#i also had a small coffee this morning from dunks but it was awful but it was like the clouds parting in my brain it felt so food

[teabiscs]

since ive been radio silent about the ship poll. here's 1st places wip

*ahem*

[bts-roses]

Spilling Coffee | 1

➼ summary: You’ve always prided yourself in being a naturally graceful and reliable person. So an internship at BigHit seemed like a walk in the park. That is, until a certain goof slide-kicks you off your feet and makes your life a whole lot harder.

/

Namjoon is a misunderstood klutz and y/n thinks too much.

➼ pairing: idol!namjoon x intern!reader

➼ genre: fluff, angst (if you squint), idolverse

➼ word count: 3,700

| next

‣

You have always been proud of your natural grace. Throughout your life, it’s granted you the title of being the responsible and reliable one. The one to do the important jobs. You were always the child the teacher would pick to fill a glass of water up for the paintbrushes during art class. You would do that with a smug grin on your face, holding a big ass jar of water with both of your tiny hands. You would hand it to the teacher, whip your pigtails as you turn around and walk back to your seat looking at your jealous classmates like hell yeah I just did that, you bitches could never.

So naturally, finding out you were about to intern in a big entertainment company, you just knew you were going to unquestionably nail it. Being responsible for mundane tasks like going on coffee runs or carrying boxes to different places? Uhh, you lived for that shit.

Obviously, these weren’t the only tasks and they were definitely not going to help you in the long run of your dream profession. But being able to put down that you received work experience from Big Hit Entertainment sure was. And there was an opportunity to get a job there after your internship! And the internship pays really well! And apparently the food in their canteen was pretty good! In conclusion, it was a win-win situation all around. And how hard could it be?

The answer to that was hard. Very fucking hard.

‣

Namjoon has always been in awe of how clumsy he actually was. Even his bandmates wonder how such an intelligent, grown man can be such a dumbass. Whenever he tried to fix something? Boom, it instantly got 10x worse. His fans even call him the God of Destruction. He would be offended by the nickname, but he can’t hate the truth. And the title is pretty badass if you think about it.

He was more of the kid in art class who was always given small jobs like making sure the aprons weren’t tangled up when it was time to put them away. Even though he wanted cooler jobs like holding those cool big ass glass jars, he understood that sometimes it’s just best to mind his own business and do his own designated jobs. You know, for world peace.

But today. Wow. It’s like the gods above are punishing him or something.

He actually woke up feeling pretty good. Today was going to be his day. Or so he thought. His clumsiness, once again, ruins it for him.

Long story short: he accidentally broke a bit of the toilet seat off. In his defence, he really needed a shit and someone left the toilet seat up again. He was definitely not going to fall into the toilet bowl this time. So Namjoon did the only thing a human could do in such a limited space of time: he slam-dunked that toilet seat down as hard as he could. Not his smartest idea. To his dismay, he spent his morning poo hovering over the toilet, with a piece of the seat held in his left hand. Let’s just say the other members were not thrilled when he walked out to the kitchen holding the piece of the smashed toilet seat from one of the most used bathrooms in the house.

After sitting through another one of Seokjin's speeches about the importance of handling things with a bit more caution, Namjoon decided it would be best to go to the company a bit earlier than the others today. Especially when the younger ones wouldn’t stop roasting the shit out of him. It was when he tripped over walking into the company building he thought to himself.

Maybe today wasn’t his day.

‣

This was the tenth day of your internship. And you don’t like to boast but you think you’re owning this shit. Sure, your boss is scary and likes giving you lots of monotonous tasks. But she’s not that bad. Besides, this is what you signed up for! And you’re having fun. Kinda.

“Intern.” You look up from your desk to see a smiling Joowon, one of your coworkers, “Lee is asking for you.”

Giving him a nod, you swiftly get up from your desk. You knock on your boss’ door and walk in when she acknowledges your presence.

“Yes, Mrs Lee?” you say, beaming brightly.

“I need you to go on a coffee run for the marketing team. We have an important meeting regarding TXT’s comeback and I do not want to see anyone slacking. If I do, I will kill someone,” she says looking up from the screen, giving you a small vacant smile. See? She’s warming up to you!

“Of course! Do you want me to buy you a knife while I’m out? Just in case?” You joke while giggling lightly.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” She asks, with no amusement in her face.

You immediately stop laughing. Fuck. Maybe she’s just a tad bit scary. You stiffen a bit and nod ashamed.

“Yeah. I don’t need any of that here” she glances at you up and down and then looks back at her computer, “you should leave now.”

You bow and basically run out of her office. Okay. Fine. She’s fucking terrifying.

You knew working in a big establishment like BigHit was going to be intimidating but not this intimidating. It didn’t help that you had a subliminal fear of attractive people. Of course, you liked looking at them but talking to them made you so nervous. Maybe you should've taken that into account before working in a fucking entertainment company. They were everywhere. At least you were working in the marketing team, where your interactions with the idols were very limited. However, you still would have the odd occurrence with one. On your second day, TXT's Soobin asked you for Mrs Lee's whereabouts. You nearly cried... But let’s not think about that.

Thankfully, your department is quite small and you only had to go get nine iced americanos. The lady at the counter also gave you two paper bags that held eight of them which made your life easier. Since you were feeling fancy and had the room, you got yourself an iced latte. Realising you were a bit short on time, you quickly dashed back to the company.

Entering the building, you check the clock on the lobby wall: fifteen minutes until the meeting starts. Cool. That's fine. You can totally get there before it starts. Totally. Deep breath. You'll be fine. After violently stabbing the elevator button multiple times, you hastily enter and press the floor you needed. Seeing no one was going to get on with you, you push the button to close the doors. Just once. Maybe a few times for good measure. Before the doors shut, you catch a glimpse of the clock again. Thirteen minutes. More than enough time.

When you reach your floor, you check inside the bags to make sure nothing has spilt. You can't help but smile. Look at you. Two coffees in each hand? Not a spill. Holding two bags of coffee? Not a single drop. You really did that. You were that bitch. I am the elite intern. You think to yourself with a chuckle. Then you stop yourself and wince. Jesus Christ. You really needed to get a life.

Remembering your task, you carefully pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time; ten minutes. Just to be safe (and to beat your previous coffee run score of having eight minutes to spare), you speed down the hallway.

You can literally see the glass walls of the meeting room. Not even half of the team is there yet. You were that early. On the opposite side of the corridor, you see your boss, who is facing away from you, and Joowon talking to each other. He glances at you and smiles. You quicken your pace, about to return the smile.

Suddenly, you're seeing him horizontally.

What the fuck? Why the fuck? Oh my God. You're too busy soaking up the mess in front of you that you don’t feel the searing pain on your left ankle. You blink hard and freeze on the floor.

The coffee is spilt. Everywhere.

Shit. You’re gonna get killed. You're gonna get fired. Before you start crying on the ground, the floor starts moving... Wait. Floors don't move. Uuugh. And floors sure as hell don't groan.

You look sideways to realise you're on top of someone's chest. That said someone looks down at you.

Your heart drops.

You jump up to stand and you instantly feel the sting on your ankle. You look at the scene in front of you. You feel like sobbing again. You just spilt your drink all over RM. Fucking Kim Namjoon. You know, the leader of the biggest fucking boy group on the planet? That's the one. You aren’t just going to be fired. You're gonna be banished from Korea. Burned at the stake. Mauled to death.

"I'm so fucking sorry." You burst out, desperately getting back down on the floor to clean up the liquid with your clothes, "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to."

You warily look at him. He's just lying there in this weird, starfish-like position. Not really moving. Oh my God, you think to yourself. You fucking broke him. Did you kill him?

You stop helplessly scrubbing the floor with your jumper sleeve and shakily ask him, "are you alive?"

Abruptly, pulls himself up in a seated position. You flinch. Fuck. He's gorgeous. Great, now you’re nervous. He stares at you blankly and you wince a bit. You mentally prepare yourself to get screamed at and you feel a sting in your eyes. God, you're about to cry. You’re gonna lose your internship. You’re gonna have no future. You're so fucking terri-

All you hear is a deep chuckle.

"Shit. You've done it again Namjoon" he mutters to himself in disbelief, "Did I hurt you?"

He looks at you in concern and shuffles closer. Carefully, he puts a hand on your shoulder. Well, he’s never seen you before. He glances down at the ID card hanging from your neck. There’s a picture of you grinning cheerfully and your name: Y/n L/n. An intern? He also notices that you don’t have the same red lanyard as the other staff here; you switched yours to an Animal Crossing themed ribbon. Cute. He looks back up and his brows furrow when he sees a tear run down your cheek.

“U-uh. I-I’m fine.” you stutter, not really paying attention and avoiding eye contact. You feel yourself shaking.

“Are you sure? I just completely wiped you out with a sliding kick.” He jokes to try to ease the situation, offering a kind smile. Fuck, he has dimples, you think to yourself. You feel him brush his thumb over your cheek to wipe the stray tear.

“Oh my God. Namjoon-ah are you okay?” your boss asks, pushing past you to check on the man, “What is with this mess? What on earth did you do, intern?”

You stumble upwards, preparing for your death. You close your eyes in anticipation. Here it is. Your life was fun while it laste-

“It wasn’t her fault. And I’m fine. Just a bit of liquid.” You hear him say.

You open your eyes and face them. The idol makes eye contact with you and you quickly divert your eyes down. You feel your face heat up from the sudden attention.

“Namjoon-ah, it’s okay. You don’t need to cover up for her. She’s just an intern.” your boss says, impressed with his supposed kindness.

Excuse me? You look up at her disbelief. He was the one who caused you to fall. Before you’re about to defend yourself, you glance at him again and stop yourself. Oh, what the hell? Fine.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll clean this up straight away!” You shout and bow deeply, accepting the fault. It was just going to be easier this way, you’re just a disposable intern anyways.

Namjoon watches you bow deeply towards them. What? This was his fault.

“Wait, no this was my doin-” He started.

“I really expected better than this, intern.” Mrs Lee sighs in disappointment, not wanting to waste time, “Clean this mess up.”

You bow at both of them again as she walks past you, heading for the meeting room. Well that went better than expected. At least you’re still alive. You sigh weakly and started your hunt for something to help clean the mess up.

Before he could intervene again to clear things up, his phone rings.

“Hyung! Where are you? We need you now, the business call is just about to start.” Jimin shouts down the phone.

Namjoon curses himself. He takes a quick look at your back before running to where he was needed. So much for first impressions. Throughout the call, all he could focus on was the cute intern he wiped out and his coffee-stained hoodie sticking to his chest.

Yup. Today was definitely not his day.

‣

After two weeks of whatever that was, you’ve been trying really hard to redeem yourself. Just a few examples: you started colour coding the meeting notes to make it easier to read; you call the coffee shop ahead of time so your coffee runs take no longer than seven minutes; you bring running shoes to work so for any errands you need to run, you literally run. Oh, and most importantly, you steer the fuck out of Kim Namjoon’s way. This step has been proven difficult because you now see him everywhere. (Apparently, their group is heading into more product deals with different companies so your department is becoming a regular for them).

You tell yourself you aren’t trying to avoid the man because that would be stupid. But you know deep inside you’re just really fucking scared of him. Here are some reasons for your new founded fear:

1. He drop-kicked you down to the floor and you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like a bitch. You walked with a limp for a whole week. You’re pretty sure you could’ve sued him.

2. He’s the reason Mrs Lee now hates you with a burning passion. (Bit of an overstatement but since when did your mind not blow things out of proportion?)

3. He’s too tall. His mere size towers over you. It’s petrifying.

4. He’s so fucking attractive? Like? Who allowed him to look that good daily? And when he smiles, his dimples show? The thought of them breaks you out in cold sweat.

5. He smells too nice.

6. And oh yeah. Whenever you see each other, he tries to walk up and talk to you.

It scares the living daylights out of you.

‣

Namjoon has never experienced this before.

It’s like he’s the bloody plague. The guilt was eating him alive. For two weeks now he’s been trying to come up and talk to you. And for two weeks you have been running away from him like your life depended on it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Surely you knew it was an honest mistake and he did try to defend you against Mrs Lee. He even apologised, right? Did he apologise? Oh God, he didn’t apologise. He needs to apologise.

“Hyung!” Jungkook pushes him, “Were you even listening?”

Namjoon looks up at the youngest in confusion, “What?”

“He’s too busy thinking about his latest victim.” Jimin teases.

Jungkook laughs with him, “It’s not like she hates you or anything. If you feel so bad about it then just go talk to her and sort it out. You said she was on the marketing floor right? So just go find-”

His words get cut off by his hyung groaning and banging his head down to his table, watching the surrounding objects jump up from the force.

“You think I haven’t tried that?” He mumbles sadly into the wood, “She runs away from me.���

The two younger men look at each other.

“Hyung, you’re totally just overthinking this. She doesn’t run away from you.” Jungkook chuckles, offering a supporting hand on Namjoon’s back.

After a few hours of trying to work on some songs, Namjoon yawns loudly and stretches out his long limbs. From behind him, he hears the two yawn straight after and they all let out a small laugh.

“I think we should call it a day,” Jimin stands up, starting to pack his things, “Yoongi hyung said we were gonna have dinner tonight so we should get going.”

Moving towards the elevator, Namjoon sees you, holding a big stack of papers, from the corner. Shit. Instantly, he pulls the two members in front of him.

“Oh my God, it’s her.” He hides and whispers, even though you are out of ear reach.

Jungkook and Jimin look at the small moving figure, who is currently trying to move hair out of her face with her mouth. So that’s the girl who is clouding their leader’s mind. They watch you a few feet away from the elevator. As if they knew what the other was thinking, they exchange a mischievous look. Without warning, they forcefully drag their hyung forwards before he could process their actions.

Jesus. You whine to yourself. These papers are so fucking heavy. When you hear the ding of lift, you walk in and stretch your pinky to the ground floor button. You move to the back of the elevator, resting your back on the railing. You only have this job to do and you can finally go home. Smiling at the thought, you mindlessly look at your feet, oh and the large feet in front of you. Wait, what?

You look up in shock and meet eyes with your greatest fear. He gives you a nervous smile and you notice the two other attractive people on either side of him. Another fear of yours. (Not the biggest fear at hand but albeit still a fear). God. It’s like you were in a horror movie, where the ghosts were unfairly good looking. You feel your heart speeding. You scream inwardly when you see the idol opening his mouth.

Namjoon stutters and starts when he feels Jungkook hit his back, “Hello aga-”

He feels a gust of wind run past him.

You just sprinted out of the elevator.

As the doors close, the three turn around and watch you racing away. Gobsmacked. Before the doors fully shut, Namjoon is the only one that sees you trip, papers flying everywhere. He lets out a quiet gasp. The small room is silent.

“Well,” Jungkook quietly coughs out, “Maybe she does hate you...”

“You think she hates me?” The oldest pitifully questions and watches Jimin hit the youngest.

“No, don’t be stupid,” Jimin weakly persuades and gives an insincere smile, “She might just be nervous or something.”

Namjoon instantly frowns. She hates me.

‣

You lay face down on the floor, soaking up all the embarrassment of what just happened. Did you just fall? You? Over nothing? What in God’s name is happening to you? You look up and instantly wince. All the documents you organised, sorted and colour-coded are all messed up. There goes your early night.

Picking up the stray papers, you think to yourself: what the fuck is wrong with you? If you weren’t such a big pussy, your life would have been so much easier. You think about all of the time you would have saved if you just walked the quicker route, regardless of whether or not he was in the way. You think about all the plants you wouldn’t have hid behind to prevent his attention. You think about all the information you could’ve learned about your dream job if you didn’t reject the offers just because there was a slim chance of running into him.

At the end of the night, you have one question burning into your mind: why were you so scared of him?

‣

“You like him.” Daeun proclaims. You just told her about your most recent encounter with him.

You stare at the fellow intern in confusion, “What?”

“You have a big fat crush on him.” She repeats, taking a bite out of her lunch, “Just think about it, you said it yourself, your heart races when you see him... So you like him.”

“My heart races because I’m scared of him” You point out.

“No. You dumb bitch. Your heart races because you are nervous.”

Oh. Well, this was not what you were expecting when you asked your friend for advice. You have a crush on Namjoon?

“B-but I don’t know anything about him.” You argue, shaking your head.

“You don’t necessarily have to personally know him to crush on him,” she continues, “You find him attractive right?”

“W-well, yeah I guess so-”

“There you go. We’ve cracked it. You’re just horny for him.”

“The fuck? No, I’m not.” you push her and she laughs.

“I don’t blame you, he walks like he’s got a massive cock.”

You shriek and whack her in detest. She screams jokingly at the pain. When you two look around and notice people staring, you both can’t help but laugh hard.

At 9PM, you were laying in bed, thinking about your friend’s words and you couldn’t help but to be curious about him. Sure, you liked his music as much as the next person but you didn’t know much about Namjoon as a person. Since you just graduated from college, you didn’t have much time to spend on immersing yourself in the world of the BTS. Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you start doing research, telling yourself it’ll only take a few minutes.

After watching countless interviews and videos, you wonder how such a person could exist. He’s intelligent, loving, kind, gentle, passionate and- well you just go on for hours. You laugh a bit when you realise his only fault: he’s the biggest fucking klutz.

It hit you at 3AM when you finished watching his UNICEF speech with a big ass smile on your face.

Fuck, you totally have a crush on Namjoon.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading + i hope you’ve enjoyed. i’m also already in the process of writing the second part, if that is something you would like to see!

[dancinglifeboat]

Sign Language Coder Bfs Fanfic Part 2

Title: Sign me Your Love (which is what I’ll be signing it from now on!)

Pairing: Coder Boyfriends! (Leif x Tobin)

Post Canon (But max wasn’t fired in this fic bc I make my own rules)

Chapter 1: 

https://dancinglifeboat.tumblr.com/post/622574506020601856/sign-language-coder-boyfriends-fanfic

Chapter 2/?

The One in Which Abigail and Tobin Run the Office Gossip Mill

5 days to launch

Fast forward a few months and Leif thought he was ready. He had been steadily ignoring what he could of Tobin’s signing so that he could fully understand instead of picking up bits and pieces. The launch of the Chirp was at the end of this week, meaning when he dropped that bomb that he now knew sign language after a week of Tobin thinking everything he had signed was beyond Leif’s understanding at the launch party, it would be a very satisfying double victory.

Leif left the apartment earlier than Tobin did; as usual. He spent the bus ride to work only half-listening to his Dracula Audiobook. (He had it close to memorized at this point anyway) He got off at his usual stop, near his and Tobin’s favourite coffee shop. They had discovered that Max and Zoey frequented that same one; but they were easily able to avoid them. Neither Zoey nor Max were blessed with the “Morning Person” gift that Leif and Tobin had. Plus he had overheard them talking about scouting out a new place- so he assumed that he wouldn’t have to worry about running into them. He gave the barista Autumn his and Tobin’s usual order, who seemed cheerier than usual as she wrote on his cup in swirly writing. He didn’t ask- but if he had he would have found out that the reason was that she had gone stargazing the night before with her new boyfriend, who would be picking her up after her shift to go out to lunch with and meet her parents. The service was quick, as usual, and soon he was out the door and in the elevator at Sparkpoint. He dropped off the coffee at Tobin’s desk, who in favour chucked a yogurt at him, assuming (correctly) that Leif had once again forgotten to eat breakfast this morning. Leif lowered his desk from the standing position to a height more suitable for sitting and pulled out his swivel chair before snatching a spoon from the fruit bar and starting into both the yogurt (it was strawberry, one of his favourites) and one of the many last-minute coding issues with the chirp.

A few hours later, Leif swiveled in his chair in time to see Abigail return from her lunch break. He bit back a small grin as he watched her throw a sneaky glance at Tobin’s desk before whipping out a paper airplane and throwing it at him while Zoe wasn’t watching. Leif almost rolled his eyes when it bounced off Tobin’s head, who started and nearly dropped his fidget spinner before spinning to face Abigail with an equally mischievous looking face. Leif had to question if they really thought they were being or if they were just messing around for the fun of it.

Leif had been keeping an eye on Tobin all morning- and it had yet to yield much he didn’t know. Other than that Tobin knew far too many vine references than what was normal. And that any insults he did sign were far more juvenile and kind than he let on. Leif didn’t know why he found that surprising- Tobin was both the most intelligent and most stupid person Leif had ever met, but he wasn’t mean, at least not intentionally. So far “Mrs. Frizzle” was the most insulting thing he had signed that day, and admittedly Zoey’s sweater had been a bit...unorthodox that day.

But this had been what he had been waiting for, Tobin and Abigail's daily gossip session. They had hit it off when Abigail first came to visit- and now that Abigail was interning at Sparkpoint and they were seeing each other on a near daily basis, they had more or less become the prank duo of the floor. (Rip to all of Zoey’s pens) Luckily, as Tobins “BFF” Leif rarely found himself on the pranking side of their escapades. At least that was the excuse Tobin gave; Leif suspected it was because he, as Tobin’s roommate, had a great vantage point for revenge pranking.

Leif finished a line of code before subtly settling himself in to watch, if all went well, he could get some excellent blackmail material out of this.

-------------------------------perspective change *lightning noises*------------------------------------------

Tobin started off by melodramatically holding up the offending airplane;

“Lose something?” He dunked it into his trashcan and paused for effect before continuing, “I mean of course, something other than your fashion sense?” He jokingly raised a judgemental eyebrow,

“Says the one wearing his e-girl wannabe hoodie for the third time this week” She snarked right back, grinning as Tobin mimicked gasping in mock offense before also breaking into a smile. Greetings out of the way, she moved on. “Any updates?” Tobin rolled his eyes,

“Unfortunately Zoey is still oblivious as ever; she needs to step it up- I’ve got 10 bucks on them getting together before the launch” Abigail pulled a candy bar out of her purse and took a bite out of it.

“And Max? Any progress on his end?”

“He used a truly awful pickup line on her this morning, and that’s Me saying that. Luckily for his dignity and unluckily for my 10 bucks she didn’t even seem to notice.”

“Good Grief”

“I know! They’re so oblivious! At this point I might have to intervene!”

“Please do, it would be hilarious to see you butcher being match-maker.” She signed, biting off another chunk of the candy bar, pointedly ignoring the playful glare being sent her way. “Besides, it’s not like you have much  room to talk, huh Mr. Floofy Hair?”

“ONCE, I called him that once! And we are not having this conversation again!”

“Why not? I for one think it’s adorable that you like him. And isn’t it kinda the queer agenda? Pining for your best friend?”

“Bold of you to assume I would adhere to any agenda- queer or not!”

“Yet here we are.” She signed, smirking.

“You are vexatious as they come Ms. Pugnat”

“And you aren’t?”

“Fair enough, and how was I not supposed to fall for him? Have you seen him? He’s flipping adorable!”

“None of the rest of us have.”

“You all have bad taste.”

“Sure Tobin.” She rolled her eyes, biting the last chunk off of the candy bar and crumpling up the wrapper. “But do let me know when you finally make a move, I have twenty bucks on you two.”

[fandomfreakgeekchic]

Fate led us here.  Chapter one

authors note: so this is my first time publishing any of my writing on Tumblr and I hope people will like it. 

summary: When a low -living girl is recruited into the Van der lin Gang, she finds herself with not only a family but a potential lover as well. charles smith x oc

warnings none

Prologue: 

Before the Van Der Linde Gang found me, I, Asya Moore was a wreck. I barely survived on what little I could steal from others. With both parents dead and not a cent to my name, growing up was hard. Most of my life, I was alone. Never able to trust anyone or be part of anything. Until that day I stole from a saddlebag belonging to Dutch Van Der Linde. I soon learned my mistake after he tracked me down and made me return everything I had stolen. That day, I had been certain of one thing: I was going to die. Dutch did not kill me, instead, he allowed me to be part of his family. A place where the rules of other men did not apply. Where I could be part of something, to belong.  I had only been with the gang for about a year or so when Blackwater went to shit. Jenny and Davey ended up dead and now we were being hunted by lawmen, more than usual this time. We ended up in a town called Valentine for a while. saved one of our own from bounty hunters and of course caused a whole lot of trouble in Valentine. After a shootout that Arthur swears wasn’t his fault, we moved to Rhodes. A small town where two families were at war.  Hopefully...everything will be fine.

................................................................................................................................

The day was bright and sunny, hardly a cloud spotted the endless blue of the sky. It was a good day. I rose from my tent, stretching and yawning as I ruffled a hand through my long black hair, the single white streak of hair covering my left eye. It was a birthmark of some sort, had it as long as I could remember. “Mornin Asya,” remarked Arthur who sat by the fire while a pot boiled above it. Pearson was fussing about, as usual, just trying to keep everyone fed. I gave a wave between another yawn and headed towards the wash barrel. To jolt myself awake, I dunked my head into the barrel into the freezing water. I lurched my head out of the water, gasping for air and shivering slightly as the cold water began to stream down my face from my mop of wet hair. “Aye, whatcha been doin girl? swimmin with da fishes have you?”. I parted the curtain of wet hair that now covered my face to see the ginger, Sean. I flipped my hair making sure to whip some droplets of water from my hair onto him. He gave a laugh and jumped back. “ Easy now, was only jokin.” With those words said, he went off to bother Karen. I smoothed back the wet hair, tying it up out of the way with a leather cord. “ Hey, Asya.” A gentle voice called. I turned. It was Charles. Charles was a perfect example of a gentle giant. He was rather large in frame, muscular and powerfully built. I had been a bit scared of him when he first joined up with the gang, I assumed he was another musclehead. I couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was nice and caring. Always seeming to help the others out whether it be with the chores around camp or with some jobs. He was also a great hunter and tracker. He always seemed to be bringing back the best whenever he went out hunting. I admired him. His soft brown eyes looked me up and down, a small smile, playing on his lips. His long black hair was braided down his back in its usual style. God how I wanted to put flowers in it. “Yes, Charles?” I asked, wiping my wet face on my sleeve to dry it. “ We’re low on food, I was about to go hunting and wondered if you wanted to tag along.” I felt my heart leap in my chest...wait why did it do that. No time to ponder, say something, you idiot! I mentally screamed at myself. To him, I gave a smile. “ That sounds great, let me grab my satchel ...mount up and I’ll be there in a second.” I turned and raced towards my tent, bounding across the camp towards it. Inside, I scrambled to find the satchel, snatching it up when I had finally found it. Reaching where the horses were, I greeted my own. A Hungarian halfbreed with a white and grey speckled coat. Arthur had stolen it from a rival bandit gang and so in his honor, I named the horse Morrigan. She was a beauty. She neighed softly as I unhitched her from the hitching post and mounted her. I steered her towards Charles where he was, mounted on his ever so faithful Taima. I slowed Morrigan down so that I was able to ride beside Charles. “ I found a good spot near a lake in Strawberry, won’t have to move around too much there, just wait for the animals to come to take a drink.” I nodded, patting Morrigan on the side of her neck while I listened to him. “ Sounds good enough to me but let’s try to take a route around Valentine...After that whole thing there, best to lay low.” Charles made a noise. “ Since when have we ever laid low?”  I shook my head with a smile. “ Got me there.” I toyed with the reins in my hands as we rode on, a bit of chit chat here and there. Charles was more of a stoic kind of person, I didn’t mind it. Besides after Sean would talk my ears off, It was nice to just sit with Charles around the campfire in silence. I liked being near him. We rode on, past Valentine towards the small town of Strawberry, where it lay tucked between mountains and forestry. Before long, we made it to the spot Charles had found. Sliding off Morrigan, I fastened her reins to a nearby tree and took down my bow, along with the quiver of arrows that I had stored on Morrigan. Charles hitched Taima nearby as well, his bow in his hand. “ You ready?” he asked. I grinned. “ Let’s go .”

........................a Few hours Later...................

‘We should make camp, the sun’s nearly set.” Charles suggested, squinted at the changing sky above. I hauled the bag of meat onto Taima, securing it tightly onto the horse. I glanced over at Charles as he spoke, nodding. “ Suppose so, I don’t know about you, but I could eat.” After finishing with Taima, I headed over to Charles, where we picked out a good camping spot. I helped pitch the tent and stored my bedroll inside it next to Charle’s. While I did that, Charles was already working on a fire and dinner. The smell of roast rabbit filled the night air. My stomach grumbled. I was starving. Seating myself down near the fire, I retrieved the eagle feather I had found while hunting. It was stunning. I wanted to braid it into my hair, I had seen others do so and I thought it looked nice. The only thing was, I never learned how to braid. Between being on the streets and the business in Blackwater, not to mention Valentine, I hadn't got the opportunity to ask the girls to teach me how to. I fussed about with my hair, creating an awful mess as I attempted to braid my white streak. My face grew red in embarrassment as I realized that Charles was watching me. His dark eyes, flickering against the light of the flames. They were dazzling. That soft smile graced his plump lips, they looked so .....sweet. I abandoned the attempts to braid my hair then and helped myself to the now cooked rabbit, digging into the meal. The flames crackled as we ate, in the distance somewhere, an owl hooted. It was Charles who then broke the silence. “ You did good today, getting real good with that bow.” His voice low and soft. Smiling, I looked towards him. “ I doubt I’ll be as good as you Charles, but thank you...” I trailed off, my own emerald eyes gazing into his, wandering over the features of his face. Another soft smile from Charles.  Finishing my half of the rabbit, I threw the scraps into the woods a little ways away from camp before returning. I searched my bag, pulling out a small carved comb so that I could at least fix what I had done to my hair. I sat near the fire, enjoying the warmth as I untangled the knots that I had created. Nearby, Charles had his knife out, carving a bit of wood. I watched the light of the flames flicker over his dark skin as though he was glowing. Some hair covering his face as he leaned forward to look down at the carving in his hands. After I had managed to get most of the knots detangled, I returned my comb to its bag before stretching, letting out a yawn. Charles glanced up as I did, studying me. “I’m going to head to bed, You staying up for a bit?” I asked as I plopped down on my bedroll, removing my boots before covering myself with a thick woolen blanket. His head dipped forward as a nod and leaned forwards to prod a log in the fire with a sharpened stick. I rolled onto my side, head facing my side of the tent. I closed my eyes, It had been a tiring day. I dozed off for a bit but opened my eyes when I finally heard Charles enter the tent. My heart was suddenly racing. He was so close. I could smell the smoke of the fire on him. Warm and comforting..just like him. I could hear him rustling around the tent, my eyes locked firmly on the canvas of the tent.  A warm hand touched my shoulder, ever so gently before it was removed. Now I could feel hands in my hair, moving about. What was he doing? His hands felt so nice in my hair, smoothing it out and playing with it. It was comforting... warm.  I pulled the blanket around me tighter and fell asleep with his hands in my hair. 

Morning came and the smell of coffee woke me from my sleep. Blinking my tired eyes and rubbing them with the back of my hand, I crawled out of my tent. When I reached to scratch the side of my head, my fingers brushed against a braid. I took it and pulled it towards my face, gazing at it. My white streak had been braided with the feather I found. Remembering the night before, I recalled Charles’ hands within my hair. That must have been what he had been doing. “Morning.” He greeted me and I took the braid in my hand. “ You did this? It’s wonderful...thank you.” One of his sweet smiles graced his face as I thanked him. Seeing that smile made my heart race in a way I didn’t think was possible.

to be continued?

[le-petitmort]

Part II – This thing is about to be a thing

In one-point-four seconds I came to the realization that I am quite literally…the dumbest motherfucker ever. First, I never got her digits. Second…I never got her digits. Disgraceful. Where was my situational awareness? It was akin to a scrawny defender putting pressure up court on the opposing team’s guard, not paying attention and running smack dab into a pick set by a seven foot chiseled like a bronze formed by the hands of Donatello, NBA center. Basketball metaphors…get used to them.

Anyway, it knocked the wind out of my sails. The reason being is that I had formulated this grandiose plan for her to make the first move beyond the first move. To engage the conversation. Open the forum. Get the small talk out the way. Allowing me to pitter patter and tiptoe my way past the threshold of awkwardness and straight to the glory road of getting to know her intimately.

By intimately, I’m not talking about straight to boom, boom, out go the lights carnal skullduggery complete with passionate wet kisses, heavy petting and cock to pussy communication. I was angling for dinner first. Not wine, dine and sixty-nine dinner either. I had it built up in my head that I was going to treat this one like a lady. Later on, I could whisper filthy invitations in her ear that would make her coo, as my hand deftly slid up her thigh towards paradise. Getting to that point would be the hard part. Or maybe not.

Maybe, I had put this particular pussy on a pedestal. Perhaps she was a cum guzzling cock whore who jumped bed to bed trolling for fat cock in the ocean of fuckery that is Brooklyn?

Mayhap, she was one of those chicks who secretly delved into her passionate side by stroking the kitty by the light of her iPhone to kinky images on tumblr. Trolling for virtual cock with selfie side boob action, a toothy smile of seduction and a user name like…say…wantonbabygirldreamsandtequilamemories.

Perchance, all that was completely off base and she was raised right by her parents. A pristine catholic girl with of heart and mind of gold, devout in her love of our lord and savior Jesus Christ who would be spending good Friday getting ashes thumbed on her forehead…or whatever it is Catholics do on that religious day. I’m agnostic so, I have zero idea and I highly doubt she’s Ms. Goodytwoshoes since I had already noted in passing that she likes a smoke and a cocktail in the evening. Plus, she wears those fancy stocking that scream “unwrap me Daddy and see the present beneath”.

Let’s get back on point. This is how much I’ve thought into her. The epitome of pussy on a pedestal syndrome. Now, we’ve had an actual conversation. Albeit, a very short conversation. Brevity is sometimes good…except when you don’t get the digits.

The face to face was going to have to happen. Overcoming my fear of ineptitude and delving into my inner rico suave. A little more toned down though, than an unbuttoned white shirt to the navel, smooth talking lothario schtick. But, more than simply me. Yep, this girl has me all sorts of fucked up.

You’re probably wondering, “what’s with all the self-loathing, dude?”. I admit it’s got to be a bit of a turn off so, here’s the back story. No, I am not a virgin who sprawls across the couch in my jockey’s eating flamin’ hot Cheetos whilst penning dirty poems to lewd images on tumblr under a username such as…bigdongdaddysearchingforhootchiecocksluts. I’m also not the kind of man who walks into a room, drawing in beautiful, leggy, big busted vixens like steel to a magnet. I’m somewhere in the middle.

A relationship failure who gets too wrapped up in his work. Which can come off as neglectful to a significant other. But, I’ve had a plan since I was eighteen that I’d be retired on a beach in Mexico by the time I was forty, with my gorgeous wife and two adorable children playing in the sand as I sip a corona and reminisce about all the good times.

You see, I like plans. I don’t like flying by the seat of my pants. Life is analytical. Meant to be linear with a point A, B, C and onward. Peaks and valleys are for the weak. Which is why, when I first spied my dream girl promenading down the crooked sidewalks of Williamsburg, I stopped the initial urge to go in for the kill and went with formulation of a process. Fucking up in love multiple times will do such things to a man.

The plan was off though, for now. I wasn’t going to be able to slap another ”call me, maybe” note on her morning coffee to pique interest. That was already done. Mutual admiration and quite possibly mutual eye fucking were already in play. She had said it herself! Not so much in those words. But, I’d been noticed. How had I not noticed her noticing me? I really am daft at this shit…or maybe I need a lightning bolt of confidence in my life?

Is this moment it? Is that all I needed was the knowledge that there was a connection from across the room that I hadn’t felt? Was there truly distant simpatico? Was kismet closer than the vacuum of my unsure, fearful mind? Do we already have a thing for each other?! Holy fuck. These are the questions whirring in my head at 5 AM. Just like the ceiling fan spinning full speed above my bed. I’m one hundred twenty miles an hour of jubilation and angst. As much as I pride myself on a linear lifestyle, I climb to the mountain summit and hurl myself into a canyon of doubt with every passing second spent thinking about her.

I can hear the city coming to life. The traffic beginning to snarl. The metal clank of bodega doors rolling open. A single bird stationed on it’s perch singing.

I should be ambling into my office, coffee cup in hand starting my so-called work day. Instead I’m counting the minutes before I jump in the shower, clean up and go finish business with my future paramour. Yes sir, I’m forcing myself to project a dose of swagger. Laying here, mean mugging like an NBA power forward who just euro-stepped his way to a thundering game-changing dunk. I’m a winner, baby! Shelve that pitiful shit, bruh. You da man! Get fuckin’ fired up!

Which is why I basically pimp walked my way to the coffee shop when the time came for action. Outfit: casual. A hoodie from my alma mater, jeans with a strategic knee rip, green Nike air force ones on my feet. I popped straight through the shop door towards the familiar blonde at the counter like I owned the place. Ya boy iz in da house! Woof, woof, woof!

“Large straight black and a skinny latte, please.” I winked, expecting she’d question why I was getting two drinks instead of one.

She went straight to brewing and giving me the inflated total. “Twelve even. Name, please.” Ok, babe, maybe you don’t understand that lives are about to change in mere minutes. A whole cosmic galaxy is about to open up. Astronomers like Neil Degrasse Tyson will be talking about the cavalcade of stars falling out of the sky because two lips met at an overpriced local coffee shop in Brooklyn. Guess I’m getting ahead of myself there.

“Stephen…with a P.” I responded.

Apprehension and giddiness course through me. Giddiness seems unmanly but, my excitement isn’t. I’m bouncing heel to toe as our drinks magically appear before me. I check my phone one last time. Knowing her punctuality, we are currently at T minus 2 minutes and counting. Ps. I am not a stalker…to reiterate.

I grab the steaming drinks and fly towards the door, nearly tumbling over a shorty with her nose buried her phone. No time for apologies, I must nail down a cozy table on the sidewalk. I want this first meeting to be something the entire five boroughs of New York stops in awe to witness.

But, there she is coming through the door just as I reach for it. The coffees are in one hand and I can feel them about to crash right into her. I swivel my wrist, going for the save. No fucking way am I flinging a skinny latte across the object of my forever affections. Fuck no. Shit. There it goes. Whoa…steady as she goes. Eye widening panic! Boom goes the dynamite! My fingers grip the cups harder and safely held. Crisis averted.

Cool and casual like that. “Here you go Iona.” I handed over her drink with a smile.

“Iona?” She looked at me puzzled.

My eyes darted, alarmed. “Uh, yesterday…when you made your order here. Uh…you told the cashier your name was Iona?” Now it was time for my own quizzical. “Your name is Iona…right?”

She blew out a breath. The kind that shoots upward, blowing a dangling strand of her bangs from her rolling at being caught in a fib eyes. “That’s a thing I do. To sound exotic.” She gave a quick shake of the head and nodded to the counter. “I change it up every day. Glenda, Marion, Billie Jean...Iona. Whatever I’m feeling like that day.”

Her hand casually reached for a true introductory shake. “My real name is Tuesday…and I already know you’re Stephen…with a P.”

My smile was contemplatively wry. “Isn’t Tuesday an exotic enough name already? I mean…I’ve never met a Tuesday.”

“Yeah, well, a girl has to have many faces. One must stay intriguing and beguiling.”

“I’m intrigued and beguiled.” I shot back. Somehow feeling comfortable in my skin for a change.

The corners of her lips curved. “Mutual.”

Relaxation immediately struck. My entire being at ease. A wordless infinity.

“But, I’m sorry Stephen. Much as I’d like to sit down and get to know you, I have to be to work in five minutes. I’m all about a strict schedule.” Nice! She really is perfection.

“I completely understand that.”

Tuesday fished a hand into her oversized tote, withdrawing a business card which she handed over. “I neglected to leave you my number last night. I was a little jittery over it all…well...you know.” Our eyes locked. Mesmerizing. “Will you call me for dinner?” She questioned as if there was some sort of doubt.

“Absolutely.” I opened the door, leading her through. Two fingers steadied at the small of her back. Feeling a response as Tuesday’s back comfortably adjusted.

She turned to me on the street, one last parting moment.  Words breaking apart the sweetest lips I’d ever laid eyes on. “Thanks for latte. I like a man who gets me coffee in the morning…cliché, I know.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Tuesday paused, giving thought to one last message. “Just so you know…I don’t do personal calls or texts during the work day. So, don’t bother. I’m married to my career. I have a plan.”

I gave the thumbs up. Fucking perfection.

-bart 4.20.2019

[curiosity-killed]

backstage

pure self-indulgent ballet AU fluff

Warnings: none Pairing: Shallura Word count: 3367

After the accident, he stayed away for so long because he thought it would hurt too much to see how much he’d lost. The moment he steps back into the studio, though, Shiro knows his fear was for nothing. It’s been years, and he is out of practice. His developpés aren’t as high, his leaps as long. When he gets done with class, his whole body is sore. But the joy that bubbles up in his chest like champagne – that is still exactly the same. Life is a little more vivid when he’s dancing, like everything is a little more real, a little more felt. His very soul sings. So when Allura asks him to help with the soloists, he’s happy to agree. He’s grown to like teaching, and it’s nice to give back to the academy. It’s also a good excuse to spend more time in the studio – and with Allura.

Lance and Pidge have grown so much since he danced with them that it’s a little disorienting to work with them. They’ve both become beautiful dancers, skilled beyond what he could have guessed when they were in middle school. Some things, though, haven’t changed.

“Shiro! Look!” He turns from his phone and blanches. Both Pidge and Lance wear blinding grins – it’s just that the former is upside down. Pidge hangs from Lance’s flexed arm by her knee, beaming. Shiro’s heart jolts. One wrong move and their Sugarplum Fairy is going to be in the hospital with a concussion. It’s his job to tell them to knock it off. On the other hand, though, it’s an impressive lift. Part of Shiro wants to try it out himself, and the other part is already thinking of how it could be incorporated into choreography. He’s seen something similar before on Instagram but never considered it an option in their studio. He settles on a compromise. “Lance, set her down – carefully!” he says. “We’re working on Nutcracker right now, not contemporary.” They give matching pouts but do as told, just in time for Allura to walk in. She catches the moment Pidge’s feet touch the ground and shoots Shiro a questioning look. He shakes his head slightly and mouths ‘later.’ She’s smiling as she turns to set her notebook down on the bench and start rehearsal. After one of the evening rehearsals, they wind up sitting on the floor together, sharing scars. Shiro’s is the more obvious, of course, but he can’t help wincing in shared pain as Allura tells him about her hip.

“It’s okay,” she says when she catches his expression. She stops herself and shakes her head slightly. “I mean, it’s not – it was awful when it happened. It felt like my whole body had betrayed me. But now, I don’t mind as much. I still get to dance, even if it’s not the way I once did. And I’ve grown stronger in ways I didn’t know I was weak. I don’t mind it so much anymore.” She says it with a gentle smile, as if she knows what Shiro was thinking. They’ve known each other for so long, she probably does. He can’t imagine her without dance. For years, she’d been the shining star of their studio, and she’d had such plans beyond their little city. Just thinking of the agony she had to feel at having her dreams brought down around her by some ice and an unlucky fall is nearly unbearable. It had to have been so much worse for her. “And now I get to dance with you again,” she adds. “It could have been much worse, in all.” It’s hard to believe he could ever make up for her loss, but the softness in her eyes when she looks at him almost makes Shiro believe it. Tech week comes before he’s ready, and the week itself is chaos. After it’s over, tech week always seem to be glazed in a golden highlight, and he’s surprised by how insane the week is. Neither Lance nor Pidge is the fussy type, and Shiro finds himself pleasantly surprised by how well they behave. He knows they’re more mature than they act when they’re allowed to let loose, but it’s still heartwarming to see them take on roles as leaders within the studio. More than once, he finds Pidge helping out with costumes backstage, and he even catches Keith and Lance working together to corral some of the younger kids. Keith spots him and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he turns back to their task. If Allura rests, it’s only in blinks. After receiving a text from her at two A.M. about the show, Shiro resolves to talk to her, but it’s hard to get a word in edgewise during rehearsal. There’s a lot of pressure on her, he knows; it’s the first winter since she took over the studio from Alfor, and the Nutcracker is a holiday tradition. Expectations are high, and if it doesn’t live up to them, the studio will suffer. Unlike a new show, people have a set image when it comes to this one. As Shiro’s mom used to say, people are a lot quicker to pick up on mistakes when it’s something they’ve seen a hundred times before. For Allura’s sake, the show needs to go perfectly. He picks up extra hours to help relieve some of Allura’s workload. He can’t do it all, he knows, but he can take care of things like paperwork and expense reports so she can focus on the show itself. If he winds up getting less sleep than he did in college – well, it’s only one week. He’ll manage. It works until Allura catches him on the Friday of tech, dark shadows under his eyes and double-shot in hand. She cocks an eyebrow, glancing between him and the coffee. “I’m fine,” he protests preemptively. “You need to sleep, Shiro,” she scolds. “If you run yourself down like this, you’ll get sick.” It’s a pretty obvious pot and kettle situation, and when he looks pointedly at the thermos in her hand, she flushes. “Fine!” she relents. “But only this time.” He grins and salutes with his travel mug, as if either of them actually believe that. Allura suppresses her smile only poorly. On the morning of the Saturday shows, Shiro finds himself crouched in the crossover reassuring Hunk. Their Snow King, it appears, has gotten cold feet. “What if I mistime it? What if I go too late and Shay gets hurt or go too early and she’s not ready,” he says. “Or if my grip isn’t right and she falls or – or –“ “Hunk.” He meets Shiro’s eyes with a startled look, as if he had forgotten Shiro was even there. Given how quickly Hunk’s mind works even when it isn’t fueled by anxious energy, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs. “And listen. You’ve practiced this for months. You and Shay have done every step in this pas a hundred times over. Today, tonight – it’s no different. Your body knows the steps, knows how to do all the lifts and turns. You could do this in your sleep.” Hunk’s expression doesn’t look totally convinced; he side-eyes Shiro a little worriedly. Still, he exhales and gives a shaky little nod. With a sniff, he wipes at the tears under his eyes and gives another nod. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, I – I just–” Shiro wraps his arm around Hunk’s shoulders and pulls him in for a partial hug. “Don’t worry about it, Hunk,” he soothes. “Everybody gets nervous. The fact that you keep going even when you’re scared just makes you brave.” There’s another sniff, and Hunk dunks his head. Shiro shifts his arm to gently rub circles into Hunk’s back. He’s always been the most anxious of the students, but he’s always pushed through, too. Shiro really does admire that about him. “Thanks Shiro,” he mumbles. “Of course, buddy,” he says. He gives Hunk’s shoulder one more squeeze. “Now come on, don’t want frozen toes out there.” Hunk laughs at that, a startled bubble of noise, and Shiro smiles in triumph. He helps Hunk up and leaves him to finish warming up. Backstage, it’s a madhouse of snowflakes and dolls in the middle of warming up. The matching tutus are interspersed with bright colored shrugs and striped legwarmers, and Keith stands out like a scarlet stoplight. From what Shiro can see, he appears to be in the middle of some sort of contest with one of the students that Shiro doesn’t know very well – James, by the name emblazoned on the back of his jacket. For a moment, Shiro debates breaking them up. They really don’t need any raised tensions on show day, and they definitely don’t need someone pulling a hamstring because they were forcing a heel-in-hand stretch. “You know, if we planned ahead, we could have quite a pas de deux with those two next semester.” He hadn’t heard Allura step up beside him, but he’d felt the warmth of her proximity. He looks over with a raised eyebrow, trying to see if she’s serious. She meets his gaze and gives a little shrug. “Think Violente but less peppy,” she offers. Her hair’s pulled up in a bun, the kind of sleek look that she’d do in two minutes flat before class back when they danced together. There’s no hairspray this time, though, and little wisps curl like frost against her cheeks. With the house lights backlighting her, she is luminous. “Or War, from Coppelia,” Shiro muses, turning back to the teenagers. In the time he was looking away, some conclusion must have come between the two; their legs have both returned to the ground, and James turns away from Keith with a dismissive hand gesture. Behind him, Keith looks a little smug. When he catches Shiro watching, though, a flush turns his cheeks pink and he quickly looks away. “I’ll go check on James,” Allura says. “Why don’t you check on Keith?” He gives a little salute, already headed over. Keith sees him coming and wrinkles his nose, as if expecting a lecture. Instead, Shiro reaches over to ruffle Keith’s hair; he has the entire first act to hairspray it back into place. “Shiro,” Keith whines, knocking his hand away. “You ready?” Shiro asks. Keith shrugs, nonchalant. He’s always been small, and that doesn’t seem likely to change, but he’s grown a lot in the last three years. It’s like all that anger and fear had somehow condensed him, pulled into something tightly wound and ready to spring. Now, though, it’s relaxed to let him settle and fill out into a confident young man and leader. “Sure,” he says. “Romelle and I’ve done it a hundred times.” The contrast with Hunk makes Shiro smile a little. He ignores that in favor of giving his best friend a little grief. “You two do make a good couple,” he remarks. “Lot of chemistry there.” “The height helps,” Keith says, oblivious. “Couple years ago, I would’ve been too short for her.” “But now you’re a perfect match,” Shiro continues. He can see the moment Keith catches on; he straightens slightly and his eyes narrow just-so. Grinning, Shiro presses a little further. “You know Arabian has a history of getting couples together,” he points out. “Zethrid and Ezor, Colleen and Sam, even Zarkon and Haggar…” “You and Allura,” Keith chimes in. Shiro stammers, caught off-guard. He should’ve known better, but he wasn’t prepared for Keith to retaliate. Now, his fumbling just makes it more embarrassing; he can feel his cheeks heating up scarlet. “Well, it doesn’t always work that way,” he finishes lamely. “Mhm,” Keith says, a little smug. “Sounds like it’s not the role after all.” In lieu of a better response, Shiro knocks their shoulders together and lets it go. Keith grins. They’re quiet together for a few moments, watching the little kids file up from the dressing rooms in their satin dresses and little suits. The adults are already up in the wings, coupled up, and Shiro catches sight of Sam and Colleen Holt across the way. He lifts his hand in a wave, and they both beam as they wave back. “You know, you could’ve done it this year,” Keith says. Shiro looks over, a little startled by the non sequitor. Keith isn’t looking at him; he’s shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and popped one foot forward in a half-hearted calf stretch. “Even if you didn’t want to do Cavalier or whatever, you could’ve done Snow or Arabian still,” Keith continues. “Russian, even.” Shiro cants his head, considering. Keith’s not wrong; though Shiro’s out of practice, he could have pushed himself enough to do one of the variations at least. He’s done all of them enough times that he can still mark the choreography in his dreams. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But I’d rather ease back in than stress myself out trying to get up to that level so soon. Anyway, you guys deserve the roles you got. I wouldn’t want to take one of them away from you out of some weird seniority.” There’s also a part of him that would feel wrong about dancing any of the duets while Allura was forced to watch from the wings. He’s danced with others before, and he loves ballet for more than his partners. But Allura is special. If he were to come back to his home studio to perform now, after everything, he would want to share it with her. He opts not to tell Keith that. “I should go check in with Ro,” Keith says, straightening up. “She wanted to go over opening again.” Beyond them, past the bright lights of the stage, Shiro can hear the overture start. The audience is hushed and the wings filled only with whispers. Excitement prickles across his nerves like little drops of light. “If I don’t see you before, I know you’ll do great,” he says. “Just remember to breathe and not rush.” “Yeah, yeah, patience,” Keith interjects, teasing. He’s smiling, though, and Shiro knows he isn’t actually annoyed. Reaching out, he gives Keith’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Merde,” he says. Keith replies with his hand on Shiro’s arm and a smile, and then they separate. Now that it’s showtime, Shiro doesn’t have an official station. The volunteers and parents have commandeered the quick change area, and the wings are cleared of everyone but crew and dancers. He helps where he’s needed backstage and watches Arabian from the wings, cheering when Keith and Romelle finish the grueling dance. Keith grins as he enters the wing, and Shiro tugs him into a big hug, sweat and all. For the rest of the show, though, he finds himself watching the TV in the crossover. It’s quiet and still, and he’s out of the way of the people who are actually working here. They’re in the middle of Waltz of the Flowers when Allura finds him. “Are you hiding?” she asks. He turns to her with a laugh, a little startled. He hadn’t heard her enter. "Just trying to stay out of the way," he admits. "I'm not used to not having a job." Allura breathes out a laugh and walks over to join him. She bumps her shoulder into his arm gently and smiles. "It does leave you at a bit of a loss for what to do," she agrees. On the TV screen, Dewdrop twirls across stage in a series of pique turns that culminates in a back-breaking arabesque as the corps re-enters. "She's grown so much this last year," Allura remarks. "They all have, really. I'm so proud of how they've stepped up this year." "They've had a great role model to lead them," Shiro says, resting his hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him with a smile that's soft and intimate and sets something warm unfurling in his chest. If he leans a little more into where their arms touch, there's no one here to tell. Onscreen, the waltz comes to an end in a flurry of swirling pink tutus and the crowd erupts in applause as they dance offstage. It grows quiet, then, anticipation hushing the audience both in the seats and in the wings. Pidge and Lance step from the shadows in graceful unison, as if they were formed of the very same essence. The smiles they wear aren't the giddy grins of the younger dancers but something a little subtler, almost regal. Beside him, Allura lets out a little sigh. It’s half contentment and half something like wist. Looking up at the TV, there’s no envy in her expression but perhaps something like nostalgia. Remembering the last time she danced it, perhaps, or maybe the last time she walked across that stage as something other than a teacher. On a whim, Shiro offers out his hand. Allura looks up, surprised. He smiles. “C’mon,” he offers. “It’s been ages,” Allura protests. “I probably can’t even do most of it.” Shiro shrugs but doesn’t drop his hand. “So it’ll just be for us,” he says. “There’s no audience here.” For a moment longer, it seems she really will say no. Then, she relents with a little smile as she sets her hand delicately over his and steps into a sous-sus to match Pidge’s on the TV. Her leg unfolds to ninety degrees instead of the high developpé onscreen, and her tennis shoes squeak against the floor as he turns her in a promenade. When she goes to pirouette, the sole sticks against the marleyed floor, and they both have to stifle laughter. It’s no performance for the history books or even for the stage. It was never meant to be. It’s only for the two of them. The old familiar steps look a little different now than they did six years ago when they last performed them. The way their bodies move through them has changed, but they meet each other in the middle and gently reacquaint themselves. They’ve each grown while apart, but it seems they grew in the same directions; moving together comes as easily as if they were born to it. The last lift turns into more of a hug than any real step, and Allura is laughing softly as Shiro spins her around with her arms extended and face tilted toward the light. Her delight sets a smile over his lips, enchanted. As the music softens to a close, he lets her slip carefully down through his arms till her feet touch the ground. Her arms follow, settling around his shoulders. One hand just barely brushes through the short hair at the nape of his neck. There’s a flush warming her cheeks, and her eyes are lit with the blue of the crossover lights. Curls have escaped her bun and fall gently against her cheeks. Neither one of them makes a move to separate. Allura’s hand slides forward to cup his jaw, her head tilting slightly. She glances up at him just once, as if to ask permission. He gives it freely. It’s a gentle kiss, nearly chaste. Her lips are soft and he can feel the bite of her chapstick on his own – mint and beeswax, the kind she’s always worn. His hand spreads against the low of her back, pulling her closer to him, and hers curls in his hair. Her thumbtip brushes against the edge of his scar, sending a little shiver through his skin. They separate just briefly and only so far as to let them both catch their breath. “Thank you, Takashi,” she murmurs. “You never have to thank me for anything,” he answers, leaning back in. The music of Lance’s solo starts, and Shiro knows they should watch. He’s been working hard for this, and they should be there to cheer both him and Pidge on in their moment in the spotlight. They will – in a moment. For right now, Shiro lets himself ignore the TV and the stage and the audience far beyond. The only star he needs is right here in his arms.

[hesthekingofsomewhere]

“This is why mom doesn’t fucking love you” with Jack and Race (platonic)

I added smalls as a third sibling! Heres the thing on AO3, or read below!

The Larkin kids were engaged in the biggest prank war of all time. Race, of course was the one who started it, and after dunking all of Small’s clothing in pink paint, he deserved retaliation. Smalls, being the baby of the family, easily enlisted Jack to help her out. Small’s revenge came in the form of filling his sheets with applesauce, prompting Race to stuff his applesauce-covered bedding into Jack’s backpack. From there, all hell broke loose.

The next 3 weeks were a living hell. Everyday at least one person would be woken up by a prank or not woken up at all due to a missing alarm clock. Breakfast was equally prank filled, usually food replacements or general nonsense. The school day would usually have one or two pranks between Race and Jack, as Small’s went to a different school. After School was chaos. every minute was spent either planning, executing, or receiving pranks. Medda made them promise not to do anything during family dinner time, and for the most part they listened. After the first week, trends started to emerge.

Jack’s pranks tended to come in the form of messing with Race’s (and later, Smalls’s) things. Covering his room with pictures of Shrek, filling his school binders with bee movie scripts, moving everything in Race’s room to the left about 3 inches. Most of Jack’s pranks were so meme-y it just made them laugh. His pranks weren’t harmful by any means, just annoying as hell.

Race’s pranks weren’t exactly pranks, they were more just scaring the shit out of his siblings. Hiding behind doors, in closets, car, lockers, as his siblings saw it: Race could potentially be anywhere. Even when they could see him, it wasn’t out of the question for him to have something else be the scare-er. Fortunately they had an idea of when they were going to be scared, as there was almost always a phone recording the whole thing.

Smalls liked pranks that were waged over the internet. Her first solo-prank was hacking into Race’s instagram and deleting all of his pictures, only to replace them with fantastic pictures of herself. She had so much fun with that prank she made the mistake of doing the same to Jack’s instagram, causing her to lose her alliance with him and turning the house into an all-out war zone.

The first day after the Smalls broke her alliance with Jack signalled the peak of the war. Smalls woke up with her entire room relocated to the front lawn. How Jack- she had to assume it was Jack, it had his name all over it- had managed to move every item of furniture from her room on the second floor to the yard without waking her up was a mystery, but not unbelievable. Smalls made eye contact with a neighbour who was fetching their morning paper. She looked down and realised Jack had also put her in a pair of god-awful cheetah print pyjamas.

“JACK KELLY-LARKIN, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME!”

Breakfast seemed very normal to begin with. Neither Jack nor Race seemed awake enough to plan any pranks, making it a perfect time for Small’s rebuttal. It was a prank she had set up a while ago, and it was time to strike.

“Smalls, can you grab the OJ?” Race asked from his slump on the table.

“Uh, there’s only the stuff from concentrate.” Smalls pulled out a pitcher of orange liquid from the back of the fridge.

“OJ is OJ.” Race gestured for her to bring him the jug. Smalls pretended to pour herself a glass of chocolate milk and watched Race and Jack pour themselves glasses of… juice? With impeccable timing the boys took simultaneous sips and simultaneous spit-takes. Smalls burst out into laughter.

“JESUS CHRIST, SMALLS.” Jack shouted, wiping his mouth.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST PUT IN MY MOUTH?” Race yelled.

“An artful combination of water and 7 KD cheese packets.”

“BOI.”

School at least took Smalls out of the equation, leaving only one prankster for each of them to worry about. Race found his first surprise of the day almost immediately, he opened his locker, only for hundreds of ping pong balls to fall out, spilling everywhere. It took probably 5 minutes for the locker to empty completely, while Race just watched in slightly-annoyed awe. Moments later he heard Jack scream, as a similar pile of fake tarantulas fell out of his locker down the hallway. The scream was enough to lure a teacher out of their classroom.

“Mr. Higgins-Larkin, would you care to explain?” The teacher asked. Race grabbed his books from his locker and slammed the door.

“Ask Jack Kelly-Larkin.” Race directed before running off to class. A voice echoed down the hallway.

“FUCK YOU, RACE!”

Lunch brought Race the mild surprise of his lunch being filled with an unusual amount of celery and literally nothing else. He didn’t even hate celery that much. As for Jack, no pranks came, and every second that passed left him more and more ready for a prank to come the next. Race was halfway through his celery when he got the first phone call. HE didn’t recognise the number, so, as any kid does, didn’t answer. He got 20 more calls from a variety of numbers over lunch, but resolved not to answer any, figuring it was one of Jack’s pranks. The phone calls continued to trickle in over the remaining classes. By the end of class Race’s voicemail was full. Eventually the curiosity got the best of him, and gathered his friends around to listen to them after school. Race opened the first message.

“ggrgraragragrghrajkargragrrrrr” was the entirety of the message. Race looked at his pals and opened the next one.

“blahahablalallallalal” That one sounded more like a dying sheep. One by one the messages were opened, all of them containing the same weird noises. What they were supposed to mean, Race had no idea, but it was weird as hell, and seemed like something Smalls would set up.

Jack got home first, and Race found him lying on the couch watching TV. He eyed his brother suspiciously for a moment, before sneaking upstairs to his room. He flicked on the lights, half-expecting his room to be covered in post-its notes or something, instead his room was just uncomfortably warm. Race jumped up and pulled the fan cord, and the ceiling fan started up, spraying confetti everywhere. It took all of his self-control not to murder Jack right then and there, no he had to wait until Jack got comfortable. According to his calculations, Jack would start falling asleep in about 10 minutes, he could never stay awake for more than 40 minutes while watching TV. In those 10 minutes Race prepared for his winning prank. And also got a broom to clean up this damn mess.

Race snuck down the stairs, completely silent approaching the spot where Jack was napping on the couch. He reached toward the coffee table, grabbing the remote and slowly turned down the volume on the TV, making the room entirely silent. Race fired his gun into the air, waking Jack with a start, and causing him to fall off of the couch.

“THIS IS WHY YOUR MOM DOESN’T FUCKING LOVE YOU.” Jack screamed, Race just laughed.

The prank war came to an end when Smalls broke the penultimate rule; don’t prank at the dinner table. To her credit, she didn’t do the actual pranking at dinner, it just happened to come to fruition then. Before dinner, Small’s had stolen Race and Jack’s phones, and redirected their numbers to herself. The havoc wrecked in the 5 minutes Small’s controlled their text convos was undeniable. At least for Jack, who received 36 phone calls over the course of the meal, and left his ringer on. Apparently, Small’s had sent a bunch of cryptic texts to Jack’s boyfriend, the result of which was many calls from concerned friends. Race’s boyfriends response was “lol k?”; they understood each other very well. Either way, Medda declared the official end of the prank war. It was terrifying fun while it lasted, and while all three siblings maintain that they won, only Race and Small’s knew the truth: Jack lost miserably.