#not only does their hair already look like food but the pretty colours and shininess and semi-transparentness makes it even more-

[steakout-05]

ok does anyone else think the hair in splatoon looks super chewy and yummy or is it just my 'tism. like. real seafood looks great and all but splatoon hair??? that shit looks scrumptious. if i met an inkling or an octoling irl i think the first thing i'd do is immediately try to eat their hair because holy shit it looks so CHEWY!!! they will be BALD because i EATED ALL THEIR HAIR!!!

[alavestineneas]

Glass and mirrors

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one. warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of mental illness, narcissism, blonde men who need therapy, unhinged women, people in shitty relationships and toxic industries word count: 4.6k PART TWO IS HERE

author's note: Hello and welcome to our small community of people who have fallen victim to the charming (and evil) blonde man! This fic is heavily inspired by the edits of models that pop up on my ticktock feed every day. Shout out to them and the talented editors who bless my eyes with their creations. As for YN this time, prepare to be on quite a ride because she, surprise-surprise, is evil! In my head, there has to be at least one victor who feels no remorse at all; they can't all be morally good (and relatively sane) people. Also, the obsession with beauty in this fic is, in fact, intentional, so bear with me. Feel free to comment or insult the author in the comments, but only if you are creative with it. Enjoy and see you in part 2!

In all of her short childhood, she always loved mirrors. Her grandma used to joke about it with her old friends while they shared lunch at the factory: ''That empty-headed child wants to do nothing but stare at herself all day.'' The women would laugh, their raspy voices making the glid, already filled with toxic fumes to the brim, hotter. YN didn't mind; she would pretend not to hear them, clinging to the machinery in front of her instead. She would get out of here sooner or later, and she'd see whose laughter would be left echoing all through the narrow streets.

She wasn't born to rot in this place like these people were; YN was sure of that. Not with a face like hers, with manners she taught herself from the bright magic box in their cramped commune apartment, where a few times a year the government played the show. It was supposed to be a punishment, YN reminded herself each time, but it didn't look like one. She watched the children eat more food than she had seen in a month and then cry on the stage in front of millions. She wouldn't cry if she was there, that was for certain. People die every day here, but none of them get to dress up in the jewels provided by the wealthiest people she has ever seen.

It was funny how they had all the money in the world and still chose to dress so horribly. Mismatched fabrics and smudged colours on their faces, like the colours of the lake near her house—the factories polluted it with dyes, turning the water green, purple, and sometimes even pink. That's how she got her old grey dress to be such a pretty lavender colour. It didn't matter that everyone at school laughed at her, even Miss Kyla; she was horrendously ugly anyway, her hair resembling the colour of unwashed underwear. YN wore her dress with pride, mimicking the voice of the funny multicolour-haired man on the screen, chatting with long o's and a's.

That's how she ended up here, on the first floor of the newly renovated training centre, with a drink in her freshly manicured hand. She had two hours before her stylists would need her again—a time designated for sleep, which she apparently so greatly lacks. YN doesn't care; she went without sleep for much longer than two days. Instead, she does what she loves the most—turns on a shiny screen and watches the golden letters appear: the 15th Annual Hunger Games.

It starts with reaping, as always, but YN skips that part—she doesn't like seeing herself in those dirty rags, although, as papers would later state, ''nothing could make this girl ugly, even if a potato sack was put on her body.'' She likes interviews better. Luckily, the wait is not very long; soon enough, her favourite host pops up, his hair shimmering with sea green.

''And now, our dear viewers, I am more than pleased to announce our next tribute from District 1—please let her hear how excited we are to meet her!'' His voice booms through the theatre as the crowd erupts into applause.

YN moves gracefully, a beaming smile on her face matching that of a host. Her gloved hands wave at the supposed people in front of her as if they were guests at her birthday party. But most importantly, dress. The one she chose herself, arguing over it with her stylist for the last few hours, the one that fitted her perfectly. Capitol enough to appeal to the audience, district enough to highlight that she isn't one of them—she is something new, undiscovered, and worth keeping an eye on. It's almost not a dress at all—the sparkling, sheer fabric of beautiful white, with stars gathering at her chest and bottom to finish the ''almost naked'' look. And the crowd goes crazy for it. People shout, and the splashes of the cameras blinding her create a new melody that is so unfamiliar to YN's ears. Admiration. The thing she craved for so long.

''Alright, alright,'' Lucky Flickerman smiles, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. ''We don't want to scare her off now, do we?'' He turns to her, a microphone in hand. ''What's your name, sweetheart?''

''YN Y/L/N. And I am afraid you can't scare me off, no matter how hard you try. The thing is, I am here to stay,'' she jokes, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.

''Oh, how I love your confidence! Now tell me—we heard you are a volunteer—the first in the history of District 1! Are there any special ties to the girl who was supposed to stand here tonight, or what's going on?''

''Well, I was dying to see you in person, of course—no pun intended.''

Oh, there weren't any ties to the girl, or the boy, for that matter. No, YN simply wanted to go at her peak chance of winning—countless years of secret preparation in the factory; working a night shift after school and full days of weekends; hours of studying every plant and animal known to mankind—all to ensure that she wouldn't waste her chance like most kids here did.

''That's an honour coming from your lips; we are happy to see you in the Capitol, Miss Y/L/N. Since you came here by choice, what strategy are you planning on using in the arena? Maybe something tied to your district's craft?''

''If you promise to keep this between us, I'll confess—I will use my charms to make everyone fall in love with me and watch them fight by promising the winner a kiss—and then I will take it from there.'' YN turns to face the lights, staring directly into the camera for a few seconds. The crowd laughs once more, some going so far as to cheer and whistle in excitement. ''But in all honesty, I think I have a fair shot—I would win in a day if it meant the unlimited supply of those amazing cupcakes with sprinkles on top.''

''Well, in that case, you should definitely get a good rest this night—you are not the only one who got your eye on them! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the Cupcake Games tomorrow, and don't forget to sponsor this lovely girl right here if you want to see her win! And now, a short word from our sponsors.''

Cupcake jokes are still funny to her, even after two years, although she got sick of them a week after her victory and was just as sick of all the titles papers came up with to fit her into the candy girl box. It served her well, for which she is grateful; the sponsors did send her a shitton of things, although mostly useless.

Next is the introduction of everyone else; YN doesn't care to look at it for more than just a few seconds, speeding it up to maximum. It's boring to no end—how do Capitolees watch it every year with such excitement? She stops to look only when her face appears on the screen, covered in crimson blood.

She counted six canons when she finally stopped to take a breath in and look at her surroundings. That was about right, although YN didn't count how many times she pulled a knife out of somebody's still-warm body and lurched into another nearby. The sand soaked up the blood fast, she noticed, stepping over the pile of what used to be her competitors and walking towards the cone-shaped something. Nobody in sight—each one of the ''better'' kids is now dead without a chance to kill each other, to kill her, and ''others'' will die like flies under the hot sun of what looked like a desert. YN noticed that some even left behind the given jackets; she collected them before stepping into the Cornucopia, claiming them as her own. Not everyone grew up in hot factories, she thought to herself, so they have no chance of knowing how cold it gets at night.

YN doesn't like how the uniform looks on her; the T-shirt hangs around her frame too loosely. It's evident that she didn't eat enough back then, but it was tolerable. The dried blood looked worse; with her stoic face and eye colour, the streams looked too grotesque, almost unserious; it didn't fit the look she was going for. Her hands itch to wipe it before YN remembers that it's non-existent now—the girl on the screen is just a recording. She forwards a little more, looking for the commentary of the first night from the hosts—their excitement and praise never get old—but hears knocking at her door just as she is about to press play. YN glances at the clock—it's too early for the prep team, so it must be someone else—and turns off the TV just to be sure she heard it right.

When the knocking continues, she shouts a quick ''Come in,'' after checking her reflection on the now dark screen. ''Ah, Maggie!''

''How many times do I have to repeat that my name is Mags, not Maggie? Not Mags with fangs either, to be clear. Just Mags.''

''But everyone calls you that! And I want to be special,'' YN whines, laying back on the sofa.

It's Mags. YN likes Mags. Mags is the only girl besides her on the victors' list. Mags is the one who is always down to eat lunch together or to watch the new collection in the magazines. She is funny and down to earth, and, most importantly, Mags doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

''Even more special?'' Mags smiles, opening the fridge to look for something edible. There isn't much; they both know that YN would never eat something to ruin her figure. ''I saw your photoshoot on the street today. It's beautiful.''

''Thank you,'' YN smiles. She doesn't remember which one of her campaigns was supposed to air today, but it doesn't matter. ''Are you here for the promo again?''

The curly-haired woman nods, not looking up from the shelves. ''I hate it. I wish they would just leave me alone, so I can go home and forget about all of this.''

YN is always weirded out by such comments from Victor from 4 but never says anything. Not everyone was born to be in front of the camera; if that were the case, her talent wouldn't be so special anymore. ''It's our job, Maggie. They'll never leave us alone.''

''I know.'' Mags sighed, planting her body on the sofa beside her.

They are different, but YN thinks it's better that way. They are the same age, both 20, and that's about the only thing that ties them together. YN watches as her friend's chest rises and falls as she stares at the ceiling, her long, curly hair in some type of twist. YN would never style it like that, but Mags doesn't ask, so she stares at her in silence, trying her hardest not to compare them. She knows what type of conclusion will sparkle in her brain, but she doesn't want to admit it. Mags is her friend, her only good friend, so something inside YN fights hard to leave her alone. It's an unusual feeling, almost foreign, but YN wants to make an exception. She thinks Maggie deserves it.

''Are you okay?'' the woman asks her, finally snapping out of her trance. ''You are less talkative than usual.''

''Oh, yeah—just a little tired from work, that's it.''

Work. It's not the type of work people can really get tired from, and if anybody thinks otherwise, they never worked a day in District 1. Sometimes, YN can still feel the burning cloud of steam hitting her face when she closes her eyes. The work she does in Capitol is child's play—photoshoots, interviews, promotional campaigns, and runways. She is the only one with this kind of hectic schedule, the only one who is interesting enough for the general public to want to see her everywhere they go. Multiple shows a day wasn't uncommon; photoshoots until five a.m. were basically her usual routine; she did so many of them that she never remembered the brand name for more than an hour.

''Well, I hope I don't interrupt your me-time,'' Mags notes. ''Panem knows you need it. ''

''You worry too much about me. Better tell me about how life is in 4—anything new?''

There is probably nothing exciting, but it feels nice to listen to somebody talk with such love for their home as Mags does. It's also a great opportunity. YN catches every subtle expression and every movement of her friend with attentive eyes, making sure to parrot them later. She noticed from the recording today that her speech misses a certain effortlessness.

-

Curl and twist, curl and twist—YN has learned the pattern by now, sitting in front of the gigantic mirror, surrounded by a team of stylists. Hair, make-up, nails, and toes—five people work hand in hand for her to appear for two minutes on the long podium. The backstage is loud, and a lot is going on—last-minute changes, alterations, and quick touch-ups. YN doesn't bother to look around; she closes today like a face of the collection, and after she is done with this podium, the day is finally coming to an end.

''Oh, YN, darling, here you are!'' The bald man in his forties appears on the horizon of her peripheral vision, clasping his unnaturally white hands together. ''How are you doing, my little star? Anything you need?''

She is irritated to no end; her team booked seven shows for her today; she hadn't had anything to eat in the past six hours; and the loud music makes her head throb. But she doesn't voice any of that—nobody really wants to know how she is feeling.

Just like she guessed, the man doesn't wait for her response. ''There have been some changes in the order today, sweetheart. Jenovia will be closing today, and you will walk in her dress instead,'' the man says, turning to face her styling team. ''Change the hair to fit, and take off the blue in her make-up—it won't match. Good luck!''

''Do what he says,'' YN announces, her mouth twitching just a little. She is furious. To have that blonde bitch Jenovia walk in the best dress of the collection YN inspired? Over her dead body. Or, should she say, over Jenovia's? She will figure it out but do so later. Now there are only four girls before her, so she needs to be ready.

''Three, two, one! Go, go!'' the stage coordinator shouts, opening the curtain for her.

Right and left, hip and hand, followed by the strong clicking of her five-inch heels. The music is even louder here, with the beets vibrating through the runway and pouring into her bloodstream. She doesn't pay any attention to the glass floor underneath her. Surprisingly, her training before games helped her model more than one could guess. YN doesn't see anyone but the blinding lights lining the podium—not that she needs to see the hungry faces of the spectators. It doesn't matter what piece of fabric covers her body; they are looking at who wears it. Final pose at the centre—no smile is her go-to. Hold and turn is the golden rule.

''Here you are!'' One of the seamstresses grabs her hand, pulling her into a small, curtained space with countless clothes on racks. ''Calio wants you to hold a purse for the backstage photo and lose the belt. Where the fuck is the golden belt?'' she shouts, searching for one. ''Wait here; I'll go find it,'' she finally announces, running away before YN has the chance to suggest anything.

YN looks around, carefully moving the laying rags with her foot. She mentally goes over the outfits labelled with names, rating them one by one, until her eyes stop on the white dress. The closing dress, the one she was supposed to model. Underneath it are velvety black high boots.

The idea comes to her mind quickly: she steals a needle from the nearby table and carefully places it inside the shoes, making sure it looks like an accident.

''Finally,'' the woman returns with a belt in her hands, oblivious to YN's half-smile. ''Put it on and go; they are already waiting.''

''Of course, thanks.''

YN isn't sure how much time has passed before she hears a scream, standing up from her place in the corner with a blanket around her exposed shoulders. Surely enough, Jenovia is on the floor, crying crocodile tears—a needle inside her heel deep enough to make a few of the girls around her gag.

''What the fuck happened?'' It's Calio, the boss here; he was ordering her around before.

''I don't know,'' all the blonde girl can manage before bursting into tears one more time.

''Well, can you walk?'' he asks, kneeling to take a look.

''No,'' Jenovia whispers, her hand holding her bloodied foot.

The bald man sighed, more annoyed than concerned. ''We need a replacement. You,'' he points at YN. ''Take it off and change into the dress. Quick!''

YN does what she is told in no time; she doesn't want to wait until Jenovia suddenly gets better or the man finds a better-suited girl to close. After a few minutes, she is almost ready; she only needs the lipstick to finish it off.

''We don't have time!'' the man roars, dragging her to the exit. ''Here!'' He puffs out her hair and adjusts the layers of fake pearls covering her neck. ''Three, two, one! Go, fucking go!''

And go she does. A few steps on the runway, and she discovers that lipstick is still in her hands. YN puts it in the pocket of the enormously large black coat that hides the gorgeous white dress underneath. Step after step, her long black boots draw patterns on the glass. She will have no choice but to buy them; YN doesn't care if it's stupid. They helped her, so she will have them.

It's time for the final pose: YN takes out the lipstick from her pocket and applies it with two swift motions, blowing a kiss to the camera. It will definitely be a hit with the photographers. YN throws one last look before turning around and returning to the curtained exit. On her way back, when the lights lower to follow her back, she can see a little clearer. In the sea of vibrant hair colours and clothes, the platinum-blonde hair and a simple black suit stood out too much not to notice. There is only one person who could afford to look so simple—YN knows it. An opportunity of a lifetime.

She makes another stop in the middle of the podium, right in front of his seat. The coat slides off her shoulders effortlessly, and YN catches it just when the fabric is about to hit the floor. The crowd goes crazy, clapping and whistling at her tricks, but YN has no wish to entertain them any further. YN pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting icy-blue ones, before turning away and finishing the show. There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one.

-

Since the last show, she has done fifteen more—day after day, opening and closing. Her little trick got her where she wanted to be, with more money than one person could need in a lifetime and nowhere to spend it. Even now, standing in the long hallway of the training centre, she wears nothing she bought herself; all are gifted, sent, or handed by the adoring fans. Like a rag doll, with no say in how she looks or what she does, YN hears everyone say that it was ''a price of fame''. She doesn't think so; she was told what to do long before she tasted real butter on her toast.

The sliding door to her apartment moves almost without noise. While most victors complain that the lock system reminds them of prison, YN is grateful to have it. The thought of some crazy fanatic waiting for her in the dark isn't the most pleasant one. The designer bag finds its place on the floor, soon joined by the coat—room service will clean it up later. The heels slide off her feet quickly, leaving bloodied marks on her skin, but YN doesn't care enough to do something about them.

''Forgive me for joining you without an invitation.''

YN turns around, her hands grabbing the keys in her hands tighter. She mentally goes over her means of escape or fight—a mirror could easily be broken and used as a weapon; if necessary, she could also grab a nearby ottoman. The man in the chair doesn't look too impressed with her thought process. His lips curve into a smile, blue eyes staring at her with undivided attention. A suit, not very different from the one he wore at her show, was a deep brown colour.

''Mister President,'' YN breathes out, lowering her hand.

Coriolanus Snow. Light, almost white hair frames his face like a halo, with his suit hugging his waist just enough to highlight the broad shoulders. YN saw him on TV a couple of times, but seeing him in person was something entirely different. It's like the air shifts around him and changes with his presence.

''I believe we met before,'' he humours her, his eyes shining with mischief.

The light knocking on the door doesn't leave YN any time to answer. She presses a button near it, fixing her hair before opening it. YN tries to look as composed as possible without betraying her nerves—why was he here? ''Yes?''

''The dinner, Ma'am.'' the room service declares, pushing a cart in front of her.

YN nods, even though she didn't order one. ''Leave it here,'' she says, gesturing to the place nearby. When the door closes and she is alone with the man in her room again, her heart skips a beat.

''I took the liberty of ordering; I hope you don't mind.''

Even if she did, she knew better than to say anything. Instead, YN watched as the man stood up and took the dishes from the cart, placing them on the coffee table, before turning to her once more.

''Please, have a seat.''

She does what she is told, sitting down on her king-sized bed—the chair is already taken by him—and waits for the blonde man to start speaking. He doesn't right away, choosing to pour a glass of wine for her and himself.

YN watches the dark liquor pour into the glass, swirling with each drop. She isn't hungry—she rarely was—and the soup he ordered looks more like vomit than a dish, but she still takes the spoon and carefully places it into her mouth. Her lipstick stains the silverware with colour, leaving a small circle right at the end—that's when the man finally decides to speak.

''Dare I say I am a huge fan of your work ethic? Everyone who I've spoken to is very satisfied with your,'' he pauses, searching for the fitting word, ''dedication .''

''Thank you, Mister President,'' YN replies with a polite smile before returning to her soup. She watches him only from the corner of her eye. The way he cuts his steak with his ringed fingers and the way he places a small bite in his mouth before his lips close. There is a subtle roughness in his movements, a power play of some sort.

He catches her gaze and, for a moment, is silent. ''You probably wonder why I am here in the first place, outside of the amazing steak they cook here, of course. The thing is, Miss Y/L/N, that you are popular not only with the general public but with people higher in power as well. One may even say they fell in love with the way you present yourself.''

''I am pleased to know that, Mr. President, but I am only doing my job as a victor.''

''Then you will understand the weight of my dilemma. Those people who have served Panem all their lives faithfully usually don't ask for much recognition; they work because they want to build a better future for all of us. So, when they do ask for a small favour or two, I am more than happy to satisfy them. But recently, all they ask for is you .''

''I believe I don't quite understand. They want to meet me?''

''You can phrase it like that, yes. For a night or two, of course, with all expenses covered.''

It's heavy, the understanding of what Mister President really implies. The thought of someone's hand roaming her body brings her dinner up YN's throat. ''Why?'' Her voice is shakier than she would like, but she is more focused on composing the rising anger than noticing it.

''I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do; I am greatly outnumbered. Unless,'' he starts but doesn't finish his sentence.

''Unless what?''

''Unless you are seen with me.''

His piercing blue eyes look at her, but there is nothing in them. Her chances are limited, and he knows it. There is something rogue in him beneath the veil of chivalry he offers. YN smiles at him. That's what this whole charade was about—he wants her. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the whole world, wants her.

''Of course, Mr. President. That's very generous of you.''

''Mister President is too official, don't you think, Miss Y/L/N? Perhaps we could find a more informal way of addressing each other?''

''Informal?'' YN asks, tilting her head to the side. If he wants her, he'll get her. ''What about Mister Snow?'' The buttons on her shirt are easy to manage—a few quick motions, and it slides off her shoulders onto the cream cover. ''Or, Sir Coriolanus?'' The pants are a little trickier, but YN learned that backstage, every second counts, so they soon also pool around her heels, the fabric hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The blonde man watches her intently, his eyes following every move of her hands. His legs are still spread wide on the lime-green chair as he slightly leans back. YN can't tell if he is enjoying her antics or not, but frankly, she doesn't care; she is enjoying it.  The way her shadow dances on the wall, the way the air shifts in the huge room, transforming it into a tiny stage. YN looks at him with mischief, with superiority, even. After all, she is the show here. Why not let Mr. Savior think it is for him?

''Come, Mister Snow,'' she says, throwing it in his face like a bone to the dog.

He doesn't have the haste to join her; on the contrary, he stands up painfully slowly. His tall figure almost seems to stretch as he raises, covering the floor lamp behind him fully. When he finally circles the table to stand above her, his presence is overwhelming. YN lets him stand between her legs, his unusually cold hand on her thigh.

''I prefer Coriolanus,'' he whispers in her ear, lowering himself enough to touch her ear with his velvety lips. He pulls away slightly, planting a kiss on her cheek instead. ''Have a most pleasant night, Miss Y/L/N.''

And then he walks away. YN watches as his figure disappears behind the sliding door before she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze instinctively finds her reflection in the nearby mirror; there is no reason to shine if no one watches her.

[penguintransporter]

Every You, Every Me (a Leon Goretzka story) chapter II

I know it’s been a while, but I re-wrote this part maybe seven, eight times, only to settle on something completely different. Hope you like it, and I apologise if it is a bit too long (you know me). Tell me what you think about it, every heart, message, and reblog means much more than you can imagine. It needs some editing, but I will get around to do it sometime later. 

Part I

Sofie rested her hands on her waist, overlooking the mountain of clothes piled on her bed — different shapes, colours, patterns and prints, interlacing and weaving in an incomprehensible bundle on top of her comforter. She didn’t know where to start, and for a moment, she wished she could wipe it away with a snap of her fingers, and be over with it.

She was tired after having a sleepless night, and she was hungry, but she had been putting it off for too long, and she knew it had to be done. 

Shaking her head a bit, Sofie picked up a pair of black, over-the-knee boots from the top of the pile — the soft leather feeling smooth against the skin of her fingertips. She remembered the day when she bought them, matching them with a strappy top and a mid-calf, satin skirt — cashing out the last cents of her scholarship money in the outfit, hoping to catch his eye.  

The confidence she felt when she made her way through the crowd in the outfit she couldn’t afford and with her makeup and hair immaculately done, trying to fit in with the people he invited to his birthday party — it all felt ridiculous and a bit childish in retrospective. The glances they shared across the room, the smile on his face when he opened the present she got him, the random touch of his fingertips against her bare back when he guided her to the bar, and the clearest of them all, the bitter taste in her mouth when he left with Yvonne — the girl he ended up dating for the next six months. 

As she watched his figure walk out with his strong arm around the pretty blonde in luxurious dress, Sofie knew that the best thing would be to just give up, as any sane person in her place would, but she just couldn’t bring herself to listen to her brain. Instead, she booked a hairdresser the next morning, dyeing her hair in lighter colour and waited for him to notice it, feeding on the crumbs of his attention and sticking to it like a moth to the flame. 

Yet, she was blind, diving deep into the pit of unrequited love, shedding the layers of her real self along the way, not thinking about consequences or the future.

Sofie breathed out a sigh before lifting up a dress from her bed — short and covered in sequins, and she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the mere thought of owning it, let alone wearing it. There was nothing wrong with the dress itself, but the cut, length and style of it, it was all, but something she felt comfortable wearing. Folding it gingerly, she glanced back at the clothes in front of her — realisation of how much she had changed herself for Leon hitting her like a train. 

Sofie knew better than that.

Sofie was about to throw the dress behind her, in the same pile with her overpriced boots when her phone buzzed loudly on her dresser, startling her. Dropping it back on the pile, Sofie made her way towards the device that was hidden among one too many notebooks and course books resting on the IKEA piece before picking it up and smiling at the name written across the screen. 

“You actually did it!” Elle screamed from the other side of the line causing the other girl to twist her lips and move her phone away from her ear for a second. If there was one distinctive separating the two of them, it was the different levels of their loudness at any given moment. “Turn the fucking camera on, and let me see it!” her best friend demanded — her voice still too loud for Sofie’s or anyone's comfort. 

“Language,” Sofie laughed, fumbling with her phone, “you are not on the pitch, Ellenore.” Sofie finally turned on the front camera, pulling a face at Elle as her friend squealed with happiness upon seeing her hair, or rather lack of it. “I guess you like it then,” Sofie muttered, patting the top of her head, feeling slightly embarrassed with the attention she was getting. 

“I love it,” Elle breathed out. “I was worried at first when you texted, but you have one sexy head, Sofie. How does it feel? Naked?”

“Light and cold,” Sofie responded with a shake of her head, “almost had a heart attack when I woke up yesterday morning and saw myself in the mirror.”

Elle laughed softly, adjusting her large bag across her shoulders as she walked along the small street that led to her apartment block - the red jacket with the Bayern Munich logo zipped all the way to her chin. 

“What’s the mess about?” Elle changed the topic, making Sofie turn her head away to look at the clothes and shoes strewn across her bed. 

“I’ve been—” Sofie paused to make herself some space before sitting down at the foot of her bed, “decluttering. Or something like that.”

Elle’s face dropped for a second, but she quickly masked it with a supporting grin that Sofie more than appreciated. If anyone knew about the heartbreak and the identity crisis that Sofie was going through, it was Elle. 

“Are you getting rid of everything?” Elle asked. “Will you sell it or give away?”

“I don’t know what to do with it yet, but I know that it has to go,” Sofie admitted. She felt the tears glaze her vision, but she quickly gave Elle a small smile, trying to stop herself from being too pathetic. “I’ve made such a mess out of my life, Elle,” she paused, giving herself a moment to bite back her tears, “I could have travelled half of the world with the money I spent on frills and sequins, and I hate frills and sequins.”

“I think you are being too hard on yourself, Sofie,” Elle said as Sofie stretched her legs in front of her, “and travelling half of the world is more expensive than you think. Unless you are someone who is comfortable wearing the same harem pants and baja hoodie for more than two and showering once a week,” she added with an innocent smile, and Sofie couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I am just disappointed that I let myself go this far,” Sofie admitted, focusing on the slippers on her feet - soft material worn out and discoloured. “Plenty fish in the sea, and I was pulling on the biggest catch. How silly of me.”

Elle was quiet as Sofie got up, making her way out of the room and towards the kitchen, closing the doors behind her. One thing was keeping herself busy with it, and completely different to stare at it and do nothing.

“Did you talk to him? Or Serge? They are back from Trentino, or at least that’s what I’ve heard from the girls at the training.” Elle stopped to unlock her apartment doors. 

Despite seeing that Elle was concentrating on twisting the locks, Sofie nodded, pouring some of the juice from the container into her glass. “I had a missed call from Leon on Tuesday,” she took a small sip of her drink, relishing the coolness trickling down her throat, “and I called back. I know I shouldn’t have,” Sofie whispered, rubbing at her eye with her free hand, placing her glass at the edge of the sink, “but he didn’t mention anything about coming back early. Then again, I didn’t ask either, maybe I should have. And why am I being so pathetic, it's not like we had something going on? It was me running after him...”

“Sofie,” Elle sighed quietly — her voice careful, “I know it’s not easy to deal with the heartbreak, and you shouldn’t keep it inside. I am here, you know that?”

Sofie nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness in her stomach despite the juice. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, “but, I hav—” Sofie stopped, running her hand across the top of her head, finding comfort in the simple action of touching it. “How was your training session?” she asked, changing the subject clumsily as the doorbell rang out throughout her apartment. Sofie’s stomach grumbled at the mere thought of eating lunch soon.

“Did you order food?” Elle smirked, “sushi? Noodles?”

“Indian actually,” Sofie replied, walking towards the doors through the small hallway before unlocking the massive doors, only to stop in her tracks — the smile she had prepared for the delivery person faltering as quickly as it appeared.

**

“You know, Serge,” Sofie grinned as she twirled the last remaining of her already cold tea in her cup, “staring at me won’t make it grow back any faster,” she spoke, downing the leftovers of her drink while grinning at her friend over the lip of her mug. He only laughed in response, and Sofie rolled her eyes playfully before glancing briefly at Leon.

Ever since Sofie welcomed them in her apartment, Leon had been acting strange, quietly sitting at the edge of her couch — leg bouncing as he glanced at his phone every few seconds. He wasn’t as talkative as Serge most of the time, but having him say only few words was not a common thing. Sofie felt that there was something on his mind, and that he was going through something, but she didn't know how to approach him without being too noisy.

“I wasn’t staring at all,” Serge replied, still grinning, “and if I did, it’s because it looks really good.”

“Do girls drop their panties for you all the time, Gnabry?” Sofie asked, sarcastically. “Your charm is amazing.”

“I am being honest here,” Serge clarified, trying to contain his laughter, “it does look good. Right?” he admitted, looking towards Leon, but his friend ignored him — eyes still trained on the shiny device. Serge smiled in disbelief, glancing at Sofie with a goofy face before leaning closer to his friend and teammate, nudging him with his knee, “Leon? I am talking to you. Are you even here?”

“Hmm? What?” Leon suddenly asked, looking up from his phone, startled at the sound and motion coming from his left. “Did you say something?”

“Sofie’s new haircut. It looks good, no?” Serge repeated, much slower, stretching out every syllable for the confused German. 

“Yeah,” Leon started, giving Sofie a long stare which made her heartbeat accelerate, “yeah, it does,” he repeated somewhat quieter, glancing at his phone again for a millisecond. “Can I make some fresh coffee, Sofie? I feel like some coffee?” he asked suddenly— eyes never leaving hers, and for some reason Sofie felt scrutinized under his gaze.  

Sofie was a bit confused with the urgency in his voice, but nodded quickly, watching him get up and straighten his dark jeans in a hurry and putting his phone in the back pocket. He gave her a small smile in response before moving around the coffee table and walking out of the room, not looking back when Serge commented something that Sofie didn’t catch. There was a strange feeling inside of her stomach as she watched him walk out, before she leaned forward in her seat, giving Serge a quizzical look on which he only shrugged with his shoulders. 

“I’ll go and check,” she whispered, getting up as well, and quickly following Leon into the kitchen. 

He was resting his large hands against the counter, watching Sofie’s cheap coffee machine drip the liquid in the large container. In the small space of her kitchen, crammed with the table, uncomfortable chairs, and way too many plants and random knick-knacks, Leon’s physique was overwhelming. Sofie stood in the doorway, quietly observing him, and nervously bringing her hands together, unwilling to speak out and ruin his peace. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” she finally said, moving away from the doorway and stepping inside the room and beside him. She wasn’t the shortest girl out there, but he was still towering over her, especially now that she was only wearing her slippers. 

Leon briefly glanced at her — his eyes moving from her eyes to her hair, and down to her lips for a split of a second before looking back at the coffee machine again, making her heart soar. Up close, she could see the fine smile lines around his eyes and lips. He was beautiful.

“I didn’t sleep well,” he answered quietly, rubbing at the stubble along his chin, “didn’t help that Serge chatted my ear off on our flight back to Munich either. He sat with Hummels, but he shooed him over to my seat,” he added, giving her a small, one-sided grin.

Sofie smiled as well, turning around and leaning against the sink — the aluminium chilling her back through her worn-out tee. “He’s got enough energy for the entire squad, no?” 

“Indeed he does.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and the only sound was the coffee machine loudly filtering the bitter liquid in the scratched pot. Sofie took a deep breath as she stared in front of herself, focusing on the rotting banana in her fruit basket on the dining table, and before she could stop herself, the words that she was supposed to suppress and keep inside, left her mouth. 

“If you want, you can stay and take a nap on the sofa as usual,” she suggested, and almost instantly regretted it. She had created a list of unwritten rules that were supposed to help her get over Leon, and offering him couch to nap on was not one of them.

“Thanks, but I think I will head out whenever Serge makes a move,” Leon quickly answered, and Sofie felt a pinch at her heart. “You seem busy too.”

“As you wish,” she nodded, moving away from the sink as she watched him pour himself a large cup of coffee, dropping a cube of brown sugar in it before taking a small sip. “You sure you’re okay, Leon?” she asked again. 

“Yeah, all is fine, don’t worry,” he smiled, giving her another long stare, and under his gaze she yet felt naked and exposed. “Shall we go out for dinner tomorrow evening? Would be nice to catch up. It’s been a while,” Leon asked as she was about to walk out of her kitchen and back to where Serge was sitting, but stopped in her tracks upon hearing Leon’s voice behind her.

Sofie took a hesitant breath — her heart starting to beat faster in her chest, but she still managed to smile when she turned around, giving him a small nod. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

Wrong answer, Sofie.

Wrong answer. 

tags: 

@footballerimaginess, @littlebitofbluelittlebitofcoffee, @jordanspetkovics, @disneydaddyevans��

If there is someone I forgot to tag, please let me know. 

[letsperaltiago]

as long as you're with me it's always the time of the year

🌟 HAPPY 6TH OF DECEMBER: DOOR ONE 🌟

Welcome to door one of four! 

Behind my Christmas calendar’s first door is a... pre-relationship Peraltiago Christmas oneshot! ♥️ And I bet you have this series overall “theme” figured out now 😙If not then I guess you’ll have to tune back in in another six days! Until then I hope you can enjoy this first fic in the Christmas calendar/oneshot series!

Summary: The only thing Jake likes about the holidays is the Nine-Nine's annual Christmas party. This year, perhaps, he will come to prefer Amy's misfortune and company. Takes place somewhere between S02 E09: The Roadtrip and S2 E011:The stakeout.

Rating: G  Words: 6k

Read on AO3 here

🎁⬇️OPEN DOOR ONE HERE ⬇️🎁

The smell of pine trees, cinnamon and every other Christmas spice imaginable hangs over the precinct when Jake walks in on his day off. Normally he’d never set a foot near work on one of his holy days off, but today is the precinct’s annual Christmas party, and that he of course isn’t stupid enough to miss. Who would want to miss out on happenings like Boyle bringing some unknown Christmas-snack no one would ever want; drunk-Amy making an appearance; Gina hustling secret Santa gifts from young beat cops? Not Jake, that’s for sure.

This year’s party is being held on the third floor, the Special Victims Unit’s floor, and the second the elevator doors open before him Jake is met by the loud buzz made up of Christmas music, and people talking and laughing. Colors are everywhere; from the different, ugly shirts and Christmas sweaters people are wearing to the familiar, cliché Christmas decorations which have probably been reused for the past twenty Christmas parties. It’s horribly perfect, Jake thinks. Perhaps he hates the holidays, yes, but he does love the messy parties they bring along.  

“Jakey! Welcome!”

The detective has just barely stepped out of the elevator, onto festive grounds, when Charles appears right before him, holding two mugs of what appears to be some hot liquid. Jake is by no means very religious although he still prays to higher powers that said hot liquid is not that mulled Norwegian fish-wine his friend brought last year. Charles hands over one of the mugs and Jake is seriously afraid to look or, potentially even more hazardous, breathe in the toasty steam rising from it.

“Hey, bud. What’s that?”

“Mulled wine!” Charles takes a sip of his own mug meanwhile Jake can’t stop eyeing him, suspiciously so, because if there is one thing Jake doesn’t trust his best friend with then it’s primarily and definitely anything food and drink-related.

“Actual mulled wine or fish-wine?”

There is no getting around the fact that Charles is obviously hurt by the lack of trust his best friend is showing, when the little man’s face falls deadpan. “It happened once , Jake. One time.”

They start walking towards the briefing room, one much bigger than the one on their floor, where the life of the party is.

“I threw up for two days straight after last time - just saying, bud!”

Jake dares to smell the beverage and it does actually smell like actual mulled wine, so he hesitantly takes a sip, just in case it turns out he’s been betrayed. Alas the flavor tells him the liquid is indeed normal mulled wine, which makes this yet another cracked case for Peralta.

Inside the briefing room that is crowded with people, both some he knows and a lot that he doesn’t, a Christmas tree and all kinds of snacks and drinks, it’s hard to tell who is from what department and honestly? Jake doesn’t care. As long as people seem to be a good time and are willing to laugh at his hilarious charms then he’s down to clown. Or down to Santa - whatever Christmas-saying is more suitable.

“Has Gina scored herself some gifts yet? And how many drinks is Santiago at?”

Jake awaits an answer while his friend pours himself some more of the warm wine, and puts the time to good use by removing his leather jacket before hanging it on a random chair nearby. The party will be hot, literally, he figures.

“Hmm, last time I saw Gina she was up to two already…”

“Noice,” Jake nods in approval, mentally noting to check in with his friend later. This has to be the year she beats her record of eights gifts in one evening.

“... And Amy was up to one.”

“Not good enough.”

“We’ve only been here for an hour, Jake.”

Jake pauses. With the winter sun setting so early, he thought he’d missed out on hours of partying when in reality Boyle is right: it’s just barely 6.30 and he’s missed out on so little.

“Fair. I’ll give her that. Where is she anyway?”

Boyle turns just in time to see his friend scouting the room in hopes of finding his partner.

“Someone’s eager to hang out with Amy.” Just as his facial expression, rocking cocking eyebrows and a knowing smirk, Charles’ voice is laced with teasing tones. It’s no secret that Jake commiting to his feelings and acting on them, especially now that both him and Amy are single (and totally into each other, if you ask Charles) is at the top of the older detective’s wishlist - no matter how creepy it is.

“Shut up. I have a girlfriend.” Images of Sophia flash before him, the face she made when he promised her he didn’t like Amy anymore, and deep down Jake feels guilty. The feeling is quickly pushed aside though; he’s done nothing wrong and will do nothing wrong. He’s with Sophia - not Amy. “I just need to laugh at someone and Amy just so happens to be the perfect candidate.”

“Just like she’s perfect in every other way?”

“Boyle!” Jake lightly punches his friend on the arm and it almost causes Charles to spill the hot beverage. Just barely, he manages to restore the liquids balance and keep it in the cup.

“Hey! You almost made me drop my glühwein !” Leave it to Charles to pronounce the foreign word perfectly , and leave it to Jake to, as per usual, roll his eyes at it.

“Anyways, are you going to tell me where Amy is or not?”

The two friends stand back, facing the crowd in an attempt to comb through it, however everyone’s outfits seem so alike - ugly and colourful - and so it quickly hits them just how pointless the mission is.

“I don’t know about know, but last time I saw her she was by the women’s bathroom talking to Rosa. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Hm, okay,” Jake mumbles. “I’ll be right back. I just wanna say hi.”

“Sure you do.”

Quickly decoding the way his words are drenched in a certain teasing tone, Jake doesn’t even need to look at his friend to know there’s a knowing smirk plastered across his face. There’s no doubt: it’s easier for him to just walk away without looking back - so he does.

Boyle is a fool if he thinks he’s got a thing for Amy - that ship has long sailed. In the past, yes, he did have feelings for Amy… But that was before. Before Teddy and Sophia; before realising they were better off as friends; before, before, before. Sure, he’d felt something flare up inside of him that night at the inn with Teddy and Sophia when it was suddenly revealed that Amy used to like him, perhaps still did? He’ll admit that. However that entire trip was crazy, all kinds of emotions on display, and anything that said and/or happened there should be taken with a pinch of salt. Yes, he used to like Amy, ‘used to’ being the keyphrase. Now he was happy with Sophia and couldn't possibly have feelings for Amy. At least not romantic feelings, no. Friendly feelings, the sensation of being happy when around her? Sure. Now, months after said roadtrip to hell, things were back to normal: they were partners and friends, without any weirdness or doubt about the fact. That was it and the way it would stay, no matter what anyone said - especially Charles.

Suddenly he spots her, across the room in a corner with a cup in hand, talking to someone on the phone. The iconic red cup causes a smile to grow on Jake’s face as he is granted an early Christmas wish: drunk-Amy is going to make an appearance tonight. He appreciates all sides of Amy, although drunk-Amy is extra fun - especially ever since Gina let him in on the Santiago-drunkenness scale.

It takes her a second to pick up on his approach, but the second she sees him he receives a smile in return. Her hair is loose and shiny as alway. For tonight’s occasion it has a silvery head band holding it in place. To no one’s surprise, even less Jake’s, she’s wearing what he recognizes as her famous Santiago-dress pants. Although the blazer and usually colored shit has been replaced with a neatly ironed white shirt. The silver headband along with the white shirt? Of course Amy would go for an angel-look instead of a tacky red Santa or a green elf like many of their colleagues. Then again: white does look good really good on her, Jake admits to himself, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Charles’ words were stuck on repeat in his mind then maybe he would’ve told her. A nice, friendly compliment like… “You look pretty” or whatever other nice, not inappropriate thing he could say. It’s easier to say nothing at all, he figures.

The crowd around him is loud but he can hear her talking as he closes in on her. He waves to her and she half-mindedly waves back clearly focused on the conversation she’s in the midst of.

“Okay, yeah…”

He stops next to her and sips on his drink while she finishes up.

“We’ll go meet Santa on Sunday then… Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Bye.”

Although he hates to admit it, Jake is happy to see her hang up. It means she can switch her attention to him.

“Tinder date?” He asks.

She looks up, from putting her phone away, with what Jake considers the iconic ‘ you’re an idiot’-grimace, as a consequence reminding him of the one thing he has a hard time admitting - even to himself: she looks really cute doing just that and he likes that he’s the one person that can bring it out of her.

“Ha. Ha.” Her fake laugh is drier than the failed Christmas cookies she brought last year. “What do you think I do on Tinder-dates?”

“Meet Santa - apparently.”

It’s clear as day that the young man takes immense pleasure in the easygoing banter, the special kind he can only have with Amy, and even though his mouth says and shows one thing then his shining eyes definitely don’t agree. Infatuation is the word although he would never dare to call himself out on it. That was Charles’ job, but luckily no one, to Jake’s advantage, would ever believe the always way too excited little man.

“I can’t believe how funny you are, Peralta,” Amy retorts, voice stuck in the same still flat tone that tries to make believe she isn’t very amused and delighted by the fact that Jake located her just to tease her. It’s a special kind of attention, one she at times has dreaded but with time slowly and surely has come to like - a lot. Even though she pretends not to.

“I can’t believe you go on Tinder-dates, Santiago.”

“I never said I did? You did.” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow in objection.

“Right, right… Forgot you used to have feelings for me, which means you must’ve cut off all dating in hopes of me coming around one day.”

In all honesty Jake can’t, for the life of him, figure out why he says what he does sometimes. Although, apparently, there must be somewhat truth to it considering how Amy feels her palms heat up against her cold drink, blood rushing to her face where it quickly takes apparent form as a rosy color tinting the apples of her cheeks. Jake, even though it’s so very tempting, tries not to think any of it. Replaying in his mind is the look of confusion and pain on Amy’s face when it was brought up that Amy used to like him. Perhaps it was true but if bringing it up, in a context that wasn’t just for fun and banter, would cause Amy the same troubled feelings from back at the Maple Drip Inn, then it definitely wasn’t worth bringing up again. He shouldn't have said that. Amy didn’t have feelings for him anymore - chapter closed.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

“It’s fine.” She tries to chuckle it off but he knows a genuine Amy-laugh and this isn’t it.

“Anyways,” Jake takes another sip of his drink leaving the word hanging in the air for a few seconds, aspiring for a change of subject, in case his partner wants to take advantage. She doesn’t though. His turn, he figures.  “If not a mystery man, then who was it?”

She shakes her head smiling at his persistence. “It was my brother Anthony. Him, Christian and I are taking my nephews and nieces to meet Santa.”

“Wow, all five hundred of them?”

Amy has to laugh at this, a genuine laugh this time, one with no snarky comment because he’s kind of right: her family is huge and she appreciates him taking note of it even though the number is horribly wrong.

“Almost… Just the ten of them.”

A shared chuckle between the two settles a nice and comfortable atmosphere around the two; one where the rest of the room disappears into the background and it’s just the two of them laughing and poking at each other as if there’s no half-awkward and delicate taboo to dance around.

Sadly the moment isn’t meant to last for much longer. Jake is halfway into one of his crazy stories, making Amy laugh louder and louder with every sip of her first drink. Out of nowhere, a heavy figure, certainly bigger than Amy’s, comes tumbling into her from the side and it to no one’s surprise results in her drink flying out of her hands, splashing all over her. Amy lets out a whelp, time stands still, everything seems to go silent as everyone around Amy, Jake included, stares in horror at the sudden mess.

Her drink, an unknown clear liquid mixed with melting ice, meets her previously so white and crisp shirt immediately soaking it - there’s no saving it.

“Oh, shit.” The stutter comes from the young man of the hour, someone Jake quickly recognizes at the loud and ruthless - and that’s coming from Jake - beat cop, Officer Miller. Jake finally snaps out of his daze, surprise and disbelief having him thrown completely off track. It’s then he really notices the look of horror on his partner’s half-drenched, very disappointed face, and even though he’s not to blame and it’s barely been ten seconds since the moment of collision, he wishes he’d reacted sooner.

“Oh my gosh,” Amy spits out, the sad remains of her drink plastered to her lower face and clothes.

“Fuck,” Miller adds another stutter to the list of pointless doings, right amidst the act of just standing there completely incapable of anything at all. From his point of view, Jake is witnessing the hopelessness play out before him -  Amy frozen, in shock, and Miller simply staring in disbelief at the consequences of his own acts -  when he suddenly notices how the young officer’s eyes shamelessly wander, from where they were looking at Amy’s face, downwards. Why whould he-

Jake’s eyes trail along, ingeniously, but quickly fly back to where they were looking at the offender - this time with rage in them. Miller’s eyes are still gawking at one specific area on Amy: her torso where her previously nice, white shirt - one Jake can picture Amy spending hours ironing and being excited to wear - is now very much see-through.

“Hey, what the hell, man!”

Jake is by no means a violent person, nevertheless he can’t contain himself. Not when Amy is right before him looking like a lost puppy. He lightly punches the other man’s shoulder.

“What the hell, yourself! Don’t touch me!” Miller, having finally snapped out of his perverted daydream, defends himself and takes a threatening step towards Jake.

“Jake, it’s okay-” Just like all the seminars have taught her, Amy tries to interrupt the escalating conflict; one that’s somehow partly her fault but at the same time not at all. However, feeling very exposed, starting to feel anxious, she doesn’t force anything. Left to do is nothing but to stand back and watch Jake stand his ground - even when the younger but notably taller man steps up to him.

“How about you have some decency and apologize to my partner?”

Jake is enraged, obviously by the drink-incident itself, but mostly by the young officer’s disrespectful reaction that followed suit. On the occasion that he wouldn’t much rather use his energy on listening to and helping Amy then maybe, just maybe, he would’ve engaged further. Inside his head he counts down from ten, still glaring with fiery eyes at Miller, and not moving before he’s reached zero. As if on cue Amy breaks the silence.

“Jake… Let it go. It was an accident.”

She’s too good for her own self, he thinks. Her voice is shaky, not disturbingly so but just enough to get Jake to turn around, and his reasoning is confirmed: his energy and time is better spent helping her, however he can. The crowd around them has once again started buzzing, as if nothing ever happened, and the only thing Jake has eyes for is Amy and the distressing way in which she has her arms crossed before her in an attempt to hide herself. Her body’s posture obviously translates to her facial features, the anxiety starting to show, so of course Jake wastes no time; without further hesitation, he pulls off his iconic blue hoodie and makes sure to help it onto her, shielding her from the rest of the party. Once in a while he throws a glance at her face, and he can tell the very second it hits her that he must’ve seen it too since he knows what’s going on.

“Don’t worry about it. Except for that idiot, no one saw anything. Don’t think about it… Okay?” He reassures her, hopefully putting her mind at ease, and makes sure to catch her eyes before continuing. Hopefully she believes him.  

“Thank you,” she whispers as they stand face to face while Jake makes sure his hoodie is covering her properly. He wants to smile, be the good in her dreadful situation, but still feeling too pissed he can only muster a nod before he wraps a protective arm around her shoulder. “Come with me, Amy. Lets go fix this.” It’s his way of telling her to come with him, that she can trust him and that he’ll take care of it. He can feel her follow him, thus guiding her to the elevator.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

Still in a somewhat trance-like state, Amy lets Jake guide her, arm safely around her shoulder and small-talking to keep her calm, down the dimly lit hall of the basement and into the Nine-Nine’s men’s locker room. Her soaked shirt has slowly started soaking through Jake’s hoodie, the wet tips of Amy’s hair dripping onto it as well, and there’s a very good reason Jake has brought her where he has. He doesn’t waste a second and gently sits her down on the bench in the middle of the many lockers.

“Just sit tight, Ames. I’m going to fix this.”

She nods instead of breaking her silence, still feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the embarrassing situation which has unfortunately triggered an anxious part of her that she most of the time can keep in check. Alas this situation was too much, understandably so, and all she has to cling onto is her partner rummaging rather aimlessly through what she hopes is his locker. Must be; the inside of the door is covered in a Die Hard poster, and Amy feels herself smile a bit at the sight. That is so very Jake Peralta. Even more so when, during the intense search, all kinds of random items accidently fall out of the locker. Everything from packs of gum and old receipts to DVDs and lonely socks.

“Aha! Knew I had it in here!”

Jake pulls a chequered item from the depths of his - very messy, Amy can’t help but shudder - locker before turning to her with a wide, proud smile that lets her know: mission accomplished. He puts a red flannel on display for her and his smile never falters. “On top of being clean and warm it’s also red. Very christmassy, Santiago.”

“Have you just… always had that in there?”

“Probably since I transferred here,” Jake chuckles as he throws all the things that fell out during his search for the flannel back into the chaos of the locker. “Red is not my best color, so I just keep it in there in case I need a change of clothes…” he trails off as if he’s considering his next move, then his head whips around to look at her. “... Or, like, in case my best friend is in trouble. Might not be up to Santiago-standards but I promise it isn’t gross or anything.”

Amy can’t fight it as tiny butterflies break free in her stomach at the sight of her caring partner, someone she could potentially see as more but alas she’ll never say out loud, send her that small, mischievous yet shy smile of his. Instead of saying anything, too baffled to say anything coherent, her eyes will secretly sparkle and heart do a double take. A joke can perhaps do the job, she thinks, hating how Jake-like she’s become over the years.

“Best friend? I don’t see Boyle in here.”

“What a silly thing to say, Santiago.” Having stuffed all of his randomness back into the locker, he turns back to look at her. “You know very well that you’re my best friend, too.”

Silence, more intense than their usual comfortable ones, fall over them as their eyes stay in touch. It’s as if someone’s supposed to say something, supposed to confess, but nothing of that nature presents itself. Instead Jake clears his throat.

“Now take your wet shirt off and put this on.” He hands her the flannel and for a second their eyes lock again. She takes it from him and keeps their eyes locked, for just a second too long as if she’s trying to communicate through the stare. A tension, one made of something unspoken, once again connects them. Too bad Jake’s quick to divert the situation by clearing his throat, she think, even though she also knows he’s right.

“Uhm, so yeah… Put that on and I’ll wait outside. There’s another hoodie in my locker, uhm on top, if you’re still cold.”

“T-thanks, Jake.”

A small smile is sent her way before he disappears out into the hall and closes the door, allowing Amy to let out a deep breath. Damn Jake Peralta for being so amazing.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

“Tadaaa.”

Jake’s head flies up, from where he was looking down at his phone, to witness a sight he definitely shouldn’t be loving as much as the butterflies in his stomach tell him he certainly does. There’s apparently something about Amy Santiago in his flannel and hoodie that does something to him; sweaty palms, speeding heartbeat and all that jazz.

“How do I look?”

Beautiful. He thinks but doesn’t say it out loud. There’s a teasing glint in his partner’s eyes, one he wants to fall and dive right into so badly, but he’s too aware to give into it. Amy does a pageant twirl and it couldn’t be timed any better, Jake thinks: it’s the perfect occasion for him to throw in a joke and break the spell that he seems to be under.

“Stunning,” he jokes and prays to some higher power that it’s enough to drench them in that never-that-serious, goofy energy they seem to be all about, even after the most serious and intense moments. “Like looking at myself in the mirror.”

She scrunches her nose and smiles, a face she always makes when he says something funny, and Jake doesn’t complain. “Ouch.” She says, pretend-hurt.

“Hey! I’m very handsome, thank you very much…”

“Whatever.” She shakes her head. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiles, genuinely as only he can, and Amy wants to thank him for so much more than just tonight. She wants to thank him for always being on her side, always making her feel good in every situation imaginable, even the bad ones, and she wants to thank him for truly being her best friend. That would come off as a very emotionally loaded confession though, so instead she bites her lip.

“Anyways… I think I’m gonna head home. I’m not really feeling like going back there.” She confesses.

All at once the light and cheery Amy, the Amy that jokes and rolls her eyes at him, seems to be switched off and once again replaced by the hesitant Amy he rarely sees. The few times he has witnessed said hesitant and insecure Amy, without hesitation or questions, he feels a somewhat irrational need to help her, take care of the thorn in her side, whatever that might be. Although now, with a girlfriend, one that isn’t Amy, weighing down on his conscience, he isn’t quite sure of how to act. The thought of her sitting at home all alone while he and everyone at the Nine-Nine parties doesn’t fall on fertile ground. No way he’s just letting her walk out.

“I’ll head upstairs with you and grab my coat, say goodbye to the squad, and then I’ll be off before I can embarrass myself again.”

“Ames!”

Barely turned on her heels, Jake is significantly faster and manages to block her way to the elevator. In the depth of his brown eyes Amy, surprised to say the least, can see something unravelling. She’s frozen on the spot where he cut her off.

“Jake?”

“Stay? We can have a fun night without going back up to the party.” He flashes a shy smile that reminds her of the kind she and her brothers always used to flash at their mother whenever they knew they were bargaining for an unreasonable cause. Much like that Jake Peralta is indeed a child disguised as a grown man.  

“Stay?” There’s that stupid cute frown of hers again, he thinks and he actually isn’t quite sure of the answer. Jake had a bad case of blurting out ideas before being fully sure of what said idea fully was, and this was no exception. All he knew was that Amy couldn’t leave to be alone; he couldn’t have her spend the night doing nothing.

“Uh- I… That’s not what I meant.” It kind of actually was, but he can’t force her to stay if she wants to go, which genuinely seems to be her preferred plan. “Let me follow you home - at least.” Nice save, he thinks to himself.

Her frown slowly melts away like snow on a spring day and, if he isn’t completely delusional, Jake can see a small smile rise on her lips instead and his new idea is actually a good one.

“I would lov-” her voice hitches in her throat when she accidently looks right back into her partner's eyes, momentarily thrown off track, but in true Santiago-style she makes a quick comeback. Keeps the feelings abay and packed away like a pro. “That would be nice, Jake. Thank you”.

“Cool cool cool.” Skin against skin can be heard rubbing against each other, an unusual sound, and it confuses Amy for a second until she notices that Jake’s palms are rubbing against each other. A nervous mannerism on his part that has Amy wonder why . Not for too long though. Jake is quick to save himself.  

“Let me go grab our things upstairs. We can meet on the first floor. I’ll tell everyone you feel sick.”

“Thanks, Jake. My coat is-”

“Navy blue, gold buttons and black handbag. Got it.”

So far from a question as could be, a sentence that is more matter of factly than most things Jake says, Amy can only go silent and nod in agreement. The man is very right, after all and she feels fuzzy at how seamlessly it fell from his lips. They enter the elevator in a comfortable silence and after having stepped off on the first floor, Amy can only smile to herself as she sees the elevator doors close between her and what is probably the best partner in the world. Best friend, she corrects herself, reminiscing about Jake’s words from down in the locker room.

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

Snow crunches under their feet, the white powder covering every street in Brooklyn, and tonight the otherwise hectic city looks abnormally peaceful. Amidst the winter wonderland, two figures make their way through the drizzling snowfall, both imagining that this is the way things, perhaps, could and should be. Alone, together the two of them, in the world.

Turns out that focusing on the story Amy is currently telling is, even though very interesting, very hard when snowflakes caught in her hair makes it look all glittery and pretty. Also soft, he thinks, and he hates that he wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. Maybe as they were snuggled up on their couch, under blankets, as they watched those stupid Christas movies that he knows she loves. This trail of thoughts is a dangerous one, he’s aware. Luckily Amy herself comes to his rescue, her laughter shattering whatever parallel universe his mind was forming. Of course he laughs along even though he can safely say that he doesn’t know what he’s laughing at. Alone the sound of her laugh is enough to make him want to join. She’s contagious like that - in every way imaginable.

“Hey, Jake?”

She stops and him likewise. “Yeah?”

He turns around to catch her looking longingly at the building they’re currently in front of; a nicely decorated little café. “This place has the best cocoa. Wanna get some? My treat - now that you’re missing out on the party because of me.” She looks back at her partner for some kind of approval, shyly tugging her hair behind her ears in the process and there’s no way Jake can say no - even if he wanted to. The light coming from the café creates an aura-like effect around her figure and Jake swears to himself that she’s an actual angel.

“Sounds good. Mostly because you’re paying,” he manages to snap out of his daydream just in time to come off as nonchalant, teasing, and the two enter the warmth of the café. Inside it’s buzzing with families and couples celebrating the season in each other’s company, and Jake briefly wonders if that will ever be him sitting with a toddler in his lap, allowing it to taste its first hot cocoa as him and the mother witness it with wide smiles on their faces? And with who? Sophia, maybe? Or maybe- no. Definitely can’t go there.

“Two hot dark chocolate with marshmallows, please.”

“Dark?” Jake frowns suddenly back in present time where Amy has made it her task to order their drinks.

“Yeah, they have different kinds but the dark is the best. Trust me.”

“With my life.”

They share a smile and to everyone else in that room, or at least the ones that care enough to pay attention, they could be a couple - foolishly into each other. Before they know it they’re back outside in the cold, although they quickly forget as their respective cups of cocoa warms their hands, and soon after reach Amy’s apartment building. It feels like forever since they left the precinct, when actually, Jake notices when he checks his phone, it’s only been about an hour. Darkness does that to his already questionable sense of time.

His deed is done, he knows; Amy is home safe, and he can head back to the precinct and party with a bunch of people he doesn’t really care about. Or at least cares just a bit less about than Amy. Suddenly the urge to party, act like an idiot and get drunk surely doesn’t sound tempting - at all. Maybe it’s the few hours he’s spent hanging out alone with Amy; perhaps it’s the taste of dark hot cocoa stuck on his tongue, the one he’d moaned about “indeed being the best he’d ever had” just minutes ago… He can’t figure it out but something from within the last two hours has him hating the thought of being anywhere else but here with Amy. If he asked her to hang out outside in the snow, he would.

“So... “ Amy breaks the silence. “Thanks for walking me home… And the shirt and hoodie.You’ll have it back, washed and everything, tomorrow. Promise.”

Consistent as always, Jake thinks and smiles with amusement radiating from his eyes. “Yeah, I’m really going to need that back asap. It’s not like I have the exact same outfit, like times ten, at home… Like some cartoon animal.”

She laughs, throwing her head back and Jake feels the snow beneath him melt.

“Good to know.” She straightens back up, arms crossed to keep her warm, even though Jake is certain her smile must radiate enough warmth to keep them both warm.

“No worries.”

Silence swallows them and all there is to be heard is the sound of the forever and always buzzing Brooklyn; cars, people yelling, jingle bells, dogs barking and everything that makes Brooklyn oh so very Brooklyn.

“Sooo…” Amy shuffles on the spot nervously creating small patterns in the before solid snow. “Are headed back to the party? I bet Charles misses you.”

They share a chuckle, both well-knowing she isn’t joking.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right but... “ He hesitates to say it, nervously biting his lip as the hands in his pocket’s shuffle around for nothing at all. “I don’t think I’m gonna head back. I’m just gonna head home. Everyone’s probably all buzzed by now and I don’t think I’m up for the challenge of catching up.”

“Oh… I- uhm-”

The shuffling only grows worse and it’s as if the young woman can’t find peace, bit by bit aggravating the guilt she’s suddenly feeling - a guilt he’d never intended her to feel. “Jake, I’m so sorry if you felt like you had to skip the party to follow me home. You should've just stayed behind and had fun with everyone. I would’ve been just fin-”

“Ames.” He gently grabs her by the upper arms, stopping her from spiralling completely. “Shut up.” He makes sure to smile when he says it. “I’ve had way more fun hanging out with you than I would’ve with those bazillion strangers back at the precinct.”

He can feel her shoulders drop, relaxing, before she flashes back a smile. A snowflake lands on the very tip of her nose and Jake smiles even wider. Little does she know why. “First of all: bazillion is not a real number. Second of all: if it was then I don’t think that many people work at our precinct,” she argues with a glimt in her eye that matches the snowflakes on her face.

“How can you know if bazilion is not an actual number? A bazillion might be like.. 85?” He tilts his head in that challenging way he always does when he knows he’s got a point.

Silence.

“You might be one of the Nine-Nine’s best detectives but, my God,I swear sometimes you’re so stupid,” she finishes with an affectionate chuckles.

“No doubt.”

They both laugh it off and it’s so them, they both can’t help but think.

“Anyways… Feel free to say no, but wanna come up? We can finish our cocoas and watch a Christmas movie, maybe?”

There’s nothing he’d rather do. Without a doubt.

“I would like that.”

“Okay then,” she agrees and unlocks the door to her building. “I’m not watching ‘Die Hard’ though.”

“Aw, come on, Ames!” he whines.

“It’s not a Christmas movie and if you try to convince me otherwise, then I will prove you wrong. I have a list of arguments saved on my phone - solely for this very occasion.”

“Challenge accepted!”

They end up watching ‘Home Alone’ instead, huddled up on Amy’s couch with each their blanket and hot cocoa, a friendly distance between them, of course, and if you were to ask them, they both had the best Christmas party-evening. They laugh their way through the movie and each other’s company, no complications in sight, and how they both wish, deep down, that everyday could be like this.

The end. 

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

[writing-reylo]

The One with The Miscommunication

Rey’s heart is pounding as her Uber pulls up to the restaurant. It’s within walking distance, but she didn’t want to risk arriving with sweat glistening in her forehead, so she spent the money. And that’s how serious she was about this; that’s how much this date meant to her. Her first date with Ben was worth spending unnecessary money so that she could look her best.

Ben Solo. Tall, built like a sky rise, so handsome he made her heart hurt. Her best friend. Her favourite person in the whole world.

She loved him so much she would risk their friendship for this opportunity to be more.

Asking him had been the most nerve-wracking thing she had ever done.

“Hey Ben, do you want to go to The Castle for dinner tonight?” She’d asked him, palms sweaty and heart racing this morning as they walked into the building they both worked in, separate companies and different floors.

They’d met when the elevator had gotten stuck a year before and had bonded over the shared trauma of being stuck twenty floors above nothing in a small metal box.

He’d smiled at her. “Of course.” She’s grinned at him as the elevator moved upwards. “I’ll see you at 7 then. It’s a date,” she’d replied, shooting him a smile as the elevator arrived at her floor.

“You can do this girl,” she whispers to herself as she looks through the glass. Ben hasn’t arrived yet but there is still ten minutes to go and Ben is chronically on time for things, while Rey feels odd if she isn’t at least a few minutes early.

She thinks about walking inside and waiting but the air is cool and despite taking the Uber, she can feel her body has developed a fine layer of sweat anyway.

She looks down at the black heels she rarely wears and wonders what he’ll think. She’d only ever worn them once where he’d seen and she had remembered the way his eyes had drifted down her legs, bare but for her cocktail dress that ended two inches above her knees.

She remembered the way his hand had twitched when he’d danced with her and realised her dress was backless as his hand had met bare flesh.

She’d wanted to kiss him that night so badly, but had lost her courage after he’d gotten into an argument with his Father that had ended with Ben drinking too much whiskey and Rey sleeping above the covers next to him to make sure he didn’t choke in his sleep.

But now, now she was ready.

She giggles under her breath, giddy and nervous, before looking up and seeing his car pull into a spot a short walk away.

She smooths down the front of her forest green sweater dress and takes a deep breath before running her tongue over her teeth, making sure none of the blood red lipstick she is wearing has transferred.

She is resisting the urge to pull up her phone camera and double check when she hears footsteps approaching.

She’s grinning widely when she looks up at him, her heart already at risk of exploding before every muscle in her body freezes.

He’s not alone.

Her smile drops so suddenly she imagines it must have looked almost comical as she takes in her best friend, in a button up the exact colour of her dress that would make her laugh under different circumstances. But she can’t laugh because he’s standing next to their friends Hux and Rose.

Her heart seizes before restarting and she can feel the fissure tears forming all over the organ.

He has invited people on their date, which has made it no longer a date.

Her heart beat once, twice and she inhaled shakily before looking up at Ben.

He was looking at her and she knew what he would be seeing. The makeup, the hair she’d painstakingly curled and brushed until it was perfect and shiny. The dress and shoes in place of her usual jeans and converse.

She watches him blink slowly as he looks at her with wide eyes that she loves so much but, in this moment, make her want to cry.

“Hi,” she says, sounding soft and timid and so unlike herself that she wishes desperately she was already inside with a drink in her hand. A large one.

“Hey,” Ben responds, and she watches as he swallows and fuck her, this is so awkward.

“Rey!” Her dearest female friend exclaims, coming forward to hug her. Rose’s pregnant belly juts out in between them and Rey finds herself, giggling as she embraces her friend, taking a few shaky breaths she knows Rose can hear.

“I didn’t realise, I’m so sorry,” Rose whispers into her hair and Rey shrugs into the hug.

They pull apart and Rey smiles at her, not the grin of before but as close as she can get with the rejection swimming around her. “How much longer until my little Goddaughter arrives?” She asks, though she knows the answer. Little Paige isn’t here yet, but Rey already loves the girl so dearly.

“Three weeks,” Hux answers with a smile. He’s become more personable in the three years she’s known him, and he no longer has resting sneer face. “Everything is ready, we’re just waiting on her now.”

“Putting that crib together almost made me cry,” Rey responds, and they all laugh, except Ben, but Rey can’t look at him just yet.

They make their way into the restaurant, Ben still silent as they hang their coats and make their way to the hostess.

“Welcome to The Castle. Do you have a reservation?” The hostess asks and Rey can feel her face redden as she responds.

“I had made a reservation for two under Niima, but I was hoping you have a free table for four?”

She can see Ben’s fists clenched beside her and ignores it while she waits for the hostess, who thankfully does have a bigger table and leads them to it.

The smell of garlic and bread permeate the air, making Rey’s stomach growl loudly.

“Holy shit Rey, you need to get that under control,” Hux responds with a laugh as they slide into the booth.

“She had to work through lunch- “

“I had to work through lunch- “

She and Ben say at the same time, looking up at one another with surprise. They each halt and lock gazes for a few moments. It’s okay, she tells herself as she looks into his warm coffee eyes, he still loves you, just not the same way you do and that’s okay.

“Jinx,” she smiles softly, breaking the silence and she watches him relax a fraction.

Rose distracts them all them, discussing the baby and Rey is eternally grateful to her friend as they order drinks.

She pushes the rejection down into the same box with all of her other hurts and closes the lid tightly, promising herself the rest of the weekend to have tequila, Thai food and The Office to mourn what never would be.

—-

She makes it through dinner hiding her wound. It still throbs but she manages to hide it beneath self-depreciating jokes and glasses of white wine to take the edge off.

Ben is quieter than normal, but Rose and Hux fulfil their duties as friends to ease the tension between the God Parents of their unborn baby.

Ben stands to go to the bathroom and Rose orders dessert and Rey finds she can breathe a little easier as he walks away.

“So, what the fudge is going on?” Hux demands to know as soon as Ben has left the room. Rey raises an eyebrow at the word fudge, and he rolls his eyes. “We’re trying to be good parents.”

“Was this supposed to be a date?” Rose asks Rey so softly that it almost makes Rey break, the tone gentle and maternal. Rey lets out a shaky breath and nods. “But Ben invited us.”

“Yeah,” Rey replies quietly.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry,” Rose whispers, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing.

“I thought we were on the same page,” Rey explains. “So, I went for it, you know? I guess we’re in different places.”

“Rey, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong,” Rose says, but before they can say anything else, Ben is back, and dessert is arriving.

He smiles at Rey softly as the waiter lowers a plate of cheesecake in front of him but then frowns when nothing in placed in front of her.

“You didn’t get dessert?” He asks, puzzled.

She shakes her head. “I’m full.”

He looks at her in bewilderment. “But you’re never full.”

She laughs and it sounds only slightly fake. “I’m not hungry, I swear.”

He drops it and everyone except Rey eats their dessert. She tries not to stare at the clock and orders her Uber before the waiter is even taking their plates.

Her Uber arrives as they’re putting their coats on and Ben speaks his longest sentence of the night. “Do you want me to give you a lift home?”

She is more than a little relieved to have an excuse. “My Uber is here.”

She thinks she sees his shoulders fall but knows she’s probably projecting as she rushes through goodbyes with Rose and Hux.

She hesitates slightly before hugging Ben and she sees him notice, frowning as his arms wrap around her. She tries not to inhale his scent, but the smell of peppermint, coffee and bergamot somehow make their way into her nostrils despite her efforts and she fights not to tighten her embrace.

It’s over in less than a few seconds but feels like forever when her arms drop.

She’s escaping into the Uber in almost no time at all, and the driver is pulling away from the curb by the time the first tear falls.

———————————————————————

In no time at all, the driver is pulling up the store at the corner of her street, wishing her a (very awkward) goodnight. She wipes her face before entering the store, taking measures and controlled breaths as she fills a cart with tequila, limes, ginger ale and all of her favourite snacks.

The owner, Maz, says nothing as she rings Rey up, taking in the tear stains on her face. “The alcohol is on me, honey,” the woman says, and Rey feels her eyes fill with tears once more.

She is able to keep a hold of herself as she walks to her building, letting herself in and taking the elevator to her floor.

She’s considering taking a shot or two to take the edge off when she looks up and sees Ben sitting with his back pressed against her door, legs stretched out in front of him. He has his phone in his hand, but he’s only turning it over and over.

Three shots then, she decides.

“Hey,” she says, and he looks up at her, eyes wide and she watches as he rushes to his feet, clearing his throat.

“Hi,” he replies softly.

“Can I get through?” She asks and he moves wordlessly, shuffling so that she can unlock her apartment door.

They both enter without saying a word and she carries her shopping to her kitchen island, dropping it, pulling out the bottle of tequila and making her way to the cupboard where she keeps her shot glasses. She takes one and Ben starts to talk but she raises a hand, meeting his eyes as she pulls the plastic from the lid, unscrews it and pours a shot.

He frowns at her as she lifts the small glass to her lips, downing the liquid and then taking a deep breath before meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay,” she says and watches as he swallows.

“It was supposed to be a date,” he says quietly, softly. She blinks slowly, before breaking eye contact and pours herself another shot. “You asked me on a date.”

“I asked you on a date,” she confirms, meeting his gaze for a tenth of a second before downing a second shot.

“You asked me on a date, and I invited our friends,” he states, and she flinches. He startles in response and takes a step forward.

The island is between them, but she takes a step back anyway. He notices.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, and she stares at the heels still on her feet and avoids his gaze.

She hears him move closer and she looks up, her heart almost shattering at his expression.

He is looking at her like she once saw him look at a frightened dog in a shelter they volunteered at, like she was going to bolt any second. In his defence, she feels as though she might.

“Rey, I didn’t realise it was a date until I saw you,” he explains gently, taking another step forward. She takes another step backwards, her lower back pressing against her countertop. “I thought it was just another dinner, until I saw that dress. I didn’t realise it was supposed to just be you and me.”

His dark eyes are consuming as they bore into hers and she breathes unsteadily as she breaks his gaze to stare down at the bottle of tequila, wishing she’d just popped a straw into the bottle and called it a night.

He says nothing for a moment and neither can she. She isn’t sure that anything would even come out of her mouth if she did open it to speak. Her broken heart is pounding and she doesn’t know what to do.

“Rey,” he says softly and she closes her eyes, trying to hide the moisture in them, but a tear falls down her cheek anyway. She lifts a shaking hand to wipe it away.

“Rey,” he repeats, closer this time but she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s never felt like more of a coward.

She feels a warm touch on her chin. “Sweetheart look at me,” he whispers, in a soft, gentle tone she’d never heard him use before.

She opens her eyes and he’s there, so close she can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell his minty shampoo that costs so much it had made him blush when admitting it.

He’s right there, and he’s looking at her with the softest expression on his face, his lips curved into the slightest of smiles. His hands move to cup her face, thumbs sweeping along her cheekbones.

“Rey,” he whispers, and the way he says her name threatens to break her apart for the second time tonight. “I never could have thought – I couldn’t imagine – I didn’t- “

She tries to move away but he doesn’t let her, a frustrated sound slipping from his lips. “I’m not explaining this right.”

“Ben, you don’t have to let me down gently,” she whispers hoarsely. “It’s okay if you don’t see me that way.”

He blinks and his head jerks in shock, hands twitching against her face. “See you that way?” he repeats, but it sounds like a question.

“Romantically, I mean. I’m happy to still be friends, if you’re okay with that. I don’t want to lose you from my life just because you don’t feel the way that I do.” The words hurt as they come out, but she can’t stop them or the tone of desperation that sneaks out with them. She can’t lose him.

“And how do you feel?” he asks her, in the tone she’s heard him use a hundred times before, when someone is pissing him off.

“How do I feel?”

His eyes narrow and his hands drop from her face to grab at her clenched fists. They open automatically at his touch and suddenly her hands are engulfed in his. “About me, Rey. How do you feel about me?”

There is no escape from this, she realises quickly. There is no way that he will let her avoid this conversation. Her hands tremble beneath his.

She looks at him, at the man who has become her best friend. His eyes are wide and bright, and she feels every blink a loss of their splendour. There has barely been a night in six months that she hasn’t dreamed about these eyes. They’d been the first thing she’d noticed about him the night that elevator had stopped and their gazes had locked, wide and alarmed.

“I love you, Ben” she says before she can stop herself, before she can filter it with something less permanent, something easier to take back.

He closes his eyes then, for three seconds that feel like lifetimes. She feels as though she has lived many lifetimes when he opens them again.

They are glistening with unshed tears.

“You love me?” his voice is hoarse, his breath jagged.

“Yes, but- “she isn’t able to finish, isn’t able to speak as his mouth presses against hers in a kiss her body has been waiting for for months. His mouth is soft, so incredibly gentle against her own and she cannot help the gasp that slips from her, her mouth opening beneath his.

He lets go of her hands and less than a second later they are sliding into her hair, at the exact moment his tongue is moving into her mouth, brushing expertly against her own.

She had spent long nights thinking about kissing Ben Solo, had run hundreds of scenarios of what kissing him would be like. Her most replayed had been wild, hungry. She had expected Ben to kiss her like he was starving.

The reality was Ben kissing her so carefully, his mouth sweeping against hers so intentionally, that she can feel herself starting to unravel. His tongue sweeps along hers in measured strokes that make her knees weak. He kisses her the way she once watched him eat an ice cream cone, so expertly that none had melted over his had the way that hers had. His hands are twisted in her hair and hers are tangled in his and she has never felt so alive.

He kisses her and she knows she’ll never be the same.

She had loved him before, as her friend, as her potential partner. But now, now she knew that the chemistry she had thought between them wasn’t the inferno she’d worried would set her ablaze, but instead a steady, intense heat that warmed her from the inside out. She was worried she’d be consumed by the flames, but instead, she knew that she could flourish beneath this sunlight.

He pulls her closer and she whimpers beneath his mouth, those careful kisses slowly pulling her to pieces. He pulls away then, pressing his forehead against her own as they each gasp for breath.

Her hands move from his hair to rest along his neck and she can feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, a pounding concerto to match her own.

He moves forward again, but instead of her lips, he kisses her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth. Soft, whispers of kisses. Rey feels her eyes fill with tears once more. One falls and he kisses it away

“Rey,” he whispers, pulling back to look at her. His expression is open, happy, one he often wears when they are alone. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

She blinks. Once, twice.

He smiles at her then, eyes alight with a tenderness that looks different than it did a moment ago, somehow.

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out and she closes it again, her thoughts a jumbled mess, trying to make sense of this new information.

I love you so much, sweetheart.

The words play over and over as he continues to watch her, smile still firmly in place.

“You love me?” she finally asks and she watches a tear fall from his right eye as he chuckles.

“I have been in love with you almost as long as I have known you,” he tells her, leaning forward to press more kisses against her skin. “Deeply, insanely, completely.”

He keeps kissing her and before she can stop herself, she can feel her lips lifting into a smile. He kisses the corners of her mouth.

“You love me even though I ruined your cashmere sweater by running it through the wash?” she asks, remembering the way he’d clenched his jaw when she’d sheepishly presented him with remains of the black mess.

“So much,” he tells her, moving his hands down to her neck, along her shoulders and down her arms until his hands are wrapped around her waist. She resists the urge to look down to see how far his giant hands reach around. She’s spent many a night wondering if his fingertips would touch at the back.

“You love me even though I threw out your suspicious smelling Vietnamese leftovers?” he asks her and her body shakes with her laughter. She’d been so mad at him.

“So much, Ben,” she says as he pulls back to smile at her. It’s both the same and different to every other smile he’s ever given her. She loves his smile, knowing that he doesn’t do it often makes her feel like she’s won something every time he gifts her with one.

“You love me even though I think red wine is abhorrent?” She remembers the look on his face when she’d spat out the sip he’d made her try all over his pristine kitchen counter.

“Even though,” he laughs, pulling her into his body, until almost all of her his pressed against him. She can feel the hardness between his legs against her stomach.

“You love me even though I didn’t realise tonight was a date and asked our friends to come? Even though I had thought for a second before realising there would be no way you’d want me like that, that maybe you did? Even though when I saw you on that sidewalk, I saw how beautiful you were and realised how much of a coward I’ve been since I realised how I felt about you?”

“You’re my favourite person in the world Ben,” she tells him softly. “There’s not a but here for me, no even thoughs. I love you as you are, for everything that you are.”

“I love you, too. For everything that you are.”

He kisses her again and for the first time in her life, Rey Niima has everything she has ever wanted.

The End.

Hey 👋🏻 it’s been a minute. Like a lot of people, TROS kinda felt like a kick in teeth for me and it’s taken me a while to get back into fic writing during COVID (I’m an essential worker, and it’s been tough). Anyway, this one was a bit long, but I hope you liked it. And I hope it made up a little for my absence ❤️

[faustrinus]

Between Snowflakes and Christmas Music

Wolfstar

THIS IS PART TWO! Hope yall enjoy it :) After Sirius's conversation with his brother, his spirits were so much better. He had been able to achieve what he thought he could never do- actually try and fix things with his only family coming from the Black's side. On the negative side, even with all that courage recently gained, he wasn't ready to go to the Christmas party and see Remus being all-loving and warm to Dorcas. Of course, he was happy for his friends, but he never expected Remus to invite her. So he had to choose a plan B, a plan B with blonde hair and fluttery eyelashes that was sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. “Hey, McKinnon.” The girl waved, putting aside the book she was reading, “Black. Thought you were helping with the decoration.” “I was, but I had to do something and then I decided to come here,” He sat next to her, “Are you going with someone to the Christmas party?” “All alone, sadly. What about you?” “Also alone.” “So you're asking me to go with you?” “You're quick,” he mumbled, “Kind of. Just as friends, don't worry.” She shrugged her shoulders, “Sounds good, but, let me ask something,” She got closer to him, which made Sirius flinch back a little, “Is it because you can't go with the person you really want to?” “That person does not exist.” “Well, I must be seeing things, or” She laughed, grabbing the book that she had carefully left on the coffee table, “You're denying how you look at Remus.” “I don't-” She hit Sirius on the head with the book, making a loud thump sound, “Stop denying. It's okay. Just wanted to make sure you're comfortable with me knowing. Still, I think you should take a little bit more of a risk, Black. How are you supposed to know if things are going to work out if you don't try?” Sirius was left speechless, his face quickly becoming redder than the whole Gryffindor common room. Marlene was just staring at him, waiting for an answer. She knew. How did she know? Was he that obvious? What if someone else knew? Maybe Remus knew? he certainly had to, considering he had told Sirius how he was quite popular between both girls and boys, and in general, with all the young and flirty students. He knew, but he didn't know the most important part- that Sirius fancied him and no one else. “Still waiting for a confirmation, Black.” “Fine,” He unfroze, looking at the ground, “You're right.” “Thank you.” “But, how?... how did you figure it out?” “It was kind of obvious, but I don't think Remus knows, so don't worry about it too much, even less now that he's going with Dorcas,” She relaxed against the sofa, her legs quickly using Sirius's lap as a place to rest, “You're fine. I guess I pay too much attention to certain things.” “You don't mind?” “You’re kidding? You're still my friend.” He smirked and looked up, he didn't want to cry for the second time that day, “Thank you.” “No need for that. Now, we need to choose colours for outfits because we are matching, okay? I think red suits you well.” “We will definitely be the best-dressed at this party.” Days passed and between excited students and hundreds of Christmas decorations, the date of the party finally came. Luckily, it seemed like the sky had listened to the wishes of the students, painting the Hogwarts grounds with opaque and white snow. The teachers, in an attempt to keep everyone warm and comfortable, started casting multiple spells to keep things inside the castle at a pleasant temperature. Sirius was nervous, he had gotten a few compliments about his looks as he strolled down the numerous stairs of the castle, searching for Marlene, his so-called date to the party (that wasn’t truly his date, since they were going as friends). She had disappeared after complaining that her hair was too messy for anyone to see and that she had to find Dorcas to help her fix it a little. Of course, Sirius understood. Yet, he found it strange that thirty minutes after disappearing she had not come back yet. Did it seriously take her that much time to fix her hair? He also had long hair and he didn’t take that much time. Even while searching for her, his thoughts still wandered over Remus and what could he be possibly doing before the party started. His question was answered rather quickly, as just at the front of the entry to the Great Hall he found the three figures he was looking for. Dorcas, Marlene and Remus were laughing loudly, Marlene gesturing exaggeratedly with her hands as she spoke and Dorcas just looked at her, a smile tugging her lips. Remus was interested in the conversation, but not interested enough as not to notice Sirius approaching them. “Hey,” Remus mumbled, one of his hands finding rest in Sirius’s shoulders. Sirius thought about backing up a little, but he discarded that option as soon as he saw Marlene’s mocking expression. Now that she knew how the older Black felt about the Werewolf, she was totally on board with annoying Sirius about his “little” crush. So he stayed there, trying to control the heat that was reaching his face, “Hey.” “Is everything alright with the party? everyone is expecting it to be a huge success,” Remus looked around, Sirius noticed his eyebrows scrunching a little. “Yes, everything’s alright,” Sirius analyzed the big closed door that stood in front of them, “James is inside the Great Hall, doing some last minute arrangements. But we got everything ready just in time, the doors will open in a few minutes.” “You did a good job of planning and making all the houses collaborate,” Dorcas was now focused on doing a waterfall braid on Marlene’s hair, “I have heard from a lot of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that you had gone to their houses to give them instructions and just help them in general.” Remus looked at Sirius, his amused smirk accompanied by a raised eyebrow, “Didn’t know you did that.” Sirius rolled his eyes, but he still smiled, “I had time. I also did it with the Slytherins, but to say they didn’t want my help is saying little.” “At least you talked with your brother, right?” Remus asked, “He looks happier these last days.” “Yeah. We’ve talked, it's better.” “I’m glad.” Marlene was going to comment on something when the big doors finally opened, revealing how beautiful the whole place had been decorated. Dainty and elegant, tiny snowflakes were falling off the ceiling, and when they finally reached the floor, they disintegrated in a speck of shiny dust that flew into the air. It was a brilliant idea that came from a Ravenclaw student, and everyone loved it. Near the decorated walls, long tables with food were positioned, leaving the middle area with enough space for everyone to go and dance. Sirius hadn't noticed, but when a loud bell rang, announcing the start of the party, a crowd of students shouted with excitement behind him. When did they arrive? He had no idea, and he didn't have time to ask when Marlene was already dragging him to get some food. “We are not going to dance?” He asked, lowering his tone when he noticed Remus and Dorcas following their steps. “Maybe later?” Marlene answered, sounding confused about her own response. “I thought we were going to dance together,” Dorcas arrived while holding Remus's arm, making Sirius's heart ache a little. Yet, he couldn't help but look at them curiously. “Oh, yeah,” Marlene nodded, hitting Sirius playfully on the shoulder, a smirk adorning his face, “Sorry mate, got to dance with my girlfriend first.” “Wait. What?” Both Sirius and Remus blurted out at the same time, their eyes incredulously looking at each other and at the two girls. They both started laughing, it seemed like they had planned this. “Dorcas is my girlfriend, don't you see?” Marlene reached for Dorcas's hand, pulling her towards where she stood, “We both decided that it would be better if we came accompanied by boys. But after seeing same-gender couples holding hands and no one paying attention to them in the hall, we just… gave up, trying to be subtle. It doesn't fit us, as you can see.” “I'm sorry for telling you like this,” Dorcas was the only one that seemed a little bit apologetic, Marlene was too busy scanning the table full of food, “I told Marlene we should have told you beforehand, but we kind of forgot about it, I hope it's not too much trouble.” “It's not,” Remus was the first one to talk again, his expression a little bit less confused than Sirius, but still pretty shocked, “How long… How long have you two been together?” “Two months?” Dorcas asked, which Marlene nodded nonchalantly. “Two months?!” Sirius finally got out of his state of surprise, sounding in full disbelief, “That's a lot. Why didn't you tell me? Us, perhaps?” “Dorcas was a little bit scared, and it was fine for me as long as we didn't have to hide in a broom closet every time a professor passed by.” Remus nodded, and Sirius couldn't believe he was just accepting it so easy. Of course, it was alright, they were their friends, but hiding it for so much time? Was that okay? for years Sirius was desperate to find someone that could understand the way he felt about guys, especially when he had heard so many times that that was the way he was supposed to feel about girls. And only now, after learning how to deal with his feelings without anyone's help, he learns Marlene and Dorcas also had those feelings. But could he really be mad at them noticing how perfected they seemed to be together? seeing how their smiles shone differently when they were directed to each other? “I guess it kind off… caught us out by surprise. But I'm happy for you.” Dorcas smiled in gratitude to Sirius's, and so did Marlene. Soon, they were walking hand by hand to the dance floor, laughing silently and giving each other heart eyes, everyone that could see them could tell they were just happy to be together at that moment, that they were in love with each other. And of course, Sirius was left alone with Remus. He didn't mind that much considering they were surrounded by students and professors (it would have been a lot worse if it was only the two of them) but he still wanted to run away, the typical tingling that came with being with the person you liked appearing and taking over his body. Yet, he tried to remain calm, leaning into one of the free walls to make sure he wasn’t going to lose balance thanks to how nervous he was, “Did you...expected it?” Remus shrugged, “Kind of? I don't know. Now that I think of it and I see it, sometimes they were pretty obvious.” Sirius nodded in agreement, noticing that Remus's was playing with the end of his tie, his eyes scanning the rest of the place. He could tell he was also nervous, but why? because he didn't have a date anymore? Did he like Dorcas? was he feeling nervous after being ditched by his date? “Remus, can I ask you something?” “Sure?... go on.” There was no coming back, so Sirius raised his voice, even with all the strength he tried to gather, it still sounded a little bit doubtful and maybe even hopeful, “Do you like Dorcas?” Remus stopped playing with the end of his tie and stood there, blinking confusedly. His head tilting to the side, not understanding the question that came out of nowhere. “Okay, sorry. Let me repeat-” “Sirius, didn’t you know I like you?” … Sirius felt his whole world explode in less than five seconds, his face going so red that he was sure he looked like he was suffocating into a cloud of surprise and embarrassment. Remus had to be joking since there was no way he was telling the truth this easy, yet his face remained intact, just that he had a nervous expression making his right eye twitch a little, Sirius noticed his eye also did that when he told something important to the marauders, all the evidence was pointing out that it was true, but, how? “...Is this a joke?” “Why would I joke with that?” “I don’t know.” “I can’t believe you’re truly that oblivious.” And then it all clicked, all the pieces of the puzzle fell right into place. How Remus behaved around Sirius, the way he blushed when Sirius said certain things, the way he already knew that Sirius liked guys- he knew everything, yet, none of it came from his lips until the last moment. And he was confessing, right at the start of the Christmas party. Without looking he was about to faint. It didn’t feel like a confession, but it was. “I… I guess I am.” And for what it seemed the first time in weeks, Sirius felt something so heavy he never knew he carried getting off his shoulders and finally letting him breathe, it was like all the judging and words he was expecting were a different and opposite reality he would never experience. This was his reality, one where Remus actually liked him back, and he was telling him. “I know you are a little bit in shock. But maybe… could you answer? Please. I did not just confess to not get an answer. At least you could turn me down or something. ” “I like you too,” He almost knocked something off the table, nervously moving around, “I have liked you for a long time, Remus, do you know how this freaking feels?” Remus' reaction was slower than Sirius’s. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened a little, trying to find something to say. Sirius was astonished, did he confess not knowing how Sirius’s would react? he didn’t know his feelings were reciprocated? He just went for it without any second thought, not expecting a positive response. “Hey, you two.” Regulus slipped into the conversation, his hand holding what Sirius assumed (or expected) to be some type of fruit juice. He was wearing a suit that made him look a little bit older than he was, and Sirius felt overwhelmed by a second. And then it evaporated, replaced by the uneasy feeling of not knowing if his brother had heard anything about the conversation. “Reg?” “I can see from far away that you two are having the messiest love confession of all times. And it’s making me embarrassed.” “What..?” Remus snapped out of his shock, finally looking at Sirius and Regulus, his eyes alternating between the two with a look of disbelief. “Remus, right? do you like my brother?” “Uhm.. yes.” “Sirius, do you like Remus?” “I do.” “Great. Problem solved. Now go dancing before the party ends because you took another whole hour talking about your feelings,” Regulus sounded exasperated, but as he was turning around to leave Sirius saw the little smile adorning his lips, “See you later, lovebirds.” “Did he just…?” “I think your brother’s right. Sorry for… you know, the late reaction. I didn’t expect to be right.” “So you knew?” “I suspected it, but I never thought it was actually true. Knowing me, the way I look…” “Hot?” “Sirius!” “What?” They both laughed loudly, their chests vibrating with the joy of knowing they had something to care for now, a new emotion flourishing between the two. Sirius felt like he could start sprinting at any given moments, go around the entire school a thousand times and his heart would still flutter with the thought someone liked him that way. From Remus's perspective, it just felt right. Looking at Sirius, now with hundreds of new adventures to live with him- it felt like that was supposed to happen. “So what do you say about… dancing?” “I would love to,” Sirius answered, “But you're going to have to keep up with those moves,” His voice sounded light and cheerful, and he was even trying to imitate the luxurious his family had taught him to talk with. “I think I can deal with it.” Breathing deeply, they intertwined their hands and started walking. Some people stared, but no one said anything, and Sirius's was sure he saw Professor McGonagall smiling softly at them from the corner of her eye. He also heard James cheering loudly and enthusiastic, something among the lines of, “My best friends finally found love! in each other!” while Peter was trying to shush him up while smiling nervously at his friends. “I have to confess I tend to be a rather clumsy dancer.” “Nonsense, you're dancing with Sirius Black. From now on, we are the centre of attention of this party.” Sirius hummed happily when a slow song he knew started to play, his hands reached Remus's chest instinctively with a confident smile, even when the taller boy could see how much he was blushing, “Even the great dancer Sirius Black is nervous to dance with me?” “Shut up.” “Make me.” Sirius's were wide open, yet his expression transformed into a smirk, “Maybe after the first date.” “I don't remember you asking me out on a date.” “Should I? I thought you were already enchanted by me.” Remus laughed, his hands wrapped around Sirius's waist, “Shouldn't have confessed first. Your ego is above the roof.” “But you like it.” “Sadly, I do.” And as they started swaying slowly to the rhythm of the song, that was what Christmas was really about. Love and being loved. All between snowflakes and Christmas music.

[igirisuhito]

Title: Blue Ram Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Hinata Hajime Rating: Explicit Summary: Hinata thinks he has his sexuality all figured out. Until one day a pretty woman comes to his workplace in the dead of night. Posted for Day 1 of @tropicaldespair‘s #SDR2Giftober Trigger Warnings: Cross-dressing, Semi-public sex, Powerplay, Sexual frustration, Rough sex, Perving a stranger, I’m sorry all the triggery things are horny

[Ao3 Link]

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Hinata Hajime was a regular teenage boy.

He has high grades and attends an elite school, sure. But like most teenage boys, his spare time was spent playing video games, working his part time job, or jacking off to hot girls on the internet.

As vanilla as a teenage boy could get.

Hinata works as a cashier at a convenience store a block from his house. It's your average suburban Japanese 7/11, an average teenage boy's job.

He works this job most nights, and usually does a longer shift on Sundays. In all honesty, he probably works a bit too much, but tuition for Hope’s Peak Academy is incredibly expensive. He had been enough of a burden to his parents for all these years. Besides, here he can continue to fuel his addiction to cup ramen and kusamochi for a conveniently cheaper price.

And that's exactly what he was doing on this humid Saturday night. The rainy season was finally here, and the warmth was making Hinata's work shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The air conditioner in the break room wasn't strong enough to combat heat like this.

It had been a quiet night, likely due to the sheer amount of rain pouring down outside. Hinata was the only one on shift, and even he had resorted to hiding in the break room to read manga. It was difficult to focus due to the loud pelting of the rain on the roof and the dizzying humidity hanging in the air.

Hinata yawned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes that were lazily wiped away. It wasn't unusual for him to work a late six-to-two shift on a Saturday, but end of term exams had been knocking him around quite a bit. The struggle of juggling both studying and work has been causing him to become more tired than usual.

A loud electronic bell and the sound of the automatic doors sliding open broke him from his daze. Placing his manga face down on the table, Hinata stood up from his chair and made his way out of the break room before sliding into his place behind the counter.

Clearing his throat quietly, he put on his best customer service voice. "Good evening! Is there anything I can help you with?"

He glanced towards the door, seeking out the person who was dumb enough to go shopping at 12am in the pouring rain. He was met with a pair of grey eyes boring a hole into him, analysing intensely for any sort of reaction. Hinata's breath caught in his throat.

Standing near the door was a young woman, quite tall for a girl. Her white hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, still dripping with water from the rain. Dark mascara was thickly applied to her long eyelashes, so long he actually assumed they were fake at first glance. Red lipstick had been painted onto her small yet pointed lips and eye shadow of a similar colour was dusted on her eyelids. The bold colours of her makeup contrasted gorgeously against her pale skin. It was surprising that it hadn't washed off in the rain.

A tight black dress with thick straps clung to her body, fabric hugging at her hips and chest in a way that revealed she was lacking in the latter department. Sheer black stockings stretched over her skinny legs, ending in tall red high stilettos that could probably be used to kill a man if she so desired.

Hinata felt dizzy, blood rushing to his face as he brought his gaze back up to where the attractive woman's own was waiting.

"Ah… No… I'm quite alright…" The girl averted her eyes from his. "Thank you."

Her voice was surprisingly deep and sultry, it made her all the more attractive. Though she seemed somewhat shaken, perhaps even nervous?

The lady slowly made her way over to the snacks section, her heels clacking loudly against the floor with every step. Hinata watched closely, entranced by the gorgeous woman he probably had no right to be staring at as hard as he was.

She bent down to pick up a pack of salted pretzel sticks and Hinata just couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek. He had always been more of an ass kind of guy anyway.

During his ogling, he couldn't help noticing a few small tears in her stockings, just below where her dress ended. His mind quickly became overcome with a dirty thought so jarring that it made him realize just how perverted he was being. For his own moral's sake, he forced his eyes away into another aisle, hoping she hadn't somehow been able to feel his stare.

She straightened herself up again and grabbed a cold can of Blue Ram from the fridge nearby before heading to the counter where Hinata waited. He avoided her eyes as he scanned her items.

"T-That comes to a total of 500 yen." He mumbled, finding himself blushing madly now that she was so close, enough so to smell the flowery perfume wafting off of her. Get a grip, Hajime!  

The lady smiled and patted her hands on her hips performatively. "O-Oh dear… it seems I've forgotten my purse!"

What? Are you serious? As if I'm going to fall for that.  

Scoffing silently, Hinata stared down at his shiny black work shoes.

"P-Please don't worry about the cost, m-ma'am." He stammered out.

WHAT?! Stop thinking with your dick! That's your goddamn allowance!!

A toothed grin crawled up on the woman's face as she towered over the other boy, suddenly gaining an air of confidence. "Aren't you a sweetheart! Thank you very much-" She glanced down at his nametag, " Hinata-kun. "

She picked up her items before leaving the store, making her way back out into the pouring rain. She left Hinata red faced and humiliated, wondering if he would ever see her again, hear his name on her lips…

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. Why did he let that happen? That woman knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn't even like she was a smooth older woman either, she was pretty young! And he just let her walk all over him in those fancy high heels.

He grumbled as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, adding the missing cost to the till. Now he not only had a hard-on but he was out of pocket 500 yen as well.

With a loud sigh, Hinata made his way to the back room, determined to do something about his newfound problem.

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Hinata found himself still thinking about that mesmerising bitch of a woman 3 days later during a quiet afternoon shift. The rainy weather had eased off for the day, the sweltering sun shining through the poorly cleaned windows. Studying in the barely air-conditioned Reserve Course building all day had already left him in a particularly crabby mood. It seems he can't escape the heat anywhere.  

He truly envied the Main Course students for a lot of things. Their talent, their privilege, their dormitories, their stupid uniforms, their obnoxious laughter as they ate. He especially hated the way they tried to steal stuff from the store despite the fact they could absolutely afford it and then proceeding to complain to the school and get him in trouble with his boss purely for doing his fucking job.

Hinata really did not like the Main Course students.

Which is why his mood grew even more sour now that there were a bunch of them eating here today. Another cackle echoed through the store, causing Hinata's shoulders to tense up in frustration.

The obnoxious laugh seemed to come from this boy with neon pink hair who was sporting an ugly blue jumpsuit. He slurped his soba loudly as he chatted amongst the other two students beside him. They consisted of a boy and a girl, both clothed in the Main Course's rich brown uniform.

The girl had long blonde hair that cascaded elegantly down her back, she didn't seem like she was Japanese, though. Perhaps an international exchange student? And the boy had dark hair styled in a flashy unusual manner paired with mismatched eyes. If his goal was to make people look at him funny, he was definitely succeeding.  

Hinata leaned onto the counter with a sigh, resting his head upon his elbows. His shift had just barely started yet he was already so, so bored. His coworker was hiding out in the back doing god knows what, leaving most of the grunt work to Hinata yet again . Jeez, and the guy wonders why he never bothered to remember his name.

The warm weather pulled at Hinata's consciousness, causing his eyelids to droop shut as he receded into his thoughts. He’d been conjuring up an elaborate fantasy that he found himself regularly indulging in the last few days whenever he had the time to.

It would go down on another rainy evening, the lady would come in wearing white shirt, so completely soaked that Hinata could see the lacy black brassiere underneath.  

There would be tears running down her face, smearing her makeup in a way that she still remained beautiful. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend, all alone and out in the rain, just seeking someone to care for her, to listen to her woes. Hinata would listen, take care of her, maybe wrap her up in a towel and sit her down in the back room.

She would confess that she felt feelings for him when he paid for her food, that he supported her in a time of need. She would thank him over and over again, offering to make up for it with her body. Hinata would politely decline, but she would insist, already unbuttoning her shirt.  

He would take her there, bend her over the table and make her feel pleasure like she never had before. He’d thrust so deeply that she would be crying, cumming over and over again from his well-sized cock. He would grab that little ponytail of hers and pull her face up, kissing her so passionately that he smeared lipstick across his own lips.

And finally he would cum deep inside of her (she would be using birth control, of course, Hinata isn’t ready for kids).

Afterwards, he’d call her a taxi, and she would leave her number, thanking him for the best night of her life. Perhaps she would come back, and they would fuck again and again.

The electronic bell dinged, tearing Hinata away from his sweet, sweet fantasy. The automatic doors opened and in stepped another student donning a Main Course uniform and a face mask.

Hinata rolled his eyes. "Welcome! Can I be of any ser-"

"KOMAEDA?!"

He found himself cut off by a loud screech from the pink haired student. Said student jumped up out of his seat and backed off. "Wh-why are you here! Since when did you come here?"

The dark haired one spoke. "Souda, you behave as if you have just witnessed an apparition. Does Komaeda truly strike such fear into your heart?"

"Of course he does! Nothing good ever happens when he's around! I always end up getting hurt!" The pink haired boy, who Hinata presumed to be named 'Souda', protested loudly.

The blonde girl stood up, slamming her palms on the table. "Souda! That is no way to treat your fellow classmates!"

"A-Ah, you're right… sorry, Miss Sonia…."

The student who had just entered the store laughed in a way that was honestly kind of creepy. It was just way too breathy, too pained.

"No, it's completely understandable! I'm sorry that somebody as terrible as myself has caused made you worry for your safety..."

What was that kid's name, Komaeda?

"I'll make this brief, I only came to get a drink." Eyes crinkling from what Hinata presumed to be a smile, Komaeda proceeded to walk away from the group of students.

The blonde girl, Sonia, if he wasn’t mistaken, gave Souda a glare before hopping out of her seat with an elegant swish of her skirt. She wandered over to where Komaeda stood near the drink fridges, her gait rather sophisticated and regal.

"Komaeda, I noticed you're wearing a face mask today, did you catch a cold?" Sonia asked the other, attempting to strike up conversation, probably out of pity.

The boy reached into the fridge, grabbing a can of drink. "Ah, yes. I was only in the rain for a short while, but this awful luck of mine found a way to get me sick." He finished his sentence with a soft laugh.

"Oh, that's unfortunate! I really hope you get better soon!" Sonia gave him a sad little smile overflowing with sympathy.

Komaeda paused for a second, blinking a few times before tilting his head to the side and looking towards her. "Sonia-san, I'm incredibly grateful, but you shouldn't waste your hope on scum like me."

What the fuck? Who talks like that?

The Main Course boy made his way towards Hinata, placing a can of Blue Ram on the counter. With Hinata's somewhat icy glare, he found himself hoping that his customer service smile was enough to mask the hate emanating from his soul.

Now that he was close, Hinata got a much better look at Komaeda's features. He had messy white hair and sharp grey eyes, standing stark against pale skin.

Wait.

It seemed Komaeda realised it too. He had a frightened look in his eyes, as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"You…"

Gritting his teeth harshly, Hinata closed his hands into fists before swinging one of his arms forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy.

"You took my fucking money!!"

Panic set in on Komaeda's face, and hearing Hinata yell was enough to force his primal instincts to kick in. He broke into a full sprint out of the store, knocking down a shelf in the process. This shelf just so happened to come down on Souda, who screamed out in pain as the metal pinned him beneath.

Hinata slid across the counter and took chase, abandoning the store and the mess in his haste. Never in his life had he been this angry about 500 yen. Well, it wasn't really about the money, it was about the fact he'd rubbed one out to a man dressed as a woman, that he had been fantasising about a man dressed as a woman. His pride as a teenage boy had been destroyed in one swift moment.

Fancy dress shoes clacked against the pavement as Komaeda ran down the street, desperate to get away from the angry store clerk mere metres behind him. His stamina was incredibly poor. Hinata's wasn't great, but at least he was forced to participate in PE and maintain his health.

Hinata noticed Komaeda was beginning to slow down and the gap between them shortened. Outstretching an arm, he reached for the back of the boy's jacket, fingers barely brushing the material the first go. With a rush of determination he reached out again, this time getting a solid grip, yanking the boy to him.

He clearly hadn't considered what pulling 65 kilograms towards yourself whilst you're still moving would do, because the next thing Hinata knew he was colliding with the Main Course student and falling forward into the pavement. He hissed as gravel dug into his skin, scraping up his hands and elbows as he landed on top of the other student.  

Hinata grabbed the other boy by his hips, flipping them over and straddling his body to prevent any chance of escape. He glared into Komaeda's narrowed eyes, both boys panting heavily in an attempt to catch their breaths.

"You... hah… owe me…" Hinata barely got the words out.

"I… ah…. haha…. I don't…. know you…" As Komaeda wheezed, he tilted his head back to rest against the pavement.

In an attempt to calm his racing heart, Hinata took a big breath of air before exhaling shakily.

"You… you played that sick prank on me… and then you took my money… and now you have the audacity to say you don't know me?!"

"You… you're the one who gave it to me…" Komaeda shot back, a smirk growing on his face.

It seemed Komaeda's mask had been ripped off in the fall, now loosely hanging from one of his ears. His nose was beginning to bleed, crimson liquid dribbling over his dry lips and teeth. His forehead had been grazed as well, Komaeda really had taken quite the tumble.

Suddenly he pushed Hinata hard in the chest, forcing him off his body. An aggressive cough racked Komaeda's lungs, forcing him to sit up as he choked.

"H-hey… are you okay?" Hinata sat back on his knees, feeling a pang of guilt upon seeing the state of Komaeda's physical condition. Had he really just chased down a sick kid?

Komaeda laughed, an incredulous expression painted on his face as he pulled the remaining loop of the mask off his ear. "Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

With his patience instantly running out, Hinata was left fuming. Why on earth did he even ask if that guy was okay?! He was clearly just another stuck up rich prick from the Main Course.

Rising to his feet, Hinata wiped some of the dirt off his hands, wincing at the open wounds that had been left from sharp gravel tearing through his skin.

"If I get fired it's your fault!" He spat back, unable to think of anything else to say to save his dignity at this point.

Clenching his hands into fists, Hinata turned away from Komaeda, who was still sprawled out on the pavement. He began his walk back to the convenience store, a little anxious about his employment situation.

Why would a guy even dress up as a chick? Was he getting off on it? Hinata wondered as he walked.

Was Komaeda gay?

Wait, why did the sexuality of a Main Course student even matter to him?

Was… he gay?

Even after finding out that beautiful woman was a man, he still felt so incredibly attracted to him. That flushed out face and those reddened lips had him having physical reactions that he really shouldn't be having.

Hinata buried his face in his grazed palms. This was way too much to process in one day. He paused and took a deep breath, regaining his composure before stepping back into the store.

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After Hinata returned he lied to his coworker, saying Komaeda had been stealing, which was why he left the store so suddenly. Surprisingly enough, Komaeda's Main Course buddies backed up that refute, claiming, "Trouble just follows that guy everywhere." Hinata almost felt bad for him for a second, until he realised it was himself who had to clean up the knocked over shelf.

He didn't see Komaeda again after that.

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Exams were finally over and Hinata now had a chance to relax. He took the late evening Saturday shift to make up for all the shifts he didn't work after the incident, partially due to exams, partially due to fear of running into that Main Course student again. So even if Komaeda had been by, he wouldn't have known about it.

It made the week incredibly boring and frustrating. For some twisted reason, he wanted to see that boy again. He wanted to cuss him out and punch him, show him how useless that Super High School Level title really was against his fists and prove his own worth.

Though, of course, he would be kicked out of Hope's Peak faster than he could agree to the Hope Cultivation Project.

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Hinata let out a loud sigh at the realisation that Komaeda wasn't the only thing he had to worry about. If he agreed to the project, he could probably quit working. But that would most likely mean he'd never have the chance to see that boy again. Though, it's not like he'd have the balls to approach him on campus anyways.

But if he was talented, he wouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing, right?

Hinata shook the thought from his head, this really wasn't what he wanted to preoccupy his mind with right now.

Perhaps now would be a good time to check if anything needed restocking. Not a lot of people tend to come by after 10pm, which made working these shifts so easy. Though, you were more likely to encounter drunks and unfavourable people. Not to mention the beating Hinata's sleep schedule took if he ever took one on a weeknight.

He yawned and straightened himself up, beginning to peruse the shelves. Usually he left this kind of thing to whoever worked the Sunday morning shift, but he was feeling particularly bored tonight. Somebody must have restocked during the day though, as there were still plenty of snacks stacked on the shelves.

Ugh, the one time he actually wants to work for his money…

Hinata needed something to keep himself from dozing off out of sheer boredom, so he grabbed a can of coffee from the fridge before returning to the counter. He put his palms down and hoisted himself up, sitting up on the surface with his legs hanging down.

Hinata picked his drink back up, cracking it open with a hiss as the air escaped. He took a few large gulps before placing it back down.

He said he wasn't going to think about the Project when he was feeling so tired and distracted, trying to relax, but he really did need to make a decision. He was already in his second year and still unsure of what to do. They were probably going to dump him if he didn't decide soon, and having that choice taken away from him worried him more than agreeing to it.

But he was particularly worried about the consequences of agreeing. There was such a high chance that the surgery could go wrong, be botched. Well, they actually said the risk was rather small, that the Super High School Level Neurologist would be the one leading the surgery. And sure, he trusts in his talent, but letting somebody into your head is just… terrifying.

The door slid open with an electronic ding, startling Hinata. He threw himself off the counter quickly and yelled out his scripted greeting. "G-good evening!! C-can I be of any service?!"

Hinata spun around, turning his eyes to the door and picking up the lingering can that sat on the counter, in full view for any customer to see how he had been slacking off. He saw the familiar brown pleated skirt of the female Main Course's uniform, so naturally he was expecting a girl, yet when he let his eyes wander up he found himself staring at a painfully unforgettable mass of white hair.

"Ko-"

"Ah, you're working tonight. I was expecting the other one." Komaeda muttered, stepping into the store with a rather exaggerated sway of his hips.

Hinata blinked hard, attempting to keep calm enough to recall his coworker's name. "Uh… the guy with black hair?"

Komaeda paused and blinked in return. "What? You don't even know his name? You truly are useless Reserve Course garbage, huh?"

"Hey! I'm not garbage! If anyone here is garbage it's you!" Hinata yelled, slamming his hands onto the counter. "Coming here so late at night in a girl's uniform, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sick grin crept up on Komaeda's as he began to move close to Hinata, allowing the other to get a better look at his getup.

He was wearing tall white socks with black flats. His skirt was much too short, showing off an inappropriate amount of thigh with every movement. Beneath the matching brown blazer was a beige cardigan and a white dress shirt, tied up cutesy with a red ribbon tie. This time he wore no makeup and had done nothing with his hair, just the girly clothes.

"It's true, I am pure scum. This hobby of mine may be disgusting, perverted, messed up, whatever word you want to use to describe it." Komaeda paused for a second before leaning closer. "But nothing I do will ever be as shameful as your pathetic attempts to be something you could never be."

Something in Hinata snapped at those words. He found himself grabbing Komaeda's collar, gripping the fabric tightly in his fist before pulling him across the counter. Hinata raised his fist, gritting his teeth as he went to take a swing at the other boy. However, a coherent thought reached his mind in the last second, and he stopped himself before it could make contact with Komaeda's face.

Komaeda's face twisted into a big grin. "Do it. See what happens. I dare you." His eyes swirled with a strange emotion. Excitement? Fear? He couldn’t say for certain.

Hinata's teeth worried at his lip as he considered it briefly. He could hit him, he was right there. Hitting him would bring him the justice and the relief he had been craving all week, spite that had wound tightly up in his gut whilst sitting all those horrendous exams.

He bit down on his lip hard, before letting go of the other boy with a sigh. "You're not worth it."

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Komaeda propped his chin up with his hands and gave Hinata a wide smile. He kicked his legs up off the floor, allowing it to bear his full weight. "Say, Reserve Course, why are you so angry anyway?"

"I have a name." Hinata snapped at him. "And why wouldn't I be mad? You deceived me and have the gall to keep insulting me like that."

"Calling you Reserve Course isn't an insult, it's a fact. If you're the one getting upset, then you must truly realise how much of an embarassment you are huh?" Voice practically dropping with mockery, Komaeda tilted his head slighty to the side.  

"Shut up. I can tell you're just trying to rile me up." Hinata spat, looking away from the boy in front of him. "Get off the counter before somebody else sees you."

"No thanks! Is that really what you're mad about? A random stranger whom you have nothing to do with just so happens to be crossdressing? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're either a homophobic prick, or you're mad at yourself for being into it." Komaeda stared right into Hinata, refusing to avert his eyes in an attempt to draw his attention back.

And he was successful, as Hinata was now staring with his mouth agape and cheeks red. "I- I'm not into it!"

"I see! So you're homophobic then?"

"No!!"

"Are you sure?"

"Very!"

"Hmph, suit yourself." Komaeda laughed softly before shimmying himself back off the counter. He picked up Hinata's can of drink, making eye contact with the boy as he took a sip.

"H-hey! That's my drink!" Hinata stuttered out, still somewhat shaken by the accusation.

Komaeda recoiled and groaned. "So bitter… how can you drink this stuff?"

The other boy shrugged. "It's coffee, it's always bitter. Why did you even drink it if you don't like it?"

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Komaeda placed the drink back onto the counter. "Are all of you Reserve Course students this inane?"

"What? What are you even talking about?" Hinata blinked hard, trying to recall if he had missed something.

Komaeda made a frustrated noise before walking around to behind the counter with yet another expression that Hinata couldn’t quite place. He blurted out a "Hey, you can't be back he-" before having his words cut off by the other boy grabbing his shirt with two hands and planting his lips on his.

Hinata gasped, which gave Komaeda the chance to deepen the kiss and lick at the inside of his mouth. His brain was now running at a million miles an hour, trying desperately to comprehend what the fuck was going on.

The guy who's been making him question his sexuality rocks up to the place he works, dressed in a girl's uniform, and then proceeds to rile him up, insult him, before shoving his tongue into his mouth?

Hinata pushed the other boy away from him, his face rapidly heating up and his pants feeling a bit tighter than before. "Look, Komaeda, I really don't appreciate you making fun of me like this!"

There was an utterly dumbfounded look on Komaeda's face that simply furthered Hinata's confusion. "You still don't get it? I'm trying to seduce you."

"Hah?"

"I want you to fuck me, Hinata-kun."

Hinata's mind completely blanked. That was ridiculous. Komaeda was a rude Main course bastard who seemingly just swung by Hinata’s workplace to make a mockery of him, the dots didn't connect whatsoever. Complications aside, he couldn't deny those words sent his teenage boy heart racing. "B-But you hate me?"

"And?"

"And?!"

"You're hot." Komaeda took a shaky breath, suddenly getting a little more nervous, "Just… say whether or not you want to have sex with me."

"I-I do!!” After blurting out the confession, Hinata averted his gaze to the floor. His face felt like it was on fire at this point. “It's just… uh… I've never done anything… uh… with anyone before."

A loud, wheezy cackle left Komaeda, one that caused him to shake and grab at his shirt as he howled. Hinata watched in confusion and Komaeda fought for his breath, still giggling away until the humour finally began to wear off. He stopped and suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh good, I thought I was going to have to break it to you that you’re gay."

"Shut up." Hinata hissed. "You pretty much already did, anyway."

For a second there, Komaeda almost looked shocked, but his expression quickly morphed into a grin. "Was I the one who awakened you? That's incredibly high praise, Hinata-kun."

He draped his arms around Hinata's shoulders, still wearing a cocky smile as he leaned in close once again. This time Hinata took the initiative, twirling Komaeda around and forcing him into the wall behind them before desperately kissing him.

Komaeda flinched, not expecting the rough treatment, but definitely welcoming it. He bit at Hinata's lips as the boy's hands slid down his sides, feeling him up. A moan slipped from Komaeda as a hand ran up his shirt, fingertips grazing along his skin and up to his chest.

Upon feeling lacy fabric, Hinata pulled away from the kiss for a moment. "Are you… wearing lingerie?"

Komaeda giggled softly. "Of course I am, there's no point in dressing like a girl if you aren't going to go the whole mile."

Hinata shook his head, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the situation. "We're really doing this huh? I don't even have any condoms or lube…"

Komaeda glanced behind Hinata, eyeing the shelf of 18+ items. Hinata followed his eyes, breathing an "Ah." in response. "But what about the store?"

"I can guarantee right now that nobody will come in. I'm not good for much, but this kind of thing I am." Komaeda cracked a near elated smile, happy to finally have his talent be useful.

Despite still seeming somewhat confused, Hinata nodded in agreeance. "Okay… but what about the cameras? Surely they wi-"

That smile on Komaeda's face fell. "If you make another excuse I'm leaving."

"Okay okay!" Hinata put his hands up, stepping back from Komaeda with a huff. He wandered to the front of the store to flip over the 'Back in 5 minutes' sign and lock the doors. He felt it was completely unnecessary, but Komaeda let Hinata waste his time with it anyway.

He decided to take advantage of the moment and grab a pack of condoms and a small tube of lubricant. Any footage on the cameras of him taking the items would go mysteriously missing, after all, the sheer amount of bad luck he had been experiencing for the past week practically guaranteed the night's success.

He opened up the condom pack, ‘Ribbed for her pleasure.’ He couldn't suppress the urge to giggle, pulling one out before slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

When Komaeda looked up again, Hinata was watching him with a nervous stare. His forehead shimmered a little with sweat from the head, and the tight sleeves of Hinata's shirt squeezed around his biceps. He was well built, shirt fitting a little too snugly around his pecs.

He could only hope this Reserve Course boy was as good as he looked.

"Where would you like to do it then, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata shuddered, a rush of arousal burning through him at the sound of Komaeda's sultry voice. It was embarrassing just how much it turned him on.

"T-The back room…" He stammered out, once again forcing himself to look away from Komaeda.

"Well then," Komaeda grabbed ahold of Hinata's twist, causing him to gasp, "The back room it is."

The irony of being led around his own workplace escaped Hinata, who was currently too dizzy with arousal and heat to even walk straight.

Komaeda pushed the door open, pulling Hinata into the break room where it was much cooler, seeing as the air conditioner didn't have to fight with the heat exhaust from the fridges. The two of them paused for a moment, revelling in the cool air as Komaeda swiped at his brow and Hinata aired his shirt.

"S-So, uh…"

Before Hinata could stammer out whatever stupid question that would kill Komaeda's mood, he turned to face him with a smile and put his hands on the boy's hips. Hinata complied as he was slowly walked backwards, admiring the passionate look burning in Komaeda's intense grey eyes. The same ones he admired so deeply upon their first encounter, yet avoided out of nervousness.

This time Hinata was still shaking with nerves, making a startled noise when the back of his knees hit something hard. Komaeda chuckled at his apprehension, voice calm and soothing as he guided him down to sit on the object he presumed to be a chair.

Hinata's thighs shook as Komaeda leaned his hands onto them, using them to balance himself as he straddled his waist in a way that pushed their groins much too close. A soft sigh escaped Komaeda's lips as he settled into Hinata's lap, a smile turning up at the corners of his mouth.

"A-Are you sure this is safe? These chairs are kinda, uh, shitty." He averted his gaze, mouth going dry as he babbled out the words. "I-I-I mean, t-they aren't really meant to support, uh, lots of weight…"

That smile simply got wider, flashing Komaeda's pearly white teeth beneath it. "Mm, we'll see."

Before Hinata could blurt out another objection, Komaeda's lips slotted against his in an aggressive kiss. He barely realised what was happening before Komaeda was already giving swipes of tongue against his lips.

Apparently that was all it took for Hinata's brain to give up on caring about Workplace Safety. His head felt light and dizzy as he reciprocated the movement, moaning softly against the other's lips when their tongues made contact and indulged in a sweet moment of friction.

Komaeda sucked passionately at his tongue in a way that created all sorts of lewd and slick noises that went straight to Hinata's dick. He must have felt it too, because next thing Hinata knew Komaeda was rolling his hips forwards, grinding into the other's crotch in a way that made both of them moan from the soft friction and pressure.

When they finally broke off the kiss, Komaeda was left panting with a little smirk on his face. His cheeks flushed a soft red as his eyes slid down over Hinata's reddened lips, wandering until they fell onto his chest. Pale hands wandered to the collar of Hinata's work shirt, fingers taking hold of the fabric and beginning to undo the two buttons.

With a little bit of Hinata's chest exposed, Komaeda could finally start to see what it was he had been working so hard for. He pressed his hands against Hinata's pecs, smoothing them down across his torso until he reached the hem of the fabric. For the first time tonight, Hinata was completely focused, already raising his arms to make it easier for Komaeda to pull his shirt up and over his head.

The shirt was quickly tossed aside, left abandoned on the floor as the fabric was replaced by hands stroking over Hinata's chest.

A pleased hum could be heard as Komaeda gave his pecs a gentle squeeze. "That shirt isn't very flattering for your body, it makes you look skinny."

“Uh, thank you?”

Hinata wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands as he raised them up to rest on Komaeda’s shoulders, an action that brought out another gentle laugh from him. Removing his hands from Hinata’s chest, Komaeda placed them on top of his own, guiding them downwards past his collarbone and over his chest. Not once did Hinata’s eyes stray from his hands.

Komaeda continued to guide them down, over the subtle curve of his hips until they settled into the pale flesh of his thighs. A light pressure was applied as Hinata buried his fingers into the soft skin, squeezing slightly. This elicited a pleased sigh from Komaeda, who shifted forwards to guide Hinata’s hands to his ass.

A groan barely escaped past Hinata’s gritted teeth as his pants rubbed against his erection. He gripped the flesh tighter, spreading Komaeda’s ass cheeks as he ground his hips upwards. The sensation was overwhelmingly good, sending shocks of pleasure down Hinata’s spine and making his head spin with need .

Those slender fingers returned to Hinata’s chest, brushing over his nipple before taking it between two fingers and squeezing gently. This pulled another moan from Hinata’s throat, and he thrust his hips up again.

“You’re awfully sensitive.” A tighter pinch had Hinata letting out a high squeak, which made him flush bright red in embarrassment. “I know I’m the one wearing a skirt, but if anything you’re more like a girl than I am.”

Hinata resented the way Komaeda’s teasing seemed to go straight to his dick. He pushed his hips forward again, repeating the motion in order to get more friction on his unbearably hard cock. Another rush of pleasure shot through his veins, making Hinata shudder and moan.

In order to silence the awful comments that were shortening his patience in more ways than one, Hinata leaned upwards and pulled at Komaeda’s bottom lip with his teeth. This seemed to get the point across, as Komaeda stopped teasing at his nipples and kissed Hinata deeply, open mouthed and messy.

No teases of tongue, the kiss instantly descended into something filthy and desperate. Teeth clacked against each other painfully as both boys tried to taste as much of one another as they could, the bitter taste of coffee still lingering on Hinata’s tongue.

Hinata’s eyes fluttered closed as he drank in the sensation of Komaeda licking into his mouth and grinding against his crotch. With each breathy moan from the boy above him, he could feel a heat tightening more and more in his lower gut. He moaned against Komaeda’s tongue, gripping his ass tighter and he began to shake slightly with the need for release.

“Wait wait wait.” The boy above him suddenly pulled away, leaving a long string of saliva that broke in the air. He stilled the movements of his hips and spread his palm against Hinata’s chest, “You’re way too worked up. I know you’re a Reserve Course and everything, but surely you’re not going to cum in your pants before we’ve even started?”

There was an annoyed look on Komaeda’s face, one beyond the cocky teasing, like he was genuinely upset by the reaction he had drawn from Hinata.

Hinata’s brow furrowed. “What does being from the Reserve course have to do with anything?”

With a soft little “Hmph,” Komaeda shifted forward and lifted some of his weight off Hinata’s lap. He reached into the pocket of his blazer, pulling the bottle of lube he’d acquired earlier out before shedding the garment and dropping it onto the floor where Hinata’s shirt had landed previously.

Holding the lube in one hand, he began to undo the buttons on his cardigan. Hinata watched closely, focusing on Komaeda’s careful fingers instead of his painful erection in hopes of getting his heart to calm down. Once he’d undone the buttons, Komaeda removed his cardigan, leaving him in a well ironed long-sleeved dress shirt that was rather loose in the chest area.

“U-Um… I’m a little uh…” Hinata’s eyes followed the movements of Komaeda’s hands as the boy uncapped the bottle and drizzled some of the clear liquid onto his fingers.

A rather sadistic laugh echoed off the walls of the room as Komaeda cackled loudly. “You’re so precious Hinata-kun! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Unless you would like to help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Blinking away the confusion, Hinata stared up at Komaeda expectantly, “Just tell me what to do.”

The lid snapped shut and the bottle was placed onto the table next to them. Komaeda brought his fingers behind his back with a flirty smirk. “Well then, could you please move my panties out of the way?”

With a nod, Hinata slowly brought his fingers forward, hooking one around the lacy thong before tugging it out of the crevice of Komaeda’s ass. He tried to ignore the burning in his face as he tugged the cheeks apart a little, giving Komaeda better access as he brought his fingers to his hole.

There was a pause of silence, before Komaeda let out a rather gentle sigh, relaxing his whole body. He then pushed two fingers into himself with relative ease, having already been there numerous times this week. Entranced, Hinata watched Komaeda’s expression soften as he adjusted to the feeling of having something inside him.

It didn’t take long for him to begin moving his fingers, slowly thrusting them inside himself and drawing them back out again. He scissored the digits apart, stretching the tight muscle and ignoring the slight burn.

Unsure of what to do, Hinata settled for observing every little reaction on Komaeda’s face. The gentle bites of his bottom lip, the soft gasps that came whenever he pushed further than he expected to, the dusting of blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t get enough, it was simply so erotic to watch and only made him more excited for the final act.

Noticing Hinata’s interest, Komaeda placed his free hand over Hinata’s right, pulling him closer. He pulled his fingers out of his hole before rubbing some of the lube off onto Hinata’s index and middle finger. The guideless letters floating in Hinata’s mind finally spelled out an answer, he wants me to finger him .

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Hinata nodded and rubbed his fingers against Komaeda’s entrance. He tried his best to go slow so as to not hurt him, but his fingers easily squeezed in, much to Komaeda’s delight.

All Hinata could process was how warm it was inside another person. He moved his fingers experimentally, rubbing at the soft walls with a childish feeling of intrigue.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” As soon as Komaeda said that, he clamped down against Hinata’s fingers, drawing a gasp from him. “Think about how good it will feel to be inside an Ultimate. Wouldn't you like that, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata did allow the thought to pass through his mind, being buried balls deep within that soft warmth, the friction as Komaeda squeezed down around him. To answer Komaeda’s question, Hinata pushed his fingers deeper, eliciting a gasp from the other.

“You know… you never did tell me your Ultimate talent?” Lowering his voice, Hinata tried to sound like he had a better grip on the situation than he actually did.

Komaeda fluttered his eyelashes innocently, Hinata couldn’t tell if it was intended or not. “Ah, I never did, did I? It’s a rather boring and worthless talent, but a talent nonetheless.”

Ignoring the seething little rage that burned in his chest at hearing Komaeda say a talent was ‘worthless’, Hinata withdrew his fingers. “So, what is it then?”

There was a soft hum of appreciation from Komaeda, and he slid off the other’s lap. “I won the lottery for my year, I am the 77th’s Ultimate Lucky Student.”

“Seriously?!” Hinata had to keep himself from gasping in excitement, his obsession with talent coming close to overriding all horny thoughts from the moment prior. That’s so--!”

“Lucky?” As he planted his feet on the floor and stood up, Komaeda couldn’t help but insert the snarky comment.

Pursing his lips, Hinata watched as Komaeda leant down and brought his hands to Hinata’s belt. “Cool... I was going to say cool.”

Another soft hum left the other boy as he unclasped Hinata’s belt. That was enough to bring Hinata’s thoughts away from Komaeda’s talent and back to how hard he was. Komaeda undid the button and fly of Hinata's work pants, the other helped by lifting his hips and shucking them down slightly, exposing part of his ass to the uncomfortably cool metal of the chair.

Reaching into Hinata’s boxers, Komaeda wrapped his fingers around the length before pulling it out from beneath Hinata’s sakura printed boxers. Both the relief of being freed from the tight fabric and the sensation of being touched by a hand that wasn't his own were overwhelming, and Hinata practically stopped breathing right then and there.

“Wow, you’re bigger than I expected a Reserve to be.” Giggling at Hinata’s reaction, Komaeda gave his cock a gentle stroke downwards in order to expose the flushed head.

Hinata blinked hard, processing just how stupid that comment was. “I still don’t understand why you think talent and dick size have any correlation.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Komaeda began to slowly jerk Hinata, spreading precum across the shaft whilst bringing his other hand to his breast pocket. There was a loud moan of relief from Hinata, and he allowed his eyes to fall on Komaeda’s hand, his brain dismissing his incredulity.

Withdrawing a shiny packet from his breast pocket, Komaeda brought it to his mouth before tearing it open with his teeth. Using one hand, he pulled a translucent green condom from the packet, allowing the litter to fall to the floor.

He removed his hand from Hinata’s dick, drawing a whine of impatience from the boy that amused him greatly. He brought the condom to the head, pinching the tip as he began to slowly unroll the latex down to fit snugly around his cock. When he looked up again, Hintata was biting his lip and watching with bated breath.

“Adjust it if it’s uncomfortable, otherwise it’ll probably end up tearing.” Straightening himself back up, Komaeda placed his hands on his hips with a soft sigh.

With a gentle nod, Hinata brought his hand down to adjust the condom. It was an incredibly foreign sensation, but necessary, at least this time.

Komaeda slid his hands down his hips, then under his skirt and back up again, giving Hinata a glimpse of the lacy pink panties hidden beneath. He hooked his thumbs around the waistband, and pulled them down to the floor before stepping out of them.

Flashing a flirty smirk, Komaeda wrapped his hand around Hinata’s erection, drawing a surprised yelp from him. He swung a leg over Hinata’s waist, beginning to mount him once again. Angling Hinata’s cock, he attempted to bring it to his prepared entrance. He seemed to be struggling to find it, and bending his arm back was beginning to hurt. Seeing his difficulty, Hinata placed his hand over Komaeda’s and helped him line it up with his hole. With a satisfied exhale, Komaeda placed his hands on Hinata’s shoulders and began to slowly sink down.

Nothing could have prepared Hinata for the sheer heat that engulfed his cock. It felt so much better than his hand ever could, even more so than having his fingers inside Komaeda did. It seemed that Komaeda was enjoying it too, because his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and mouth open wide in surprise.

“Oh shit .” Hinata gasped as Komaeda lowered himself completely, taking the entirety of his length with one movement. He gripped at those skinny hips, desperately seeking something to put him in a little control and his brain succumbed to ecstasy.

"Haha!" Giggling to himself, Komaeda slowly drew his hips back up. "You really are a virgin, aren't you Hinata-kun?"

It felt as though Hinata's face were on fire, "I-I already told you that!"

Bony hands fingers dug into Hinata’s shoulders as Komaeda dropped back down again, forcing Hinata to bite his lip so as to not let out another embarrassing sound. Slow drags up and down, plunging Hinata back into that tight heaven of friction and ecstasy. He allowed his head to tilt back, letting out a gentle sigh as Komaeda set a slow yet pleasurable pace. The kind of pace that set the mood, eased him into it, left both of them craving more. When his eyelids inevitably flickered shut, Hinata felt as though he were floating. The humidity was getting to him, along with those sickly wet sounds and heavy breathing warm on his skin. The warm weight of Komaeda’s body pressing against his made it all too easy to take whatever he was offering, to forget all of that assholeish shit he said and did in the past week.

The need winding around his gut was pulling tighter and tighter, his hips beginning to move up to meet Komaeda’s. He wanted more, if he was going to cum he needed more than just this. Hinata’s eyes flittered open, and he glanced down to his hands. Komaeda’s pleated brown skirt rested just beneath his fingertips, material all bunched up at the sides with a little bulge tenting it at the front. He couldn’t resist the urge to slide his right hands down Komaeda’s pelvis, carefully dragging his fingers over the bulge until he reached the tip.

“A-Ah!”

Startling, Komaeda almost jumped right off Hinata’s lap. His breathing was heavy and wheezy, lungs quietly rattling as he tried to catch his breath. The pale skin of Komaeda's face had flushed to a bright pink, he looked like he was going to throw up.

"Hey, wait…" Hinata murmured, tipping his head back up. "You don't look too hot."

There was a soft chuckle, followed by Komaeda clasping a hand over his mouth as he broke into a coughing fit. He dug his left hand tightly into Hinata's shoulder, stabilising himself as his body shook.

"Have you finally come to your senses, Hinata-kun? Though, can you really be that picky?" He croaked out, giggling between coughs. "You are a Reserve Course student, after all."

Sitting up, Hinata grabbed hold of Komaeda's waist again. "Hey! No no I'm not talking about that. You were sick the other day, weren't you?"

"Ah, I've had a cold that has been rather difficult to shake." Sheepishly, Komaeda averted his gaze to the floor. "Are you worried about catching it? I'm sure it's not something viral."

"I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you going into respiratory failure!"

Komaeda laughed dryly, an almost bitter sound. "It is always a possibility! Trust in my luck to kill me the second I get a good thing."

Confused, Hinata blinked a few times. "Do you want to stop?"

"Do I want to stop…?"

Komaeda paused, repositioning himself in Hinata's lap as he considered his next move. He didn't want to stop; he was so glad to be finally here, to be doing this. Something so dangerous and taboo, and with a student who was not only beneath him, but a complete stranger.

The exact kind of scenario in which his luck could be completely unpredictable. The nervous feeling bubbling in his chest caused a creepy smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"Not at all!" He chirped.

The cheery tone only furthered the furrow in Hinata's brow. "Seriously, you look like you're about to pass out, let me-"

"Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

Hinata blinked hard, recalling what Komaeda had said to him the day he'd discovered his dirty secret. The scowl on Komaeda's face as he glared up at him, the blood dripping down his lips, only to spatter against the concrete.

Komaeda didn't need sympathy. Komaeda didn't want sympathy.

His hands slid under the other's boy's thighs, gripping tightly and pulling him closer. Before Komaeda could understand what was happening, Hinata rose to his feet, picking up Komaeda with him and causing the other to gasp in surprise. He wrapped his legs tightly around Hinata's torso, fearing that he may be dropped.

Hinata pushed him down into the table, forcing him forward until his back was flush against the cold plastic. A can of drink was knocked over in their wake, and Komaeda did not neglect to notice the open manga and discarded plastic wrappers by his head.

Messy…

"Oh? Getting rough with a Main Course student are we?" Komaeda giggled, setting himself off into another series of coughs and barks.

"You were taking too long, it's my turn now."

Hinata slammed his hands down beside Komaeda's head and thrust his hips forward, pressing himself deep into the other boy. Blunt nails scraped against the plastic as Komaeda wheezed, his legs strangling around Hinata's waist.

"You really love this power dynamic thing, don't you? Did you seek me out specifically because you wanted to be fucked by somebody inferior to you?" Digging his nails into Komaeda's skin, Hinata moved with reckless abandon. "You're disgusting, Main Course students really are all the same."

It made Hinata seethe with an unbearable anger. He had never felt this pissed in his life, wound up so tightly that all he wanted to do was hit Komaeda until that stupid smile fell right off his face. But he couldn't deny just how good it felt, being put in his place by a girl dressed in her school uniform, the irrefutable proof that she was better than him.

But Komaeda was not a girl. No matter how feminine he looked, his hips were narrow and chest flat. His skirt had ridden up, exposing his cock that was bouncing against his stomach as Hinata fucked him, having slipped out of his lingerie quite some time ago. His little raspy moans and gasps sounded pretty girlish, though, and that was enough for Hinata.

“A-Ah you’re… hah! Come on you can do a little better than— f-fuck!”

Unable to resist the urge, Komaeda kept taunting him. Hinata was endlessly unamused by this, resorting to tilting his hips in order to get closer to Komaeda's prostate.

At least, that's what he was hoping. It was up, right?

A lucky guess, he supposed, and Komaeda was broken into whimpers. He scrabbled for the edges of the table, gripping tightly as it creaked beneath him.

It was overwhelming, the pleasure and excitement becoming too much for Komaeda. It felt like he was going insane, being rocked into so hard it was almost painful. The little giggles he made amongst the moans and whimpers were involuntary, but with every passing second he felt higher and higher. Closer and closer to reaching something amazing.

Is this what hope feels like?

It was a stupid thing to wonder.

Hinata himself felt as though he were melting, brain fuzzy with anger and arousal. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he panted, exhaustion beginning to catch up on him even though he was oh so close.

He leaned in close, burning his face in Komaeda's neck as he panted. The movements of his hips were beginning to stutter and slow, he was failing.

"Please…" Komaeda whined, wrapping his arms tightly around Hinata's neck. "Please please come on even a useless Reserve like you should be able to finish me off!"

"Sh-shut up."

The growl came out harsher than Hinata had expected. To apologise, he grabbed ahold of Komaeda's face with his left hand, kissing him firmly on the lips as he attempted to move faster. Komaeda eagerly licked into his mouth in gratitude.

Hinata was unable to hold down all of his sweet moans and pants when Komaeda was tonguing his gums like some kind of puppy. He groaned into the other boy's mouth.

How is he enjoying this so much? Surely it can't feel that good down there…

He creeped his other hand down to Komaeda's skirt, sliding his hand beneath it and carefully wrapping his fingers around his cock. His dick was practically drooling with precum, wet enough that he probably could have been mistaken for a girl. Komaeda's eyes widened in trepidation, and he pulled away from the kiss as Hinata stroked his hand down the shaft.

The word didn't even make it past Komaeda's lips, all he could do was mouth "Faster."

Thus Hinata obliged, allowing his hand to glide faster with the slickness of Komaeda’s skin. It felt incredibly awkward, moving his hips desperately whilst jerking his lover at a much faster pace than he could synchronise with, not to mention just how sloppy and pathetic their kisses were becoming with each passing second. At this point they were just pressing their lips against one other’s and licking.

At least Komaeda wasn’t hypocritical enough to make fun of him for his technique.

Komaeda’s thighs were tensing, and his hips were lifting from the table. He was whimpering like a dog in heat, barely breathing little pleads and begs. He was clearly so close, and Hinata could feel his own release creeping through his guts too.

He broke off whatever semblance of a kiss they were still doing pressed his left hand against the table, using it as a support as he practically jackhammered Komaeda’s ass.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, panting and moaning, as well as the squeaking of the table beneath their weight. Komaeda suddenly yelled out, digging his nails harshly into Hinata’s back as his hips thrust up to meet his hand.

His voice broke as he came, white stripes of cum painting his dress shirt as Hinata stroked him through his orgasm. Komaeda was shaking beneath his touch, breaths laboured and wheezy.

A rivulet of sweat rolled down Hinata’s forehead. He kept thrusting his hips, unconcerned with overstimulating the boy beneath him. He was just so close, he could feel it rising in his chest. Just a little more, just a little more and--

“Hinata-kun!”

There was a loud crack, followed by the sound of metal scraping against itself, and suddenly they were both falling to the floor.

Hinata grabbed a tight hold of Komaeda, gasping when they both landed on the cold linoleum. It all happened so fast. With so much adrenaline pumping through his veins, Hinata didn't even notice he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point.

Slowly opening them again, the first thing he did was look at Komaeda. The boy’s grey eyes were open wide in shock, face still flushed red and lips swollen from their activities, but he seemed mostly unharmed.

He pulled out of Komaeda, dick still aching with a need left unfulfilled as he crawled off of him. Komaeda also sat himself up, dusting off his shirt dramatically as though he hadn't cum all over it moments before.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Komaeda’s only response was to look at Hinata with those wide eyes, then to stare straight past him. A few seconds later he was giggling, soon breaking into a fit of raucous laughter.

Confused, Hinata turned around to look behind himself, eyeing the folding table in a crumpled heap on the floor.

He couldn't believe it.

They’d broken the table. They’d broken the fucking table, he’d been blue-balled by a fucking table, and Komaeda was sitting there laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek20 Day 4

Hand in Hand

JaliceWeek20 Day 4: Domestic Bliss

Notes: Another day, another very, very loose interpretation of the theme because I enjoy being contrary. This is kind of a post-script to the Angel/Demon prompt, Afterglow. 1.5 to go! (oh my god, am I actually going to finish every prompt?)

Word Count: 1,554

--

If you had told him back in the Wars that one day he’d be sitting on the porch of an old Victorian in Maine with an actual Angel on his lap, eating a cookie the size of her head and explaining the significance of Dior’s New Look to him from a magazine that he suspects weighs more than she does, well, he would have thought you touched in the head and destroyed you on sight.

Especially if you included the fact that he loved her more than anything in creation - past, present, and future. And she loved him just the same.

But that is exactly how he finds himself on that late summer afternoon.

She looks up at him with a guilty smile. “You don’t care about this at all,” she murmurs, closing her reading material.

He chuckles at her. “Of course I do.”

“No you don’t,” Alice looks down at the magazine, her fingers stroking the cover. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly, and I do care, because you do,” he says, covering her hand with his. “I’m glad you’ve found a passion.” Esme has begun teaching her to sew, to draw up simple patterns, and Alice has been a quick study. Even now, the pretty green dress she’s wearing is one that she sewed herself, complete with daisies embroidered on the hem. He remembers the rank grey rag she was wearing the day he found her. She was beautiful then, too, but this dress, this life, it’s all what she deserves.

He is rewarded with a beaming smile. “Tell me about your day,” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s been years since he found her, and whilst her hair has grown somewhat, it has never grown longer than her chin, delicate, shiny little waves he loves to stroke.

It’s been several months since he finally accepted the inevitable and kissed her, admitted he loved her, and let her convince him that the only person who decided the worthiness of the man at her side was her, and she had always thought him plenty worthy of her attentions. The family had reacted as expected when their courtship was revealed - Carlisle had been smug but overjoyed for both of them, and Esme’s delight had filled the room. Edward had been mostly disinterested, though Jasper was sympathetic when he felt the boy’s cold loneliness in a house full of couples. Emmett had high-fived Alice - apparently the man had been privy to Alice’s very patient and tolerant pining, whilst Rosalie shook her head but quietly said something to Alice that made her smile.

Their courtship has been slow - Alice’s memories from before he met her are mostly lost; she still has no idea how she came to be in Philadelphia, who or where her family were, anything that came before. She remembers a few little cultural things from angels - a little of the language that she claims are mostly insults and swears, and a couple of songs - but nothing substantial. Which is to say, any possible love affairs are utterly forgotten, and in her mind, he is her first (and only and true) love, and her very first kiss. And whilst he is, frankly, impatient to get to other ‘firsts’, he lets her set their pace.

They have all the time in the world.

He tells her about school; contemporary mathematics remained illusive when the school year officially ended, so twice a week he goes to the high school to catch up on those classes - with Emmett in tow, just in case. The whole thing is an exercise in futility - one class, and he was already caught up, but the act is important. And he tries not to be too dismissive, when Alice remains locked up tight in the house, too inhuman to be allowed at school just yet when she is so desperate to be apart of the world, to be hand-in-hand with him at every moment of the day.

Her wrist catches his eye, and he pauses in his story to inspect it closer. The celestial tattoos that adorn both her arms from wrist to elbow have settled into a silvery-grey colour, and are adorned with a tangle of flowers and stars and symbols. But one thing he noticed, and she already knew, is that they change - fading and twisting and reforming, to tell a new story. There were columbines dotted over both arms when they first met, but now they are all but gone. Today’s addition is another rose - but whilst the other rose on her arm is a blossom in full bloom, this one is the flower and stem complete with thorns, curved around the blooming rose, the iris, and the carnation.

“Another new one?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to it.

“One I am grateful to receive,” she says mysteriously. She’s never offered an explanation or a translation to the markings, despite blatant hints from Carlisle, but she seems to remember, or at least understand. He knows it’s a proper language, or some kind of map - he figures he might be able to decipher it all if he ever gets a proper peek at the rest of the tattoos - he knows of the ones that sit on her along her collarbone, and run down the length of her spine. He’d very much like to get the opportunity to memorise those ones.

She flits inside not long after, ostensibly searching for food - she had shocked them all with her odd feeding habits when they first arrived, going for days with nothing before eating the entire contents of the fridge in six hours. Her obsession with sugar that once lead to Esme being quite shocked to discover her sitting on the kitchen table, drinking from the honey jar. He thinks it’s adorable, the rest of them think its funny - Emmett almost always has a lollipop or candy bar on hand for her.

He watches the sun sink below the horizon, listening to the hum of voices inside the house, and he thinks back through the years. Back to before the Cullens, before Alice, before Philadelphia. To his misery and loneliness and total lack of purpose. That hollow space has long since been filled - with the love that he shares with Alice, the affection and respect that he has for the Cullens, and for the mental peace hunting animals has brought him. But he doesn’t forget where he came from, how long and hard that road was.

There are the familiar light footsteps as Alice returns, her magazine and cookie both missing, but her lips stained with some kind of berry juice. Her tongue darts out to lick it off as she delicately leaps back into her place in his lap with feline grace and certainty.

“You’re out here all alone,” she says, her arms threading around his neck. Night has begun to settle in, and the weather is comfortable - she notices it more than he does, so he’s become intensely aware of the temperature to make sure she doesn’t get too cold or too wet or too warm. She laughs at him, but he can’t help it. Being able to take care of her like that is a gift he will never be worthy of. “Unless you want to be alone?”

The rest of the Cullens are aware of how… mercurial he can be, and are careful not to crowd him without the certainty they will be welcomed. Alice is more attuned to him, his gift carefully looped around her so that they are always aware of the other, of how they are feeling. Jasper will never admit to anyone but himself, when they are curled together and she is sleeping, that it’s a wonderful feeling, to know and have her like that. But that link is enough for her to know, and Alice never resists just asking him what he wants.

“Never,” he swears, pressing a kiss to her cheek that makes her beam - she smells like the warmth of the kitchen, and fresh fruit, and clean cotton and a million different things. Some are human things that should repulse him, but instead he just revels in the memory of Esme’s joy of baking for someone, and Alice’s delight in each cake and cookie and muffin. “There’s not a single moment I can think of that cannot be improved by your presence, darlin’.”

“Sweet-talker,” she grins, but the slight blush on her cheeks tells him the flattery has done its work. It’s true, though; he looks forward to the times in the future when they will be together more often, when he won’t have to leave her behind every day, but instead go hand-in-hand together.

And as she settles back against him, a familiar warm weight tucked against him with her head on his shoulder with faint strands of sleepiness, contentedness and affection drifting to him, he catches a glimpse of the markings on her collarbone, of a Texas bluebonnet woven around a magnolia, and he really cannot fathom how he manage to deserve this fate - to be allowed to be this peaceful, this happy…

This loved.

And so, he sits there and watches the night pass them by, as his angel sleeps on his shoulder. A good night, a good life indeed.

[angrylizardjacket]

mouth full of white lies {Machine Gun Kelly} 4

4. i wanna know what’s your quietest feeling

Summary: So you’ve met his friends, and now his daughter, who’s the only other person who knows that this whole thing is a setup. But all she wants is to make sure that you’re not gonna break her dad’s heart; it shouldn’t be too hard to convince her that your intentions are good.

the brainstrust: @sataninsatin @silvertonguedserpent @juliarose21 @kellysimagines @estxxbritt @machine-gun-casie @harringtonstudios @misscharlottelee @narcvissa @hiworlditishumbleme @angelwarner28 @nevilles-insinuations @rumoured-whispers @mgkobsessed @edwardtriggerhandzz @suckerforbarnes @wastelcve @bakerkells @local-troubled-writer @freddiessmallnipples @oopsiedoopsie23 @mayaslifeinabox @mrs-machinegun-norris @hxbbit

----

Colson writes. A lot. You’d noticed it here and there being close to home, being close his studio, he’s buzzing with new ideas. There’s a ratty notebook that he keeps in the front pocket of his suitcase, held together by fibers and hope, that seems to be worth it’s weight in gold to him, full of lyrics and ideas that he’s been hoarding for as long as he’s been writing. About ten percent of the book has actually come to fruition, but that’s not what’s important about it, it’s that it’s positively brimming with potential as much as it is memories.

It’s been less than a year since his last album, and he’s made a few songs here and there, but now he writes, when inspiration strikes him, after work, or between takes. He’s in talks with Motley themselves, apparently, working on a part for one of their songs, rereleasing with the release of the film. For now, he writes, and he hums, and tests out lyrics under his breath.

“That sounds good,” it’s Sunday morning; he’s up earlier than you, which isn’t necessarily an unusual occurrence. He’s wearing sweatpants, hair curling a little at the ends where he’s letting it air dry, sitting up beside you on the bed. He’s got his notebook balanced on the one knee he’s got drawn up to him, while the other leg is kicked out in front of him, and he’s humming something while scrolling through his phone. He’s muttering something, lyrics you’re pretty sure, while something plays from his phone.

He seems a little surprised, like he’s coming out of a trance that the music had put him in, and smiles with an honest sincerity.

You yawn, and wiggle a little beneath the covers to properly face him, face half-smushed into the pillow. For a beat he looks at you like he wants to do something, like he wants to reach out and touch your cheek, trace his thumb across your lip - 

Wishful thinking. Probably.

“Rook’s been working on some stuff; he sent this through last night,” and he tapped away at his phone for a moment, replaying the track on his phone. It’s an instrumental, beat-heavy and the bones for a solid bop. You nod along to it, and he starts rapping under his breath again. 

“I think it could be something good,” he sounds quietly hopeful; he doesn’t sound like that often.

“Of course it’ll be good,” you say around a yawn, and this time he does reach out. 

“Go back to sleep,” he pinches gently at your cheek, and a warm rush of affection floods through you. Without thinking, you turn to press a quick kiss to his palm, a moment of gentle familiarity, and turn away, to go back to sleep, without thinking to watch for his reaction. You hear a faint, almost disbelieving huff of laughter, before the music starts back up again.

It’s not long before you’re ingratiated with his friends, who’ve all taken you and Colson in stride. Mostly it’s drinking and smoking and making music and playing video games, so even your initial anxiety is quick to fade.

That first morning, Wednesday, cool but sunny, it’s easy; Rook’s the only one awake when you and Colson arrive. He’s sitting at the kitchen island, perched on a stool with a pen stuck in his mouth, and a laptop and drum pad machine sitting on the counter, and when you walk in, he gives you a long, evaluative stare, a joint in between his fingers, idle.

“Hey man, this is Ducky,” Colson doesn’t seem to notice how you’ve frozen awkwardly in the doorway, moving past you to start searching the cupboards for food; Rook nods to him, before looking back at him, “Ducky, this is my man Rook,” and at that, he holds out his hand for the joint, and Rook passes it over, before looking back at you. You give a little, uncomfortable wave.

“Ducky?” He asks, curious rather than hostile, and you let yourself breathe, stepping into the room.

“Or Duck,” you explain, heading to the counter where Colson’s now wrestling with a packet of Doritos, “or [Y/N].” And you put your bag down, taking the seat beside Rook as Colson passes the joint back to him to get a better handle on the bag.

“Tight,” Rook says after a moment, apparently finding something in you that he approves of, because he follows it up by turning the laptop towards you, asking if you were into music. Of course you tell him you are - who isn’t? - but you don’t have a lot of experience in the production side of things.

“I mean,” you concede briefly, “about two years ago there was a trend going around on YouTube where you make a diss track about yourself -” Colson’s entire face lit up.

“You wrote a diss track about yourself? Don’t you do like cutesy vlogs and shit?” He asks, and it’s not meant to sound as unkind as it’s worded, though you still roll your eyes.

“It pays to be on trend,” you shrug, still a little embarrassed at the memory, “but it was fun.” 

Colson is looks actually impressed, while Rook is still chewing on the end of his pen, typing away frantically. After a beat, Colson turns to him -

“Her channel name is DuckDuckBooth -”

“I’ve already found the video,” Rook says with a smile, and you have to hide your face in your hands as they watch with equal parts fondness, and a little bit of second hand embarrassment.

Colson posts to his Instagram story a video of Rook jamming out to your self-diss track, before the camera swings around to see you flipping them both off with a fond smile. Your video is the only sound that can be heard for the full duration of the ten second video -

“Too scared of you’re face on the big, big screen, you think YouTube’s gonna be more stable / even though you use your bro for views every chance that you’re able. / With all of the time that you spend around sets, they all think you’re a professional stalker / and you spill you’re guts when you’re NDA free; you’ve made a career as Hollywood’s biggest talker. / [As if! Who asked for the Perez Hilton of the production crew?!]”

He tags both you and Rook, and captioned the video with a question: Should we remix Ducky’s self-diss track from 2016? With two options for fans to choose: Yes. or Definitely.

But Rook’s not who your worried about. None of Colson’s friends really worry you. 

Casie arrives a week and a half after you’ve all moved locations, to see her dad, to meet you, and to sit in on production for about a week. 

When you finally meet her, her cocked hip and crossed arms reminds you of Colson; she’s four and a bit feet of skepticism and an unmatched, effortlessly cool energy, and you realise too late that you’re kind of intimidated by an elementary schooler. 

“I’ve seen your videos,” is the first thing she says to you, and you find yourself smiling, bewildered. 

“Cas -” Colson’s voice holds a note of warning where he’s currently getting his tattoos covered. He’s standing with his arms out, looking straight ahead while Corey, the key makeup artist, and his team, airbrush and colour correct like their lives depend on it.

“I’m making sure she’s taking care of you,” Casie, unwavering in both her conviction and her loyalty, shifts her weight to her other foot. “The drum video was cute.” And you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment, judging by the cool tone of her voice, but she’s wearing a slight smile that you’ve seen on Colson far too many times to not recognize it. This feels like the first of many tests.

She’s adamant that she’s not someone to be bought, though the thought had barely crossed your mind. When she nods approvingly at your dismissal of the suggestion, you can’t help but frown.

“How many girls have tried to get on her good side by buying her stuff?” You ask Colson quietly, out of Casie’s earshot later that night. For a moment, he looks as close to guilty as you’ve ever seen him.

“Not a lot, like one or two maybe; not a lot of girls meet her,” he admitted, “but the ones that try and buy her gifts and shit, they always turned out to be the worst ones,” and perhaps the guilt intensifies a little more, “she’s a good kid; always saw that before I could.”

“She’s a good kid,” you repeated, softer this time, with a faint smile, and when Colson comes back to reality, he gives your shoulder a squeeze.

She’s on set a lot for the days that she’s staying with you all, and when she sees you at work, she appears to warm to you; you’re not sure when you forgot that she was just a child trying to protect her father, but you’re reminded when you see the starry-eyed look she’s giving the makeup artists.

“Hey Corey,” you ask, smiling a little, and the makeup artist who had been in the middle of his lunch looks up from his phone with wide, alert eyes, “could one of your people give Casie here a little bit of 80s glam?” You ask sweetly, and his expression tuns fond as he nods. Casie turns wide-eyed and a little abashed at request, and murmurs that she doesn’t want to be any trouble. Both Corey and yourself wave away her concerns, and Amy, one of the makeup assistants, is more than happy to give the young girl a bit of glitter and gloss to the excited young girl.

She’s got glitter on her eyelids, and blush and highlighter adorning her cheeks, and a shiny, clear lip gloss making her smile that little bit brighter by the time the makeup woman is done with her, and Casie is practically glowing.

“How in the hell,” Colson starts with a grin when she goes to him to show off, “did I end up with the most stylish kid in the world? Cas, you look like a model.” Pride is radiating off of him in waves, and he pulls out his phone, “babe, get a picture, she looks so fuckin’ cool,” he enthuses, and if your heart skips a beat as his casual use of a pet-name, you’re enough of a professional not to let it show. Casie is calling him embarrassing, but is still beaming, and with him in full costume and her all made up, the picture you take - he’s standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, and she’s got her arms crossed, both of them looking serious and menacing at the camera - you think they might be the coolest people you’ve ever met. Certainly one of the most photogenic father/daughter duos you’ve ever come across.

“Do not make it your phone background,” Casie presses her embarrassed smile into his shoulder where they’re reviewing the photo back in his trailer.

“But I’m not allowed to post it, and I wanna admire it every day - look at you!” He’s pointedly zooming in on her stony expression in the photo.

“[Y/N], tell him he’s being ridiculous,” Casie implored you, and you threw your hands up in surrender.

“I’m not allowed to say what is and isn’t a ridiculous phone background,” you say automatically, which piques both of their interests, and you immediately regret saying anything.

“Babe,” Colson says, prompting you, and you feel yourself growing flustered, both because you’re going to have to admit that your background is a photo of you two, and that he’s called you that twice in about half an hour. Casie’s amused now, smiling, her arms crossed as she raises her eyebrows at you expectantly. Taking a deep breath, you unlock your phone.

“I’m just trying to be a good girlfriend,” you say, avoiding their gazes as you show them your home screen, and your background; the paparazzi photo of you and Colson beneath the boardwalk.

“Is that how you organise your apps?” Is what Casie has to say, which has Colson snorting with laughter, though when you finally look at him, you see him wearing a weirdly pleased little smile.

“Ducky, that’s weird and adorable -”

“It’s not weird!” You protest, snatching back your phone, flustered, but Casie just rolls her eyes, pulling out her own phone.

“Come here, both of you,” she instructs, sounding terribly put upon by the both of you. You both crowd around her, with only slight confusion. “Look convincing.” She holds up her phone, and you both frown a little.

“What?”

“Look convincing,” she insists again, gesturing between the two of you, and finally coming to understand her meaning, Colson gives her an endeared, almost proud look, and you in turn are looking fondly at him. Neither of you have noticed that she’s already taken the selfie. After a beat, she lowers the phone and starts looking at the few photos she’d taken, and both you and Colson seem a little surprised at her speed. “Dad, I’ll send it to you, you send it to her; you can have a photo of both of us looking cool, and a photo of your ‘girlfriend’,” she explains with implicit air quotes, “and [Y/N], you don’t have to have a creepy pap’s picture as your background.” She taps away for a moment before swiftly sending the best photo to Colson, “plus you’ll match.”

“You’re a little genius,” you tell her once Colson’s sent you the photo. Casie beams at you.

“I know.”

And the way you’re smiling in the photo is more than convincing.

[ID: A series of three tweets from @machinegunkelly:

1: Retweeted with the caption ‘🥰🥰’, originally posted by @duckduckbooth with no caption: Two pictures of Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn 99 holding a golden retriever puppy with an edited caption reading ‘I’ve only known CASIE BAKER for a day and a half but if anything happened to HER I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.’

2: Tweeted: when me n my girls (my daughter and @duckduckbooth) hang out i realize i’m somehow the least fashionable in the group. when did that happen wtf 😳😳 

3. Tweeted: maybe you'll skip to the end and pass all the irrational decisions, patch up all the passion that was missin'. i think that's enough. i'm feelin' lovesick.

End ID.]

Maybe it’s that she likes you, maybe she’s just trying to keep an eye on you to make sure you’ve got her dad’s best intentions at heart, but Casie takes it upon herself to almost shadow you while on set, at least when she’s not with her dad.

“What’s your next video going to be?” She asks one afternoon when you’re both waiting for Colson in his trailer as he gets his makeup removed for the day. She’s watching a video on her phone and you’re reading emails on yours, and you look up, interested. After a moment, she pauses her video, looking up, looking back at you, “I like your ‘day in the life’ ones.” 

“I didn’t realise you liked my videos,” you said with faint amusement, and she gives a small smile.

“I’ve been binging them,” she admits, and shuffles a little, sitting up further where she’s reclining on the uncomfortable little sofa, “your editing is really nice; I liked your Euro-Disney video, it was really pretty.”

“Thanks,” you find yourself a little humbled at her compliment, and find yourself musing that you’d like to get back to that style of video, “hey,” you find yourself coming up with an idea, something Colson had said during your first actual date, and with Casie herself now here, it was the perfect opportunity, “do you wanna be in a video?”

“Hello! Hello and welcome back, ducklings! I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic for some of my older content, and was inspired by none other than Miss Casie Baker, so what better day than this beautiful Friday afternoon, to take you all along with Casie, Kells, and I as we head to a boardwalk fair.”

It’s a short drive to the boardwalk, and once you’re there, it’s almost unbearably cheesy. Rides, candy, you and Colson in competition trying to win a prize for Casie at one of the cheap game booths.

You’re filming on and off the whole time, getting aesthetic shots, your heart growing warmer with each genuine smile you manage to catch on camera. You take endless candid photos of Colson and Casie, and even though you know you can’t be out too late because you and Colson are due on set at eight, you make the most of the time you have.

After an hour and a half, you stop at the food vendor, craving hot chips, and Colson orders, while Casie takes your hand, the two of you hanging back.

"Can we go on the Ferris Wheel?"

"Just a minute kiddo, food's almost ready," Colson tells her over his shoulder, but she tugs at your hand, making her meaning more clear.

"You can catch up, we can go around twice; I wanna talk to [Y/N]," she tells him plainly, and you give her a smile, already acquiescing to her suggestion. Colson makes a noise of gentle protest, but he sees her hand in yours, and the reassuring look you've leveled at him. 

"Take care of my girl," he tells you with a faux seriousness, and Casie gives a small grin at that.

"I'll protect her with my life," you promise, leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

"You better," he grinned, tone fond and a little teasing, before assuring that he'd meet you both up there, and you're left wondering what about you screamed 'let's have a serious conversation on a Ferris Wheel' because if it happens again, it goes from a coincidence to a pattern. Casie drops your hand and trots easily through the crowd to the Wheel that had cast the rest of the fair in shadow as the sun set behind it. The ride operator gives you a toothy smile as she secures the door behind the two of you, and Casie links her fingers, resting her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands, evaluating you with an inscrutable look. She waits until the basket is about a quarter of the way around before saying anything; for your part, you’re silent, she’s the one who wanted to speak after all.

“Dad doesn’t do fake,” she says finally, sitting back, and lets you wonder in silence for a few moments, what that even means, “I know he did, I’m not blind or deaf, people… people talk to me. A lot. About things my dad’s done.” This piece of information has your expression souring - she’s just a kid - but she doesn’t seem bothered by it, she just seems… almost confused.

“I’m not going to -”

“I know.” She cuts you off before you can even voice what reassurance you could manage, “I’ve gathered that; you’re good. Better than probably any other girl who’s gotten with him for clout.”

“I’m not -” You try to protest and she does look a little apologetic, but after a moment, you stop yourself, and let her continue, trying to understand where she was coming from.

“I know why he likes you, I get it, you -” she averts her gaze for a moment, suddenly a little embarrassed, “you’re actually really cool,” she admits, and your heart softens, but you keep quiet, and let her build back up to her bravado, “but back when his manager had him with like, models and actresses and things, they were all - I mean sometimes they were nice, but they always thought they were better than him, or they just treated him like dirt when people weren’t around, so now, dad doesn’t do fake.” It’s said definitively. You’re at the top of the Ferris Wheel now, stopped for a few moments, and she looks out at the  rest of the fair, and then down to the base of the ride, letting herself smile when she spots Colson at the bottom, giving him a wave. 

Somehow, sitting in this basket in the sky, it feels like a mafia movie, like this little girl is implying she’ll break your kneecaps if you hurt her father. Or she’s implying something that your heart dare not read into, lest you get your hopes up.

“Dad doesn’t break his rules for just anyone,” Casie finally sits back up, and there’s a new, kinder quality about her voice, before it turns young, turns plaintive, and you’re reminded that she’s just a child looking out for her dad, her hero, “please don’t make him regret it. He’s a good person, I know what people say but he’s -”

“Casie, I care about him. A lot.” You tell her honestly, gently, and she blinks wide and surprised for a few moments, before her expression turns to almost weirdly pleased, maybe even a little smug.

“Good.” She says with conviction, before looking out at the horizon, “this would be a nice shot.”

“It’d be nicer with your dad,” you hear yourself saying, and Casie huffs out a laugh that sounds so much like her father, agreeing quietly. When your basket stops at the bottom of the wheel, Colson flashes his ride wristband to the kid operating it, and he slides into the seat beside you. Casie’s still smiling as she takes a chip from where he offered them.

“Nice chat?” He asks, and offers you the chips too. 

“I like her,” Casie announces, and you grin to yourself, “dad, I love you, but you’d better treat Duck right; we’re friends now.” Which sets Colson off laughing, and you turn on your camera.

“You were meant to be on my side,” he laughs, and Casie shrugs.

“I am, I’m on both your sides.”

[more-miserables]

Part Seven - White Wedding

@cubeswhump here. This title has no significance. Y'all know I'm terrible with titles and there's this bit about wedding dresses and I got that stupid Billy Idol song stuck in my head.

Tagging @liliability @albino-whumpee If you're not tagged and want to be, just let one of us know.

Yates was hoping he’d be able to curl up with Ginger under those soft, frilly bedsheets and take a nap, hoping he’d have time to digest all the extraordinary information they’d received in the past thirty-six hours. Ginger looked like he would have benefitted from some sleep too - but he didn’t even wait for his face to regain its colour. He hauled himself up on his wobbly legs, clinging to the wall for support.

“Come on,” he hissed. “I want to look around. Check everyone out.”

“I really think you should rest for today,” Yates mumbled, though he was already trailing after Ginger. “We don’t even have any real clothes.” Andromeda had brought them strange, soft pyjamas when they’d both showered after the doctor left. Ginger’s looked practically brand new - plaid pants and a soft black shirt with long sleeves. Yates’s were older, with a slightly washed-out look, the bright pink faded to a sickly peach. They were patterned with bright red roses; it seemed the person closest to his size was one of the girls.

“I doubt they’ll care what we wear. But we need to make sure these guys are the real deal, okay? Make sure they won’t report us.” The stairs were causing Ginger some difficulty, and Yates held him round the waist to guide him up. “Thanks. Look, I’ll sleep after we meet everybody, if you really want.”

“Okay…”

They jumped when at that precise moment, someone knocked on the door at the top of the stairs. Yates opened the door very reluctantly, and Andromeda strode down the stairs, smiling brightly at them both.

"Are you two hungry? Shall I bring a tray here again or would you like to come upstairs?"

“Upstairs please,” Ginger said, while Yates was still dithering over the choice and the astonishment that they’d been given one. “We want to look around.”

“Ginger does,” Yates whispered. He’d much rather cower in the basement himself.

"Well, we'd love to see you," Andromeda said, "but if you want to stay here while he looks around, there's the TV or I can find you an audiobook or some drawing stuff…"

“No thank you,” Yates said hastily, grabbing Ginger’s good hand. “I’d prefer to stay with him.”

Andromeda nodded, and though he smiled, the look in his eye and his lingering gaze made Yates uncomfortable. He chatted as he led them upstairs and through elaborately decorated, spotless halls.

"There are lots of choices so I think you'll find something you like. Everyone likes different things here. Xander gets sick from a lot of foods so we have to limit certain things. David is back over and he just likes toast and tea, but you can have something more exciting if you'd like."

“We should probably introduce ourselves to David, if he’s our new owner,” Yates said. “We need to be respectful.”

"No, he's not your owner. No one has owners here," Andromeda said calmly, and added, "Well, except the animals."

“It might take him a while to grasp it,” Ginger mumbled. “He was always better at this than I was.”

The kitchen was its own room with the wall connecting to the flamboyant living room knocked down. There was an actual booth by the very large windows, blue benches with grey pillows and a marble table, and a table with chairs that matched the bench nearby. This was clearly the main room they ate in.

Tina, Nils, and Harley were at the table - and there was a new boy there too, pressed right up against Tina's side. His hair had more brown to it than Ginger's, but Ginger almost felt glad he wasn't the only redhead. But this boy had skin that was almost tan and none of the freckles splattered all over Ginger.

There were three more people at the other table, a baby in a wooden highchair, a woman, and a… Yates did a double take and was pretty sure he was a man. The woman wore a very fancy nightgown, decorative lace and silk and way too much effort to sleep in. Her legs were propped up on another chair and she had on fuzzy slippers with rabbit ears, ruining the effect. She was very pretty, though, with dark eyes and smooth brown skin and high cheekbones. Her hair was very big and curly, dark brown with blonde highlights. The baby had very dark hair with curls like hers and skin the same shade, and the frilly pink clothes suggested she was also a girl.

The man across from her seemingly ignored her for his phone, sipping his tea carefully so he wouldn't smudge his lipstick. Who in their right mind would wake up and put on a full face of makeup this early? His shirt was shiny purple silk that matched his nails and his black hair fell in loose curls, and judging by the lines around his eyes Ginger secretly thought that wasn't his real color.

Yates ducked behind Ginger, suddenly shy. This man - if he really was a man, Yates still wasn’t totally sure - was unlike any he’d ever seen. He looked nothing like any of the men who came by Stanley’s house, and he didn’t look like the people at the facility. He couldn’t help seeming rather formidable, with his cool air of class and his perfect posture. The serious look on his face didn’t help. Ginger couldn’t think why anyone would paint their face just to sit there looking miserable, but he was quickly distracted by the baby. She was cute, sure, but also the most unexpressive, dull baby ever. He squinted. Was it even blinking?

Andromeda ran through a list of vaguely familiar names: "You've met Tina, Nils, and Harley. That's Briar, that's Priscilla, and that's David. Xander and Jay usually sleep in and Crow's a little nervous to meet you two just yet."

Yates heard none of that, and he didn't see the auburn-haired boy glaring or the unfamiliar woman sizing them up. He also didn't hear this woman say, "Fresh meat."

He only heard Andromeda say David. He saw the finger pointing at this new man, and David turning to nod at them. He saw David shake his head at the woman at his table.

This was David, the new owner. And Yates had no idea what to expect from a man like this. He went to kneel and show respect again, but Ginger caught him by the scruff of his pyjamas and held him there. Yates froze, staring at David helplessly.

Yates nearly jumped when this man spoke. His voice was surprisingly deep and very plummy.

"You don't have to stay standing. There's space over here, or you can sit over there since you're acquainted with Tina and Nils," he said, waving a hand in their direction and adjusting his glasses with the other.

Yates started asking in a tiny voice which David would prefer, but Ginger wasn’t in the greatest mood after having his hand hacked at for half the morning. He grabbed Yates mid-sentence and dragged him over to Tina’s table.

Andromeda was by their side, running down a list of food options, but both were distracted. At the forefront of Yates' mind was this David, and Ginger was having a staring contest with Nils. Only Nils would not make eye contact and Ginger had no clue what he was staring at. His drink was in a sippy cup and his waffles and fruit were cut into tiny bits. Odd.

“What were you trained as?” he asked. Maybe a domestic - he wasn’t particularly pretty, just like Ginger himself.

Tina gave Nils a fond pat on the shoulder. “Nils didn’t quite have the same background as you, dear. But he’s equally safe and happy here.” She didn’t elaborate, and Ginger was left more confused than ever.

Nils looked at her, squinting like he had no idea what she was talking about. But he went back to his plate, dripping syrup down his bare chest and whining when Tina wiped him down with a flannel. He didn't close his mouth to chew either. Watching him eat wasn't terribly appetizing. Ginger was almost glad he didn’t have much appetite, but he put a waffle in front of Yates. “You should eat something. When did you last eat properly?”

Yates bent his head. “I’m… not sure I should eat.”

“Why not? You must be hungry.”

“But I haven’t done anything to deserve it,” Yates muttered. His voice was low, but Tina still heard.

“You don’t have to earn food, sweetheart,” she said. “Nobody does. You can eat all you want here. You’re not going to get into trouble for eating.”

"It's good to keep our energy up, yeah?" Andromeda called from where he sat at David's table. "You can have however much you want. Both of you."

Yates nibbled his lip. This had to be a trick. Stanley used to do it too. He’d ask Yates if he thought he deserved to eat, and if he said yes he was punished for taking luxuries for granted, and if he said no he’d be punished for not working hard enough.

Ginger sighed. He cut off a corner of the waffle and held it up to Yates. Yates sucked in his lips and Ginger snorted. “Are you five? Come on. Just a bit.”

Yates shook his head stubbornly.

“For me?” Ginger said, putting a breathy, sickly-sweet imitation of Yates’s own voice. Yates gave him a disgruntled look - but parted his lips slightly all the same. Ginger quickly stuffed the fork in his mouth before he could reconsider.

Andromeda caught Tina's eye and grinned. She winked.

As Ginger helped Yates through his breakfast, he stared across the table again, trying to size everyone up. Nils was still painting himself with syrup, commanding most of Tina’s attention, so Ginger looked at the boy clinging to her other side. Brian, was it?

Nils stole most of the attention but when you actually noticed this boy, he was possibly weirder. He just stared at Tina wordlessly and wouldn't touch his eggs and pancakes until she nudged him, at which point he would take a bite or two and then go back to staring. At one point, he noticed Ginger's gaze - and gave him the most ferocious scowl.

Ginger felt affronted and pulled a hideous face back, sticking out his tongue and wrinkling his nose.

"Ah!" Nils suddenly yelled out, jumping up and pressing his face to the window. Harley barely glanced up, like this was ordinary, but Ginger's eyebrows shot up at the goat grazing just outside.

“What is he doing?” Ginger asked weakly. Not that he was upset by the sight of the goat. It looked quite sweet. Maybe it would let him stroke it? If he was allowed. No, even if he wasn’t! He was through taking orders now.

“Why don’t you show them the animals when we finish eating?” Andromeda called over. “Maybe you two new boys would like to see around the house.”

“I’d rather see the animals,” Ginger said. Yates wasn’t too keen on that - he’d much rather look around the house - but he didn’t want to be away from Ginger. He kept quiet.

After everyone had finished, Andromeda collected plates and started cleaning up. Nils crawled over Tina and Briar, who yelled, “Get off!” He was standing before anyone else, waving his arms at Ginger and Yates in an exaggerated beckoning gesture.

They stood obediently, Yates clinging onto Ginger’s good hand. They could’ve been glued together now for all the time they spent linked. They followed Nils to the door, Ginger having to drag Yates out because he didn’t want his bare feet on the grass. Nils, though fairly clean right now, looked like he belonged out here with the animals with his toffee-colored hair standing out in every direction, shirtless with freckles all across his face and torso and barefoot with overgrown toenails. He ran to a shed first.

“What’s in here?” Ginger asked, pointing to the shed. “Which animal?”

Nils turned to them, bunching his four fingers and thumb together and tapping his lips twice before leading them into the shed. The shed was small and from what Ginger could see, there were no animals in there. Just canisters, buckets, metal bowls, and hay. Nils popped the lids off to canisters and started filling a plastic bucket with grey-brown pellets.

“I don’t know what your hand gestures mean,” Ginger told him. “Can you point to what I need to get?”

Nils grunted a bit as he picked the bucket up, and he shoved it into Ginger’s arms. Ginger had to let go of Yates to grab it, and Yates clung to his shirt instead. Then Yates was nearly knocked over when something bashed into his shoulder. He looked down to see the small block of hay that had hit him, and back up to see Nils pointing at him.

“You want my help too?” He hastily grabbed the hay block, eager to be of use. Nils nodded and gave Yates another small block, and he filled up another bucket with pellets and corn and hauled it up himself, cheeks puffing out, and led them out the door. He was almost as small as Yates, and at least a few years younger, but he seemed to trust himself more with the heavier of the feed.

“I guess we’re not worthy of the hard jobs yet,” Ginger muttered, but he didn’t sound cross. He was smiling.

Nils dragged them around the yard. It was big, a bit too big as Nils kept nearly dropping his bucket and when he set it down to take a break, a big goat and a smaller one ran at him. He held it above them and shook his head, but he turned to Ginger and tilted his head toward the goats.

“This?” Ginger checked, pointing to his bucket. The goats were showing a lot of interest in him. The little one lowered its head and bumped Ginger’s legs, making him squeak in surprise.

Nils nodded. “Oh,” he said, like an instruction.

Ginger scattered the food rather nervously. The goats stayed by his bucket, clearly unimpressed, so he tried again, bolder this time. He scattered large handfuls of feed and the goats pounced on it. He looked at Nils while they were distracted. “Can I touch them? Do they mind?”

Nils nodded, patting the little one. Another goat trotted over, roughly the same size as the bigger one but this one was black, brown, and white. Ginger knelt by the brown one. It was preoccupied with the food; it probably wouldn’t mind being stroked. Ginger ran his good hand over the coarse fur, feather-light and tentative. Nils picked his own bucket up again when the little one became interested, hugging it to his chest to keep hold of it. Yates stood back, holding his hay blocks like a shield. He wasn’t too sure about these goats, with their staring yellow eyes and weird smells. He gasped when one of the goats started sniffing at the blocks, but Nils pushed it away with his foot, nearly overbalancing and falling over.

He made another noise, nudging Ginger with his shoulder.

“Are we done here?” Ginger asked. Nils nodded. “Where to next?”

Nils led them around, showing them a giant pig and her piglets in a big pen (who practically inhaled the bucket of food and blocks of hay), returning to the shed to get food for the noisy chickens (Ginger actually squealed when he saw the tiny chicks), and the two cows who wandered the yard with the goats already had their food, hay and other plant matter, that they ate through the bars of a circular fixture. Ginger was running back and forth after they’d finished feeding the animals, as if he couldn’t get enough of them all, and though Yates allowed himself to be pulled to and fro, he was more focused on the two men who had appeared by the fence than the animals.

One was fairly tall and dressed in black with hair that matched, and the other was in a wheelchair, chin-length brunette hair sticking out in all directions like a dandelion. He had an eyepatch over one eye and stared back at Yates as the other man spoon-fed him from a bowl.

“Who are they?” Yates tried to ask Nils, but he just made some of his confusing gestures. He accosted Ginger instead, but he was even less interested.

“Who cares? I’m going to see the baby pigs again,” he said.

Yates hesitated. If he was perfectly honest, he didn’t really want to go look at the pigs again. He wanted to meet everybody, to make sure they would be safe here. He looked up at Ginger. “Stay by the pigs? So I can still see you. I want to meet those men.”

Ginger nodded. “I will. Be careful with them. You never know what people can do.”

You never know what people can do. Yates never knew he’d be able to push old men down their stairs. He shook his head hard, going towards the two men by the fence. He wouldn’t think of Stanley.

The wheelchair was similar to Stanley’s, designed to be pushed by another person rather than driven by the user, with its tall back and armrests. But this wasn’t a weary old man; he was… an adult. Yates couldn’t quite distinguish ages. People were children, adults, elderly. This man was probably on the younger side of adulthood. He looked around the age of most trainees: above eighteen, always. All WRU trainers are of legal age. But never too old, no. They had to be young and desirable. He had no collar, of course. He wouldn’t be a pet. But no one here wore collars.

And this man shrank down in his chair as Yates approached, pressing his head down to his knees with his red-gloved hands over it protectively. The man standing smiled, though his expression was guarded. “Hey. You’re the new guy?”

“One of them,” Yates whispered. He felt quieter and quieter when he was separated from Ginger, like he started fading away altogether.

“Yeah, you can’t miss the redhead. He abandoned you then? The animals can be a big draw. Nice to meet you, anyway. I’m Jay. This is Xander.” He gestured to the man in the chair. “He’s kind of shy with new people. Hey, Xand! Don’t you want to say hello? It’s alright, this one looks quiet and docile.”

“I am,” Yates assured them, trying to be helpful.

Xander didn’t move for a moment, but then he slowly sat up. He looked back and forth between Jay and Yates.

“Do you have a name yet, Curly?” Jay asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh well, that’s something you can think about. Don’t worry too much about it here, it’s really okay when you get used to it. We’re doing okay here, eh, Xand?”

Xander just returned his gaze to Jay, staring up at him.

“Are you a bonded pair too?”

“No,” Jay said shortly. He didn’t offer any other explanation and his smile dropped. Yates backed away and ran back to Ginger, terrified he’d upset them.

Ginger, along with Nils, was in the pig pen. Yates gasped. “Ginger! Don’t get your bandages dirty.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ginger grumbled. “We need to think of new names now. Good names. Anyway, never mind that. Look at this pig!” He held up the smallest piglet. “He’s so much smaller than the other ones!”

“Put him down, you’re going to get your hand infected all over again,” Yates cried.

“I’m barely touching him with that hand! It still hurts a lot. Stop fussing. Don’t you want to come in and meet the pigs?” Ginger said distractedly, still with an armful of piglet. He wasn’t looking at Yates. He was grinning right at Nils.

Yates felt his cheeks growing warm. He had a sudden terrible urge to snatch Ginger away from Nils, away from the animals, away from this very house. He’d never had to share Ginger’s attention before. It hurt even more that Ginger didn’t seem to notice, laughing at something Nils did. Making friends without him.

Yates could feel his eyes burning. He wasn’t supposed to cry, but the rules were so weird here, maybe he could. Even so, he didn’t want Ginger to see. Yates turned and trailed back to the house - and the fact that Ginger still didn’t notice made the tears start pouring.

"Excuse me? Are you all right?"

Yates just about had a heart attack. It was David. Yates scrubbed his face hastily. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

"Did something happen?" he pressed on. Yates couldn't detect anger in his tone or face, but he couldn't detect much else either.

“I’m being ridiculous,” he sniffled. “Acting like a jealous child…”

"Well, sometimes people react in ways that are… that they think are absurd. But it's better to just let it happen." He paused. "As long as it isn't a reaction that harms anyone."

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone!” Yates cried - then his face went pale. He started shaking, eyes wide.

David looked taken aback. He looked around as if wanting to signal help.

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Yates insisted, much louder. Don’t think about Stanley, don’t don’t don’t...

"I'm sure you wouldn’t. I was just adding as a general rule of thumb."

Yates didn’t know what that meant. He looked down at his trembling hands. Did thumbs have rules now too?

David fumbled in his bag - would that be called a purse or a satchel? - and handed Yates a tissue. He took it and quickly tried to wipe away any evidence of tears. “I don’t think I’m Ginger’s favourite anymore,” he said mournfully. “He likes those pigs best.”

David was silent for a long moment. "Would you like to sit down? I'll make tea."

Yates decided those kinds of questions could be taken as orders. He sat at once.

"Havin' a tea party, Davey?" That singsong voice… The woman with the baby.

That woman left a moment later, patting her baby's back. She paused and winked at Yates, and he shrank down until she disappeared.

At last, David returned, looking unnatural carrying a tray.

"Make your tea however you'd like," he said, taking his own cup.

“I don’t really know how I like it, sir.”

"Please, just David." He looked at the younger man's mug, patterned with flowers. "Why don't we experiment and find out what you like? In general, do you prefer foods that are very sweet?"

Yates still wasn’t sure. Didn’t David know they were given the barest, blandest food available, if they were fed at all? But he obediently spooned a little sugar and honey into his cup.

"Yes, see if you like that. Add more if you would like, but I would suggest only a little at a time. You can always add more but not take away."

Yates couldn’t understand why they were having such a blasé conversation while he was just mourning the loss of his partner to some stupid animals. Maybe David didn’t understand how devastatingly serious this was. “It’s Ginger who likes sweet things. He’s good at making cakes, doing the frostings.” His words wavered as his eyes filled up with tears again.

"You're speaking as if he's died."

“He’s not dying!” Yates started sobbing in earnest.

David was quiet for a moment. He took the smallest sip of his own tea. "Then it sounds like this problem can be resolved.”

“How?” Yates wept. “I don’t know how! We were just us before. Nobody else.”

"Yes, you're a bonded pair. Tell me, what will happen if you spend an hour or so apart, and then come back together?"

“Well… Back at our old place, we wouldn’t see each other all day. But we’d be chained together at night. It was okay again.”

"Don't you share a room? You'll still be spending nights together."

“Ginger might want to sleep with Nils instead. He’s funny and he knows about animals. I don’t know anything about them,” Yates said glumly. “And I’m not funny. I’m really boring.”

"I'm sure that's not true. But I think while he's preoccupied with the animals, you might like to find something you enjoy. A hobby."

“A hobby.” Yates muttered the word like it was another language. “Just for myself?”

"Yes. Most of the residents - recovering boxies, that is, like you - have hobbies." David sounded like he was making a business proposal, tone very serious and expression unchanging. Yates wasn't sure how he knew this, but David was definitely a businessman.

"I've met two other bonded pairs, one here and one at another property I work with," he went on, "and while they all stayed very close with their former bonded, I think they all found something to do on their own. Two from the same pair have even gotten jobs separately."

Separate. The very word frightened Yates. “H-how..?”

"Well, it took some time."

“I don’t remember… a time when we were separate.” It was like Yates couldn’t even comprehend the possibility.

"I think everyone needs some alone time. Spending time alone doesn't mean you're growing apart. If anything, I think it may help you both."

“How?” Yates burst out. “I don’t want to grow apart!”

David looked at him properly. He looked him in the eye, and Yates realized they hadn't made eye contact this whole time. David hadn't looked at his face much at all.

"Two people will form a sort of bond by marrying. They agree to spend life together, but do they spend every moment of the day together? Do they share every interest and hobby?" David asked. "Identical twins come from the same tiny cell that breaks apart. They develop and are born together. Parents frequently dress them alike and people treat them as if they're one person rather than two. But they are individuals and they typically develop their own identities, establishing their own style, separate interests, take different classes in uni."

“But me and Ginger don’t look alike,” Yates mumbled. He found it hard to grasp what David was talking about. He wished he’d just come out with it.

"You were treated as a single unit, but that's not what you are. You're two individuals. Separate people."

Yates wasn’t really getting the point, and it was clear on his face. Weeks of intense training couldn’t be erased so quickly. Maybe they were two separate people, but Ginger felt like a part of Yates. It felt like Yates wasn’t whole without him.

"Why don't you give hobbies a try? Then when your friend comes back in you can tell him about what you've done. It'll give you lots to talk about."

“What sort of hobbies?”

"Why don't you get to know some of the others and ask? Andromeda knits, Harley likes all kinds of arts and crafts, Priscilla has been able to relearn how to read and she likes poetry and makeup, Crow - well, he won't want to be bothered yet. But everyone will be friendly."

“I can just go up to them? They won’t be angry?” Yates checked.

"They won't, no."

“Okay. Thank you, sir - David.”

David nodded. Yates left the table, going in search of somebody else. Probably Andromeda, if he could find him. At least he made more sense than David.

Yates was struck by the messiness of the place as he moved from room to room; Stanley and Ivy had insisted on keeping a clean and tidy house. This place was chaotically cosy, with bright pictures on the walls and various possessions scattered about. The furniture was clearly high quality, though frequently buried under blankets.

"Hiya!"

Even while he was seeking Andromeda out, Yates jumped when Andromeda greeted him in the hallway.

“Hello, sir. David says I should try some hobbies,” Yates reported.

"Oh, he did?" Andromeda asked. "Do you want to right now, or would you rather not?"

“Well… I don’t really have any other tasks to perform. And Ginger is busy,” he said mournfully.

"It's okay to do nothing for a little while. We can put something on the telly, maybe, or we could try a hobby."

“I’m allowed to watch the television?” Yates seemed a tiny bit brighter.

"You are! Everyone's jealous you have a TV in your room," Andromeda laughed, "but you can watch TV in the living room as well."

“We can give the TV to someone else if you’d prefer,” Yates said quickly.

"Not if you and Ginger enjoy it!"

Yates decided to ask Ginger later. He was sick of making decisions.

"What will it be then?" Andromeda asked, smiling. "Telly or an activity? Or we could even do both."

More decisions. Yates mumbled that he’d like to try watching TV, mostly because he knew you just had to sit there and watch it. He felt exhausted already.

"Living room or your room?"

“Living room?” He said it like he wasn’t sure. But Ginger would have to pass the living room when he came back. He’d see Yates and want to sit with him again…

"Okay! Would you like me to watch with you?"

“Yes please. If you don’t mind, sir.”

"I don't mind at all," Andromeda said cheerfully, walking him back to the living room. David was no longer on the sofa. Yates sat on the floor automatically. Those sofas were fancy, there’s no way he’d be allowed to sit on them.

"Are you comfortable there?" Andromeda asked, perching on the leather cushion.

“I’m perfectly fine, sir.”

He flinched when Andromeda moved suddenly, but then could only blink his eyes in confusion when he found Andromeda sitting beside him on the floor.

"Let's see what's on. Looks like someone was on the wildlife channel, but I take it that's more your friend's style?" Andromeda said, different images flashing across the screen faster than Yates could keep up. "Cooking, baking, cartoons, reality - which is more scripted and dramaticized than real, but if I'm being honest… I love trash TV. Fashion, more reality, more cooking, cartoons again…"

“Why are those ladies choosing such fancy white dresses?” Yates asked, seeing a wedding dress program flick by.

Andromeda went back to the channel. "Oh, those are wedding dresses! They're choosing their outfits to get married in."

“Married?” He’d heard of that, but only when referring to their potential masters back at the facility. Yates knew weddings had giant fancy cakes because Ginger had been taught how to make them - but he’d never realised they had these special dresses too. “That’s what ladies wear to weddings?”

"Mhm. Big white dresses are customary, at least in primarily English speaking countries. Where I grew up, women would usually wear colorful silk with patterns and hats, though the white dresses and veils have started catching on."

“You didn’t grow up here?”

"No, I grew up in Mongolia," Andromeda said, though his accent sounded no different from his own. "Do you know where that is?"

Yates shook his head. He didn’t have a clue where Mongolia was. He didn’t even know which side of a map it’d be on.

"Do you know the seven continents? Asia?"

“Sort of,” Yates said vaguely. The names felt familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. Like déja vu.

Andromeda got his phone out of his pocket. He showed Yates a screen with clumps of green surrounded with blue. "We're here on this little island, which is actually rather big and doesn't feel much like an island. This is Mongolia waaaay over here."

“It’s bigger than here,” he mumbled. “Do you remember it?”

"Mhm. My parents and I moved here when I was twelve."

“Why don’t your parents live here too?”

"Well, they died after coming here, when I was still a kid. And I don't have family in this country so I went into foster care. Do you know what foster care is?"

Yates shook his head.

"When there's no one to look after a kid, they go into foster care where designated caregivers look after them."

“So is David your caregiver?”

"He was. I'm twenty-eight now, well past aging out of the system, so now I'm taking on some caretaking myself."

“Caring for us?” Yates clarified. It still seemed foreign to him. They were the ones trained for caring.

"Mhm."

“But that’s our job.”

"Well right now, both our jobs are to judge that wedding dress."

Yates frowned, but faced the television obediently. “She doesn’t look very happy with it.”

"What kind of clothes would you be happy wearing?" Andromeda asked. Any clothes. Not necessarily wedding."

“Um…” Yates paused. “I don’t know a lot of clothes. Just something comfy?”

"Comfy sounds nice."

“I don’t know what kind Ginger likes. Probably ones with animals on,” he said, a little tartly.

"Do you like clothes? Do you like the design and stuff?"

Yates shrugged. “I’d like to see more of them.”

"So you like this show?"

Yates nodded. He did like it too, he wasn’t just saying what he thought was the right answer. This show was simple. The women came in, picked out a few dresses they didn’t like, then found their dream dress and everybody cried and hugged and went away happy. He liked that.

[ashiversary]

Adaptability

Adaptability:

1. A pokemon ability that increases the power of moves of the same type as the user. Common species with this ability include porygon, basculin and eevee.

2. The ability to acclimatise efficiently and fast to changed circumstances

◊

The umbreon tent at the Opal City Eevee And Evolutions Event is a good place to be, Go thinks, even though it’s early. The darkness means it’s refreshingly cool compared to outside, the ‘dark night’ coffees sold by the door are both delicious and immensely caffeinated, and the newly-evolved Instinct umbreons are sleeping (for once) in relative silence. It’s so early, in fact, that there’s only one other guest in this row. They’re pretty short, with red hair, lots of piercings and wait a minute-

“Uh, Amelie?”

Her eye flicks briefly towards him.

“Hello, Go.”

Oh. Great. He turns to look at what she’s eyeing.

It’s a good specimen from a show perspective, Go can tell. The eyes are bright and cheri-red, the coat ink-black and glossy, and the thick gold bands from evolving under a full harvest moon have a soft but powerful glow. It’s a pretty attractive pokemon for a team who deal in stolen goods, so Go braces for a knee to the stomach and hopes someone will call for security before he hits the ground.

When a minute has passed with no attack he dares to crack an eye open to look at her.

“Picking good ones to steal later? They’re all tagged and chipped you know-”

“No.”

“Planning to steal the prize money?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you here at an eevee convention?”

She fixes him with a look and- oh.

He’s suddenly very glad Spark stayed behind. Arceus only knows the carnage that would result from him, her boss and hundreds of eevee all in the same place.

Anyway, Go, focus.

There’s no members of the public admitted right now, but there’s still a handful of breeders primping their umbreons before the gates open, and although he’s got over a foot of height on her Go doesn’t think for a minute that’ll stop him from being handed his ass if things get dicey. (Amelie did focus solely on his uninjured side when they met after the last big fight though, so that was… thoughtful? Less brutal than the majority of Rocket?)

The point is, it’s early, there’s no high-level trainers anywhere nearby and a member of Team Rocket is next to him at an Eevee Exhibition. So what should he do?

Go shrugs.

“Want to get breakfast?”

“So,” Amelie asks when they’re sat near a food stand fifteen minutes later, “Why are you here?”

He shrugs, chasing the last pieces of tamato berry around the tray.

“Some of the special entrants in the main exhibition are from Instinct Hatcheries, like that flying-type eeveelution, the dual-type vaporeon and, uh… Dumpling the shiny kit? Do you know about him?”

She nods and - wait, of course she’ll know about Dumpling, given who her boss is. Go’s certain that despite the frequent recorded visits from Mystic One on file at the kit’s hatchery, Leader Blanche themself has never actually set foot in the place.

He continues, regardless. “Because of the ties Instinct have with a lot of the organizers, we- as in, high-ranking Instinct Trainers – got special passes for the event.”

Go’s not entirely sure why he got one, really. Okay, yes, his name is down on paper as Instinct Two, but he’ll be the first to admit that compared to any of Spark’s Elite Four he’s way behind. Why is he here again?

He’s always been good at rolling with the punches, though, literal or otherwise. He’s adaptable.

(In this job, with his boss, you need to be. Otherwise you just might not survive.)

◊

The theory goes:

A standard, purebred eevee with no external influences will evolve in accordance with its environment - one who lives wild by a lake and hunts for food in the water will tend towards vaporeon, habitats of warm homes as cherished pets create sylveon, those raised on spiritual sites or alongside psychics evolve into espeon (and everyone knows not to leave kits near the psychic Gym Leader of Saffron City unless, for whatever reason, you want a rambunctious feline unable to manage its considerable newfound strength back right after).

Even amongst the same species there are further physiological variations. The rare wild leafeon studied in arctic tundra environments have stubby near-black leaves with a waxy finish, slow metabolisms, and a secondary ice-typing. Amongst professional breeders and co-ordinators different leafeon with unusual foliage, such as delicate ornamental leaves or chubby cacti greenery, are a hit. The reigning Kalos Queen making an appearance even has an exquisite rose leafeon as her signature companion - far too finicky for the average trainer, too fragile for regular battling. And yet, much like a wild eevee and its evolution, it’s perfectly adapted for its current environment. 

(Go figure, Go thinks as he takes a high-speed rose to the face at the front of the crowd, Amelie looking suspiciously like she’s trying to hide a smile).

But the environment is only half the puzzle. If exposed to a standard water stone, a wild eevee will undergo rapid evolution into what most would consider a ‘classic’ vaporeon – neck frill, aqua blue colouring, finned tail - even if its habitat is a frozen plain or an electrified cave.

So, as Annie had explained to him over one of the few dinners Spark or Zapdos (is there a difference, really?) hadn’t been able to crash and burn, the leading theory is that the eevee ignores its previous adaptations and rapidly adjusts in order to cope with a sudden influx of energy the stone contains - similar to how other species can go years with no sign of pending evolution but then once exposed to the right conditions, boom, a distressed golem is now stuck in your bathroom. 

“Look,” she’d said, dragging out a tablet from her purse, “The main idea is the stone itself is a strong energy source – the eevee suddenly adapts to this exposure and the energy drives the evolution to completion in seconds, but because most of these stones are similar in chemical composition the final vaporeons are also pretty identical.”

Huh, he’d thought, so that’d been why Mystic had requested a large number of eevee kits a few months before, and why so many of their high-rank trainers had similar vaporeons on their teams now. He’d assumed it was just for the team aesthetic, really, but they must have been adopted out once the research programme had wrapped up.

Annie had continued, nearly knocking over her glass as she’d gestured at the screen.

“But then we’ve got to consider that items such as Razor Fangs and Claws are similar energy sources, or possibly catalysts. We now know certain stones and trading systems count as an energy source because of the thermodynamic profiles, but how does that link to items such as Reaper Cloths? Wild dusknoir and escavalier have to come from somewhere, Go!”

It had been interesting when he’d read over it later, after walking her home – or at least, back to Mystic HQ. Aside from cases such as nidorina and nidoqueen, Instinct typically ignore the evolution status of the pokemon used for breeding to focus mostly on IVs and moves, so browsing Annie’s notes had helped show a whole new side of the story, and they’re a lot easier for a novice to read than Leader Blanche’s, that’s for sure.

There was something similar to this topic in one of his college classes actually - a certain level of energy is required to allow a reaction to occur, catalysts open up different reaction pathways with lower energy requirements, if energy isn’t available from an external source then internal energy will be used instead, and so on. Currently known sources, according to Mystic research, include electromagnetic waves during trading, certain geological features, and – if the ongoing research on eevees is any indication - evolutionary stones as well. So now Annie’s research involves looking at possible wavelengths emitted, triggering the use certain items and further analysis of evolutionary stones. (He winces on Professor Willow’s behalf. Those items aren’t cheap, after all, and Go may no longer a completely-broke student but he won’t be casually dropping ₽10,000 on a stone that will never be anything but powder for a lab experiment.)

Annie always looks so animated when she talks about her research with Mystic One. Guess it helps to have a Team Leader who you really care for.

(Then again Spark, at least, doesn’t need constant reminders to eat or sleep.)

Speaking of which…

“Uh… Leader Blanche and Annie are supposed to be here today. Could you and your boss maybe not blow up the exhibition while we’re all here? Or start a fight? Or steal anything”

Amelie doesn’t even look up from the stall she’s examining. Out of all the locations to spend the morning at, personally Go wouldn’t have picked the shopping village – it’s not even ten in the morning now and it’s already a struggle to get through the crowds. Amelie, however, is both determined and terrifying - so here they are. 

“Mystic One is currently at their headquarters having overslept. Mystic Two is with them.”

Well that’s not at all creepy.

“How do you know that?” He demands.

“Carl told me.”

“Carl, as in-”

That stuck-up dick? is what Go wants to say, but his mouth finishes, “-Valor Two?”

“Yes. We’re acquainted.”

Typical. All said stuck-up dick apparently needs to drop the snobbish attitude, even for someone like Team Rocket, is a terrifying attitude and an above-average bra size. 

(That’s probably unfair, he reflects. There’s one key reason why the two of them will never get along and it’s five-foot-ten, host to a lightning titan and drinks Go’s milk straight from the carton.)

“It’s in everyone’s best interest for there to be no fighting today, don’t you agree? Three of each, please.” Amelie directs the last part at the hovering sales assistant, guarding the stock with the tenacity of a stoutland and the attitude of a houndoom.

Honestly, Go thinks, simultaneously watching the assistant bag all the items and trying to read the labels upside-down at the same time as they’re packed, Carl and Amelie knowing each other well isn’t a bad thing. Especially given the animosity between her boss and Leader Candela - and their combined talents at causing significant property damage.

“Limited Edition Eevee Family… are these socks?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

 “You came all the way to a massive eevee exhibition… to buy yourself socks?”

He looks back at the packaging, the front home to a model in frills sporting sylveon thigh-highs and not much else.

Don’t think about her wearing them, don’t think about her wearing them-

Too late. It’s an amazing image though.

“They’re not for me. I’m here to get them for someone who couldn’t make it.” Amelie says, like she can read minds. Or maybe it was pretty obvious what he was (completely involuntarily!) thinking of.

Hang on, given that there’s one person he knows of who can make Amelie get up at the crack of dawn and wears eevee paraphernalia obsessively…

“So… your boss isn’t here today?”

There’s an unnaturally long pause.

“No,” Amelie finally says. It’s hard to tell with someone as serious as her but for a moment, Go thinks, it looks like she wants to say something more. “No, they’re not.”

“So you did come all this way just for socks?”

She shrugs.

“Lief is also thinking about breeding an eevee-cross meowth at some point, so he’s looking at possible studs as well.”

“Lief?”

“You’ve met him. Green hair, crossbred persians, kicked you in the face last month at the pier?”

Oh yeah, he remembers now. He really needs to try and run into people who are less violent, he thinks.

Amelie takes her receipt and turns to face him. “I’ll see you around, Go.”

“Uh, is it bad if I hope that’s not any time soon?”

He gets a whole smile for that.

[stellar-alley]

Everfalls

•Chapter 7•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Also shout out to my Beta super.rose.cosplays!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Richie shows Eddie what nachos are and helps him study for a test.)

~

By the end of the week, Friday, Richie and Eddie fell into a rhythm. Eddie would meet Richie and Bev out at the front of the school and hang out with them until home room started. They'd all eat together for lunch. Most days after school they'd either go to Eddie's house or go to Richie's, Eddie usually stayed for dinner. The Tozier's grew particularly fond of Eddie even within a short time of knowing him. He's a well mannered boy who also seems to be the only person in town who shares their secret, so they've all grown close with time.

Now it was Sunday, Eddie was sat on his kitchen counter watching Richie with a curious eye as he scavenged the kitchen cabinets. He mindlessly played with his dad’s compass to keep his hands busy. Eddie has done some grocery shopping for himself so he had a good amount of food. Richie had searched the fridge and most of the cabinets, “Rich? What the crap are you looking for?” Eddie's voice was something of a giggle, his gaze followed Richie who went from cabinet to cabinet.

“What I am looking for, my dearest spaghetti. Is-” his voice cut short “AHA! I knew you'd had them”.

Eddie hopped down from his perch, “and what is them?” he quirked a brow and smiled a devilish smirk.

“Oh just you wait Eduardo” Richie held the item behind his back, his lips mirrored Eddie's.

Eddie held his hands up in defeat, “Alright, alright”.

Richie busied himself with making whatever concoction he was creating, but that didn’t stop him from talking. “So, SpaghEds, with the whole complete shift thing, where’s the weirdest place you’ve shifted?” Richie does this, he asks questions. With the full moon approaching he has grown more curious about Eddie’s powers and his transformations.

One specific memory came to mind, and it hit close to home. “Oh” Eddie sucked in a breath. He trusted Richie, of course he did, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to get into this. “Well… I-um, I get anxious sometimes, and when I get anxious, really anxious, sometimes I fully shift. It’s only happened twice though-” He was cut off by Richie, who finally turned to face him.

“So instead of most people who curl into the fetal position, you shift into a fucking white rabbit?” Eddie didn’t appreciate the amused grin that played over his lips.

“Yeah, so what dickwad?” He spat back. Suddenly he’d become defensive. His anxiety was something he didn’t tell a lot of people about so he certainly didn’t appreciate when he finally decides to confide in someone and what does he get in response? A laugh.

Richie could physically sense the mood shift in the room. Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, hung his head low and kept his eyes off of him. Quickly, Richie slid his concoction into the oven, set the timer then took a step towards Eddie.

“Hey…” He carefully moved his hand under Eddie’s chin and slowly tilted his head upwards, their eyes meeting. His voice was slow, serious, with a little happiness sprinkled on top to keep the mood light, “I’m kidding” he offered with soft eyes.

Finally, Eddie let his arms drop to his side, “I know Rich, I-Just don’t joke about that stuff okay? I’ve struggled with that shit since I was a kid. It’s hard…” his voice drifted off .He wanted to look away but Richie’s hand moved to cup his check.

“I’m sorry-” Richie’s apology was interrupted by the beeps of the oven timer. Richie’s eyes lit up as he remembered what he’d made. Without a further thought, he planted a quick kiss on Eddie’s nose and grabbed the oven mits before he went to go take the tray out of the oven.

Eddie leaned against the counter for support, his legs felt like they were going to give out from underneath him. What’s happening? What just happened? He- Holy shit Richie kissed me. Well he kissed my nose- STILL! The realization made Eddie’s heart swell and his hands sweat. The area where Richie’s hand had once cupped his check felt cold with the sudden absence of warmth. What does this mean? This feeling… No way, it can’t be. And why with him? Why don’t I feel this with Alley? Or Bev? Or literally anyone else aside from my fucking best friend. The bunny simply watched Richie, his wide, toothy smile and his shiny eyes, even if they hid behind massive coke bottle glasses. His stare always seemed to brighten his mood. The thought dawned on Eddie like a sack of potatoes, It’s because none of them are Richie.

Richie’s voice pulled Eddie out of his thoughts. “Apology nachos?” Richie’s lips were curved in a half smile.

Eddie’s eyes were wide with his new realization, unsure how to act, he opted to ask “What are nachos?” he scrunched up his face.

“What? They don't have nachos in The All Lands?” He cocked an eyebrow at the shorter boy.

“Seems like it” Eddie joined Richie at the table, claiming the seat beside him.

“Well, they’re literally the best thing since slice fucking bread. Tortilla chips, salsa, guacamole, cheese!”.

“Tort-il-y chips?” Now it was Eddie’s turn to cock an eyebrow.

Richie held a bag, “It’s what I was looking for before! Now come on, eat before they get cold”, he instructed before he grabbed a chip for himself.

Eddie examined the way Richie grabbed a chip and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Richie noticed and gave Eddie his iconic grin. Even with cheese and chips in his teeth, it still made Eddie’s heart skip a beat. He covered up his blush by giving Richie a shove, “Close your trashmouth! That’s gross” He couldn’t hide the laughter in his voice. Richie simply responded by closing his mouth and pointed at the tray, gesturing for him to eat. So that’s what he did, and let’s just say, for a heap of cheese on a chip, it was pretty damn good.

After the two had finished, Richie offered to help Eddie clean up. “Ready for the English test tomorrow?” He asked as Eddie handed him a plate to be dried.

“Shit- Is that tomorrow?” Eddie almost dropped the plate in his hands. His eyes went wide as his thoughts began to race “I thought that was next wednesday. Oh my god Richie I haven’t even started studying for that. My mark is low enough in that class, I’m so gonna fail”.

“I-I can help you study” Richie offered shyly, eager to spend more time with him. Yes, they’d been spending a lot of time together already, but when Richie was with Eddie, he felt at ease. For once in his life he had someone who shared his secret who wasn't his parents. There was an aspect of freedom to it, he was able to walk around without a hat and with his tail in the open. He also couldn’t help to acknowledge the way his stomach twisted whenever Eddie laughed at his jokes, or how his heart always seemed to speed up whenever their fingers brushed against each other. Richie lived for the moments where it was appropriate for him to hug Eddie, or take his hands in his. Even the once in a lifetime opportunity he just had, when he kissed Eddie’s little nose. Sure it was a spur of the moment thing and Eddie probably didn’t think much of it anyways… Plus Richie only did it to cheer Eddie up, right?

“Seriously? No, you can’t. Y-You’ve gotta be back home in an hour cause your mom is making your favourite” Eddie had remembered that small detail from when Richie told it to him early that day, of course he had. He always remembered the little things, the way Richie always tugged at his beanie when he was nervous, how his eyes always found Eddie’s in his time of need, even down to the little details like what the Toziers were gonna make for dinner.

Richie reached a hand out and planted a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “And if I tell my mom I’m helping you, she’ll gladly save me some for later. I can’t have my little Eds failing, now can I?”.

My Eds

Those words stuck out to Eddie. As if Richie had taken a highlighter to their story and outlined it with a colour almost as bright as his eyes. His. Eddie liked the sound of that. But he shoved the feeling down. He had more important things to deal with.

“Only if you’re sure” Eddie returned to doing the dishes. Tilting his head down to hide his rosy cheeks.

“I’m as sure as I’ll ever be! I’ll stay until you know this shit like the back of your own hand!” Richie exclaimed which only made Eddie blush harder.

“Thanks Chee” The nickname slipped out which caused Eddie’s eyes to go wide as he realized what he’d just called him.

Richie froze and stared at the rabbit, “W-Wait sorry, what was that?” He asked with an amused smirk.

Eddie couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across his face, “What? You have all these stupid nicknames for me, so I thought it was only fair if I gave you one!” Eddie nodded as if he had to confirm his statement. “Chee!” He declared.

Richie chuckled and let his gaze fall to the ground so that way Eddie wouldn’t be able to see his red cheeks.

After a beat he glanced back up at him who had the same red face, “Chee?” Richie asked with a small, embarrassed smile. “Chee?” He repeated, his smile grew to match Eddie’s grin as he walked up to the smaller boy and wrapped his arms around him.

“Yes, Chee!” Eddie exclaimed in Richie’s arms.

The wolf’s heart practically beat right out of his chest as adrenaline ran through his veins.

“Woah” Eddie let out a small gasp.

Richie hadn't even noticed he lifted Eddie up and off his feet. With his enhanced wolf strength, little things like this weren’t that hard for him to do. So with the adrenaline in his veins and the spur of the moment vibes in the air. He lifted Eddie higher and spun him around in the air.

Eddie couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth as the air whipped through his hair. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and let his legs fly through the air as Richie spun them.

Richie laughed and laughed. He had somehow made his way to the couch and with Eddie still in his arms flopped down onto the couch. The two of them let go and rolled around in a fit of laughter. At that moment, they were both happy.

Richie ended up staying until Eddie had a firm grasp on the content, which ended up being around 8:pm. They’d studied in Eddie’s room, on the bed of his bay window. The two sat with their backs up against the window, shoulders touching and books sprawled all out around them.

The sun had just gone under the horizon, the sky coloured a deep purple, slowly it faded to black. Eddie held out Richie’s jacket, which he gratefully grabbed after he slid his converses on.

“Thank you,” Eddie said for the thousandth time.

“Stop it. You apologize too much, Spaghetti” Richie smirked at the nickname.

Eddie rolled his eyes, not in the mood to fight over that right now. His gaze landed on the small stars that began to fill the nights sky above them.

“Ah, I almost forgot” His voice caught Eddie’s attention. He watched as Richie riffled through his pockets and produced a small block like object, with a blue cover.

Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched together in curiosity, “Is that-?”

“A phone! For you. I know you don’t have one” Richie held it out to Eddie.

“And I don’t need one. Plus, Richie I can’t accept that” Eddie held his hands up and away from the phone.

“Oh come on Eds. It’s my old one. It was literally just collecting dust on my dresser. It’ll only be for emergencies. If I need to contact you. Or if you get into trouble. Plus the full moon is literally 12 days away and I’m more prone to outbreaks. If something happens, I’m gonna need your help” Richie’s puppy dog eyes shone through. Sure, maybe Richie was just using that as an excuse to give Eddie the phone, then he’d be able to talk to him even when they weren’t together.

“Fucking fine, but only for emergencies” Eddie snatched the phone from the Richie’s hand. He wanted to scowl, but Eddie couldn’t help the excitement that eased into his system at the thought of having a phone.

It only took a couple minutes for Richie to show him the basics of using a phone. How to enter his passcode and find his contacts, which only consisted of Richie, Maggie and Went. Richie claimed Eddie could ask for other numbers at school, but Eddie insisted it was only for emergencies and these were the only ones he needed.

Richie left with a wave and a smile. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the little bit of sadness that he felt once he realized Richie had left without giving him a final hug goodbye. That’s fine. No Worries. Friends don’t always need to hug each other. Right? But he had every other time… So what makes this time different? Those were the thoughts that occupied Eddie’s head as his body went on autopilot. He got finished cleaning up and ready for bed. His body, along with the mood in the house felt a little bit cooler than it had when he was in Richie’s presence.

The new cobalt blue phone sat on the nightstand beside Eddie’s bed. It emitted a soft vibration sound right when Eddie closed his eyes. He ignored it, instead he turned to face the other side of the room, away from the phone. The second time it vibrated Eddie couldn’t hold back his curiosity any further. He flipped back over and snatched it off his nightstand.

He fumbled with it only for a second until he clicked the on button. The bright light of the plain white screensaver caused him to squint at the sudden brightness. He looked at the plain white background, Gotta ask Rich to change that, he took the mental note. He carefully punched in his passcode and found the icon with the little red number 2. He reminded himself that it meant he had 2 notifications. He sucked in a breath when he realized who it was from, Richie.

Richie: Goodnight Spagheds 🌙 Richie: *1 Photo/ Click to Download*

Eddie smiled at the electronic box in his hands. His legs curled a little tighter into his chest with the new warmth he craved. It took him a second to figure it out but soon enough he had opened up the photo that Richie had sent. It was a selfie of Richie with his plate of homemade poutine in front of him while he had two french fries sticking out of his toothy smile.

He stared at it until his eyes fluttered shut, sleep took him away. He was ripped from his slumber when he dropped his phone on his face. “Fuck” He groaned as he fumbled with his phone. Desperately trying to turn it off, he pressed random buttons and swiped something. He clicked okay and within the blink of his eye his plain background had changed to the silly selfie of Richie. “Oh” He said with minimal shock. At first he was determined to change it. What would Richie think if he saw this? But sleep was pulling him back under and he decided to figure it out in the morning. He dropped his phone on the bed beside him and flopped back onto the pillow. His final thought was that, maybe seeing Richie every time I turn my phone on wouldn’t be such a bad thing…

Word Count: 2666

Hey guys wassssup

Kinda a shorter chapter but it's all fluff and cute Reddie stuff so I hope you enjoyed! The plot only evolves from here so get ready.

That's all for me guys, don't forget to like, comment and share!

I will see y'all next friday with a new chapter, but until then.

So Long and Goodnight

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[ashes-and-ashes]

Zombies

Remus scowled at the sky. The sun hurt his eyes, turning everything a striking, harsh white, a sun-bleached bone in the middle of the desert. The air was thick and full of dust; Remus coughed into his sleeve as they created the hill.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Everything’s really gone to shits hasn’t it?”

James didn’t bother replying.

Remus shook his head, hitching his pack farther up on his already aching shoulders. It was falling apart, the leather worn and shiny, the stitching coming apart at the seams. They had crammed it with everything they could get; a filthy sleeping bag, a water bottle, as many cans as they could find. He had slid a knife through his belt, another one in his tattered hiking boots, the metal cool against his skin. Everyone had used Guns, in the early days of the Virus, had used guns and bullets and bombs. The days had stretched on, though. Pretty much everything was gone now, and those who had bullets wouldn’t waste it on a Zombie.

They weren’t supposed to call them that, zombies. Technically, they were referred to as the Infected. Before humans Fell, there was a death penalty for referring to them as anything different, as the governments fought to retain control of their panicking nations.

Remus shook his head again. He found himself doing it more often, caught in the tangled web of his memories, the dream-like haze of Before and the grim reality of Now. There wasn’t much to do anyways, besides walk and sleep and occasional fight against a couple of Zombies.

They had gotten lucky, him and Peter and James. They had dropped everything, ran away from the city the second the Virus had struck, all the screams and blood and burning buildings. They had been walking now, for years it seemed, hiding from humans and killing zombies and hoping that they could make it just one more day, please one more day.

Remus growls under his breath. His shoulder hurt - everything hurt actually. They had heard from others that the zombies were moving deeper into the forests, in search of the few humans who were left. They had immediately decided to head south, towards the acrid plains where there were next to no settlements, only ghost towns remaining.

He regretted it now, though, the dusty dirt and the relentless sun. His bottle was almost empty - they had filled it up at a river almost 2 days ago and hadn’t found anything since. Their food was almost gone as well, empty cans the only thing left.

Peter coughed from behind them. The massive axe strapped to his pack gleamed in the harsh light, metal and wood and leather. “We need to restock.”

“Really,” James snapped. He roughly raked his hands through his hair - it was matted, falling almost to his cheekbones, so different from the gelled spikes he used to wear so long ago. “Well fuck. There goes my plans. I wanted to have a goddamn tea party.”

Peter ignored him. They all were stressed, about the water and the food, the zombies and the desert and that haunting feeling that they were running out of time. He had changed too - they all had changed, though Peter had perhaps changed the most dramatically. The awkwardness had vanished, the soft hesitation and the warmth. The world had sucked him dry - sucked them all dry, whittling their edges until they became blades.

It was the one thing you needed, to survive in this world. The ability to keep on going, keep on walking, leave behind everything and anyone. The only people they could trust was each other, and even then their loyalty was limited. They had all made a pact, the instant it became clear that this Virus was not a fluke, that the world was fucked and they were all living on borrowed time.

If I become Infected, kill me. If I’m injured, leave me behind. Prioritize yourself over me.

Was it selfishness? Remus didn’t know. He would leave James or Peter in a heartbeat if one of them got injured, got bitten. He knew they’d do the same with him.

With a slight effort, Remus shoved the thought out of his head. He focused on putting one foot in front iof the other, head pounding slightly as he made it to the top of the hill. With a sigh, he slung the pack off his shoulders, plopping down onto the ground.

“Oh God,” he said. “It’s a fucking ghost town.”

Remus stared at the houses, the broken windows and the caved-in roofs, the cobblestone roads dusty and cracked. The sun had bleached all the colour from it, turning everything into various shades of white, the shadows stretching out across the ground.

James shook his head. “I feel like I’m in a fucking video game.”

“Zombie jump scares,” Remus agreed. “We go in there, we get jumped by a bloody corpse.”

He shivered. There was an air of abandonment to the place, written in every cracked piece of wood, every darkened window. It was like it had been preserved, as if the town had been encased in amber and left to dry in the acrid sun.

James let out a long side. “We shouldn’t risk it,” he muttered. “We’re screwed if we go in.”

Peter held up his water bottle. “We’re empty. We’d last another day, tops. We won’t reach the mountains for another 2 days at least.”

“There’s a pump,” Remus pointed out; he could just make out the slender faucet in the middle of a desecrated square. “And a well I think? Right there.”

“I don’t like it though,” James said. “This is practically the perfect spot for zombies. An abandoned ghost town? How stereotypical can we get?”

“Place’s been abandoned for a while,” Peter pointed out. “You can tell - the houses are old, and they’re not wired for electricity. And that mural on the wall - you can just barely make out the numbers 1952.”

James bit his lip. He stared at the empty water bottle in Peter’s hand, then at the empty town. “It’s only around noon,” he finally said. “We get in. We get out. Stay together.”

“People?” Remus asked.

“Don’t kill them. Try and knock them out.”

Remus nodded. “Sure.”

They carefully picked their way down the slope, trying to ignore the rocks digging into their knees. The ghost town was abolutely silent; they could hear the buzz of insects, the scuttling of mice between floorboards.

What’s the place called, James mouthed; they had become good at reading each other’s lips over the years, a skill born out of the need to stay silent when zombies were hunting them.

Hogsmeade, Peter mouthed back.

The fuck?

Remus just pointed to a sign, swinging down from the roof of a long-collapsed store. Hogsmeade Market it read, the words faded and rotted away. James rolled his eyes and looked away.

He felt Peter’s hands close around his wrist, his grip tight and demanding. Look.

Remus obeyed, following his finger to the small trail of smoke in the sky. He glanced over at James; the grim expression on his face let him know that JMes saw it too. Check it out?

James hesitated, then nodded. He fingered the short, heavy blade at his side - they knew how to take care of themselves, though that didn’t stop them from avoiding fights. They needed food though, badly - they had been living off a combination of mice-and-dandelion soup with half a tin of expired beans for the past few days and Remus knew he would starve if they didn’t find anything here.

They followed the smoke, the trail a streak of grey in the sky. It lead to a small hut, the roof caved in and windows dark - they could smell the flames though, heat the crackle of burning wood. Slowly, James eased the door open.

And Remus froze.

Suddenly he was 11 again, attending Hogwarts School, terrified out of his wits on his first day. He was 12, with 3 boys he knew he would die to protect. He was 14, kissing a boy he had loved for ages. He was 15, screaming as they left, ran from the city as the Infected razed it to the ground.

The boy was beautiful, the first truely beautful thing he had seen for god knew how long. He hadn’t seen another human in what felt like years, hadn’t seen anyone but James and Peter. The boy was beautful though, the way a knife was beautiful, sharp edges and worn bits and eyes that glinted like sharpened steel.

He laughed, the sound low and vicious. “Small world, isn’t it.”

James stepped forward; he was angling his body, Remus realized, trying to shield Remus from him. His sword rested casually in his arm; for the first time Remus noticed the bow leaning against the peeking wall. “Look, I’m - “

“Sorry?” The boy smirked. “For what? Leaving without me.”

James flinched. “I - “

“I waited,” the boy interrupted, “For 5 fucking hours. 5 Goddamn hours. But you were gone, weren’t you? You left me.”

“We didn’t mean to,” Peter cut in. “You were late - “

“I was preoccupied,” the boy said flatly, “by my bitch of a parents.”

Remus swallowed, hard. He remembers that night, James dragging him away, the moon high in the night sky. Come on! We’ll die if we stay, they’re coming -

We have to wait! Remus screamed. We can’t leave him!

We won’t survive if we don’t!

Slowly, Remus looked up, swallowing past the lump in his throat. His fingers tightened into fists, nails piercing through flesh.

“Oh look.” The boy sounded dangerously, cruelly excited. “He does remember.”

“You survived on your own?” James asked. Remus could see his knuckles, white on the worn leather of his blade.

The boy shrugged. “I had to. I would have been with you guys, had you not abandoned me. Forgotten me.”

Remus found his voice, hoarse and cracking. “We didn’t - I never - “

“Thank god.” The boy rolled his eyes. “I would hate to think you’d forget your ex-boyfriend.”

“I didn’t - I could never - “

“Say it.” He tilted his head, his eyes suddenly so, so bright, molten silver in the darkness of the room. “Say my name.”

Remus closed his eyes. “Sirius,” he whispered. “Sirius Black.”

[tamilkerr]

Lolita lovers

Wondering those busy hallways alone always unnerved Charlotte. Yet here she is  wondering with no sight of her friend, holding down her skirt while she walked around in circles. She was going from the stall that sold the melon soda to the one that sold the figures of pretty girls, and then back round again.

  It seemed that her friend had left the convention without her and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes “I just want to lay on the floor and cry.” She murmured to herself, but she couldn't, her dress would get dirty.So Charlotte found a solitary corner, crouched down to the floor and started to take many shallow breaths. She did this to stop herself from getting too anxious. She was just about to break down when she heard it. 

 “Hi.” A very soft voice greeted her from above. 

Charlotte looked up to see a hand reaching for her. “Are you ok, you look upset” asked a very cute girl in a similar sort of dress to Charlotte, but this one was black instead of pink. 

“Oh I’m fine, I just..” Charlotte paused and took a deep breath. “I can’t find my friend.” She said.The girl with the black dress and hair to match, simply said “I will help you.” prompting Charlotte to finally take the hand the girl had offered. Soon Charlotte was on her feet. 

 The girls had walked most of the con floor enjoying each other's company and conversation “So you're a gothic lolita then?” Charlotte twiddles her thumbs together, “yes it’s only gothic for me, what about you, what's your style of lolita fashion?”.

 tucking her black hair behind her ear to listen to the answer “well I'm not sure yet, this is my first time wearing lolita” the blonde sounded unsure of herself.    

 Placing a gentle hand on her pink sleeve “well I would continue with the sweet style, it looks really good on you” she blushed at her words but before she could say thanks or give a compliment back.They had walked into the food and seating area and Charlotte’s very loud friend had spotted her “THERE you are!” a tall girl with fiery red hair stood by the small blonde, “I was looking for you everywhere, WHY didn't you tell me you were going to get food” her pink bow almost falling off her head.

 “Aw sorry, I got too ahead of myself” the redhead apologised, the goth girl fixed the blonde's bow and smiled sweetly then went on her way. “Ooo Charlotte, got yourself a girlfriend there” the tall girl teased and a huge blush grew on Charlotte’s face “NO! you just have it all wrong Willow, that gothic girl was helping me find you” wagging her finger in willow face to get the point across.

Much more teasing and walking later the con was at its end, Willow was attempting to join in on a dancing routine with other girls in lolita. While Charlotte was looking about frantically, searching for that kind frilly stranger from earlier “Oh I wanted to give this to her” muttering things to herself as she held a small voodoo doll with black button

eyes “Who’s that for, because it can’t be for you it isn’t pink” Willow gave a toothy smirk.

A little bit of red formed on her cheeks as she answered “It’s for that girl in black from earlier, I just wanted to thank her” Willow did give a small laugh “Nah you just liked her” and with that the taxi for them both had HONKED loudly. 

Backdrop set up and lights just right “Hello my lovely viewers, it’s me Carlottalita” the perky blonde announced “and I’m bringing you the latest in Lolita fashion news.” Charlotte continued the day making videos. As night fell she took her huge ponytail hair extensions out and lay down in bed, posting mindlessly to social media.

“WAKE UP! Charlotte, it’s me willow” a harsh banging on the door, made her shoot straight up in her frilly bed sheets and night dress. “oh COMING! let me find the keys” she had her hand digging around in a bowl filled with many cute keychains. As soon as it was unlocked the women burst through with bags filled to the brim with petticoats, “look at all this, Daisy got rid of everything” she thrust bags into the sleepy girls arms.

“REALLY daisy doo, she’s done with lolita?” Willow nodded at her questions “yup! She announced it with a video early this morning, so obviously I went to console her and maybe get some of her stuff” a very big grin on her lips. Charlotte was still shocked but boiled the kettle to make her and her friend a nice hot cup of tea, so Willow could spill the T.

“That’s not even the best part” Willow stood up after an hour of sitting and chatting “she gave me her tickets to that big con in Paris” Charlotte almost dropped her saucer with her tea cup on it. “Are you serious, France? we are going to France!” her voice went up an octave, she then threw herself at her friend who in return gave her a big bear hug “Yes my tiny friend, so plan out your most loveliest lolita dress yet!”.

That afternoon she was already online looking at bows and socks to match her very expensive dress “wow Lotte that costs the same as a  gaming pc” Willow’s eyes were almost popping out of her head looking at this web page “I know, but this con is really important and special”  twisting and twirling her blonde hair. 

The ginger pinched her cheeks and shook her face from side to side “ohh nah, you're just hoping that you’ll find a fellow lolita girl to fall in love with” Charlotte just swatted her hands away “oh stop it Willow” a big huff escaped her. “just because I fell for someone once, doesn't mean it’ll happen again” the blonde started to daze off thinking of the gothic beauty she had met at one of her first cons.

“she had the loveliest voice as well” unfortunately she had said her thoughts out loud which resulted in her friends endless teasing all through the night. Willow had already made herself comfortable in the pink frilly bed sheets.

Finally the time had arrived to take off “Ahh do you think we have enough bags yet Lotte?” Willow asked as she eyed up the two separate piles of luggage. One pile decorated pink with pandas and the other green with foxes “Haha I worry we don’t have enough” the blonde responded nervously.

After the two had arrived successfully to the airport in separate taxis, with still many hours to go until they got on the plane they messed about in the various shops after putting their luggage through the check in gate.

“Hey don’t I look like Elton John!” the loud mouthed girl bellowed across the shop while she wore novelty pink, sparkly booby glasses. “That is funny because he is in fact gay” Charlotte giggled and nodded as she approached her friend. Against better judgement Willow bought the glasses and wore them as they ate their burgers and fries.

Eventually, they landed in Paris, France after a longer than usual flight due to bad weather Charlotte found one of her bags to be missing. Almost on the verge of tears Charlotte tries her best to hide it from her friend but before they could leave the airport Willow, like a sniffer dog could sense there was something wrong. 

“You had four bags. Now there’s three” she growled. The fiery redhead slammed her hands down onto the help desk “My friend's bag has gone missing” the friend in question watched in horror as she stood alone with the two luggage carts. “Well ma'am luggage does get lost quite often.” She gave a well practiced smile which angered the ginger more “How could you lose it? It's covered in pandas!!!”

Finally leaving the airport the two girls grabbed a taxi heading towards their hotel room. Sitting in an awkward silence the whole journey until they finally got into their pajamas “Thanks Will for trying” giving a soft smile as she spoke.

“I still think we could have gotten it today” still frustrated she wrapped her arms around Charlotte in a supportive cuddle “It’s okay we filled out the form so we should hopefully hear back from them” she returned the cuddle squeezing tighter.

After a while they settled into their beds and put on some TV they couldn’t understand so just ended up chatting to each other “So Lotte what was in that bag anyway? It wasn’t that fancy dress you just got was it?”

seeing the panic in Willow’s eyes she quickly responded, “well it was just some petticoats and a couple of pairs of socks but, you remember that doll I bought for that girl” When she realized what her blonde friend was going on about she gave her a cheeky grin “oohhh I see, you’re hoping you’ll meet her again” giving Charlotte a wink.

Many people stared at Charlotte and Willow as they walked down the streets of Paris dressed in their usual lolita styles. Charlotte in her pastel coloured lace skirt and top with a bow to match, Willow contrasting in multiple shades of brown with the clockwork decoration plus a top hat to top it all off. 

“So how’d you sleep last night Lotti?” she asked her clearly sleepy friend as they sat down outside a cafe “fine! It wasn’t like I was worried about my bags or anything Will” responding in an overly sarcastic tone.

As their tea and assortment of pastries was brought to them the waitress could not help but focus on their garments “Um excuse me but why are you dressed like that?” She couldn’t help but ask as she set down the numerous plates.

“Well we are wearing lolita” Willow couldn’t help but interject. “It’s just an alternative fashion, the woman who had served just looked more confused and with an ‘Oh’ she just walked away continuing to do her job. So the two friends just spent their whole day sightseeing but unknown to them both that girl whom the blonde has been enamoured with was not far from where they have had tea. 

The dark haired girl stood in a room with many lights and cameras wearing a black dress a lot fancier than the one from before “Rio stop daydreaming and get over here” a woman in a very regal outfit commanded “Okay, coming Hina” the two posed in many positions and wore many clothes but Rio’s were always mostly black. 

“That's enough photos for today ladies” a man with very shiny hair and equally shiny blouse told the girls “Well it’s about time, come Rio we must go meet my new friend” linking arms with her gothic friend and guiding her to a very nice car outside. 

Once inside the vehicle a neutral blonde with gray eyes gave them a very wide smile “Bonjour, you’ll be coming to my house for dinner, I’ve got chef’s making it as we speak” she announced as she held her head high “Rio this is Aimee, Aimee this is Rio” Hina introduced them both to each other.

With that they went to Aimee's house and the whole time they were in her home Rio couldn’t help but feel a sense of uneasiness around this new person. 

They were all sitting in Aimee’s bedroom, she had her own small sofa and coffee table which had a beautiful tea set with a matching cake stand next to it “oh you simply must see my lovely collection of vintage polly pockets” Hina’s eyes lit up at those words but her fellow model didn’t really know what these polly things were. On this white wood shelf there were a lot of tiny little pastel coloured boxes that kind of looked like compact mirrors without any glass “Cool” was all Rio could muster. 

After some time Aimee left the room “Hina how well do you know her?” the goth asked, “Not very, I met her the last time I was here for a photoshoot” her friend said it so casually.

 Rio was a little shocked “What! You’ve only known her for a month? Why are we in her house?” grabbing her friend by the shoulders and shaking her a little “Calm down there’s nothing to worry about it’s very unlikely that she’s a serial killer or something” Hina laughed at her and messed her hair up. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the person in question with another big smile plastered across her face. She informed them that a car was waiting to take them to their hotel.

As the two japanese women entered through the door of the hotel, just across the street from them Charlotte and Willow went through the door of the much smaller hotel. 

Hina couldn’t help but tease her friend as she removed her black lipstick “So did you think Aimee was cute?” Rio looked confused by her question “Well I mean, you do have a thing for blondes” responding quickly to her confusion. “N-n-no I don’t” her cheeks clearly flushed bright red.

Frantically they tried to get ready as fast as they could while simultaneously being as cautious and deliberate as they can be, after layers of clothing such as petticoats and tights were finally on both of the girls were ready to put on their fanciest dresses yet for this convention.

“Will! How does this look on me? Was it worth the money?” Charlotte was frantic “Don’t worry Lotte it definitely looks real expensive and you look damn fine in it might I add” Willow thrusted her hips towards her friend in a joking manner,She was not so worried anymore, just really amused because of her friends' antics. 

hair and makeup all done the two of them went downstairs to the hotel's breakfast buffet as they had much time to spare, one wonders why they were rushing or even worried in the first place. 

While getting to the train was uneventful, being on the train the two overly dressed friends were met with many stares and whispering even a few rude words. 

“I had a few words in mind for those people” the fiery redhead snorted “If you just let me Charlotte” she said through gritted teeth “It’s just best to let people be rude and ignore them Willow” putting her hand gently on her friends shoulder in a sort of soothing manner “Be the bigger person” another hand placed on the other shoulder and softly shaking back and forth to get her point across “NEVER!” she grabbed the blondes cheeks in response.

The line outside of the convention hall was chock a block, you have not seen so much ruffles and lace in one place in your whole life, although there was much pastel to be seen there was plenty of goths with their darkness. 

Rio was with Hina, both were staring out of an open window at the crowd below “wow there are a lot more fellow lollita’s this time around” her friend had to agree “It seems that the online shops have really brought more people in” the two of them were dressed head to toe in very fancy attire, Hina looked like pure royalty with her mostly cream and gold dress whereas her fellow model resembled more vampire royalty with her black and purple outfit. 

Our two British besties stood amongst the crowd somewhere in the middle of the line “OMG it’s Carlottalita and The Maiden of the Cog” a young and very hyperactive girl squealed, with her came a group of more squealing ladies. 

“Hi everyone so nice to see you all here!” waving her two hands in the air while her yellow pigtails bounced frantically “What’s up my fellow shipmates” outstretching her arms in the same direction, waving them about to greet the group. “But you’re not a pirate this time” one of the little fangirls told Willow “Yes but I’m in steampunk so I can still have an airship” crouching down with her hands in a diamond shape to emphasize her point.

As the crazy antics went on in the que, the staff were preparing to open up the doors to let everybody into the convention hall. Aimee was standing atop a staircase watching the doors like a hawk “Miss Lamar, we are preparing to let everybody in, you should probably go join the models from in the conference room” she agreed and followed the staff member to the room in question. 

A large hall was lined with stalls that featured a selection of many different J-fashions but mostly that of the lollita variety not to mention plenty of plush toys and much cute art being sold. Although too much pink and purple kind of took over the place, a good helping of black other darker colours were dotted around the place. 

Not long after getting through the doors the ‘Cog Maiden’ dragged her fellow internet personality to the toilet to freshen up, re-applying their lipstick and fixing their lashes made them ready to face the crowds once again.

Suddenly, the door burst open and a very tall woman was dragging someone in with her 

“Come on, don’t worry I’ll get it fixed and I’ll stitch it back up” she reassured the crying girl, pulling a very ornate sewing kit from her equally beautiful handbag. They couldn’t help but watch as she fixed the large rip in the side of the other girls skirt, even adding a few buttons along the way for decoration. Looking at the repair she cried even more “OMG thank you so much waa” she couldn’t keep herself from hugging the tall lady very tightly “No problem” patting her softly on the head.

The newly happy girl ran out of the toilet to leave her tall friend behind “You did a real good job on that repair there” Charlotte couldn’t help but say and Willow behind her gave a big thumbs up and a grin. 

“Why thank you I do never go anywhere without my trusty sewing kit” she tucked said kit back into her decently sized bag. The three of them couldn’t help but gossip and walk around the main hall together, their new friend got along with Willow especially “So my name’s Zoey but most know me as Meime online” explaining as they all sat and had tea and coffee with each other. 

They were already discussing the online lollita community, Charlotte and Willow just got done explaining their online personas “Ah yes now that you mention it, I do remember you two from a daisy doo video” her eyes lit up with the realization that she had seen these two before.

The two Brits side eyed each other “Well I’ve some bad news for you, she’s quit!” Willow was the one to break the news as Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to do it. Zoey looked visibly upset but was quickly comforted by her new friends telling her of all the pretty frocks that they got from the retired internet personality “I think some might even fit you Zo” the bouncy blonde informed. 

The trio were already making plans for their new American friend to come visit the other two in the UK. As this was all going on Aimee was sitting behind the stage where all the lollita fashion models were doing a panel to an audience of mostly bonnet wearers. Hina was just finishing up answering questions from the crowd when it was Rio’s shot to talk, she mostly discussed the many creepy and spooky patterns that she has gotten to wear over the years.

“That's all from Elizabethy, does anybody have any questions?” immediately all of the ladies in black frantically gathered to ask their many burning questions “Aliceness how long have you and Elizabathy known each other?” another model asked Hina “coming up five years now” with that response she went back to watching Rio muddle her way through the question people asked her.

As they all left the conference hall, the wealthy French girl linked her arms with the Asian girl she had become acquainted with “I know of a wonderful place we should go for dinner after the con, my treat” Rio couldn’t help but cringe at her sickly sweet tone of voice, thankfully she did not see her facial expression.

“I absolutely love that idea” the other girl responded much more positively and with that the goth’s fate was sealed. Meanwhile, Zoey was preparing herself to leave with the two mildly ‘famous’ lollita girls “So how far is your hotel from here” satisfied by the answer they gave she texted her sister letting her know she would be spending the night with others. 

A fully decked out restaurant with pristine white walls and the fanciest of chandeliers, although they weren’t poor none of them were quite used to this level of wealth except for Aimee of course. They sat down on very well cushioned dining chairs and the tables were as highly decorated as the walls around them, with at least five different very fancy forks, a couple of knives and a few spoons.

“Oh wow these plates look so regal” of course Hina was mesmerized by this place, Rio couldn’t help but think but she's always been a bit more cynical with people than her dear friend “Oh you must really try the desserts from this place they are fantastic” when they had all finished their meal, they got to try out these desserts for themself. Rio couldn’t help but love her white chocolate and lime cheesecake, looking over Hina was already nearly finished with her strawberry tart with cream and of course the French girl had French macaroons in many pretty pastel colours. 

Eventually getting in after the train was delayed for about half an hour they de-petticoated as soon as they got in “So this is our humble abode Zoey” willow mockingly fanned out her arms to show off the whole room. Charlotte rolled her eyes, took her pigtails out and laid them down on her night stand. All of them couldn’t wait to get their makeup off and watch some internet videos, the conversation went from what they were watching to about Zoey’s personal life.

It mostly focused on her skills as a seamstress but the subject of her sister came up and her eyes seemed to sparkle with pride when discussing her sibling “Yeah my big sister’s so awe inspiring, she’s a photographer” the other two girls were drawn in by Zoey’s clear enthusiasm “that’s why I’ve been here for a week already because of her job” with that Willow couldn’t help but launch into questions about her sister’s photoshoot she was doing and Charlotte quickly followed suit with the interrogation. 

Sleep overcame them all and they continued their discussions the morning “Oh so what are the names of the models” The American looked a bit apprehensive about answering this question but they both promised her that they wouldn’t discuss it outside of this room “Okay there’s Aliceness, she mostly does hime style and Elizabethy is pretty much all gothic” when Charlotte heard the word gothic she perked up a little bit followed by Willow’s teasing. 

None of them really had time to search up the two lollita fashion girls as they wanted to make the breakfast buffet but it was still really cool to them that Zoey’s family member was involved with fashion photography and not to mention their favourite kind. Unbeknown to them across the street the two girls in question were having their own breakfast but they had room service and were preparing themselves for the day ahead which had them on shoot all day in the studio (around the city as well). 

As soon as Zoey found out about the shoot today she was able to convince her sister to let her friends come along. Charlotte promised to help out as they had studied photography in college, Willow wasn’t so quick to offer assistance “But Lotte it’s our holiday” she whinged but reluctantly agreed. The excitement was palpable although they would have to work hard helping out with lighting and such, the prospex of seeing and meeting Japanese models who exclusively wear their favourite fashion was too much Charlotte almost cried. 

The photographer was already hard at work before her beloved little sister came through the door “Emily! It’s me Zo, I’ve brought reinforcements” she yelled with a slight sing song tone. Emily wasted no time in briefing the girls on what she wanted them to do, it was mostly lighting related but they also offered a great deal of help with different backdrops

 “So what time are the models getting here sis?” she couldn’t help but ask as she set down everyone's cup of tea. Emily gave her phone a cursory glance “They should be here soon but the traffic here can always be a bit of a mess” so they sat and gabbed but the mature woman felt out of place with these youngsters but enjoyed their company anyway. 

Everyone’s attention was diverted to Hina and Rio entering the studio, Charlotte’s mouth was agasp; it was her! Their eyes met each other and for a good solid minute they just stared. 

Remembering that she had seen this cute blonde from a convention Rio was surprised that she was here but Charlotte was blushing profusely at the prospex of seeing gorgeous goth again and possibly getting to know her. “This is Hina Satō she does Hime style and Rio Itō is the gothic one” Emily informed “I hope you don’t mind but my sister and her new friends wanted to help out” She explained to the models who assured her it was fine with them and were thrilled when they found out that they too were into lolita fashion.

Although the two of them worked hard on their specific tasks, one posing and showing off clothes the other adjusting lighting and sorting props they couldn’t help but be a bit distracted by their subtle attraction to each other. Everyone was preparing to take the photoshoot outside around different locations in the city, all were very happy to get out of the very hot studio and into the fresh air. 

They did visit many lovely, lush parks but some dingy and dark locations were not out of the question either. One such place was an alleyway that was situated between two very similar looking  bakeries with plenty of seating out front (this is Paris after all) “Okay you two go set up over there, Stand here models, and you hold that reflector” Emily was being very commanding but they all knew to trust her judgement Charlotte was the one holding the reflector and she stood at the entrance of the alleyway, she admired how photogenic Rio was and got lost in thought about her this is how she became unaware of her surroundings.

Suddenly, she felt herself hit the concrete and a weight on top of her. 

It was Rio! “WHY were you just standing there not paying attention” she was frantic but the ditsy blonde didn’t know. What she had failed to realize was while her head was in the clouds someone on a moped was about to knock her down, luckily for her Rio’s sharp eye had noticed her absent mindedness and seen the driver in plenty of time to get her out of the way.

Charlotte upon realizing their position blushed, they both quickly stood up to get out of this awkward situation “Lotte what you doing you twit, almost getting run over”  the redhead was truly fiery now, luckily for the driver he had already apologized and left on his moped otherwise he might incurred the wrath of Willow (even though it was her friends own fault for standing on the road).

The absent minded girl couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about her idiocy however she was very grateful for the dark haired girls intervention. It made her feelings deepen. “Thank you Rio and I’m so sorry to everyone for causing trouble” The whole group was a little bit shook by what happened so all decided it was best to head back.

Not long after they had finally gotten a chance to sit down and enjoy some cups of tea and coffee (maybe some hot chocolate) a fancy looking and very clearly french girl came through the door. Hina's eyes lit up, she went over to her but Rio just sighed and face palmed herself. “I have made more plans for us” she cackled while clapping, of course Hina was overjoyed while her friend was less than amused. The rest of the group didn’t really get much acknowledgement from this girl named Aimee before she left with the two Asians.

Charlotte looked defeated, obviously upset by Rio’s departure. 

The photographer had gone off to tidy up, her sister and the redhead had recognised their friends clear sadness and asked about it. Willow was flabbergasted “You mean to tell me one of those models was that girl you’ve been thirsting after since that con!” she was damn near dancing at this point, Zoey was very amused by this whole thing “Aww it’s like something out of one of those rom-coms” quickly the two were hatching some crazy plans to get these girls together and in this moment Charlotte knew she had messed up. 

After they had all helped clean up the studio Emily wanted to take them all out for some drinks and a meal (nothing like Aimee’s fancy meals) The blonde was thoroughly embarrassed by the other two telling Emily about her crush on the model, “Come on Will and Zo there’s no need for this”. although she’d like to think of herself as the more mature one she couldn’t help but get roped into the other girls romance schemes. 

Waking up a little bit hungover from the night before however, they had only had a few drinks and a meal (they’re probably light weights) When Zoey’s sister called to make sure she was okay she poked fun at their ability to hold their alcohol. lounging about most of the morning till a call came about the bags with the pandas on it “Finally it took them long enough!” Willow obviously got all worked up about it but quickly calmed down after they said it would be delivered to the hotel later.

Delighted at the fact that she would finally be able to give Rio her gift, the two ‘cupids’ were thrilled by this development and were planning to use this (as they are now very much invested in seeing this possible couple come to be) they rested their elbows on her shoulders “well you have to give it to her lotte” they both cooed at her like a pigeon.

Now she couldn’t help but feel a bundle of nerves in the pit of her stomach at the thought of an audience “please don't embarrass me more than I'm going to embarrass myself” Charlotte pleaded. 

Rio lazed about in her hotel room with sweats and hair in a messy bun, whereas Hina was meticulously plucking her eyebrows “I just don’t see what the problem is, she seems perfectly nice to me” was her response to their argument about Aimee “Well I’m glad you like her but I’m not that fond of her” folding her arms in defiance and Hina just shrugged her shoulders, she was filing her nails now.  

Hina suggested they go get some fresh air outside their hotel and raved about a little coffee shop across the street next to the other hotel. As they made their way to the other side of the street they spotted the girls from yesterday that were helping the American photographer, Rio went over to say hi (as she would like some other company that wasn’t some fancy french girl) 

It amused them all to find out that the hotels where they were staying were across from each other. A small delivery van stopped, out came a driver who brought over a suitcase covered in pandas and asked for a Miss ‘Charlotte Rose White’ once it was handed over he was gone. 

Charlotte’s face was flushed, Rio just stood there confused as she watched her shaking hands reach into the bag and pull out a very spooky looking doll. 

Handing over the small gift “I wanted to give this to you at that convention as a thank you...for being so kind” Some parts of what Charlotte just said were too quiet to hear but Rio got what she meant anyway. She did have to admit it warmed her little black heart to know that a small interaction on her part made someone's day (it did help  that she found the girl in question very cute). 

Giving as much of a smile as she could muster “Thanks, she’s my child now” grasping the dolly close to her chest. Although Willow and Zoey were well aware of what was going on, Hina was left out of the loop “when did you two get soo friendly?” placing her arm around Rio’s shoulder and raising an eyebrow. 

Quickly being brought up to speed and flashing a cheeky grin to her friend “Ooh I see well that's nice” she spoke with a teasing tone, the five of them sat in the coffee shop together of course they mostly spoke about clothes and their online pseudonyms. When Charlotte and Rio both needed to go to the loo neither really talked to each other although they did exchange some soft glances and sweet smiles. 

Unbeknown to them that left the two schemers to their own devices and they quickly roped Hina into their plans “So we need to get these two on a date with each other” Some would say they’re a bit too enthusiastic about getting their pals together.

 Both were washing their hands but before they could go back and join their friends, Rio reached out her hand toward Charlotte's face, she closed her eyes “There you go, your little bunny clip was falling” speaking very softly. Opening her bright blue eyes to stare straight into those deep brown ones “thanks, you're too sweet Rio” pink still lay on her cheeks. Giggling a little at her  “your one to talk about sweetness Charlotte, I have the doll to prove it” giving a little wink, when they made it back to the table their friends were giving them a strange look (as if they were planning something).

Hina was the first to speak up “So Rio didn’t you say you wanted to go to Louvre Museum?” she had such a smug look on her face that her bestie was suspicious immediately “Yeah but you said that we didn’t have time for that” She retorted raising an eyebrow . Agreeing but quickly explaining that now they had some new pals who would probably like to go with her “Oh well it definitely won't be me I failed history so I’d just be lost” Willow was the first to back out “Ahh it can’t be me either I’ve already gone with Emily” Zoey just shrugged and smiled.

“Guess that leaves Charlotte then” hina said it in such a condescending way that it made Rio almost want to slap her, whereas the blonde just looked dumbfounded by this sudden request “I suppose I don’t mind museums my favourite part is always the art” her voice noticeably went up an octave when talking about the pretty art. 

Still annoyed by besties meddling Rio couldn’t help but be somewhat happy that Charlotte would want to go with her “Cool I guess we’ll go there tomorrow then” the masterminds were bursting with joy at the two future ‘lovers’.

Worry consumed Charlotte, she hadn’t gone on many dates as it isn't easy to approach women and talk to them (and don't get her started on dating apps). So to say she was inexperienced was an understatement, focusing on things like how should she wear her hair was all she could do to lessen the stress of it all. 

Rio didn’t have much more experience but was just a lot more chill about the whole thing, her friends had often told her she was like a robot with how nothing seemed to phase her. Making a good impression still sat in her mind though, deciding to wear something a bit more colourful than usual (although still very dark) to match pink a bit more.

Staring out the windows of their respective rooms were the masterminds of this whole date, looking down at their two friends meeting each other, chatting a little and walking away from the hotels. Everyone was itching to see how it might go but they knew that following them there to spy was more than a bad idea. 

The walk and subsequent train ride was unbelievably awkward but each other's company was enjoyable nonetheless. Most of what they talked about at first was Rio and her work , unlike other models she didn’t travel too much as Lolita was a fashion subculture mostly localized to Asia. Charlotte was just captivated by it all feeling like she had learned so much more although her date didn’t want to be the only one who chatted, when pressed on her career choice the blonde was hesitant to share because many have scoffed at her  ‘so called job’ as they would put it. 

Far from ridicule she got a positive response when explaining that she made videos about all sorts of things she likes mostly the clothing they both loved so much,  Promising to show some when they eventfully sat down for tea or coffee. Rio took her up on that offer and also promised to share her photo portfolio of some of her best modeling work, the dialogue between them slowed down somewhat as they relished in the egyption section especially our goth girl.

Charlotte’s favourite part was still to come, all that beautiful art with the golden frames she was practically drooling. They both knew that seeing the whole Louvre in a few hours would be very difficult so just focused on enjoying what they could, roaming through the gift shops Rio spied a tiny white vase adorned with pink flowers. Looking at her small gifted doll and back at the vase, she bought it.

Of course the British girl was distracted with the many lovely postcards to notice her date's stealthy purchase, both were finally relieved to sit down as their feet had gotten quite sore. as the two lovely ladies were sharing their many photos and videos with each other a certain ‘la dam’ had spotted them.  

Just as Rio was planning to give her date the little vase Aimee had to stick her nose in and join in the conversation (she took a spare chair at the table). “Hiya Rio, it’s so cool to see you here, where’s Hina?” Looking around until her gaze focused on the blonde her “Oh hello and whom

might you be?” Aimee gave a wide grin that Charlotte found unbelievably uncomfortable. 

Holding in a sigh “This is my date”  she put so bluntly to Aimee and “My name’s Charlotte it’s nice to meet you” cutting in to make this whole interaction less awkward or trying at least. She gave her the cold shoulder and grabbed a chair to sit down next to Rio, preventing the girls on said date from looking at one another. 

Almost pulling her black hair out in frustration at Aimee’s rudeness but Rio didn’t say a word (it would be more hassle to chastise her and cause issues between her and Hina), sitting there and just watching this random French lady completely ignoring her existence.

 Barely an hour had passed before the ‘lovely‘ lady had gotten a phone call and was on her way, leaving them alone at last to bask in each other’s company. 

“I am so sorry, she’s Hina’s friend and unfortunately has spent a lot of time with her” Huffing loudly after finishing speaking. Charlotte couldn’t stop herself from laughing (probably from being too nervous about the whole thing), Rio did join in and they just giggled about the whole thing and made lots of jokes about it on the journey back to their hotels. 

The date had gotten to the point of the goodbyes as they stood where they had met hours earlier,. if this hadn’t been their first date they probably would have kissed at this point but at last it was, so they just gave each other a gentle hug.

“Oh lotte, here I saw this in the gift shop” handing the little vase over to the blonde who’s month was in an O shape and thanked her sweetly for said tiny gift “No problem, after all you did get me my daughter” holding the small doll in her hand and winking.

Charlotte's face was quickly becoming her favourite colour, pink. 

As they both got to the front entrance of their respective hotels they looked back at each other and smiled while also waving goodbye. 

While all this was going on the ones who had set this whole arrangement up were watching intently and fawned over the fact they had cuddled. 

[snowwritesall]

Writing update #2 Anathema + new WIP!

Hi folks, hope y'all have been doing well and staying healthy - I've had a pretty trying week and my financial situation is gonna be tight at best for the next few months but I'm still trying to maintain a positive outlook. With that being said, I'm gonna give you guys some updates and excerpts on my current WIP, Anathema, and a new novel that I started the other day (yes I'm well aware I have way too many wips but I'm dumb and listen to no one's advice :)

Anyway, that being said, onto the updates!

Anathema is my surreal sci fi novel that I came up with last year and has spent many months under development. A brief summary on the novel for you!

The tea on my novel: 

I absolutely love the concept of my novel - keeping in mind that there is a lot of the plot hidden because I don’t want to spoil the entire book - however, there are a lot of things that need work. Seraph - my main character - still feels a little flimsy and underdeveloped - as well as my side characters, who have had limited interactions with Seraph throughout the novel as far - mainly due to the reason that I’ve been focusing on narrative rather than characters. The next thing that I’m finding is a problem is that there’s barely any dialogue between what character interaction I do have. I’ve been focusing a lot on the vibe and feeling of my book - I really want to create an eerie, almost alien feel, without being fully horroresque - think Coraline x Limbo. 

The things that I do like about my novel: 

- I really love the literary devices that I’ve come up with to help give the story that eerie vibe I want. 

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

b) interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

c) POV of animals and inanimate objects 

Here are some examples of both: 

a)  Really weird rhetorical questions

The wind seems strangely muted to Seraph, as if moving through a half-awake dream, or sinking in murky water that chills the bones.

Why does the water hurt? This is only one of the questions hurtling through his mind, but there are many more barrelling inside his head; a turbulent chamber of thoughts and unspoken quandaries that crescendo in the night hour. He is curious. And that - that, is what will save him.  

ai)

The beetles crawl up the blackened bark, wings glistening from between the cracks. They make soft, chittering noises as they climb aimlessly up the branch. Their path is strangely linear, their wings a malachite soaked fluorescent in the bitter, fuse sharp breeze. If they were to travel down the length of Seraph's spine; their strange, crackled wings fluttering against his ashen, ghostly skin; they would calm him as they walked up the shallow curve of his spine and nestled in his hair, a dim saucer of moonlight that they would bathe in.

Is the moon ever lonely?

b)   Interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

“What was it like?”

His voice shakes as he asks, still staring at his hands. Wilbur is teething his lip, his jaw hardening like clay left in the sun.

  “Were there others? Are we the only ones left?”

Are we the only ones left?

They both look scared, don’t they?

     No. Not scared. Doomed.

Why are they doomed?

      Because they were never meant to be here.

Wilbur continues to stare out at the forest, and after a moment takes a few steps forward, shoveling his feet into the soil; the wind rifling through his clothes. He looks like a scarecrow made of marble, distant, ghostly - not real.

  Were any of them real?

c) POV’s of animals 

Seraph had stroked the snake gently, the scales cold and undulating under his fingers, the snake mothers eyes dark and pupils, her nose nudging the wings of the fledglings.

“Don’t eat your babies, mother snake. They love you. Don’t leave them.”

I have found my new children. My own children were buried in a sandstorm, and I milked my venom from my teeth on the carcass of a deer. There was no one to sing them to sleep as they died. I will listen to this strange boy. I will take care of my children.

I will not leave them.

ci) 

The forest is very cold for us. Even we, with our wings like a shield and a fur coat, even we feel the wind. The bark splinters are like earthquakes under our feet, even though there have been no earthquakes for centuries. We remember. We remember when the earth shook and trembled, and when we would seek shelter amongst the splintering trees and scuttle for cover under broken fern leaves. He comes to see us. The boy with curious eyes that glint like the rock in the sky, his hands are as pale as the eggs the birds lay. He brushes his fingers across our coats, and we shiver; with a strange fear and an even stranger contentment. We are not alone.

 He is not alone. 

Here are some excerpts from the novel that I really like: 

- POV of the boy that drowned in the lake. Seraph remembers this when he looks at the jars of butterflies that he keeps on his windowsill. The clear, glossy surface reminds him of how the lake looked when he watched some of the village men pull the boy’s body out of the lake. 

- Seraph is remembering the first time that one of the children stuck their head in the guillotine in the schoolyard. He remembers thinking how odd it was that they would have something so dangerous where children could find it. Maybe they wanted them to use it. 

Seraph is watching his school teacher polish the guillotine blade through the cover of pine trees. One of his friends, Beluah, creeps up behind him and startles him. They both watch the teacher and talk. 

More commentary of Seraph and Beluah watching the teacher together: 

Okay, that’s all on this novel for now, onto the new WIP! 

Basically, this idea arose from two things - I felt like I was constantly writing in the same sort of style - ie, cold rivers, frost, rain, foggy forests - and I was majorly inspired by Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Alysse Near. This woman has an absolutely INCREDIBLE writing style - I would compare it to the bright and shiny treasures that magpies collect, and her plot and characters are amazing; so a big part of why I’m writing this is because of her. 

The characters appeared really easily to me, and after only a few minutes, I already could feel them writhing around alive inside my mind. But, before I tell you about the characters, a summary of the novel for you! 

When three dead girls show up at school with flowers where their eyes should be and birds living in their chests, Ariel isn’t sure what to think. She’s never really been sure what to think, since her mother sells beads and homemade jewelry for a living and her sister is a snake. Well, two snakes, really. Her parents keep strange things in the closet, like elephants with jellyfish swimming in their stomachs and siamese twins with leopard skins in the attic. And then there’s that strange girl that lives in the mirror.

When three dead girls demand to be brought back to life, you start to panic a little when you realise the closest things you’ve made come alive are the ragdolls in your toy chest.

It gets even worse when they tell you you only have a month or they’ll take you back to the underworld with them. Then you really begin to freak out. And begin to have a mental break down in the middle of class which involves involuntary tap dancing (Except the tap dancing is actually crying. Ariel doesn’t own tap dancing shoes. Not even doll tap dancing shoes.)

It doesn’t help when your best friends are literally ragdolls. She actually has a few real friends. I promise.

Now onto my babies/kids/characters! 

Ariel Hakens: 

has a big giant ball of curly red hair that she likes to dye a new colour every week. She likes glitter but also loves black. Big boots and shiny raincoats are a thing. She love to collec. She loves to garden, but her methods are...unorthodox, shall we say. Loves Edgar Allen Poe, and recites it to herself on the way to school. Does she ditch a lot? Maybe. Who knows. Can apparently see the dead and do weird stuff nobody should be able to. Favourite animals are mice and rats. Is fascinated with the legend of the pied piper. Is like a beaver in the fact that she chews pencils. They’re basically like a midnight snack for her. Favourite foods are peanut butter and cherry tarts.

(yes I am fully aware this is Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, but this is what she looks like in my head) 

Gwendolyn Spires: 

She is as extra as the name sounds. She dreams of participating in an illegal dance competition in an abandoned subway tunnel. Her mother is the principal of a ballet boarding school, and highly disapproves of her daughter's skateboarding fetish. Her father is completely on board with it, and also her addiction to gumballs and love for all things haunted. Yes, those spell books are completely real. The amount of salt rocks she keeps in her bag would put a shaman to shame. African American. 

Indie Brooks:

 She’s basically a giant nerd, but covered with tattoos. And piercings. She actually needs those glasses, and she refuses to put in contacts for fear that the government will be able to read her mind. She has a conspiracy theory Youtube Channel, but her theories are really??weird??

Think: we are all giant animals living in a zoo for aliens

Does she have evidence: Yes. Is it sketchy evidence? Also yes.

May or may not have broken into area 51.

Native American/Latina.

Callum Prikhill:

pervy, but not in a sexual way. Will he sell you exam answers in exchange for candy? Possibly. Ironically wears caps. Unironically wears light up shoes. Likes sci-fi movies from the early 70’s. Skinny dipped and LOVED it. Is a theater boy. If he were an animal he would be a lizard. His mother is a low-end movie producer and his father is an accountant. Often stays at his nan’s place a lot because she has a hidden bunker under the house and he very much down for that. Because the acoustics are amazing.

The first time Ariel saw the three dead girls sway through the doors of Helkbud Senior Preparatory School, she was whistling Sissyneck while flipping through her collection of rained on vinyls that she’d chanced to pick up from the thrift store, her tanned dewy legs slick with snow and hail as she pushed hot pink cat eye sunglasses up her freckled nose.

They looked like nesting dolls all jumbled up in a lolly bag, corpse candy sucked dry of their colour and watermelon blush that should have twisted their cheeks into marionette smiles.

The girl in the middle wore poppy red heels that spun and shone like a disco ball at a teenage party where the parents were gone for the weekend and everyone was drinking punch mixed with vodka in cheap, crinkly red cups; and was the shortest of the three; yellow daisies and white crocuses growing out of her eye sockets, petals drinking salty tears out of a chipped watering can that dangled over her head.

Hope you enjoyed hearing about my WIPs, and I’ll keep updating about them as I continue to work on them :)

That’s all for now, folks! 

- Bella. 

[lordshaxxion]

AAALL for Cidrex because he is my favorite boy

alright u asked for it >:U all of this fuckery will be under a cut

Where were you rezzed?

“In a forest somewhere in the EDZ, I think. I don’t really remember much of it, I was pretty much immediately attacked by Fallen, so there was a lot of running for my life.”

How long ago was it?

“During the Dark Ages, so a reaaaally long time ago. Like, during the prime of the Iron Lords.”

Did you have anything in your pockets?

“Just a lump of crystal quartz, but it was rose-coloured and I guess that’s where my obsession with shiny things and collecting crystals from? Oh, I also had some old currency from the Golden Age. No idea what kinda currency, but I cleaned them up and they’re super shiny and really cool.”

What was your first week alive like?

“Stressful. It was a lot of learning how to survive and trusting my Ghost to heal any injuries and bring me back if I died. That was a shock in itself though, when I died for the first time.”

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian?

“Well I became an Iron Lord before I became a Guardian, and that was pretty alright until SIVA happened. After that, being a Guardian and being an Iron Lord became the same thing - just doing the right thing because no one else will, or can.”

Do you have any regrets?

“I couldn’t save my brothers and sisters of Iron from SIVA. Saladin has always told me that I couldn’t have saved them by myself, but I still regret not doing more to at least try.”

Does your ghost have a name?

“He’s called Socks-”

“IT’S SOX!”

“-because he used to hide in my sock drawer at the Iron Temple.”

What is your ghost like?

“He calls himself Sox because he wants to look cool, and I think he cares too much about how he looks from the perspective of other Ghosts. I dunno if Ghosts are judgy to one another, but what I do know is that Sox used to hang around a not-so-great group of them. He’s small for a Ghost and I think this group sorta... took the piss. He tries to act tough a lot, but I know that deep down he cares a lot and he does like his actual name.”

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard?

“I was sent to the Last City by Saladin to act as a so-called ambassador between the City and the Temple, so it’s like a second home to me now. I know all the streets like the back of my hand, even the sectors I’m not really meant to venture into. The Vanguard are alright, they have their hiccups but I know they mean well and try their best. Well, the did until Cayde... yeah.”

What’s your favourite place to go?

“Cayde used to describe it as wanderlust, but I like wandering all over the Earth and seeing all the ruins and wilds there are. Though my favourite place out of all is the Lost Sector in Winding Cove. It’s so beautiful there with the glow-worms in the dark and the reflection of them in the water. Nice and quiet too, when it’s cleared out every other day.”

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible?

“Strikes. I leave the Crucible to my brother, Othion.”

How do you celebrate the holidays?

“I used to celebrate in getting blackout drunk with Cayde and the rest of the Vanguard, we even used to persuade Shaxx and Othion to join us sometimes. Now though I spend them by myself just tinkering with the stuff I’ve collected over the years.”

Who is your favourite NPC and who is your least favourite?

“It was and will always be Cayde. I can’t get along with Ada-1, though. She unnerves me and acts rather stuck-up despite allowing Guardians into the Black Armory now.”

Where do you sleep/call home?

“I have my own apartment in the Tower, of course, and unlike most Hunters that’s where I call home. It gets me weird looks though, I know a lot of Hunters prefer sleeping under the open stars and it gets Sox to tease me and call me ‘a domesticated hunter’.”

Do you have any pets or companions?

“I wanted to get a cat when Cayde was still around, but we never got round to doing it. Though I kinda have magpies that come to stay when I’m at home. I put feed out on the window sill for them and sometimes they come back with shiny trinkets for me. Oh, and I look after Colonel too, but I’m not allowed to keep Colonel in my apartment because other Hunters would throw a fit.”

Does anyone live with you?

“Cayde and I talked about it, about him moving in with me or something. Again, we never got round to it.”

How do you unwind or comfort yourself?

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but when me and Sox went exploring a while back we found a stash of what used to be called ‘stim toys’. Lots of pots of squishy clay-like dough. Sometimes if I’m overwhelmed I just dig out one of the pots and just sit there squishing it for an hour or so. In terms of general relaxation, if I have the attention span I’ll read or if I don’t then I’ll watch some movies. I got a good collection of Golden Age and pre-Golden Age movies now.”

What would truly break you?

“Losing someone close to me again. I lost Cayde and I wasn’t myself for a long time. If I were to go through that again, I really don’t think I’d recover at all.”

Most embarrassing moment?

“When Sox resurrected me for the first time after dying and I sat there crying and threw up for two hours. It wasn’t... my greatest moment.”

Any cherished memories?

“All of my time with Cayde, to be honest with you. Even when we argued, I cherish those memories greatly. Also the first time I discovered a rare crystal, that was a pretty good moment too.”

What was your highest and/or lowest point?

“Like I said, losing Cayde devastated me almost to a point of no return. Highest point? First Crimson Days with Cayde, we wrecked shop in the Crucible together and got banned in the same day! The look on Izel’s face was glorious.”

Views on the enemy races?

“I don’t like the Taken or Scorn, those are practically a given. Vex are annoying and freak me out a little. Cabal I loathe for what they did to the City, though that’s predominantly the Red Legion but whatever. Hive also freak me out now I think about it, though the worms they drop are kinda cute. Fallen? I just feel pity for them. They lost everything in their own version of the Collapse and are just trying to get by, and yet we keep attacking them.”

Which enemy race is your most/least favourite?

“I hate the Scorn for what they did. On the flip side of that, I rather like the Fallen. I got a chance to get to know a few, like Mithrax, and they’re honestly not that bad when you do get to know them.”

What’s your role in a fireteam? (Tank, support, buff/healer, comic relief? Or are you the dead weight?)

“Dead weight.”

“No you aren’t, Cidrex, you’re a sniper.”

Do you have any mentors/mentees?

“Saladin and many of the original Iron Lords were my mentors, but I don’t have any mentees. Hunters ask me for advice every so often, but I don’t give it. I don’t want to be in that position, I’m not a good teacher.”

What is your favourite weapon type/favourite weapon?

“Give me my DARCI and I’m good to go. I like auto rifles a lot though, despite me using snipers a lot I’m not that great up close so it’s easier for me to just kinda spray and pray without the instability of SMGs.”

Do you play Gambit?

“Sometimes. It can get really stressful trying to deal with invaders that use utter bastard weapons.”

How do you feel about the Drifter?

“I don’t know. Everything about his operations just tell me that I can’t trust him at all, but then I got to know him better and I just feel... kinda sad?”

If you could be any class/subclass (not just your own), what would you be and why?

“Striker Titan, cuz it looks like fun and a great stress and tension relief. Though, I’d like to be able to use Gunslinger properly, I’ve never been able to use it all that well even when Cayde tried to teach me. I’d just like to do it, for him.”

What are your thoughts on the Nine?

“Fuckin’ weird. I don’t trust them at all, especially not after I saw the Emissary for the first time. Though Xur’s pretty cool.”

Any secret crushes or relationships we need to know about?

“Well.... there is this one guy. Hunter, but he’s built like a Titan. Got no social skills and the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he’s charming in his own way regardless.”

“It’s Ataric.”

“SOX!” @crazy-bone-lady

Does your Ghost approve, or haven’t you told them?

“Sox is a piece of shit that tries to out my crush at every given moment. Luckily, he’s a tiny piece of shit so I can just hold him in my hands and he can’t do anything.”

You’re about to go off-planet on assignment, and will only be able to eat protein rations and food gel for a month. What’s your last meal?

“I don’t really have a preferred meal or anything, so I’d just get take-out somewhere in the City. I know a couple really good joints.”

If you could take over any NPC’s job, who would it be and why?

“Cayde’s job as Hunter Vanguard. I know every Hunter has just about run for the hills, and will always do so when they hear the words ‘Vanguard Dare’, but I’d be happy to take up the position. I’ve already taken up his cloak, might as well take the job that came with it right?”

What is the most beautiful sight you’ve seen?

“When Sox and I were exploring an Io cave system, we fell through into a massive chamber filled with crystals. The light from where we’d fallen through shone on the crystals in such a way it created an utterly breathtaking spectrum of colour. We took so many photos of that moment, it was just so amazing to see all these crystalline spires lit up and practically glowing.”

“What about that sunrise in the EDZ?”

“Oh yeah, this one was pretty good.”

Do you have a favourite colour?

“Not particularly, though green’s pretty good since I dyed my hair with it.”

Show us your favourite outfit!

“Top picture, switch the pants for the Lucky Pants and you’re sorted. Bottom picture, I miss my BrayTech hood. It was super cosy, and paired nicely with the Taimat(?) chestpiece.”

What’s your favourite shader?

“New Monarchy Diamonds and Metro Shift.”

If you could make a wish to an Ahamkara for anything - no strings attached - what would you wish for?

“To save all those I failed to save. The Iron Lords, Cayde. All of them.”