Oh, and he’d definitely sketch your gift in his journal too, with a typical Arthur™ caption that’d say something along the lines of, “So, Y/N gifted me something today. Still making up my mind about what to gift her back”

When he finally does get you something, you can tell he put a lot of thought into it. It’s most likely something that no one else would think to get you, such as a secret hobby you divulge in or something you’ve secretly been yearning to buy for yourself for a while. 

Whenever he sees you using what he got for you, it’s insanely difficult to hide the proud smile and blush that coats his features. You both will definitely tease each other about your reactions. 

Dutch Van Der Linde 

It’s a relatively cool evening when you decide that the moment is right to give Dutch your gift. You had chosen it out for him very carefully, and now that it was time to actually give it to him, your heart hammered painfully against your rib cage. Whenever your eyes drifted to his encapsulating figure by the docks a wildfire erupted on your cheeks, which very quickly spread to your ears.

“You fool..” You whisper to yourself, kicking your boot into the ground before making your way over to the man. Your balance teetered a bit, as if even your body considered this action a bad idea.

When you first appear next to him, he doesn’t think much of it. It was almost routine for you both to stand on the docks of Clemens Point, basked in the moonlight, thoughts silently being swallowed by the lake. However, what he didn’t expect was for you to hold out a gift and, very adorably, go into a ramble about it.

Oh boy, without a doubt this is an ego boost for him. However, don’t think for a second that he doesn’t genuinely appreciate your efforts.

He’ll hold your gift in his hands with remarkable thoughtfulness, a ghost of a smile passing his lips. His eyes are uncharacteristically soft, and it reminds you of the way you catch him looking at Hosea from time to time. 

That softness, though it was a treasure to see, is only there for a passing second though. Almost immediately, he’ll get the most shit-eating grin on his face and purr, “Well… ain’t this fine.” 

Goosebumps almost immediately raise on your skin, sending a shiver through your bones. Instinctively, you clasp your hands behind your back, tipping back on the heel of your boots to take a step back from his looming presence. 

“It’s okay, Dutch? I just- I know you do so much and…” The shaky, undecided sentence you started trails off almost as soon as his deep, commanding eyes make eye contact with you. Your hands tighten around each other, as if that will provide any comfort for your nervousness in the moment. 

Whilst maintaining eye contact, he plucks your arm from your side, running his hand down your arm to your slightly shaky hand before taking it into his and very gently raising it to brush his lips past your knuckles. His mustache tickled the skin there, sending flashes of what felt like lightning where the bristles of hair touched. The smooth fucker.

Heartily chuckling, he encapsulates his hand over yours in an instant. The size difference alone is enough to get you shifting in your boots. “Of course, Y/N. I appreciate… the faith you’ve kept in me. This…” With his other hand he holds up your gift to eye level, momentarily drifting his eyes to it as if it was a prized jewel. “This is magnificent, my dear.” 

He’s definitely going to get you some type of jewelry or at least something that you’d be able to wear. He loves seeing you walk past him to get something, only to freeze and almost proudly look into his eyes when he points out that you’re wearing his gift. 

Javier Escuella

When you pop up by his side one night at the campfire, he’s not too surprised. Although you two didn’t talk too much, there’s always been a silent agreement that you guys sit at the campfire together. Whether it be to listen to him play guitar, or to sit silently whilst lounging in the fire’s warmth, the comfort of on another was always something to look forward to at the end of a long day.

When you present it to him his lips immediately shift into a smile, and he looks up into your eyes with such a soft expression. The orange hues of the fire light danced along the features of his face, adding to the warmth of the occasion. 

“For me, hermosa? You’re too kind.” 

He’ll look over what you gave him for a few seconds, his smile never leaving his face as he takes it into his hands. He shifts his sitting position in order to get a better look at what you gave him, his eyes dancing over it as if it was the most beautiful object in the world.

Tentatively, you ask if he likes it. Your hands fidget a little bit, and ever so slightly you shift so that you’re a little farther apart. If he didn’t like it, your plan was to wither into the dirt. 

“Do I like it? Querida... I love it! Thank you, mi pájaro cantor.” 

He sets your gift down very carefully beside himself to lean over and hug you, closing the distance that separated your bodies. His scent, a mixture of gunpowder, cigarette smoke, and sweat, engulfs you, and for a moment it's hard to focus on anything else other than the comfort of his arms around you. 

Following this occasion, you can definitely expect a gift in return. In fact, the morning after you gave him yours he’ll have placed a beautifully crafted knife next to your bedroll. There’s nothing discerning that the knife is from him, but just the vibe surrounding the item screams Javier. 

Later in the day, when you both share the warmth of the campfire again, he presents a beautiful selection of wild flowers to you, tied carefully with a satin ribbon. He’ll look at you with an expression that’s absolutely dripping in honey seeing you take the flowers he picked for you. Everyone is absolutely convinced you’re both sweet on one another.

The girls will definitely tease you for the rest of eternity for that stunt.

However, any embarrassment you felt would dissipate as soon as you see Javier smile upon seeing you use the knife he got you, as well as the gentleness of any interactions you share following this event. 

Charles Smith

It was routine for both you and Charles to go on hunting trips together. Your strategies and general vibe complimented each other so well that whenever Pearson mentioned that he needed meat for the next stew, you both just assumed you were going to be hunting together. You’d never felt more comfortable with another person, and you cherished his presence. 

You two are finishing up your most recent hunting trip when you pull his gift out of your saddlebag. The sun is just setting, casting a purple glow across the scenery that surrounded you both. A soft wind rustles the leaves of the trees, and in the distance a pack of coyotes bark and yip. 

“Charles?” 

As soon as he turns around, you’re holding your hands out with his gift. His gaze shifts from the gift and then to you, his lips parting. 

You fumbled with your words explaining yourself to the man, very slightly gesturing with your free hand to his body.“It’s for you. I- well I thought you’d like it.” 

The softest of smiles graces his features as he takes the gift from you. His eyes seem to waltz along the features of your gift, his head just slightly tilting. 

“This is such a thoughtful gift, Y/N. Thank you.” 

The eye contact he makes with you after he utters that sentence nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

For the next coming days, expect him to be really sweet with you. If he’s ever on guard duty, or you’re returning from a task together, he’ll help you off of your horse and make sure you know that you did an absolutely amazing job that day. You’re absolutely swimming in compliments from the man.

It’s during a hunting trip a lot like the one you two shared a few days ago that he gives you a handmade bow. It reminded you a lot of the one he often carried on his back, and your entire chest swelled with pride when you looked over the engravings intricately entwined in the wood. How long did it take him to make this? Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at the thought.

“So you like it then?” His voice, tinted with amusement, interrupts the silence you created entirely by accident. This man was gonna kill you, you were sure of it.

“I- Charles of course I do! This- how…” Your breath escapes you, almost as if your lungs just decided to forget how to intake air.

It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you whenever you use that bow (which is quite often might I add). You can’t completely discern the emotion he’s conveying, but all you know is that you’re absolutely enamored by his gaze.

Sean Macguire 

Oh, this is a silly interaction all around. In fact, even when you were even picking out a gift for him, you were almost positive he’d find a way to make the occasion goofy as hell. 

You give the gift to him whilst in camp, snatching the opportunity whilst he was on a break from guard duty.

“Oh my… love. Is this a present for good ol’ Macguire here?”

He has almost a puppy-like expression on his face, and the man doesn’t even let a second go by before he’s taking it out of your hands. A giggle slips through your lips at the child-like grin on his face, I mean, come on, he’s holding this gift as if it’s the secret to life.

“I take that you like it?” You tease, taking the time to lean against a tree. Your body felt light with fondness for the man. 

He wildly gestures with his gift, taking a step closer to you as he tilts his head, “My da always used to say tat’ when a lady gifts y’something it’s a sign, y’know.” His eyebrows raise expectantly, as if you knew the context of whatever he was talking about.

You teetered on the edge of asking ‘a sign for what??’ but decided against it. This grand advice from his da will be listened to vehemently by you, a special occasion reserved only for today.

The sight of his eyes absolutely gleaming with joy as he recounts one of his da’s life advice™ is almost enough to melt you on the spot. 

He’ll definitely give the most bone-crushing hug imaginable to show how appreciative he is for your gift. He smells absolutely terrible, but you can overlook that so long as he continues to smile like he is right now. 

Look, afterwards he’ll try his best to get you a meaningful gift, but it will most likely be something along the lines of whiskey or some type of treat front the general store. He’ll genuinely be so excited for you to react to it, he’ll give it to you almost as soon as he gets back to camp. It most likely happens around the campfire too, with a few gang members watching this interaction unfold like 👀

Bill Williamson 

You surprise him with his gift at the scout campfire. He’s just finished his guard duty, and before he starts his evening alcoholism™ you pounced on the opportunity to give him the item. You call his name once you decide you're close enough, a slight smile turning at your lips as you present it to him.

Once he realizes that what you’re holding out to him is supposed to be for him, he’ll look at you with such a mean scowl that you falter in your next step towards him, causing you to nearly fall face first into the dirt below.

“I ain’t in the mood for your goddamn jokes, Y/N.” He growls, prodding at the fire with the tip of his boot. He glances at you with brief concern as you regain your composure, his posture tightening as he decides on what exactly he wants to do, but he doesn’t threaten to check if you’re alright. He’s still bent on you playing a joke on him, after all. 

“I’m gonna be in a worse mood if you don’t take th’ gift I chose for you, fool.” You tilt your head, a friendly yet threatening smile blessing your features as you lean down to his level, placing the gift in his open lap. The bear of a man glances at you, a huff escaping him. He found it hard to keep his guard up with you looking so intently at him, as well as when he finally studied the object that was placed on his lap.

“Well, thank you very much, Y/N. Don’t know why you’d even think to get me somethin’ like this.” There’s still an ounce of bitterness in his gruff voice, as if he was still expecting you to snatch the item out of his grasp and taunt him. 

Your smile absolutely melts away any doubt lingering within him, though.

In fact, he feels an unfamiliar warmth fill his chest as you sit down next to him with a slight sigh, your head turning to look him in the eyes once again. “Yeah? I thought you’d like it.”

When your shoulders brush, he has to look at the gift again to hide any sign of a blush appearing on his cheeks. He was sure his beard would hide it, but he didn’t want to risk you seeing him in such a vulnerable state. 

“Sorry for…” He makes an awkward gesture towards himself, and he fumbles with the item in his hands before continuing his attempt to converse with you. “This is… This is fine, Miss/Sir.”

You hummed, assuring him with a smile. 

Afterwards, the man is so unsure of what to do with himself around you. Does he get you a gift back? Does he strike up more conversation with you? He’s at a loss. It’s been so long since someone at camp was so genuinely nice to him he doesn’t want to mess up anything. 

If he does decide to get you a gift back, don’t expect anything gaudy. Honestly, it’s most likely something he stole off of someone or a bottle of your preferred alcoholic beverage. He’s really shy when he presents it to you, but upon seeing your true, unadulterated happiness that he even thought to get you something back is enough to get him smiling. 

You two spend a lot more evenings together after this, filled with hearty laughs, Pearson’s stew, and a few beers.

[day-writingdaydreams]

You Will Be Found - Chapter 2 Waving Through a Window

🎵“When you’re falling in a forest, and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?”🎵

Can also be read on AO3

Once again thanks to @khanofallorcs​ for being an awesome beta reader

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As he climbed the stairs to the entrance of his classroom, Adrien's ears picked up the sound of a sweet voice singing softly.

"Step out, step out of the sun because you learned, because you learned."

'Whoever it is that's singing has a fantastic voice,' the blond mused as he quietly approached the classroom, not wanting to disturb the mysterious, obviously female vocalist. He peered through the window, his eyebrows raising to his hairline as he recognized his classmate.

"On the outside always looking in, will I ever be more than I've always been? 'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass. Waving through a window."

Inside the room was one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, singing along to a song coming through her headphones as she sketched out a new design, the music providing a cathartic beat.

"I tried to speak but nobody would hear, so I wait around for an answer to appear," she continued softly, adding more lines to the design. “While I’m watch, watch, watching people pass, waving through a window…”

She was so engrossed in both the song and the dress she was designing that she never took notice of the model walking in and putting his bag down.

The dark-haired girl sighed, focused on sketching the line of the collar just right. “Can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me?” She sang lowly.

"Wow, Marinette, I never knew you had such a pretty singing voice," Adrien complimented, really impressed with how talented his friend was.

Designer, seamstress, baker, artist, singer. Was there anything that Marinette couldn't do?

Apparently having a conversation was one.

"Gah!" Marinette yelped as she finally noticed that she was no longer alone. Clutching at her chest as she pulled her headphones from her ears, Marinette looked up wide-eyed at her intruder.

"A-Adrien," the dark-haired girl gasped out, trying to catch her breath from her scare. "You s-startled me!"

"I'm sorry, Marinette," the young man gave a low, friendly chuckle as he apologized. "I was complimenting you on your singing. You have a beautiful voice."

She gaped at him for a moment, sapphire eyes blown wide

"She sure does!" an energetic Alya piped in as she walked through the classroom door with Nino. She climbed the steps to her seat, pausing to give a parting kiss on the cheek to her boyfriend. "You should hear her when we're all rockin' out to Clara Nightingale's songs, Sunshine."

"Alya-a-a-a," the designer whined before planting her head face-first on her sketchbook, deciding to hide her embarrassment in her crossed arms on top of her desk, covering her sketchbook.

“So,” began the blogger, totally pretending to ignore her best friend’s embarrassment. “Are you guys excited about the big project?”

“Yeah, dudes, it's gonna be awesome!” Nino said in his chill way.

“I just hope that I get paired with a good partner,” Adrien said with a grin.

“Me too,” came a muffled answer from Marinette, still hiding in her nest of arms.

Alya tapped her fingers to her chin in thought. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if the two of you wound up as partners?” She asked thoughtfully, pointing to the pair of friends, and causing the dark-haired girl to sit upright abruptly with a glare in her direction.

“Why would it be interesting?” The oblivious blond model questioned. “I think Marinette and I would be great partners!”

“Oh?” The auburn-haired girl inquired with a smirk, mischief gleaming in her eyes. She adjusted her glasses in speculation and once again pretended to ignore the beet-red face of the girl sitting next to her. ”How so?”

“Well...” Adrien trailed off in thought before coming to an obvious conclusion. “She’s a designer, and I’m a model. It’s a perfect match, don’t you think?”

A squeak that came from Marinette’s direction went ignored once more.

As was a hidden murderous glare from a pair of olive eyes who climbed the stairs to go to her seat behind them.

At that moment, the rest of the class had filed in, and Ms. Bustier walked in, signaling the beginning of the lesson.

"Good morning, everyone," she began. "Today, we're going to pair up for an art project. The topics cannot be repeated, however, you may be able to pair up with a group that will compliment your group's project. The pairs will be assigned and they will be final."

She began to read off the pairs. Alya was with Nino, Max was with Kim, etc. "And finally, Adrien and Marinette." She turned her full attention back to her students. "You will have two weeks to complete your projects."

"Ms. Bustier! "called a voice from the back row.

"Yes, Lila?" the red-haired woman sighed.

The vixen's olive eyes gleamed with mischief and malice. "My partner and I are going to do our project on fashion," she declared.

"WHAT!?" exclaimed the class, loudest of all Marinette, Adrien, and Nathaniel, Lila's partner.

"I did not agree to this!" the normally quiet red-haired boy seethed in agitation.

"We'll be fine," the smarmy Italian soothed. "You’re a wonderful artist, and I am a model, remember?"

The rest of their conversation got lost in the cacophony, as it seemed obvious to everyone who should’ve been able to choose fashion as their topic.

They also all had an opinion on that matter.

“Alright everyone, settle down!” Ms. Bustier called out, trying to regain the attention of her students. “Now please, we need to finish this up so that we can continue to our next lesson. Juleka, what topic did you and Rose decide on?”

Adrien scowled at the fake fox, watching as she glared back at him in triumph in her attempt to screw him and Marinette over. He turned away from her, feeling nauseous at the thought of that pathological liar, and tuned out the rest of his classmates, deciding instead to place his focus on his partner. Spying the earbuds still lying on her desk, the model’s eyes went wide as a wild idea came to him,

"Hey, Marinette," he began tentatively "would you be okay with singing in public?"

The blue-eyed girl shook herself from her thoughts of maybe giving her red-haired classmate some designing advice before she glanced at her partner with equally wide eyes. "Maybe," she said quietly, biting her lip in a way that drew the blond’s eye unintentionally. "What do you have in mind?"

Pulling his gaze away from her swollen lip took much more effort than he thought possible, but Adrien shook his head to clear his mind and gather his thoughts. "How about we do our project on music. I could play the piano, maybe a little guitar. You could sing? Maybe include any other instruments that you know how to play?"

He could see the gears turning in her head, taking his idea and looking at it from every angle. "Well, I know some notes on the flute.." she started, then wrinkled her nose in distaste, "but I'm not very good with it. I'm actually better with a violin, but it's been ages since I picked one up."

“You play the violin? I never knew that!” Adrien said, amazed at the talented girl before him. “If we could group up with the group who decides to do videography, maybe we could put together a music video?" He asked thoughtfully.

"That is an amazing idea!" she exclaimed. “Let’s do it!”

With a smile beaming on his face, the model raised his hand to get the teacher’s attention. “Ms. Bustier?”

“Yes, Adrien?”

“May my partner and I work with whoever chooses Videography? We’d like to do our project on music, and had some ideas.”

“I’m okay with it if that group is,” she answered with a smile. “Why don’t you ask them yourselves? Alya? Nino?”

With surprised wide eyes, the pair of them turned to look at their best friends. Clearing his throat, Adrien tried to broach the subject. “So….”

“Dude, you don’t even have to ask!” Nino smirked with a fist bump to his best bro. “We’ve overheard your plan and we’re totally in! This project sounds off the hook!”

“So… what song are you guys planning to cover?” The junior journalist inquired with a mischievous look.

Green eyes met blue, as the two of them shrugged.

“We...haven’t really discussed that yet,” Marinette answered, eyes lowered and fingers fidgeting with the edges of her sketchbook.

“We hope to have an answer soon,” Adrien filled in.

“Maybe we should meet after school?” Alya suggested.

The designer’s face fell further at that comment. “I have to help out at the bakery after school today,” she grumbled, lifting her eyes to the rest of the group. “A big order came in, and…”

“Hey, it’s okay, Marinette,” Adrien said, placing a hand on one of hers to comfort her. “I just remembered that I do have a fencing lesson after school. Maybe we could meet up at the bakery after I get done, then head over to my house? I… can’t exactly move a piano too easily,” he chuckled as he lifted his right hand to rub at the back of his neck.

Gratitude glittered in her cerulean eyes as Marinette faced the blond. “Thank you,” she said. “That sounds perfect.”

“That does sound perfect! When do we meet up?” a voice that didn’t belong to the group chimed in, startling the four of them.

The group turned to face one Lila Rossi sporting a sickeningly sweet look on her face.

“Excuse me?” Alya asked with genuine confusion. “Why would you be coming with us, Lila?”

Batting her eyes, the Italian answered, “Why, Adrien and I have a study date later, don't we, Adrien?”

“Uh, no. We don’t,” the model said with a deadpan voice and an expression to match, making the bespeckled pair raise an eyebrow at their sunshine friend. “Also, this would be a closed practice, Lila. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Besides,” Marinette chimed in with a barely contained sneer that really took her friends off guard, “don’t you have your own project to work on? You know… with your partner?”

Seeing as there was no way around it, Lila lifted her chin with a sniff, turned on her heel, and walked off.

“Man, what is with her?” Nino asked quietly.

“Really,” Alya agreed. “Who just invites themselves to someone else’s group project like that?”

“Lila,” both Adrien and Marinette simultaneously answered together, causing their friends to blink at them.

“I also really don't want her in my room again,” Adrien emphasized. “The last time that she was there really skeeved me out.”

“Why, dude? If you don’t mind me asking, that is”. Nino asked politely.

“Well… she lied to get into my house. Lied to me, to Gorilla, and to Nathalie. She also lied to my father to get Gorilla and Nathalie into trouble,” the model listed, ticking off his fingers as he went. “She also shamelessly searched my room once we got in there, and forced me to take a picture with her, which she then sent to all of my female contacts, causing Kagami to get akumatized.”

That was what the sunshine child wanted to say.

But he was supposed to be taking the high road, so he just pushed down his feelings about it.

It wasn’t as if anyone other than Marinette would believe him anyway. They were all wrapped around Lila’s fingers.

Even his father, though he wasn’t sure how that happened.

What he wound up saying instead with a shudder was: “I don't know, man. It just did, that’s all.”

He then heard something coming out of Marinette’s earbuds, making him realize that when he surprised her earlier that she had never actually shut off her music.

“Did I even make a sound?

Did I even make a sound?

It's like I never made a sound

Will I ever make a sound?”

“Dude…” Nino breathed out just as the bell rang to switch classes.  ”That was so not cool.”

“Yeah, man,” Adrien said, packing up his books with a grimace. “I know.”

[yvixtrae]

4:17 AM

Taking another sip from your third can of Monster Java for the night to try to fight off the fatigue from the past few days leeching at your bones, you glare down at both your laptop screen of which is displaying your still unfinished fantasy concept project and the study-guide papers with Hangul scattered next to it for your project in Korean. The EDM playlist you’d put on earlier for background noise continues to play, and you sigh as you put the half-empty can down to try and pen down things you want to and need to include in your Korean paper, occasionally glancing back to your still-waiting digital sketches. Though the clock is reading a little past quarter after 4 in the morning and you’re pushing on your third all nighter, you continue diligently, figuring that you couldn’t afford to sleep when the rest of your day hours were spent part-timing at the uni library and attending long classes at uni as well. Ayno sits criss-cross by your side, brushing off his own sleepiness as he looks up at you with concern, floppy golden retriever ears framing his still soft features. Your usual dark circles had only gotten more prominent, and you seemed much more down than usual now that you were swamped with literally half a dozen assignments and projects alongside twice the amount of commissions—down enough to be hardly eating. The stress and anxiety overwhelmed everything else, like your exhaustion for example. Unsure of what exactly to do to help you, Ayno whines under his breath and pouts to himself, wracking his brain on what could possibly get you to take a break and eat and rest to feel even a little better for just a little while.

“Y/N…” He nudges your leg and paws lightly at it.

When the only response you give is a tired smile and a few seconds of running your fingers through his fluffy yet nearly silken navy strands before going back to your work, his pout only grew. With a louder whine, he tries again.

“Y/N… Please come to bed…”

Looking over at him, you simply shake your head. “I’ve still gotta finish my fantasy concept project, start my Korean project, finish my creative writing paper, and finish my part for the group project. I just can’t…”

His ears droop a bit at that, but then a thought hits him. He knows that there’s one thing you never say no to: Chocolate chip pancakes. As you turn back to your work again, he gets up to leave your shared bedroom, pleased with himself for thinking of the idea. The minutes tick by, one by one, but it’s not long before a familiar and pleasant smell reaches your nose. Turning around in your chair, you see him with a hopeful expression and a small plate of chocolate chip pancakes.

“Will you at least take a break now??” He asks hesitantly, handing you the dish and taking his spot next to you again.

“I have to. Chocolate chip pancakes are more important.” You laugh lightly, picking up one of the pancakes to take a bite.

He bounces slightly, glad that you’re finally taking a break. Tail wagging slightly, he waits patiently as you eat. After downing all of the pancakes, you feel full and satisfied for the first time this week and smile appreciatively at Ayno. After downing the rest of your Monster Java, you consider trying to do more work, but then think better of it. Saving your progress on your laptop, you then exit out of everything and close it before tidying up your papers and folders on your desk, figuring that maybe it really is high time to at least rest mentally, even if you’re sure that you’ll be unable to sleep for a fair bit due to both your racing thoughts and the amount of caffeine you’ve had. Grabbing your phone, you change your music to something more chill and turn down the volume by a little before getting up from your chair. Ayno bounds over excitedly to the bed, tail still wagging, flopping down with a small huff before crawling under the covers and disappearing. As soon as you just simply get on the bed and start to slide under the comforter as well to just keep your legs a bit warm while you sit, he’s already wiggling around and moving to press himself into your side. His head now peeking out from under the comforter, he whines and nudges your thigh, giving his best puppy face. You give a sigh at this, abandoning any hope of staying sitting up and on your phone, placing it to the side and leaning down to press your lips gently against his forehead, of which elicits a happy giggle from him, before moving to lay down beside him. After a few moments of shifting around to get comfortable, he scoots to curl a bit and tuck himself against you even more, his back to your chest and head under your chin.

“Y/N…” He starts, voice small, and you hum as a response for him to continue, “Please don’t ever do all of this again. Missing sleep, skipping meals… Just not… Looking after yourself.”

Your heart aches at the sound of worry and hurt in his tone, and you feel a pang of guilt at him feeling worried and hurt over you.

“I get that… That you really take your assignments and projects and commissions seriously… But… But I just…” He starts to stumble over his words before trailing off, a few more moments passing before he starts up again, “Seeing you so bent over those things to where you’re on the verge of giving out due to being so tired and going on to where you’re not eating and you seeming so sad and nervous and stressed… I don’t like it…”

He turns around partially to peer up at you, chocolatey orbs shining with warmth and affection, and even the beginnings of tears. “I love you, and I don’t like it when you’re not smiling and laughing lots. When you’re not being happy and healthy.”

The all too familiar feeling of being lovestruck hits you again over his words and expression, over how sweet of a puppy he really is. As he sniffles quietly, and moves to turn back on his side, you sit up and lean over him to gently wipe away the building tears with your hoodie sleeve.

“It’s okay, Ayno… I’m fine. I just… Sometimes forget that I have to actually look after myself.” You murmur softly, carding your fingers through his hair again at a languid pace, “But I promise… I promise that I’ll do better to take care of myself. So don’t fret.”

You take the time to gingerly rub at his ears, and he leans into your touch with a content hum.

“Also,” You continue with a small bit of a laugh, “Thank you so much for the pancakes.”

“Anytime…” He mumbles, almost sounding shy, but a smile still tugs on the corners of his lips.

You move your hand to lightly rub his belly, and as he rolls onto his back, you adjust to where your weight rests more on your bent arm beside his head. He grins at the belly rubs, but his eyelids have drooped to a pretty sleepy-looking half-lid. Noticing this, your heart melts a little bit at the cuteness, and you continue to rub his stomach as the thought of mayhaps kissing him crosses your mind. Starting to lean in, you hesitate, almost freezing in place as your face heats up a bit with a blush.

“Oh jeez.” He laughs, remembering how this had happened the first and last time you’d kissed, and knowing how he’d have to be the one to close the distance.

Leaning up, he seals his lips over yours in a gentle liplock, trying and failing to bite back the urge to smile into it. A heartbeat passes, then another, and a few more before he pulls away.

“And… Sleep time.” You move back, gnawing on the inner of your cheek to hide your own smile as you take your spot as big spoon again.

He chokes back a cackle at your reaction, knowing well that you’ve shut down from the kiss, but lets it go as he tucks himself back against you. “Yeah, sleep time.”

[sweetblink]

Blushing Red.

Blushing Red.

___________________

Reggie Mantle x Reader.  

Requested by: Anon

#23 for Reggie porfavor

#23. "Are you blushing?"... "Noooo, I just look like a bright red tomato, of course I am, you idiot!"

Warnings: pining, cursing, getting together.

____________________

"Not to alarm you or anything, but Reggie is clearly showing off to grab your attention, Y/N." Toni said, while Cheryl just snorted.

"You sure it's not for some other bimbo that its in the same gym." You repled, not even looking up from your sketch pad. Toni and Cheryl both shared a look and then chuckled.

"Y/N, the Vixens finished practice an hour ago, almost everyone is gone, and the only bimbos here, are the three of us." Cheryl replied.

You looked up from your sketch pad and looked around the gym. Your eyes widen when you realized that you've lost track of time. "Oh my god, when did you guys get here?" you asked.

The duo both just laughed at you. "Seriously Y/N?" Toni giggled. You smiled. "But, seriously, Reggie has been trying his damn hardest to get your attention." she said, motioning her head towards the basketball court.

You finally looked over to see what the big deal Reggie was making, only to see Reggie get pushed down by Sweet Pea who stole the ball from him. Giggling at Reggie's angry face you shook your head, and send him a small wave when he looked your way.

Reggie sent you a small smile and continued on to play. "You guys would look cute together, why haven't you guys dated?" Toni asked.

Cheryl sighed. "It's because the both of them are being stupid." she replied.

You rolled your eyes at what Cheryl said and turned to Toni. "He's always flriting with other girls, you can't blame me for thinking that he's being serious about dating me." you replied, as you went back to sketching Reggie, looking very serious.

Toni looked over at what you were drawing and smiled. "Oh you have it bad." she teased.

You just scoffed at her. "Don't get any ideas, I happen to draw almost all the guys from the basketball team." you replied, openeing your sketch book and showing her Sweet Pea, Fangs, and some other random guys.

Cheryl just shook her head. "Don't bother, me and Betty have been trying to set them up, but it hasn't worked, yet." she told her, as you smiled innocently up at her.

"Anyways, I'm get going now." You said, gathering your stuff.

"Oh, lover boy has noticed that you're taking off." Toni said, smiling down at the basketball court, you stood up straighter and turned to see Reggie looking away. You just let out a small chuckle and shook your head.

"I'll see you both tomorrow." You replied, and took off.

You quickly made your way out the gym, when you heard a pair of footsteps trying to catch up with you. "Y/N!"

Turning you smiled when you noticed that it was Reggie. "Hey Reg." you greeted.

Reggie stopped in front of you, panting a little. "Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm not free, I'm worth more that millions." You teased.

Reggie just chuckled and shook his head. "Always with the smartass responses."

You chuckled and nodded. "Of course, it's part of my charm."

Reggie just laughed and nodded. "But are, I wanted to take you out to Bijou, and then maybe Pop's."

You smiled at him. "Do you want to meet up and leave after practice, or do you want to pick me up?" you asked.

Reggie began to smile even wider and nodded. "We meet up here."

Yout pouted. "Darn I was hoping you'd answer the latter, I wanted to get all dolled up for you." you teased.

Reggie just chuckled. "You don't have to get dolled up, you're beautiful just the way you are."

You giggled and nodded. "Alright Bruno Mars, it's a date then." you confirmed.

Reggie smile and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "See you tomorrow then." and then took off.  You just giggled like a crazy person and left.

**********************

Just like you promise, the next day, you were seated on the stands, with Toni and Cheryl, while the boys had basketball practice.

"So is it finally happening? Are you guys finally getting together?" Toni asked, smiling wide.

You smiled at her. "Chill Topaz, I only agreed to go on a date, don't get ahead of yourself."

"Babe, calm down, Y/N may have said yes, but that's only because she's testing the waters." Cheryl told Toni.

Toni sighed and sat back. "Ugh, this is so frustrating, it's like waiting for my favorite tv pairing to get together, I just wanna smash their heads together and make them kiss already."

You rolled your eyes at her. "I'm right here you know." you told her.

"Yeah, I know, take a fucking hint." Toni teased.

The three of you just laughed, Cheryl started to laugh even harder when she looked over at the basketball court and saw Reggie trip over his own feet looking over at them. You also noticed it and began to laugh along with Cheryl.

Toni just shook her head. "Well that's embarssing for him." she commented, which only made you and Cheryl laugh even harder.

For the rest of the boy's basketball practice, you, Cheryl,and Toni just talked about how to improve River Vixen routines, and what movies they should see for girl's night. Once basketball practice, Sweet Pea and Fangs made their way over, while Reggie took off to shower.

"Hey, I heard that someone's got a date tonight." Fangs said, smiling wide.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm waiting on Reggie so we can take off."

"You'll tell us if he isn't treating right, right?" Sweet Pea asked. You giggled and nodded at his question.

The door opened and Reggie walked out, you smiled and turned to the others. "Cheryl, can you take my stuff?" you asked her. Cheryl nodded, smiling wide, you hugged them all and made your way towards Reggie.

"Ready to go?" Reggie asked, with his hand stretched out. You nodded, and accepted his hand and the both of you took off. You can hear the girls loud giggles and shrieks when you accepted his hand.

The pair of you went to Bijou, and Reggie surprised you with tickets with Avengers Infinity War. Reggie smiled when he noticed your shocked face. "I asked all your friends which movie, you wanted to see the most." he told you.

"Well what are we watiitng for, lets go," You squealed, eagerly pulling him in to the movies. Reggie just chuckled but complied.

For the rest of the date, it was spent you being in awe of the movie, in some scenes you would grip Reggie's hand hard, in others you would latch onto his arms, at one point you even felt him drop a kiss on your hair as your hid your face, on the Tony Stark and Peter Parker scene.

After the movie was over and staying for the end credits, you finally turned to Reggie and pouted. "I don't want to wait a whole year for the next movie."

Reggie chuckled. "What I enjoyed the most comforting you, as you cried over Peter Parker."

You began to blush widly. "It was an emotional scene!" you defended.

"Are you blushing?" Reggie asked, when he noticed how red your cheeks were.

You rolled your eyes in amusement. "Noooo, I just look like a bright red tomato, of course I am, you idiot!"

Reggie just laughed and then looked into your eyes. "You look even more beautifully adorbale when you blush." he told you. You shyly smiled at him and blushed even more. Reggie just began to stroke your cheek, softly. "I love that it's me that causing you to blush like this." he whispered.

You looked at his eyes and down to his lips, Reggie took that as his cue and he leaned down to kiss you. Letting out a small moan, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him even closer.

"I like you so much." Reggie muttered on your lips.

You smiled. "I'm pretty into you as well." you replied back as you contined to kiss him.

"Be mine, Y/N. Let me be part of the cause of you happiness." Reggie asked.

"Such a sap." You tried to say seriously, as you pulled away, but your smile gave you away. "But yes, I do want to be yours." Reggie smile even wider and leaned down to kiss you again.

When the next morning came, Toni was the one screaming so loud, when she saw you both enter the school hand in hand.

________________________

I think I did a good job on this. 

Masterlist. 

[haunt-the-stars]

Ornaments

Written for Batfam Christmas Stocking 2018 for @starknjarvis27 ‘s prompts “A seemingly normal holiday activity accidentally makes someone sad, someone else comforts them.” & “Jason’s first Christmas back at the manor”

Fandom: Batman (Comics)

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned), Tim Drake (mentioned), Damian Wayne (mentioned)

Category: Gen

Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Every once in a while, Bruce wondered what it was like to have five mostly-grown children in a normal-sized house. Usually, he immediately wished he didn’t wonder about it, because the idea was terrifying. His family not being able to spread out to their own spaces...it would be awful for everyone except perhaps Dick. Even he sometimes retreated for a few hours, and Bruce would find him under a heavy blanket, headphones in, happily shutting the world out.

It was one of those times, when everyone was shutting the world out in their own way. As of this morning, all five of his kids were under his roof, and they would be having Christmas Eve dinner all together in about nine hours. Then Christmas Eve patrol, when Nightwing wore colorful string lights and Red Robin wore a Santa hat and Orphan’s humming of Christmas songs was constant on the comms. But for now, in anticipation of spending so much time together and so much energy trying not to kill each other, they were taking a few hours for themselves.

Bruce checked on Cassandra first, found her curled up with a tablet in the library watching what he had to assume was the holiday baking show she’d been watching so much lately. It’s relaxing, she’d told him. Ace sat on her feet, tail thumping against the chair. Cass waved at Bruce, not bothering to take her headphones out, then signed, “Do you need help?” Bruce shook his head, smiled, and waved back before quietly shutting the door and moving on.

Damian was harder to find, but Bruce eventually discovered him perched on a window seat in the study, fast asleep, sketchbook and a handful of pencils in his lap. Bruce smiled at the sketch of the large tree that stood outside the window. Damian had captured the falling snow, and seemed to have started adding a small bird with a tiny scarf before he fell asleep. Bruce gently moved the book and pencils to a table and replaced them with a blanket over Damian, hoping the chill from the window wouldn’t freeze him.

Dick was next, and Bruce didn’t even have to walk far into his bedroom before he heard the shower running and Dick’s voice drifting out of the bathroom with the steam. Bruce listened for a few seconds, thinking wistfully to himself how nice it would be if he actually remembered how to play the piano so he could share in Dick’s love of music. Damian had just started letting Dick teach him how to play the guitar, and Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t just the tiniest bit jealous of yet another connection they had that didn’t involve him.

He moved on down the hall to Tim’s room, and got another auditory confirmation of wellbeing in the form of Tim’s bright giggles, and then a, “It’s definitely just ‘moose,’ Bart.” A pause, then, “Well, house rhymes with mouse but it’s houses, not hice, right?” and then, “Kon, shut up,” and then more laughter, which made Bruce’s heart warm. He ignored the fact that the giggles were probably due to Tim’s obvious crush on Superboy, because to acknowledge it would be to acknowledge that yet another son of his had a thing for men who could bench press him. He had lost enough sleep over Dick, and Tim had his own contingency plans. Probably.

Bruce considered stopping his rounds there to avoid agitating his most volatile child. He had seen him just an hour or two ago, and it was unlikely that anything life-shattering had happened in the meantime. But a worried little drive always seemed to win over in situations like this. He couldn’t relax until each bird was accounted for, and after spending so long not getting to check on Jason, it was a privilege he never wanted to pass up. Especially today, given the circumstances.

All five birds in his nest for Christmas...for the first time.

True, each year had brought them a little closer to it, with Jason first sneaking in during the night to drop some mania-driven notes and presents, then the next year coming for an awkward visit during breakfast, and finally this year, a hesitant maybe to Alfred’s invitation. Truthfully, Bruce didn’t think he would come. His visits were slightly more frequent than they used to be, slightly more peaceful, and Bruce knew that he and Dick had a standing monthly dinner date, that he and Tim were steadfast video game partners, and that he genuinely seemed to like Cass and Damian. But when it came to Bruce, everything was still a battle.

He was sort of hoping for a Christmas miracle come dinner time tonight, that maybe they’d get through a whole twenty-four hours without conflict.

The room that had unofficially become Jason’s was empty, as was his childhood bedroom -- expected, since Jason usually wanted nothing to do with it. Bruce would have checked the library next, but he had been in there to see Cass and Jason wasn’t with her. Alfred was unaccompanied in the kitchen, putting a sheet of sugar cookies into the oven, and reported that he hadn’t seen Jason any more recently than Bruce had.

Beginning to worry, Bruce was about to make his way back to the study to check down in the cave when he heard the faintest of sniffles.

Oh no.

He stepped silently backwards until he could pinpoint the noise that was coming from the sitting room. It was quiet, but unmistakably Jason. Bruce could pick out the sound of any of his kids’ tears from a mile away, even if some of them were more apt to let him hear than others. He had to come up with a game plan, though. Dick and Cassandra both liked to be held when they were upset, while Damian usually calmed down with verbal reassurances and Tim was content to have someone sit with him and listen.

When Jason was young, he used to like Bruce to sit and listen to him too. But sometimes when he looked at his son now, it was like looking at a stranger. So different in the ways he talked and moved and felt that Bruce didn’t know how to take care of him, didn’t know how to love him anymore.

But he had to try.

Bruce came around the corner into the sitting room to see Jason sitting, legs crossed, face buried in his hands, under the Christmas tree. There were at least twenty Christmas trees in Wayne Manor, most of them in the front entryway and the ballroom, but those were decorated with big, plain, shining balls. The eight-foot beast in the sitting room was for all the ornaments each of his children had collected over the years, from the very first little elephant he’d given a nine-year-old Dick to Damian’s new tiny tray of teacups. Jason, despite his huge and intimidating stature, looked small beneath it.

“Jason.”

Jason started, lifted his head, and groaned. His voice was brittle and his face was red. “How much would it cost for you to go away?”

“I’m a billionaire.”

Jason huffed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, and Bruce stepped further into the room, doing his best to look open and non-threatening. Open palms. Loose arms. Just like Cassandra taught him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Jason said. Bruce shrugged, and sat down next to him, keeping just a bit of distance between their shoulders. Letting Jason come to him.

Praying Jason came to him.

“It’s not fair,” came Jason’s pitiful whisper after nearly a minute.

Bruce resisted the urge to turn and face him, hoping he’d feel more comfortable this way. “No, it’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s probably not fair.”

A startled, choked half-laugh came from Jason, and then a hand was in front of Bruce’s face, uncurling to reveal an ornament. One of the first ornaments he gave Jason, in the shape of a tire.

It had seemed funny at the time.

“I was thirteen, when you got me this,” Jason says, and Bruce nods patiently. “And that was seven years ago. I’m twenty.”

Bruce had a bit of a feeling he knew where this was going, but he nodded again. “Yes, you are.”

“I’ve only been...a-alive, and...sane, for...sixteen years, total.”

Now Bruce did look over, saw Jason shudder and another tear slip down his cheek. “I missed so much. I missed getting my license, and my prom, and my graduation and birthdays and I’m here fucking crying because I missed getting some stupid fucking ornaments.”

Bruce felt his heart sink. “Jay…”

He had nothing else to say. Jason’s lip quivered and his breathing stuttered, tears coming in a slow trickle as he collapsed forward into his hands again. “I’m not twenty yet, Bruce. I can’t be twenty. I can’t be twenty when I was never sixteen or seventeen or--”

“Shh.” Carefully, Bruce laid a hand on his son’s back and rubbed up and down his spine. He wasn’t sure how well a hug would be received yet. But maybe this could be a compromise. “You don’t have to be twenty. You can be sixteen if you want.”

“I can’t be s-sixteen.”

“Why can’t you?”

Jason looked up at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t be younger than Tim.”

That was another thing about Jason. No matter the circumstance, no matter if they were sitting on the floor and Jason was crying, there was no one that could ever make him laugh more.

For a few seconds, Bruce felt horror crawl up his spine as he let out the most inappropriate, uncontrollable laugh he had in years. A rare “bat-guffaw,” as Dick would call it. Jason stared, wide-eyed, shocked into breathing steady again.

And then he laughed too.

Bruce hadn’t really heard Jason laugh since he came back with an adult voice. He’d heard him cackle, heard him mock him, but never laugh earnestly like a child being tickled.

His new laugh was nice. Low and loud and bubbling up through his tears as they both dissolved back into giggles every time they looked at each other. A little bit hysterical. But that suited him, Bruce supposed.

When they finally calmed down, Jason scrubbed at his eyes again, sniffling. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“You should wash your face. I’d...like to take you somewhere, before dinner.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“The mall, maybe? Somewhere with a Christmas store. I think...I think we have some ornament shopping to catch up on.”

Please be the right thing to say.

Jason grinned.

--

They picked out five ornaments, in the end. A motorcycle, a little stack of books, the Gotham skyline, a tiny pair of combat boots, and a pair of comedy and tragedy masks.

It wasn’t until they were checking out that Bruce noticed Jason had added a small bat to the pile.

Maybe this would be the first of a new kind of Christmas.

[phoenixmakeswords]

This Thing Needs A Name Ch.1

I thought I might share the first chapter of the AU I’m working on with y’all. I’m actually enjoying writing this more than I thought I would. TW: CSA mention (nothing graphic) and brief anxiety attack.

The icy December wind cuts through my clothes as I make my way down 23rd street to The Inked Moose. I hate winter. Especially Chicago winter. If I had any sense, I would’ve driven my car, but I never claimed to be smart. Ask my mama; she’ll say the same thing.

Stepping inside the tattoo shop feels like coming home. I'm more familiar with the bright orange walls, black tile floor, and lime green ceiling than I am with almost any other place in the city. The eclectic décor is mostly local artwork that’s also for sale. Herbert the moose is the exception to the rule. Sporting oversized, green novelty sunglasses, he watches over the lobby from his place behind the front desk. Mardi Gras beads hang from his massive antlers.

I'm too early. I know that. But I'm always early.

Ransom, my regular artist, smiles warmly when he sees me. He’s honestly the most beautiful man in the city. I'm not just sayin’ that ‘cause he does amazing tattoos for me either. I could get lost in those jade eyes of his. I’d love to knot my fingers in that curly black hair of his and kiss him breathless. I’d be lying if I said he isn’t in my fantasies every time I jack off.

I deal with the paperwork and browse the variety of plugs and tunnels in the display case. I could probably do the paperwork in my sleep. I don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

“You know, we’re actually needing help,” the owner, Riley, remarks casually.

“How’d you know I'm needin’ a new job?” I’ve lived here since I was thirteen but I haven’t managed to trade my New Orleans accent for that of Chicago yet.

“I didn’t. I can get you an app while you wait on Ransom. It’s not an artist’s position. You’d be the receptionist. Still interested?”

“Riley, I’d live here if I could.”

Filling out the app takes the perfect amount of time. Ransom’s finished the sketch just as I’ve finished the app.

“Like it?” he asks, toying with his blue Star of David necklace. He does this when he’s nervous. I think it’s cute.

I'm in love with it. The Falcon tattoo looks awesome!

“Let’s do it,” I grin.

I watch eagerly as he sets up. This is when my nerves really set in. He looks perfectly at home here. He hums softly to himself as he gets the inks out. He’s taped a picture of the Falcon to the cabinet so he can match the colors.

“You look terrified,” he remarks.

“I am. This is gonna hurt.” I set my glasses on the guest chair so I don’t send them flying when I take my hoodie and t-shirt off. It makes me nervous for another reason. I'm half-naked with the guy I have a thing for.

Once the transfer’s been placed and my skin’s clean, I lie on my left side in the chair, facing the wall. I have other ink. I’ve gotten all of it from him. But none of it’s been on my ribs.

“So, we might be working together?” he asks, starting his machine.

“Yeah. I'm still going to school too.” I swear I can feel the needles vibrating in my bones. It hurts! I thought it was painful when he tattooed over the tendon in my forearm on my phoenix. Nope, this is worse.

“What happened with the bakery? I thought you were happy. You good?”

“I fucked up. Yeah, I'm good.”

“What’d you do, Kris?”

“Slept with the brother of one of my coworkers. Now the guy’s bein’ a complete jerk to me.”

“You are going to get the crap beat out of you one day for that. What if the guy has a boyfriend and you don’t know it?”

“Well, I guess I'm screwed.”

He chuckles softly at that, a low rumble in his chest.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” I tell him. I'm starting to get used to the pain. I wish I could watch; watching him do the tattoo helps.

“Oh, yeah? What’s up, buttercup?” Amusement flickers in his eyes.

“I like you.”

“That’s not a question.” He sounds confused. Go me.

“How do you feel about hookups?”

He worries his full lower lip between his teeth for several heartbeats. I’ve gone too far. I’ve screwed up the one good thing I had going for me. He might never want to tattoo me again.

“Friends with benefits?” he asks quietly, wiping off excess ink and rubbing my skin with Vaseline.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, if this is fucked-up, it’s your fault. You completely derailed my brain.” He sighs softly as he touches the needles back to my skin.

“My tattoo or us?”

“Both.”

“You don’t have guys asking to sleep with you all the time?” The idea surprises me. Surely I'm not the only guy who thinks he’s hot.

“Not generally, no. Tonight?”

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” A slight smile plays at his lips as he works.

We both lapse into silence for a bit. I can hear Kaiden and Raphael, the other two artists, working on their own respective clients. The buzzing of the machines is a comforting sound to me. Too bad white noise machines don’t have tattoo machine noises as an option; they might actually help me sleep then. The Kids Aren’t Alright plays from the speakers and I hum along to it softly.

“So, which do you like? Top, bottom, or doesn’t matter?” he asks quietly, stirring me from my thoughts.

“Bottom, usually. I don’t mind topping once in a while.”

“That works. I’ve almost got the outside outlined. If you need a break, you tell me, alright? You know that.”

“I'm good for right now.”

“I think they interviewed your sister about being a piercer.”

“You’re kiddin’.”

“Serious as a heart attack. You guys don’t look alike.”

“I look like Mama. She looks like him.” I can’t help the extra emphasis I put on the word. It’s all caps in my head. Has been for years.

“Him being your dad?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ perverted bastard.”

“Whoa. Chill with the ice before you give me frostbite.” He pauses to scoot closer, leaning over me as he works. I don’t know if it’s the hand a couple inches above my hip or the sudden closeness, but I can’t breathe.

“Break.” I barely choke the word out. He leans back immediately.

“You okay?” He sounds worried.

“Gimme a minute. Please.” Shutting my eyes, I try to remember how to breathe. I don’t need to have an anxiety attack. There’s no reason for me to freak out like this. It’s Ransom. He’s not going to attack me.

“You alright?” he asks gently.

“Anxiety.”

“Did I do it or did what we were talking about do it?”

“I don’t know.” It’s several moments before I can breathe again. He doesn’t complain, though. “You can go ahead.”

“Are you still liking your classes?” He goes back to work.

“They’re not bad. I'm excited to graduate, though.”

“Still planning on opening a bakery?”

“Of course. If I ever don’t want to, I'm probably an alien.”

“Do you wanna just come home with me after my shift?”

“Sounds good.”

I don’t complain of it hurting until he starts filling the tattoo in. The pain is more constant now, more of a pulsing throb in each of my ribs. I don’t ask for another break. I don’t want another break.

I exhale shakily in relief once he’s done. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until my muscles relax.

“You needed another break,” he remarks, cleaning my new ink gently. I flinch each time he touches my tender skin.

“I didn’t want one.”

“You’re impossible.” The smirk’s audible in his voice. “Wanna see it? Can I take a pic?”

It looks awesome! It looks straight out of one of the movies, which makes sense ‘cause that’s where the reference pic came from. I love it.

“You rocked it,” I grin, knocking my knuckles against his. His face lights up at the praise.

He doesn’t say anything until after he takes the picture on his phone.

“I'm glad you like it. Remember your aftercare instructions?” he says, pressing Saniderm sheets over the Vaseline-coated tattoo one sheet at a time.

“I might need an extra set of hands covering it. I think I’ve got them memorized.”

“I’ve got Saniderm at home, but you’ll have to get more salve. Not sharing that.”

“You’re willin’ to fuck me but not share your tattoo salve?” I wince as I slide my shirts back on.

“That’s what condoms are for.”

I dig out my wallet and press a fifty dollar bill into his palm.

“That goes in my new car fund,” he jokes, stuffing it into the front pocket of his tight black skinny jeans.

“I’ll be up front, okay?” I squeeze his hand tentatively. He smiles shyly in response.

I buy a couple little jars of tattoo salve before making myself at home in one of the plush chairs in the lobby. This is my biggest piece so far, so I know I’ll go through a lot of salve.

I glance anxiously at my phone once I get comfortable. I haven’t heard from my family since last weekend when I came out as gay. I’ve sent texts, but all I’ve gotten is radio silence. And it hurts. It twists inside me and wraps around my heart and digs in with little thorns until I can barely stand it. “Ready to go?” Ransom asks, startling me. He’s 6’3” and as silent as a housecat. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” I just want him to fuck me. And then on tomorrow night, Clare and I will go out and I can drink and forget for a little bit.

“You look pretty upset.” He puts on his coat and shoves a red beanie over his curly hair.

“Drop it. Okay?” The good mood I had when I got here has evaporated.

I barely say a word on the drive to his apartment. I might tell him. I might not. I’ll probably tell Clare later; I tell her everything.

“I'm not sure how you like doing this, but I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with you first,” he remarks in the elevator.

“I don’t really care for porn.”

“I was meaning dinner and talking to you. Not just screwing your brains out.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I need right now.” I sigh in relief when the elevator stops. I just wanna have sex and feel a little less shitty than I do right now.

“Are you mad at me?”

“It’s not you.”

I barely wait until he’s locked the apartment door behind us before I'm kissing him hungrily. I have to stretch to kiss him; he’s almost a foot taller than I am. He hesitates a moment before he kisses me back. His lips taste like pina colada.

“Have you been drinkin’?” I ask, pulling back. I'm not a rapist. I'm not a monster.

“Lip balm. Like it?” He guides me gently to his white couch. I don’t want gentle. Right now, I don’t need gentle.

“Yeah.”

“Kris, if this is some convoluted self-harm thing, we’re not doing anything tonight. I’m not helping you fuck yourself up.”

“I’m already fucked up. I don’t need help.” I glare at him irritably. I wish he’d quit trying to therapize me and get with the screwing.

“What changed? If you think I’m gonna spread nasty rumors or blackmail you or some shit like that, I’m not. I don’t do that.” He traces the outline of my phoenix tattoo with his forefinger.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Alright? I asked you to drop it, so fuckin’ drop it.” My voice breaks pathetically. Great. Now he’s gonna think I’m moody and pitiful.

“Are you hungry? I’m gonna eat before we do anything, okay?”

“Go ahead. I’m fine.” I haven’t felt like eating for a couple days. I should probably eat something, but it feels like too much effort.

“If you change your mind, just say something.” He squeezes my knee gently before going to the kitchen.

I pull out my phone as soon as he’s gone. Nothing. My messages have been delivered but not answered. I feel like wrapping myself in a blanket and disappearing for a while. Maybe if I’d had some idea this was going to happen, it wouldn’t be as bad. I mean, it’d still be soul-sucking and depressing, but I could’ve at least anticipated. Instead, I’ve been blindsided.

And I feel like absolute crap. He’s nice. Like, he might be the most considerate guy I’ve been with.

“I don’t usually do this,” I murmur, snuggling against him.

“Do what? Stay the night or sleep with your tattoo artist?” He runs his fingers carefully through my hair. Like I might break if he’s anything but gentle.

“Both. I, um, I usually go home. After—After what happened, it’s hard for me to stay the night. Plus, I don’t exactly have the greatest taste in men. No offense. You’re great.” I tense as I wait for him to pepper me with questions. I don’t like talking about why I live in Chicago and not New Orleans. Why I don’t feel safe ever going back. Why I have nightmares so bad I wake up screaming. I don’t want to explain. I don’t feel like explaining. But he’ll ask, so I’ll answer.

“Is there anything I can do to make it less scary? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

I raise up to stare at him in shock.

“You’re serious?” I whisper.

“Of course.” He brushes his thumb gently along my cheekbone.

“This wasn’t what I expected.”

“The sex or me wanting to help you?”

“The last one.” I go back to lying against his chest.

I hadn’t expected him to care about how big of a deal this is to me. It’s kind of nice.

[akaiitokoibito]

Hello! Id like a, Ouran and Mystic Messenger Matchup,please. Im a 5'10 virgo,hufflepuff,with short brown curly hair and blue eyes, i enjoy writing and drawing i have a love for aquatic animals, and the ocean and cats, im a very timid and nervous person wjen you first meet me but after a while i can get noisey, i dont quite like noisey people but i can warm up to them pretty fast.

Hello hello! Mod Camellia, here~ After careful consideration, we’ve pinned your soulmates to be Hitachiin Kaoru from OHSHC and Zen from Mysme!

“I can’t believe you actually accepted…”

You didn’t particularly like Kaoru at first; in fact, you sort of found him and his brother slightly annoying for constantly interrupting class with their jokes.

But, with the eye of an artist, you began observing them a little closer. You couldn’t help but notice the bittersweet smiles that one twin would wear as his brother teased Fujioka Haruhi.

Eventually, you agreed to your friends’ insistent pleas and finally came to the Host Club. You claimed it was to gain inspiration for drawing: pretty boys did tend to make great models, after all.

Kaoru didn’t really notice you until one day, when he had lingered a bit behind Hikaru (wondering how much longer their pumpkin carriage would last), you approached him and asked if he was alright.

He could tell by the way that you stared at his feet that you were probably nervous, so he didn’t try the usual “flirty host” approach and shot you a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

To his surprise, you frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”

He paused, then gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll…I will be alright.”

Ever since then, he couldn’t help but notice you sketching during class (he resisted the urge to call you out on it: the teacher still hadn’t caught on to the fact that you doodled over your notes and he didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to you).

The professor, an unknowing catalyst to your relationship, paired you two together for an assignment. Well, technically he paired you and Hikaru, but Kaoru had generously agreed to switch with his twin so that Hikaru would spend time with Haruhi. (”Don’t tell anyone, though,” Kaoru whispered to you, grinning sheepishly. “I promise I’ll do my best for the project. It’ll probably be better than what Hikaru can do, anyways.” You couldn’t help but laugh, but acquiesced.)

Thanks to the project, you two grew closer and you began opening up to him.

You two started talking to each other more, sharing interests. During club hours, you’d always be watching him; whenever there was a special event, you’d make sure that Kaoru would never be alone. (He appreciated your company a lot, even though he never could vocalize his gratitude. His more genuine smiles said everything, though.)

Your first date was to the aquarium. Sort of. In actuality, the Host Club had dragged their customers to another outing and you decided to accompany Kaoru to see the dolphins. He was supposed to go around helping the other customers, but it wasn’t his fault that you smiled so cutely while pressed against the glass in an attempt to get a closer look. He bought you a stuffed dolphin. The clerk mistook you two as a couple and dang, you didn’t realize that you were head-over-heels for Kaoru until after the man pointed out how sweet he was to you.

Kaoru realized, the next day, that his heart didn’t hurt as much whenever his unknowingly enamored brother went off with Haruhi; it was because of your constant company.

So, to the surprise of everyone, he asked you out at the end of the day after club activities. (Ouran fangirls, being chill for the most part, squealed and took pictures. Hikaru later accosted them so they’d send him the pictures for blackmail.) It was really cheesy, too. (You later learn that Kaoru is a highkey romantic.) His entire monologue about how kind, sweet, and genuinely amazing you are was lost amidst the loud thumping of your heart.

Hikaru wholeheartedly approves of your relationship. Eventually. He didn’t really notice how close you two were before Kaoru asked you out, but he can tell you make his brother happy and that’s enough for him.

The rest of the Host Club, after Kaoru’s confession, accept you as part of the family and basically treat you two as if you’ve married already.

Your first official date is to a fancy restaurant. It’s usually not your style, but Kaoru had been planning the date for ages and you’d do anything to make him happy. He had everything planned down to the last detail, but the plan went down the drain once a waiter spilled a drink on you.

You two exited the restaurant. It was raining. Kaoru was highkey freaking out about all of the unlucky things that occurred, so he called Hikaru. Unusually enough, his twin had pretty good advice: “just yolo, bro, she’ll like anything as long as she does it with you.”

Kaoru turned to you, asked if you just wanted to ditch the plan completely, and grinned as you kicked your heels off and grabbed your much more comfortable shoes out of your purse. (They were killing you. Also, with them, you were three inches taller than Kaoru and he had been trying to figure out a way to kiss you without seeming awkward.)

You two rain through the rain (in retrospect, probably not the best idea: you got sick, but Kaoru dropped by with a large basket of items ranging from high-class cuisine soup to fancy thermometers gathered by himself and the Host Club so that was a plus) and stumbled upon a small pet shop.

Your smile while adoring the kittens seemed to light up the room, in Kaoru’s eyes.

“Your drawings are beautiful, you know that?”

You two met at one of the RFA’s parties. You had been talking with Jumin about cats, exuding their many virtues, when the CEO needed to take a call.

You happened to spot Zen standing to the side of the ballroom, a small smile on his face as he watched all the guests interact with one another. One of your friends was a huge fan of him, which is why you approached him to ask for his autograph.

He couldn’t understand your request at first, since you were sort of nervous and blurted it out too quickly. He noticed you were feeling nervous, though, and smiled at you (making you more nervous, in all honesty: talking to gorgeous models isn’t really something you do everyday). “Say, you were talking with that Jumin Han, right? Are you his business associate?”

“Ah, no,” you refuted, ducking under your bangs. “I just found out he likes cats like I do. That’s all.”

You noted that Zen twitched and his smile seemed a bit more strained. “Ah, cool. So, an autograph for your friend, you said? How generous~ here, I’ll even throw in one of my selfies.”

“Uh, you don’t have to–”

“I insist!”

You left the party thinking that your friend’s adored idol was…weird, but an alright person. Just out of curiosity, you checked his social media account (was it his? or a bot?) and couldn’t help but note that he wasn’t just a pretty face…but a hard worker, if the pile of scripts strewn across the floor in the background of some of his pictures was any indication. When you gave your friend his autograph, she squealed and immediately deigned herself the duty of introducing you to Zen’s many wonders.

You actually liked his acting a lot: you could tell he put a lot of effort into creating his role. When you were invited to the party again, you couldn’t help but look for him.

“I really liked your role in that one film!” you blurt out as soon as you see him. This makes Zen pause: he’s met a lot of fangirls at RFA parties, to be honest, but it’s rare to meet somebody who appreciates his acting…especially for such an obscure film like that. “How much time did you put into it?”

Zen laughs, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Three hours a day, to be honest. I’m not a great actor yet, so I need to work harder.”

You leave the party thinking: yeah, he’s definitely not just a pretty face.

Each party afterwards, you two begin talking more and more. At first, it was just about his roles, but then he started asking about you. Once he found out about your passion for writing, he couldn’t help but ask to see some of your work.

You were nervous as you handed him a script you wrote just the other day with his acting in mind. Somewhere down the line, you grew to value his opinion a lot. Finally, he looked up, his gaze piercing as he said slowly, “Darling, I’d love it if I could act out one of your scripts someday.”

That’s the needle that breaks the camel’s back. You muster enough courage to ask for his number, and you two exchange contact information. He sends you selfies everyday, with just the little things. (”Working hard for that play!” “Thanks for cheering me up, last night.”) You send him little doodles back, which is how he finds out about your passion for drawing. (He loves your drawings, and won’t hesitate to compliment them. “Babe, they’re amazing.”)

One day, you receive a drunk call from him. “[Y/N], I can’t do this anymore,” he complains, the usage of your name shocking you. “I like talking to you too much.”

“I…like talking with you, too, Zen. Is there a problem?”

“I wanna talk to you everyday.”

“We do talk to you everyday.” 

“Every. Day,” Zen insists. There’s some unintelligible murmuring, then one of the RFA members come on the phone.

“Uh, is this [Y/N]? Hi, I’m Yoosung…uh, sorry about that…usually I’m the one drunk calling people ahaha, but I guess he’s a bit off today. Listen…I don’t want to sound presumptuous or rude…but…Zen really likes you, you know.” (In fact, you don’t know. But regardless, your heart beats faster.) “I just don’t want to see him being led on…”

“I’m not,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. There’s silence on the other line, then Yoosung snickers and thanks you.

Zen calls you the next day, completely mortified. He apologizes, and you…well, you suddenly lose all of your social grace and composure. “Do you like me?”

There’s silence on the other side of the line, then Zen lets out the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. “Heh, was I that obvious?” His voice is strangled.

“Sort of,” you laughed.

“Then…do you like me?” There’s hope lining his voice.

“Did you think I didn’t?” you ask, because you know that you’ve been pretty obvious.

You two get together after that.

Although he called you plenty of pet-names before, mostly as a joke (”babe” and “darling” being two of them), Zen’s actually somewhat shy to call you such now, which is cute.

Zen wants to take you to the aquarium for your first date, but you learn of his love for the stars and instead insist on going to the planetarium. It’s an enjoyable night, nonetheless; Zen says a cheesy pick-up line that makes you laugh (he immediately flushes in mortification, but you just lean in closer to him and tell him he’s cute).

The RFA, after lengthy background checks to make sure you weren’t trying to con Zen (Yoosung was your staunch defender; after that one phonecall, he could tell that you both were enamored with each other and made one another happy), invited you to their chat.

Although Zen doesn’t like cats, he puts up with the pictures you and Jumin exchange for you. (You’re considerate enough not to beg for a pet cat when you move in with him, though, and instead you two raise a blue Paradise Beta you name “Crystal” -- Zen insisted on the name because he said the fish’s color reminded him of your crystal-blue eyes.)

Hope you enjoyed it, @matchups-and-stuff!

~ Mod Camellia

[puddingcatbeans]

ihx creator reveals are out! so here’s mine~

title: you make my heart smile fandom: haikyuu!! pairing: yamayachi summary: yachi and yamaguchi and the moments they share, just the two of them. or, have we basically already been dating all this time before we've even actually officially dated: the fic.

check it out on >ao3<

Hitoka places the last octopus-shaped sausage into the bento, and then leans back to admire her handiwork. She thinks she’s improving on the cooking. Yamaguchi has been giving her tips, but she’s still getting the hang of it.

Mondays are the only days of the week when Hinata and Kageyama are allowed to use the gym for extra practice during their lunch break. She usually eats with them, along with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, trying to force a little studying in them so they won’t have to close calls with supplementary lessons again. Tsukishima always managed to have some excuse to disappear on Mondays, too, though Hitoka can never remember why. First it was running a teacher’s errand and then it was extra studying at the library, but (and Hitoka feels a little mean thinking this) Tsukishima doesn’t really have any other friends, so Hitoka isn’t sure where he disappears to.

So Monday lunch breaks are for Yamaguchi and Hitoka alone. And that’s just fine with Hitoka.

They’ve taken to sharing lunches, since they both make their own. It’s pretty fun to do, thinking up recipes and surprising the other with the designs. Yamaguchi doesn’t have the same eye for aesthetics as Hitoka does, but he can make a mean tamagoyaki. Hitoka finds herself looking forwards to Mondays.

Hitoka likes eating with the other first years in the volleyball club, but she likes the lunch breaks with just Yamaguchi, too.

Yamaguchi flops onto the bench, tossing his head back with a weary sigh. Hitoka hands him a towel, and he nods gratefully.

“Your jump float serves are looking good!” she says.

Peeking out from under the towel, Yamaguchi gives her a small grin. “Thanks. But Kinoshita-san is more accurate than I am.”

Hitoka hums. “But I think you’re both challenging Nishinoya-san very well. He’s been yelling a lot.”

They both watch said libero follow Asahi around, asking the ace to hit a couple of his tosses.

“True,” Yamaguchi says. “He’s been sending me glares across the court. I think that’s the highest praise I’ve ever gotten for volleyball.”

That startles a laugh out of Hitoka. It’s so easy to laugh with Yamaguchi. He doesn’t mind if she’s too loud, or when she accidentally snorts when she’s laughing too hard. His laughter always joins in after hers, and if Hitoka isn’t busy laughing, she’d stop and listen, because Yamaguchi’s laughter is a wonderful, wonderful sound.

“I should get back on court.”

Hitoka takes back the towel. “Yamaguchi-kun,” she says, and when Yamaguchi turns his eyes on her, she gives him her best smile. “I think your jump serves are amazing.”

Yamaguchi blinks, and then offers a small smile back. Hitoka can’t help but compare it to a small sun rising. “Thank you, Yachi-san.”

“Yachi-san? Do you need help?”

Hitoka turns to find Yamaguchi approaching her from down the hall. She tries to heave the huge piece of cardboard in her hands again, but she’s just not built to move things twice her size. It’s a miracle she’s managed to drag it out of the art room by herself.

“Ah,” she says, “you don’t have to...” But then she thinks about the stairs up to her classroom. What if she drops the cardboard? What if it flattens her? Then their class booth will fail, and then everyone will be sad! And the volleyball team will be missing a manager-in-training! She’ll disappoint Kiyoko-san, and Daichi-san, and Hinata-kun, and Yamaguchi-kun—

“Yachi-san?”

Jolting out of her thoughts, Hitoka looks up to find Yamaguchi peering down at her in concern. “I’m! I’m fine!” she squeaks. “Thanks for your help!”

Yamaguchi smiles. “I haven’t helped you yet, you know?” He lifts one end of the cardboard easily. He’s kind enough to pretend that he needs Hitoka to hang onto the other end. “Is this for the cultural festival?”

“Yes. Our class is doing a photo booth.”

“Oh, cool! We’re just doing a haunted house.” Yamaguchi gestures to the cardboard between them. “Are you going to be painting the backgrounds and props?”

Shyly, Hitoka nods. “I, um. Volunteered. But I’m not the only one! We all brainstormed the idea together, and someone said they liked what I did for the play last term, so...”

“I saw that one! You’re really good at this. Art, I mean.”

“Thank you.”

They’re both laughing by the time they’re up the stairs. Hitoka loves how conversation always comes easy with him. He stutters just as much as she does when she gets excited, so she forgets to be self-conscious. Though Hitoka thinks Yamaguchi somehow manages to make stuttering seem cute instead of awkward like she does.

Yamaguchi stops outside Hitoka’s classroom, scratching his cheek. Hitoka waits, fidgeting with the cardboard.

“Uh. I guess I’ll have to come visit you during the festival. I want to see your finished masterpiece.”

Hitoka waves her hands. “It’s not going to be a masterpiece! I’m just painting some backgrounds, like you know, blue skies, or cityscapes, or beaches...”

“Still. I bet it’ll look great.”

“Thank you,” she says again, glancing down. “I, um. I’d like to visit your haunted house, too.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Yamaguchi says quickly, and then his eyes widen almost comically when Hitoka glances back up. “I mean, if you want to! I just—you don’t really like scary things, right?”

Surprised that he remembers, Hitoka nods.

“I’d be happy if we could just check out the festival if our breaks match up,” Yamaguchi continues, and the small grin is back on his face.

“I’d like that!”

They’re both grinning madly at each other when one of Hitoka’s classmates pass by the doorway, asking if she’s going to bring in the cardboard or if they’re just going to stand there flirting all day. Hitoka immediately breaks eye contact, face aflame, but from one quick glance at Yamaguchi, he isn’t doing much better.

“I’ll see you later,” Yamaguchi says, scratching his blushing cheek.

“See you,” Yachi agrees, a promise.

“This is really good!”

Hitoka beams. “Thanks, Yamaguchi-kun! It’s a new recipe, too.”

“Really? I like it.” Yamaguchi picks out the octopus-shaped sausage. “I still don’t know how you do this. I mean, every time I try, I always end up accidentally cutting them in half.”

“Oh, it took lots of practice, trust me...” Hitoka puts down her chopsticks, trying to demonstrate the trick she discovered after many packs of sausage-failures. She’s so focused on explaining it just right that she misses the way Yamaguchi’s eyes soften as they watch her with unwavering attention.

“Ah,” Yamaguchi says. He lifts a hand, pointing at the top of Hitoka’s head. “There’s a... leaf.” When Hitoka’s hands keep missing the leaf, he reaches up and delicately picks it out of her hair. He holds it in between them for a moment, and then lets the breeze steal it from his fingers. They both watch it flutter away across the courtyard.

“Today’s a good day, isn’t it?” Hitoka muses. When Yamaguchi hums in agreement, she lets out a small “Oh!” Under Yamaguchi’s curious gaze, she pulls out her phone. “Let’s take a picture together, Yamaguchi-kun! The courtyard looks really pretty today. It’s like cherry blossoms but with leaves.”

Yamaguchi ends up holding Hitoka’s phone, since his arm is longer. She leans in close, grinning wide at the camera. Yamaguchi’s hair tickles her cheek, and she tries not to blush too hard. The photo turns out nicer than she expected, fluttering autumn leaves in the background, a corner of the garden behind their radiant smiles.

“Send it to me, too,” Yamaguchi says.

Hitoka nods, and she spares another second to stare at the photo. Despite the slight chill outside, something warm blooms in her chest.

“You guys go on ahead,” Tsukishima says, a hand already on his headphones. “I gotta make a detour.”

“For what?” Yamaguchi asks.

“Stuff,” is the curt reply. Yamaguchi opens his mouth to ask more, but Tsukishima silences him with a meaningful glance. Hitoka thinks it looks just like any other glare Tsukishima is so good at sending, but Yamaguchi must glean something from it because he shuts his mouth and waves as his best friend strides off.

It’s just the two of them now. Practice had ended early, on account of the basketball team holding an extra practice for their upcoming game. The sky is already beginning to darken, and Hitoka watches the shades of blue shift like ripples in ocean water. Comfortable silence settles between them.

“What have you been working on lately?” Yamaguchi asks as they wait at an intersection. “I saw you had a sketchbook out while we were tutoring Kageyama and Hinata today.”

Hitoka perks up. “I’ve started a new scrapbook! This time with the dishes we’ve been experimenting with.”

“You mean from our bento?”

“Yes! I wanted to document it...” She glances up at Yamaguchi. “I hope that’s alright.”

He shakes his head. “Of course! I think that’s a cool idea. You’ve been taking pictures of them before we eat and everything.”

“I wanted to sketch the pictures, too, and it’s turning into more of a recipe book...”

She chatters on about her new project the rest of the way. Yamaguchi chimes in with comments and suggestions here and there, and it’s not until the train station is in sight that Hitoka realizes they’ve already passed the intersection where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima usually turn off.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to make you walk all the way with me,” she says.

“It’s fine,” Yamaguchi says. He points further down the road. “I was going to go for extra practice with Shimada-san, actually.”

“You’re working so hard,” Hitoka says with awe.

Yamaguchi scratches his cheek, a bashful smile pulling at his lips. “Everyone’s trying their best to improve themselves, so...”

Hitoka stops suddenly. She raises her arms in front of her, hands formed into fists. She looks up at Yamaguchi with determination shining in her eyes. “Fight-o!” she says, pumping her arms.

Yamaguchi blinks at her. Then he’s also raising his arms. “Fight-o!” he repeats, grinning his vibrant grin.

Hitoka is still smiling when she enters the train station.

She sees Yamaguchi before he sees her. Which is understandable, since he’s very tall and she’s very not tall. Squeezing through the crowd, she calls out to him, waving her arm above her head.

“Yamaguchi-kun! Sorry for making you accompany me on this shopping trip.”

“It’s fine,” Yamaguchi says, standing from the bench. “I might get some shopping done, too.” He smiles down at her. “You look really nice today.”

Hitoka blushes, tugging at her skirt. She’d spent a long time this morning deciding what to wear, eventually settling on an outfit she felt more comfortable in. Still, hearing Yamaguchi compliment her, even if it was just out of politeness, fills her chest with something warm. “Thank you.”

“Shall we go then?”

They head into the mall, walking close to avoid being swept away by the crowd. Hitoka has a list of art supplies she’s looking for. She probably could ask any of her classmates or maybe even Kiyoko-san to come with her, but somehow her fingers had clicked Yamaguchi’s contact in her phone instead. She doesn’t regret it though, when she looks to her left and sees his smiling freckled face looking back at her, when she starts babbling about how her scrapbook is coming along and he chimes in with an interested comment here and there. She never feels like she talks too much when she’s with him.

“Do those gel pens... sparkle?”

“They do! They really stand out, don’t they?”

Yamaguchi smiles at her. “Are you going to buy the entire pack?”

Hitoka considers. “I have some at home that I still haven’t used. Maybe next time.”

Yamaguchi asks her about the supplies she’s interested in, and she talks as they browse the store. It’s bright and clean in the arts and crafts store. Hitoka always feels at home here. It gives her the sense of peace she doesn’t find in the empty apartment she lives in, nor on the court where everything is happening and she’s still learning how to keep up. She points out her favourite brands to Yamaguchi, and he pays attention with his wide curious eyes.

“Oh, can we go in there for a bit?” Yamaguchi points at the sporting goods store.

Hitoka nods. She doesn’t understand a thing about kneepads or runners outside of knowing they exist and were needed on the court, but she follows along Yamaguchi just as he had done with her a moment ago. He pulls faces at the expensive prices, and she covers her mouth to stifle her laughter before the employees can kick them out of the store.

By the time she’s waving Yamaguchi goodbye on the train home, she has a bag full of new supplies, a strip of purikura stickers with the two of them, and a promise to meet up again next weekend to watch that movie with the posters up all over the food court.

She can’t wait.

“Yacchan!” Hinata greets her in the doorway of his classroom, as sunny as ever.

“Hi, Hinata-kun,” she says. “I need you to sign this form for Takeda-sensei.”

“Okay! Should I call Kageyama, too? He’s over there drinking milk and looking scary as always.”

Hitoka peeks into the classroom, and indeed, Kageyama is sitting by Hinata’s desk, usual scowl on his face as he stares into the distance. Hinata’s poor classmates are inching away from the intense aura the setter is emitting.

“Yes, please,” she says to Hinata, and smiles to herself as Kageyama’s scary demeanor immediately changes when Hinata yells his name across the room.

“Hey, how was your date with Yamaguchi-kun?”

Hitoka’s eyes widen. “Wh-wh-what date?”

Hinata’s head tips to the side. “Didn’t you go out with him this weekend? He texted me that he was meeting with you, so he couldn’t go to the community centre with us.”

“It wasn’t... really a date...”

“You’re making her upset, dumbass,” Kageyama says, and Hinata instantly turns on him, the two of them breaking into their usual bickering.

Hitoka takes the chance to slip away. She pats at her heated cheeks, trying to figure out the strange rhythm of her heartbeat.

The boxes of the washed jerseys are making their way to the gym. Slowly. Hitoka sighs, setting down the box in her arms.

“Yachi-san? Need some help with those?”

She looks up to find Yamaguchi and Tsukishima standing there, on their way to the gym as well. She flails her arms. “Ah, it’s okay! I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not,” Tsukishima says, levelling an calm stare at her. He nudges Yamaguchi forward. “I’ll take your stuff to the clubroom and tell them you’re helping Yachi-san. See ya.”

They both watch him leave. There’s a bit of an awkward pause where they just stand there, just staring at each other, but then Yamaguchi is reaching for one of the boxes, and Hitoka is trying her best to act natural, whatever that means. Yamaguchi helps her loads of times! Which is really kind of him, but anyway, the point is, this is nothing special. They’re friends, friends being alone together isn’t a new thing.

“How was your day, Yachi-san?”

“Oh, it was—it was good! How was yours?”

“It was good, too. I almost fell asleep in Maeda-sensei’s class today...”

And then the conversation is flowing between them again, and Hitoka settles back into the comfortable feeling that always occurs when she’s with Yamaguchi. She doesn’t know why she panicked earlier. She glances over at Yamaguchi’s face, freckled features animated as he explains what happened in class today. Looking ahead once more, she allows herself a small smile.

Hitoka glances at the clock again. Practice has officially finished half an hour ago, but of course Hinata and Kageyama are still bouncing about on court. She wants to go home already, but she’s supposed to help clean up and collect all the water bottles, too...

“Hitoka-chan.” Kiyoko taps her on the shoulder. “You can go on ahead. Azumane-kun is still here, so he can lock up with me.”

“A-Are you sure?”

Kiyoko gives her a soft smile. “I’m sure, Hitoka-chan. Besides, someone’s waiting for you, right?”

Hitoka tugs on her ponytail, though her face is heating up again. “Um, thank you, Kiyoko-san! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow, Hitoka-chan.”

She rushes to the clubroom to grab her things. When she comes out, Yamaguchi is sitting on the bottom stair, staring at the darkened sky. She makes her way down to him.

“Ah, Yachi-san. Ready to go?”

She nods. They start off towards home, and it’s quiet between them. Yamaguchi is humming under his breath, a familiar tune that must have been on the radio stations recently. Hitoka fidgets with her backpack straps.

“Where’s Tsukishima-kun?” she asks eventually.

“He had to head home early,” Yamaguchi replies. “His brother’s home.”

“Oh, Akiteru-san?”

“Yup! He’s really supportive of Tsukki despite everything that happened before... Tsukki really appreciates it, too, he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

Hitoka laughs at the face Yamaguchi makes. “You’re really close with Tsukishima-kun, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s actually a really good friend, you know, even if he is kind of...”

“Snarky?” Hitoka raises a hand to her mouth. “No offense!”

Yamaguchi’s the one laughing this time. “No, you’re right! But that’s why we love him, right?”

They share another laugh, and Hitoka finds that the smile on her face is reluctant to go away. The streets are dark and mostly empty, the rush hour traffic having died down a few hours ago. She walks close to Yamaguchi, just a hand’s width apart. His smile is etched into her mind, and like a reflex, she beams back without hesitation.

When the train station is in sight, she slows her footsteps just barely. “Yamaguchi-kun,” she says quietly.

“Yachi-san?”

Hitoka grips her backpack straps, staring down at her feet. She takes a deep breath. Then she faces Yamaguchi. His wide eyes are patient, curious, as he meets her gaze. “Yamaguchi-kun,” she says, “are we dating?”

Silence falls between them, broken only by the whoosh of a car driving past. Hitoka doesn’t look away, though she’s sure her feet are quivering in her shoes. Yamaguchi blinks once, twice, and then once more for good measure.

His cheeks are red, too.

“I, uh—I mean,” he stammers, lifting a hand to scratch at his cheek. He glances away briefly, and when he looks back, Hitoka sees the same shaky determination reflected in his eyes. “Do you want to be?”

Hitoka breathes out. Her face feels very hot, but her chest feels light. Warm. Happy. “Yes,” she says clearly. “I-I do—I mean. Will you gooutwithmeYamaguchikun?”

The familiar beautiful grin is spreading across his face again. “Of course, Yachi-san,” he says, “will you be my girlfriend?”

She’s run out of words, so she can only nod frantically. Her cheekbones hurt from grinning so much. The evening air hasn’t changed, the world hasn’t stopped revolving. Tomorrow, they’ll go to practice and act the same. She’ll blush at him, and he’ll smile back. Tsukishima will smirk at them knowingly, Hinata and Kageyama probably won’t even notice, Kiyoko will quietly congratulate her. She’s going to miss her train, but right now, in front of her, Yamaguchi is holding out his hand.

Hitoka reaches out, and takes it.

[ceslatoil]

Pass the Salt

I came up with this story for @fiddleford-appreciation-month after hearing a few people wanted to see more interactions between Fiddleford and his Wife. Enjoy :)

           “Pa, quit sticking yer head out the window before you get hit by a bus.”

           Embarrassed, Fiddleford McGucket suppressed the canine instinct that had come over him and sat back down in the rental car at his son’s command. He couldn’t help it. Though he had regained a great many of his memories, McGucket could not recall the last time he’d ever been to the beach, and as they were traveling down the road towards their seaside destination, he was overcome with excitement. It was a lovely, golden spring day, and the ocean was still and shining as they drove past. There was still a chill in the spring air that would forbid swimming in its waters, but it was beautiful to him all the same.

           Tate, however, had formed his mouth into a solemn gash across his already stony face. He was concentrating on the road, which, thankfully, wasn’t too congested with traffic since it was still the off season, but it’s hard to drive when so much is weighing on the mind.

           “It was awful nice of yer Ma to invite me to Easter dinner,” said McGucket, still bouncing up and down in his seat. He was currently fiddling with the potted lilies he had brought for the occasion. He couldn’t remember if his ex-wife enjoyed flowers or not, but lilies always seemed to brighten up the rooms in his new mansion. How could anyone dislike lilies?

           “Now Pa,” said Tate, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he chose his next words carefully, “I should warn ya before we go in, Mom remarried a couple of years back now—you sure you’re gonna be fine with that?”

           “Aw, Tater Tot,” said McGucket, flashing his snaggletooth smile at his gloomy son, “I don’t mind none; I remarried loads of times after she called it quits on me.”

           “Pa,” said Tate, rolling his eyes as they drew nearer to a secluded house by the beach, “being married to your beard ain’t really being married at all.”

           “I know that,” said the old man playfully, “Why’d ya think yer Ma and me split up in the first place?”

           “Pa!”

           “Tate!”

           “Look—I’m glad you’re in a good mood,” said Tate, who turned up the lane towards the beach house with growing trepidation, “But I still want you to brace yourself, for your own sake.”

           “Yikes, yer makin’ it sound like some big, scary musclehead’s gonna beat me up the second I walk in the door,” said McGucket, who’s knees began to bounce together out of nervous habit. “Is that what yer tellin’ me? That yer Ma got hitched to some muscle-bound lug and he’s gonna beat me up?”

           “I can promise you this, Pa,” said Tate, who in spite of himself was beginning to crack a hesitant, friendly smile as they finally pulled up to the house, “Ma doesn’t have a giant muscle-bound lug who’s going to beat you up.”

           The beach house was painted a cheerful, sunny yellow with sea foam green shutters lining the windows, and a comfortable porch with wicker patio furniture on the deck. Sitting on one of these wicker chairs was a woman, though her hair had turned gray and her face still lined with faint wrinkles, she had a youthful quality about her, from the way she smiled at both Fiddleford and Tate when they got out of the car, to the way she jumped down from the porch and practically tackled Tate into a bear hug.

           “Baby Tate,” she cried; if she’d had the strength she would have picked him up and twirled him around like a baby doll, “So glad you could make it!” When she broke away, she shot McGucket a beaming smile, and grabbed him by the hand, shaking it firmly.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you too, Fiddleford,” she said with a wink, “I’ve heard tons from Tate, and from the Missis of course. Carla McCorkle.”

McGucket squinted at Carla for a moment, as if trying to read very fine print from a long distance, but, after spotting the ring on Carla’s left hand and the sheepish grimace on Tate’s face, the truth hit him all at once and he let out a barking laugh.

“So you’re the big guy who’s gonna beat me up,” said McGucket, now shaking Carla’s hand in earnest.

“Tate, what stories have you been telling your father,” Carla chastised the younger McGucket man, “It’s not nice to fib on Easter, you know!”

“I ain’t told him nothing,” said Tate defensively.

“Well, let’s get you two inside,” said Carla, waving her hand theatrically towards the beach house. “It’s been chilly all week, and dinner should be ready in about an hour. I’ve got some wine and cheese set up in the living room, you two make yourselves comfy while I get your bags.”

 The living room was airy and comfortable, and on the glass coffee table stood a tray of different cheeses, fruits and bread. McGucket grabbed a few handfuls of everything, but a look from Tate told him not to stuff the snacks into his face like he had wanted to initially. It was difficult to control his hunger, the smell of chicken frying wafted in temptingly from the kitchen, and the scent of cinnamon and apple was detected as well. Even if he was a little nervous about meeting his ex wife again after all these years, the promise of good, filling food always makes things a little easier to face.

A fluffy, white cat crept into the room; its wide, squashed in face kept it from achieving true beauty. McGucket knelt down and held out his hand to the tiny creature; she took one look and swatted her paw at him, grazing his hand with her claws.

“Ouch!”

“Lovelace doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” said a voice behind McGucket; he turned to see a woman, her graying brown hair shaggy as always as she scowled at him in that old familiar way he was starting to remember. She wore a dirty apron over her outfit, a heather gray sweater and brown corduroy pants, her arms crossed over her chest as she examined McGucket from across the room, pursing her lips as she did so.

McGucket’s ex-wife was a quiet, secretive sort of person, to the point where I, the narrator, hardly know much about her. I don’t, for example, have a clear idea what her face looks like, having only ever seen a rough sketch of a thirty-year-old photograph of her in Stanford Pines’ third journal. I don’t quite know what her voice sounded like, what perfume she liked to wear, what sort of jokes made her laugh (or, for that matter, if any jokes made her laugh at all), and, I’m embarrassed to admit, I don’t even have a record of her full name. I only know that she was once Mrs. McGucket, and now she’s a Mrs. McCorkle. However, since that name applies to two completely different women in this tale, I have elected to call Mrs. McCorkle-Who-Was-Once-Mrs.-McGucket the much less trying to type “Trudy” instead.

“Well, howdy,” said McGucket, giving his ex a smile she couldn’t return. He got up to scoop her into a tight hug. She had gone stiff in his arms, so he let go early.

“You, ah… you look nice. Pretty house,” said McGucket awkwardly. Trudy said nothing, and merely turned her attention to her son.

“How was the drive,” she asked quietly.

“Easy enough,” said Tate, who shared his mother’s dislike of talking too much. Silence filled the room like heavy smog, and the three McGuckets simply stared at each other, unable to really say anything at all. It was to everyone’s immense relief when Carla came back in holding the potted Easter lilies in her arms.

“Fiddleford, did you bring these?” she asked happily, “They’re beautiful!”

“I grew ‘em in the garden,” said McGucket, the grin returning to his face as he took the lilies from her, “sprouted up once it started getting warmer again. I reckon you’d like to have them!”

He offered the flowers to Trudy, whose scowl only got deeper.

“Lilies,” she explained, “are highly toxic to cats.”

“Oh,” said McGucket, who hadn’t realized this at all. “I’m sorry! Didn’t know ya had a cat when we came to visit! I apologize.”

“You should,” said Trudy, eyeing the flowers resentfully as she bent down to pet her cat, “Even just the pollen could cause Lovelace immense harm if she were to breathe it in or ingest it. Though I guess with all the money you’ve made off of your death robots, I could just send the vet bills to you.”

“Trudy,” hissed Carla, who knew to cut her wife off quickly when she went into these sort of moods, “It was a simple mistake. We’ll just keep the flowers outside; Lovelace is an indoor cat, she won’t even see them.”

Trudy gave them each an unreadable expression.

“I have to get back to fixing dinner,” she said, turning away from them as she did so. “It’ll be up in about an hour.”

With that, she was gone.

 The first five minutes into dinner, no one said a word. Tate was never a very talkative person to begin with, and both Carla and Fidds tucked into their dishes in earnest. Trudy, for her part, only picked at her plate, staring dully at her ex husband as he consumed the meal she’d prepared.

“So,” said Fidds, still chewing on a fried chicken leg, “How’d you two meet?”

“Oh, it was actually just a few years back,” said Carla brightly; she grabbed Trudy’s hand and squeezed it gently as she spoke. “I was in a production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf off Broadway—I played Martha, just the most fascinatingly devious role—and one night after curtain call, I get back to my dressing room and find a bouquet of roses from a mysterious admirer!”

“What can I say,” Trudy shrugged, a phantom of a smile briefly appearing on her gloomy face, “I always had an eye out for the great performers.”

“Oh? Since when,” said McGucket, puzzled.

“Since always,” huffed Trudy petulantly.

Carla coughed uncomfortably before continuing her story.

“Anyway,” she said, picking at her salad nervously, “I kept getting roses night after night, until one matinee performance I catch her in the act! I ask her out right then and there, I tell her, ‘no way in heck am I accepting roses from a complete stranger,’ and then, one thing lead to another, and here we are today!”

Trudy blushed; she took Carla’s hand and gave it a quick, affectionate smooch.

“And she’s quite a sweetheart when you prod her out of her shell a bit,” said Carla brightly.

“Well ain’t that just lovely,” said Fiddleford, raising his chicken leg in a sort of toast to the happy couple, “I think I should probably start going to plays if I ever wanna meet somebody as special as you!”

Trudy apparently did laugh at this, a cruel, mirthless laugh that sounded like an icicle through the throat.

“…Why’s that funny,” said McGucket quietly.

“…Nothing,” mumbled Trudy, who began to guzzle down her glass of wine.

Tate spoke up, “This salad is fantastic mom, where did you—”

“No, why is that funny,” Fiddleford insisted, his voice uncharacteristically aggressive.

Trudy finished her glass of blood-red wine in one gulp.

“You at a play,” she said disdainfully, “Come on Fiddleford, don’t kid yourself, theater is for the sophisticated and the refined, you’d stick out like a farm hand shopping at Barney’s.”

Fiddleford glared at her from across the table, a look she returned with tundra-like cruelty. He looked down miserably at his plate, unsure if he could enjoy another bite.

“Now, really Trudy,” chastised Carla, “You’ve been married to me long enough to know that sort of snobbery should have no place in the fine arts. Theater should be accessible to everyone, charging the sort of money they do for tickets nowadays is just robbing the common people one of the greatest joys in life.”

Carla patted Fiddleford on the arm affectionately. “You and Tate should come see a show with us while you’re here! I’ve got some good tickets to see Kinky Boots, and I think you’d get a huge kick out of that show.”

“I ain’t much for singing and dancing,” mumbled Tate, who was giving his mother an icy glare.

“Tate, d’you mind passing the salt for me,” said McGucket, not looking up from his plate. Tate took the saltshaker from the middle of the table and handed it to his father, who began to sprinkle it onto his chicken absentmindedly as Carla continued to chatter absentmindedly about other musicals.

“You’re going to over season the chicken,” snapped Trudy suddenly. Ugly silence fell across the table like a crashed jet engine.

Slowly, Fiddleford spoke up, “well dear, you’ll forgive me I hope, but you hardly used any spice when frying up this bird. It just tastes like plain flour, I just thought I’d liven him up with a little salt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my chicken!” Trudy gritted her teeth together as if she’d like nothing better than to sink them into her ex’s throat, severing an artery.

“Just as there ain’t nothing wrong with me putting a little salt on him. You never were much good at putting spice on things, sweetheart,” said McGucket, sprinkling even more salt onto his plate.

“You’re lucky I even let you eat at all, you filthy bum!” Trudy was standing now; she slammed her fists onto the table violently, rattling the silver wear and glasses upon impact.

“Now really,” said Carla, mortified. “We don’t need to argue like children over dinner—”

“Well,” said McGucket, his voice trembling, “I guess I definitely had worse dinners than this, I did spend thirty years living out on the streets; I don’t know if’n ya ever had to eat garbage out of the can before, it’s really an unforgettable taste!”

“You’re the one who left,” Trudy snarled.

“You told me to go,” McGucket retorted. Faintly, he remembered a difficult conversation in the back of his mind: Think about what sounds better: spending time with your best friend working on a subject you both love, or staying in the suburbs playing house with a wife you have nothing in common with but your son?

“Did I tell you to not write or call for months on end,” Trudy gesticulated wildly at her Ex as she spoke, “Did I tell you not to visit your son?”

“Mom, leave me out of it!” cried Tate, slamming his fist on the table as well.

“Oh,” Trudy continued, not paying a bit of mind to her son at all, “I guess I’m the one who made you send that robot after me when I served you the divorce papers because I was just so done with your—”

“You left me to die on the street!”

Fiddleford had never said this out loud, hadn’t even dared to think it, but had kept this thought buried away in his heart for a long time, hoping it would rot away into nothing. Tate drank from his cup deeply, a guilty glint in his eyes as silence fell over the table again.

Trudy took Carla’s glass of wine and hurled the contents into Fiddleford’s face. He sat there, dripping wet with wine that stained his beard like blood.

“Trudy,” cried Carla, horrified.

“Get out,” hissed Trudy at her ex husband, “Get the hell out of my house right now!”

McGucket scrambled out of the dining room and ran into the night, his eyes stinging from the mixture of wine and tears as he ran.

 We like stories because, like magic wardrobes and hidden portals, they take us to a version of reality we want to exist. A place where the lines between gentle, good hearted people and nasty, cruel people are thick and easy to see, where morals can be cut up and fed to us in easy to digest little bites, where all is well and right by the end, wickedness is defeated and kindness is rewarded as it deserves.

In this story, however, there is no wickedness to be defeated, as nobody in this story is truly wicked. Yes, Trudy McCorkle was cold and hostile to McGucket, and she wasn’t without her own small burden of blame, but she had her reasons and resentments that lead to her unhappiness with her ex-husband, something he would come to agree with in time. Forgiveness is a long process that takes a different amount of time for everyone, and Trudy’s time simply hadn’t arrived.

Fiddleford turned over these angry, mixed up thoughts as he fell into a fitful slumber on the shores of Glass Shard Beach. The moon was as gibbous and milky as a blinded eye in the sky above; it seemed to stare down coldly at Fiddleford as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know why he’d thought visiting his ex-wife was a good idea. He should have just stayed home and not bothered people who didn’t want him in their lives again.

“Pa!”

Tate was running towards him from further down the beach.

“There you are,” said Tate, panting as he sat down next to his father, who had curled into a tight ball in the sand. “Come on, Dad, let’s get out of here.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Fiddleford, obviously not fine at all, “I’ll just stay here in the dirt. You Ma’d be happier if I stayed out of her way.”

“I don’t give a crap about what’d make her happy right now,” snapped Tate, “That was—that was inexcusable. I told her that she ought to be thanking you for saving everyone last year, and that she was acting like a jackass.”

“Tate,” cried Fiddleford, popping out of the sand at this, “Don’t go saying such things to your mother!”

“But she—”

“What we’re arguing about ain’t something we should be dragging you into,” said Fiddleford, “and I’m sorry if that ever got taken out on you, Tater Tot.” He gave his son a hug, squeezing him tight.

“Pa, really, I’m a grown man.”

“Hush, you ain’t too old for hugs.”

“Anyway,” said Tate, pulling away from his dad, “Just… look, Carla’s real upset how everything went down. She wants to make it up for what happened. Did… did you wanna go see a play with us?”

“… You sure I won’t embarrass ya none,” Fiddleford asked quietly.

“I think we got all the embarrassment out of the way tonight,” said Tate, who, alongside his father began to walk down the beach towards the boardwalk. “Come on—if we move now, Carla says we can rush into the theater.”

Real life is often chaotic; but there is some comfort in getting to spend a moment away from that chaos, especially if it’s with the people you care about.

[beedujourblog]

I finally made the return to Paris, France. A city I had once lived in, shared so much ups and downs with so many amazing people I now call friends. I had to return for my graduation, which I had to postpone last year due to work obligations. I planned to spend just 1 week to catch up with friends, and visit the little places in Paris I never got round to. So in this post, I will show you all the spots I visited on this trip and recommend you also check out and do if you’re in Paris during the winter season.

Going Back

To be honest, I wasn’t really sure how I felt after about returning. So much had happened in my life since I had left my little apartment in the 15th arrondissement on the chilly November day. For some reason I was nervous and expected something bad to happen, but I knew I had to make this trip no matter what. Plus, I still had some of my clothes to collect!

My graduation was also in January, and for some reason almost all of my friends who lived with me in France were in the city too. Some live and work there, are Frenchies, visiting or there for studies. It was fate. The time was just right.

Winters in Paris

In my opinion, winters in Paris are pretty mild. I guess because after having lived 4 years in some of the coldest winters on this planet while in South Korea have made me think any other winter is mild. My Canadian friend thought the same as me…..well they are from Canada. However, winters in Korea are -15 to -20 on average, and its friggin’ freezing. So, the comfortable 11 and 7 degrees in Paris are nothing. But hey, we’re all different.

I’d recommend just bringing a good coat for the evenings. Otherwise, it’s not bad. I didn’t even need gloves or a scarf. I do have to point out that this winter in 2018 was actually much warmer than the winters from when I lived here a few years ago.

Places I visited in Paris this time

The Fragonard Perfumerie and Museum

I LOVED this popular little perfumerie located next to the Opera Theatre in Paris! The Fragonard perfumerie is one of France’s oldest perfumeries and houses a Perfume museum and workshop. Parfumerie Fragonard first opened up in Paris in 1926 after the First World War by entrepreneur, Eugene Fachs. He named the brand after the famous French painter Jean-Honore Fragonard. I have very sharp sense of smell and so I take delight in the sweet aromas of perfumes found across the globe. It is also usually one of the first impressions I pick up from a person.

The museum is free and so is the tour! It also turned out to be more interesting than I expected. We got to learn about the history of perfume in Europe, what it was used for and what is came to mean amidst the societies over the centuries. There is also information on how a scent is produced in the workshops and the value of certain ingredients.

At the end we also got to smell Fragonard’s signature scents and guess what made them up. I had fun with this and guessed them pretty much right. I went mental in the shop, stocking up on lotions and perfumes. The prices are pretty decent too. I didn’t get to do the workshop, but I imagine it must be a fun experience.

Musee d’Orsay

I have been countless times to the Louvre, but always overlooked this museum that lies just across from it on the Seine in Paris.

The Musee D’Orsay was once a train station in Paris and was turned into a beautiful museum that houses a really cool art collection. The museum itself is cool and you can see the original steelworks in the roof and hallway layouts from the original train station.

The museum mainly focuses on works from the 1800s – early 1900s.

The exhibition rooms on Degas and the impressionists were beautiful. I had learnt so much about Degas when I did art at school, it was amazing to actually see his sketch books, works and miniatures up close as he improvised to capture movement.

A small collection of Van Gogh is also on display at the Musee D’Orsay. I first saw his works at his museum when I was in Amsterdam, so it was nice to see the pieces I had missed.

The famous clock that overlooks the city of Paris was a bit busy. If you want a nice shot, go in the week. I went late afternoon when it was more relaxed. If you want to get a more fine tuned version of a Parisian art museum without the pressure of trying to see everything in the vast Louvre, then the Musee D’Orsay is a great choice.

The Opera Garnier

The Opera Garnier was completed in 1875, by the architect Charles Garnier. This Baroque inspired building is the main opera theatre in Paris and was once the main ballet theatre. This beautiful opera house is glamorous from the outside, just as it is inside. Many fancy soirees and theatrical productions were housed here, and this Opera house also served as the inspiration for Andrew Lloyd’s Webber’s infamous play ‘Phantom of the Opera”.

The dramatic balustrades, marble interiors, and ornate furnishings all resonate an air of excitement and drama from those who once walked these halls and performed some of the world’s best theatrical masterpieces.

The theatre also houses a ballroom area that was inspired by the Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles. If you have been to Versailles, you can definitely see the references.

  Paris Cite?

What is Paris Cite you may ask? Paris Cite is actually a small island that lies on the Seine in the 3rd Arondissment in the middle of the city. It was actually the first “city” and predecessor of Paris before it started to expand around the Seine. This Gallo-Roman centre was first home to the Gallic tribe of Parisii before the Romans took over. Back then it was actually known as Lutetia or Lutece and was the main “hub” while small farming homesteads of old French tribes lived along the Seine.

The famous Notre Dame Cathedral is located in Cite, and the oldest bridge in Paris is located here. I love walking through this small island, and you can still see remnants of old roman styled masonry in the foundations of the building in between the alleys.

The views around the island are cool too. Try and have dinner or lunch at either cafes Esmerelda and Quasimodo if you can.

Galeries Lafayette’s Rooftop

Galeries Lafayette is one of the world’s oldest and most famous department stores and it has an awesome rooftop to view the city of Paris! The multi-level department store is a beautiful building in its own right and the interior is def worth checking out. Every year, during the festive season, the department store goes waaaaaay out with the window displays and find new fun designs to decorate the Christmas tree.

I checked out the rooftop a few years ago with my friend Alyssa when we used to live in Paris. We revisited it on this trip again. There is a really nice buffet styled restaurant and free art gallery if you want to explore the Galeries Lafayette more. You can obviously do a bit of shopping, if you have lots of cash to blow!

  Centre Pompidou

The Centre Pompidou is located in the 3rd arondissemt in Paris, and a spot I would regularly frequent during lunch breaks at Uni or just to chill after class. I loved this little area. There was always something happening. The main attraction is the uber cool Pompidou Museum, designed by French architect Charles Pompidou.

This museum is a work of art in itself. With its unconventional architecture for the interior and exterior. You can watch visitors walk through the levels from the outside. The colourful pipes against the fragmented steel façade is pretty eye-catching. Sitting by the fountain or the on the cobble stones with tea/coffee and watching street artists perform here is always fun.

Palais Royal

Ok, this re-visit was inspired by numerous posts of social media. I have walked through here lots of times but never bothered to take a photo and now I wanted one. This art piece by French artist Daniel Buren, consists of a large check board with various sized striped columns. I liked the modern contrast it makes with the classical architecture around the courtyard.

The royal house of Orleans and numerous other royal folk had lived in the palace. Most notable were the younger brothers of King Louis XIV and Cardinal Richelieu (yes that brandy is named after this guy)

Restaurant Kaitleen

This one is special. On my last night, I arranged a dinner at Restaurant Kaitleen, a cool little restaurant near Opera opened up by my former classmate Charles! I follow his restaurant account on Instagram and the food always looks so good. You can check it out here.

  The food was as good as it looked. The atmosphere was cool for such a small space and service was great. I’d recommend you check it out. Seeing everyone together was fun and it turned out to be a good night. A nice way to end me and my friend’s last night in Paris before she headed off back to Canada and I to S.A!

  This was a busy week for me. Going into university, prepping for grad, collecting stuff and catching up. If you’re thinking of visiting Paris in winter, it’s really not a bad idea. Of course this depends on what your fantasies of this city are about or if you planned a summer wardrobe for your vacation photos. I’ll admit the city is much quieter and there are not as many tourists crowding up the place. At least, you can def get in that Eiffel Tower shots with almost nobody in the background!

(In my next post on France, I will write more on what it’s like to study here and live the student life.)

A bientot,

Bee

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      #paris #travelfrance #travelblogger I finally made the return to Paris, France. A city I had once lived in, shared so much ups and downs with so many amazing people I now call friends.

[charliepritchardart-blog]

Ideas or starting points for the next project

What are some aspects of the video, sound and objects that I might want to take further?

I think future lines of inquiery lie in how to use the ambiguity of the sounds, after the Alison Carlier talk on Monday she won the Jerwood drawing prize with a piece of found text that described tonal qualities etc, and to the listener it sounded like a drawing because of its label. I think this is a clever use of the ambiguity and interpretation of sound that I couldn't quite grasp in my work.

Do the Domes still have any ideas left in them?

try quicker sounds

This is all great for research but don't forget to play

Make some obstructions, respond to the words micro-macro, do a video drawing, sound drawing, mapping, filming, listening, building, balancing,

foleying 

Elizibeth price 

objects sounds and video 

pipolotti rist

viktor timofeev

invisible forces

narrative, conspiracy, creative writing, the story of concrete, plastic, television amoung the bees

cultural, theatrical plots and villains, convenient Narratives

controllable objects

new ways of sensing with contact mics

projection

DIY, home made and shit 50s sci-fi, cold war paranoia scientology, tin foil hats, the cultivation of paranoia, 

astral projection

that colourful DMT documentry

find a way to do sketches, quick ideas, how long does your 'inspiration moment' last?

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwxK2pVmZgc&list=PLRj-rMaj2BqyQ47sa3qyTI5fCXgr9quyo

This dichotomy between subject matter and material seems to be widening and Im not sure if I can, or should try to marry them together, but again early days try extending both as to see what happens this happened at the start of the last project when I felt a bit iffy about doing a sound piece, again I find this is not a productive starting point for me I don't think in the ways I can push the medium of sound What are some of the topics and ways of working do I want to put more research into or develop?

Try using the news tab on google

neuroplasticity

Cynicism and irony or fully fledged conviction, in Zizek style

Scientology, conspiracy theories, mind control http://skewsme.com/tinfoilhat/

Simplicity of desires and how they are targeted with consumer devices.

Quantified self, tdcs or productivity meetups

Insect media

 I think its important to mention that in this project I have tried different methods of reflection, I've tried short handwritten notes on the fly as I'm making, longer hanwritten notes, and in the final stages of the unit, typing notes in the library as a more separated activity to the making process

Separate the making and reflection into, different activities I work best in the library in the morning

http://www.ilonasagar.com/prosopopoeiamanualhandbook

Found text as a drawing

Respond to research in a certain field, look at recent radiolabs, ask ben for more podcasts

NB When we first met, we shared an interest in the hallucinogenic drug Dimethyltryptamine (DMT) and its effects. We ended up watching a cheesy but colourful documentary, DMT: The Spirit Molecule (2010), complete with over-the-top CGI replicating psychedelic trips. In hindsight, it summarizes important aspects of your work – like drug culture, DIY relaxation techniques, self-help and commercialized therapy culture – and how those things are represented.

DIY

Capitalising on the 'don't know' and hype of meditation, and mindfulness, much like scientology

I like the relationship you seem to have with your practice; you seem to be following it or tracking it, letting it take you places which is when unexpected things happen. The 'ambiguity of sounds' is really interesting, having a schism between sound and the visual. Your film touches on this, you might be bringing that more into your 3D work by the sounds of it. I like that contradictory  dialogue combined with this allure of fiction. seems too like sci-fi. Because the industry of mindfulness is loaded with hype, this fictitious side is relevant. There's a big "don't know' hanging over the work which makes it strong. Some of the plane/drone shots look like sets with models. 

I like the unknown particularly in 'Stalker' a recent Tarkofsky film I saw 

fordist ideas of perfect insect organisation in post ww 2, metropolis 

https://research.bournemouth.ac.uk/centre/interdisciplinary-neuroscience-research/

WHAT ABOUT STRESS!?

So, what information can I gain from researchers at BU and how can this futher substantiate some of my ideas with specialist knowledge

Think about the intent I am going in with to get the best results and not to get bogged down or distracted

Don't restrict myself to specialist research I think it would be interesting to consider shiny popular things in relation to current ideas

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/sideways-view/201507/the-psychology-surveillance

http://blog.cursorware.me

http://potlatch.typepad.com again http://potlatch.typepad.com

the voice and ventriloquism, embodied sounds, animism vibrating stuff, robert morris idea, sound of its own recording 

And this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cA2-iMz479o&feature=em-subs_digest

This is all great for research but don't forget to play!

I like to produce work with an allure of fiction, and particularly interested in how fiction can parrallel everyday delusions I think that because we are saturated with cinematic media, cinematic moments especially with modern day popular films that has reduced the overall average time of a shot due to cgi etc. I think cinema can reinforce so many delusions and western ideas of the solid I ok so re-reflecting upon tDCS its interesting that it cuts out voices, makes people less depressed, but nothing about their worldview has changed, in buddhist terms they are not excersising the growing of compassion or states of mind that are at the core of our being. it is exteremly oversimplified with too greater reward. tDCS by its very nature could be using attatchment, a desire to transform with a few easy sessions one can be a happier person surly if hypothetically tdcs did work then someone would start to depend on it? its attractiveness is linked with comfort, the attatchment to being comfortable, also a state when nothing is practiced no effort is produced to better your state of mind. at the end of the day surly tDCS leaves you with no world view to cause a better mood but tries to physically change the mind.  other reflections on DONT LET THEM IN, the framed individuals comment was interesting, I think this quite nicely linkes up with the idea that westeners have an inherent idea of a fixed self, maybe start to look at perceeptions and ideas of self in contrast to ideas of emptiness 

How to approach the researchers

I feel like I need to know more about what I want to do in the next project to approach someone with specialist knowledge to then base some of my practice on

some of the things I would like to gain further knowledge on are

meditation + tDCS

so control is interesting here particularly how The Cognitive Control Lab have done some research into control, but my preferred intention would be to investigate this interesting polarization between wanting more control by practicing mindfullness and meditation, but then it being used as a homogenizing force of capitalism. Or with intent on producing the 'Last Man' one of Nietzsches ideas. Ok so what is wrong here from my current understanding, is the appropriation of buddhist techniques, ok they are pretty down with people interpreting their teahings, but when people do with the intent of producing a more productive workforce, then the question arises, who is in control, I spose this is more in line with hindu meditaton, achieving the single point of focus, then the buddhist part is starting a journey to nirvana to achieve enlightenment, this is where corporate mindfulness starts to draw its own cartography inside your head, chill out, relax, and have those papers in by monday. 

an important contextual issue arisees here, what companies actually use corporate mindfulness?

Could I do work experience at one of these institutions?

do any contradictions arise in the motives of buddhism and corporations that appropriate their

I have this idea that there are bad guys that are corporations this idea needs expanding who exactly am I observing here? I risk coming across as a fascist hippy here

mcdonalds for eg

control samsara, where exactly does some of the research parallel with what I am interested in?

OK so ground the email in some questions and a request to use tDCS

-attention as a currency 

-the stroop test 

-any research around affective noises and sounds? 

-any research around 

The formation, content and maintenance of goal representations

When we set out to perform a task, we do so with a mental representation of what we want to achieve (i.e. a goal/intention). 

The mental representation needs to be constructed and temporarily stored so that it can be used to perform the task at hand. 

One aim of this project is to investigate the content of these mental representations, and to investigate how changes in the content of the representations affect performance on certain tasks.

Furthermore, it is often the case that we encounter things that distract us from the task at hand, and so we need to be able to remove the influence of these distractors. Sometimes the intention to remove the influence of these distractors is not enough because:

We might be too efficient at attending to / processing the distracting object

The goal or intention is insufficiently specified

The goal representation decays too quickly (i.e. is not maintained)

We have not specified the what, when and how of the intention (e.g. we have not created what is known as an implementation intention).

A further aim of this project is to investigate whether exposure to concepts that relate to a goal or intention can boost or reinforce goal representations enabling more efficient removal of the influence of distractors. Of particular interest is how to improve goal focus in populations that have been shown to experience problems with goal maintenance (e.g. those with inattention) and how long such effects might last. 

so this is the cognition behind the goals we create in our head, are they talking about the image of thaught and the coressponding brain activity? this could be interesting

The role of the Prefrontal Cortex in cognition and behaviour

There are many theories about the role of the prefrontal region of the brain in cognition and behaviour. There are also theories about the functions of particular regions of the prefrontal cortex. For example, regions of the brain known as the anterior cingulate cortex and the dorselateral prefrontal cortex have been shown to be activated by tasks that require cognitive control.  Regions nearby these areas of the brain have been shown to be involved in the processing of rewarding stimuli such as chocolate and pleasant odours. Since a goal often involves the desire to obtain a reward, the interactions of these brain regions are of significant interest to anyone wanting to understand goal-directed behaviour.  This area of research aims to further understand these interactions and to investigate neural regions involved in tasks requiring cognitive control in general.

so is this only relevant to sensory rewards, like ordours and choc, or can it be applied to things like the desire to be comassionate, 

So i have to think about the merging of these ideas with the buddhist conception of the world, so one who completely sees the concept of emptiness in all things there is something between this, meditation and the 'image of thaught' how can images and concepts affect our thinking, another interesting take on this idea is again alison carliers sound drawing, there is language and sound creating the artwork in the audiences head. I'm thinking how this lines up in some way to meditation practice, particularly 'meditation on shakyamuni buddha' an article by robina courtin, this entails visualising, in specific detail the buddha in the form of "light: transparent, intangible and radient. At the level of your forehead and six feet away...' and this goes on to describe the apropriate ritual for us to "develop firm conviction in our innate perfection - our buddha potential" the westen ideas of the mind,'we say "its only in the mind" we give no value to the mind even when we are caught in it. We give no value to just thought' I like to produce work with an allure of fiction, and particularly interested in how fiction can parrallel everyday delusi