#steam is rolling off them as len cools him down

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

Me: Ugh, Futures End is such a cheesy concept

Futures End:

Me: Hmm. That is a very compelling argument.

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 1

Summary: There’s a new kid in town, and she’s got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x F. Reader

Word count: 1.6k

warnings: language, violence, mentions of burn victims, guns and weapons, mention of sex workers

AN: I’m not great at writing series but this one took hold of me and wouldn’t let go until I wrote it so we’re hoping for the best. There’s an estimated 25 parts in total to this I’m working on and maybe I won’t lose steam halfway through. Photos from Pinterest.

Miller Harbor; 3 AM

“Hey, you know that little waitress down at Vinnie’s place?”

Montoya grunted, lugging the last of the black cases from the trunk of the car.

“Ray.” He growled, a warning edge to his voice.

“What?” Ray grinned.

“She’s your wife— you two don’t have to play that game every time. And you definitely don’t have to play it with me. It’s disgusting.” Montoya complained, beginning his count of the weapon cases at their feet.

“Where’s your humor?” Ray asked, preparing the wooden crate with it’s forged paperwork.

“In the harbor, where you’re gonna be if you don’t hurry up.” Montoya warned, moving the weapons into the crate. He quickly ensured they were all sealed, locked with a code. “Boss wanted these prepped immediately. They’re getting picked up soon.”

Ray rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. Holding the stencil against the wood, he sprayed a lot number onto the top corner.

He moved quickly, helping his partner relocate the cases into their place.

Sweat formed against his brow. Trickling down into his eyes.

Ray stood straight again.

“You feel that?” He asked, wiping his forehead. Sweat glistened off his fingertips. Strange… it was fifty degrees and cloudy in Gotham. “Just got hot out here.”

Montoya grunted again, panting as he leaned against the wooden crate to catch his breath. The air had turned humid— his breathing had become slightly congested.

“Yeah. It’s cause you’re working, let’s go.” He ordered, ignoring the strange turn of weather.

He had learned long ago that Gotham was a strange city, with strange phenomena occurring daily. The less he questioned, the more time he had to run before shit hit the fan.

Ray frowned, sharp eyes searching through the near darkness of the docks.

Eyes. He felt eyes.

They were being watched.

Ray reached out to grab at Montoya— to prepare him for what was coming.

Blinding light flashed across the dock, heat seared and hissed against the cool Gotham air.

Ray squinted at the source.

A figure encased in an orange glow. Fire. She was encased in flames. Warmth bleeding from her body.

She was almost… angelic. Her flame called for him— a sirens song. Beckoning him closer to the energy she produced.

“Evening, boys.” She purred.

Ray and Montoya scrambled backwards, away from the heat of her flame. The spell breaking, scattering through the breeze.

“Shit!” Montoya wrenched his pistol from his hip holster, flicking the safety.

The woman growled, her lip curling. Faster than he could fire, her hand reached out and clasped around the muzzle. Montoya released the weapon, backing away and tugging Ray with him.

The melted gun dropped to the gravel at her feet— steaming and red hot as it cooled.

Montoya grabbed for Ray, holding onto his elbow tightly. Preparing for something he couldn’t fight.

A wolffish smile carved its way onto her lips; Though he couldn’t see her eyes through the domino, Ray felt the delight that swam through them. Like an insect caught under her magnifying lens.

“Oops.” She cooed, taking a step forward. Montoya pulled Ray back with him, inching further away. “Now, unless you want your faces to match, I want contact information for your boss.”

“What boss?” Montoya asked. Ray elbowed him.

The woman laughed— a sound that would have been beautiful had it not been doused in gasoline.

The flames around her body shifted— the orange melding and morphing into white hot. The tips of her fingertips burning blue.

The two men winced, holding their hands up to block the brightness.

“Don’t play coy.” She warned lightly.

Ray held his opposite hand out, swinging it slowly toward his jacket’s inside pocket. She watched him fumble before revealing a business card.

“Here—“ He offered, his hand shaking as it extended. “That’s him.”

The woman hummed, her flames extinguishing with a hiss into the now humid Gotham air. Her hand emerged from the steam as it rose.

“Appreciate that.” She smiled. Her form became visible once again; Just in time for the men to watch her tuck the card securely into her own jacket and zip the pocket. “Have a nice night.”

She moved toward their left, where the cases lay abandoned. Montoya’s jaw clenched, his body stiffening. Ray cut his eyes toward his friend’s hand, moving to the weapon on his own hip.

“No.” Ray whispered.

Montoya ignored his warning.

The woman leaned down, gathered a case and began on her way to exit the dock.

A loud crack of a weapon firing broke through the crystal night air. A stinging pain in her upper arm followed soon after.

She glanced down; A new bullet hole in her jacket sleeve, accompanied with blood pouring down her arm.

Her jaw clenched, her gaze swinging back to the source of the projectile. Holding the smoking gun.

Dropping the case at her feet, the woman extended her hand at her side, palm up. The flames flicked back to life— blue light dancing across her palm as she grinned.

“Aren’t you full of bad decisions today?”

“We need a new lock on the back door.” Cristy announced. She flicked the broken deadbolt, watching it swing across the door from it’s last remaining screw.

“Done.” Red Hood promised, with a nod. He turned to the three other women in the kitchen, leaned casually against the countertops. They all appeared to be dressed warm enough. “Everyone’s heat is working still? Everyone have blankets? Anyone need to take them home?”

“I’m taking two for Ellen and Erin.” Liv told him. The other women shook their heads.

Several of the women lived in the old house, still. The ones without children. Many of the other ladies that worked went home night after night.

Perhaps it wasn’t ethically correct to run the old brothel, but the women needed jobs and a warm place to stay. And Jason, well, he had the money now.

And he grew up around many of the prostitutes of Gotham in Crime Alley and the Narrows. He knew how hard their lives were. How unfair.

“Take as many as you need. I can always get more.” He assured them, closing the door Cristy stood at.

He threw the locks all the way down, skipping over a couple in case someone decided to pick them. His gloved fingertips grazed over the broken lock.

The women would be safe without it, that he was sure of. But, if they would feel safer with it fixed, he would fix it. Soothe a small worry for their troubled minds.

“Boss!”

Jason’s head tilted. Duty always called.

He turned to the handful of women still gathered in the kitchen. He smiled, even though his helmet prevented them from seeing it.

“I’ll get that lock fixed by tomorrow evening, no later.” He assured them. His bouldering frame maneuvered easily around the small room, dwarfing many of the women.

“You’d better, or we’ll go on strike.” Toni called after him.

Jason turned to see her leaned against the door frame, a smirk on her lips.

“Ha.” He scoffed.

Everyone in the house knew Red Hood didn’t get a dime of what they earned. It all stayed in their own pockets. He didn’t even charge rent.

All he asked? Information. As much as they could get, without giving themselves away.

Jason slammed the door after himself as he walked out onto the porch. Harris, one of his analytics, stood waiting.

“Hood.” Harris nodded, shifting on their feet. “Problem down at the dock.”

Jason scowled. One of his least favorite sentences. Trouble on the docks typically meant police would be crawling for the next forty eight hours. And any stock product he had on said docks was lost inventory.

“I knew I should’ve sent Ricky with them. What, they lose the fucking guns?” He demanded. Ray and Montoya— skilled fighters and excellent runners, somehow not great at drop off’s.

Harris winced and shook their head. Jason’s eyes narrowed behind his helmet, his head cocking to the side.

He could almost smell the fear rippling off the person before him.

“Worse.” They stated grimly, their eyes leveling with the Hood as they turned their phone for the Boss to see. Jason’s throat tightened, his heart taking a leap into his gut. “Montoya was burned alive.”

Jason swallowed; It was a gruesome photo. The shake in Ray’s hand evident as he had snapped the picture— leaving the edges blurred.

“Holy fuck.”

YN hissed, her fingertips curling into her palm. Nails biting into her skin. A final gush of blood trickled down her arm, finding a new home in the creases of her elbow.

She pulled the thread taut, her scissors snipping it short.

Dropping the pair onto the table, she snagged her bottle. Knocking back a shot of whatever she had purchased from the shady liquor store open at 2 AM on the Southside of Gotham. Probably some bootleg concoction whipped up in a college bathtub.

A shiver ran across her nervous system; Dislodging the thought from her already hazy mind. Pain tinged the edges of her vision, turning it watery and blurred.

Readjusting to sit with her back against the chair, she rested her arm on the table. Her eyes refocusing on the small rectangle of card-stock paper.

Her fingertips traced along the edge of the faded business card. Some guy’s plumbing service— quite possibly, Ray’s himself.

Sliding it to the edge of the table, YN flipped the card over. Holding it between her fingers. Examining the scribbled ink across the back. She smirked, placing it back on the table; Standing, she pushed herself toward the small kitchen, in search of more bandages.

‘Red Hood; Meet at The Bowery Square; Call only in emergency’

[revasserium]

beauty as a perspective (or a study of truth through the lens of a boy who has always believed in fairy-tales)

anon: And it is beautiful with Hinata First love with kageyama? Please :) 

101. and it is beautiful hinata ; 1.8k words

there are so many things he considers to be beautiful -- the sunrise, the sunsets, the way the moon lingers on the horizon after a whole midsummer’s night, like it’s waiting for the first rays of sunlight to spill across the world, the way the stars are relentless in their twinkling, as if emboldened by the darkness that beholds their very beings -- that they are made all the brighter by night’s all-consuming dark. 

there are other things too -- a well-aimed spike, crystal cut and down the line, right next to the pole, a perfectly arched toss, slow enough for thought, but too fast for the opponents to follow, the double-rolling saves that noya-sempai had promised to teach him and still hasn’t gotten around to, the way a clean sneaker sounds against the well-waxed floor of a freshly cleaned gym, the sound of a volleyball meeting skin, the flutter of a net, the chorus of voices as it echoes towards the ceiling. 

the cheers of the crowds when a point gets scored. when a match is won. 

the weight of happiness, so light and yet so, so heavy too, enough to make his bones feel like they’re filled with gold or silver or maybe magic itself. he thinks there’s nothing more beautiful than playing... and winning. 

until he meets you. 

your name breezes through him like a summer wind through wheat, leaving no part of him unruffled and untouched, all this thoughts tangled and out of ordered, but so beautifully so. he watches you go like a child watching the end of a really good dream, powerless to stop it, but still with the naïve hope that perhaps, if he just kept his eyes open (or closed) for a moment longer, maybe, just maybe you’ll stay -- 

“hinata-kun, its your turn to help clean the classrooms.” 

he snaps out of his reverie (did you know that’s the word for daydream in french? how fitting, right? and when tsukki had asked, drop-jawed and all, where the hell hinata had learned such a thing, all he could do was shrug and blush and say he’d read it somewhere -- to tsukki’s compounded shock and confoundment), the teacher is watching him with a hiked eyebrow, and half the class was giggling. but you, you’re standing next to his desk with a sweet, expectant smile and he’s lost all over again. 

(who was he, anyway? before he knew what your smile looked like? what your voice sounds like? what the color of your hair was beneath the morning sun, or in the golden glow of dusk?) 

“let’s do our best, hm?” you offer him your hand. 

hinata had never wished for after class chores to last forever, but he has now. 

he doesn’t know how you get onto the topic of volleyball, but it always ends up there somehow... with him -- and he finds himself rambling like he always does when he’s nervous, blabbing out an invite because yeah! it’s pretty cool! and there’s a practice match today! and oh, yeah! i’m on the starting lineup and of course you can come watch! i’m super awesome y’know! -- 

and then the horrifying, daunting realization that he’s going to have to play. with you watching him. with your eyes, like pools of amber so deep and clear they remind him of melted caramel during the holiday school fairs, with your smile like tasting a favorite treat after a long, hard day’s practice, with your laughter and your voice like -- like -- 

“what’s this? hinata’s brought a friend?” there’s something in the texture of suga-sempai’s voice that hinata isn’t sure he likes but he’s too nervous to call it out at the moment. instead, he tries desperately to explain why the hell he’d brought you along, not that he’s really sure either, other than the fact that he doesn’t ever want you to leave his sight ever again in his whole life but, well, he can’t really say that out loud without sounding like a freak -- 

“uh -- it’s not -- i mean, yeah! we’re friends! i think so at least -- well anyway -- ahhhhh -- she likes volleyball and there’s a practice match today and i told her she could come and watch cause i’m really awesome at it and she just moved here from tokyo, or actually she stayed in france for a while before that! can you believe it? hey -- wait do you know kenma from nekoma? they’re from tokyo too, right --?” 

kageyama fixes him with a flatlined look even as you smile. 

“she’s not from the same school, idiot.” 

hinata puffs up as he turns to kageyama but thankfully, daichi is there to pull them apart before things get really nasty. he flashes you a sincere and somewhat apologetic grin. 

“ah, thanks for coming. you can find a seat up there, and uhm -- welcome to karasuno.” 

hinata finds himself watching you go (he nearly yells when you wave at him from the second level, that is until kageyama elbows him so hard in the side he actually does yell). 

“focus, boke!” 

“shut up, crappyama!” 

“ha? what did you say?” 

“both of you, quiet!” 

they both flinch at the sound of daichi’s voice. 

but hinata can’t help stealing another glance towards you, thinking that this feels different, somehow. different than all the other practice matches he’s played before. it’s like his vision is sharper, all his senses on high alert -- he can smell the sweat on his teammates’ skin, can see each spec of light as it refracts off of the newly waxed gym floors, can feel the weight of your eyes on him like a superhero’s cloak -- beautiful and full of responsibility. 

and he plays well that day, he thinks -- got a few really solid quick’s in, and he only messed up on two of his serves, which, all things considered, is probably a record low for him. kageyama only yelled at him five times, also on the low side. 

they manage to scrape a win, and it was mostly asahi-san’s doing -- noya-sempai being awesome as ever, too. still, he thinks it’s been a good day. he almost forgets that you’re watching for a while, but only for a while, and as the match draws to a close, he’s again keenly aware of your eyes on him. 

he turns to grin up at you, shooting you a thumbs up. he finds you no longer sitting, but standing by the railings, your eyes huge and happy as you wave down at him. there’s a flush to your face that makes him want to walk off a bridge right into a very, very cold river but he shelves that thought for later as you make your way down the stairs, jogging right up to him, your smile so brilliant he thinks he might go blind if he stared too long. 

he blinks, still dripping sweat down his now very wet uniform. 

“shouyou! you were amazing! i mean, you are amazing --!” 

he almost jolts at your use of his given name, but then he remembers you asking (because you liked the sound of it or something; he’d forgotten what you said after that cause he was too busy marinating in the fact that you liked the sound of his name) if you could call him that. and him saying yes. 

“for a while there it looked like you were flying, like really flying!” 

he nods along with your excitement, his smile growing so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt and god, what what happen if he just kept on smiling wider and wider? what would happen to his face? would it stretch and keep on stretching? or maybe he’ll accidentally split his face in half and have to get stitches from the hospital, which wouldn’t be fun but for you, he thinks, it’s worth it. 

“y-yeah! cool! right?” he leaps ups as if to illustrate, but as with all things he does on a spur of the moment impulse, it doesn’t go quite as planned. he ends up smacking his head on the doorframe of double gym doors, leaving him whining, curled up into a ball on the ground, and you kneeling by his side. 

“shouyou? are -- are you okay? oh my god, what happened?” 

he winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, grinning awkwardly up at you. 

“i wanted to show you!” 

“show me what?” 

“what it looks like to fly!” 

tanaka is fussing over hinata, loudly asking if he’ll get a concussion while tsukki is remarking to that getting a concussion might be good for him; noya and tanaka are both laughing so hard they’re also curled up on the ground. 

you giggle, “save some flying for next time.” 

“for... next time?” 

“yeah, for the next time you play.” 

“will... will you be there?” 

you smile, nodding, offering him a hand. 

“if you want me to be.” 

“yes! yeah -- oh man, i do! i really really --” 

“good, then i’ll be there.” 

“aahh, that’s amazing! super great! ahhhh i’m so --- mmmm -- i’m so happy!” 

he leaps up and is about to jump up again before he realizes you hadn’t let go of his hand yet. 

he blinks, heat washing up his face like jumping head-first into a steaming onsen. 

“hey! you said you’d save some for next time, right?” 

hinata laughs, “right -- for next time.” 

you give his hand a squeeze before letting go, turning to greet his teammates. hinata watches you, like he’s been doing from the second he’d set eyes on you a week and a half ago, when you’d introduced yourself to the class. 

like when he’d all too enthusiastically volunteered to show you around the school, like when the pair of you had stopped in the library, and you’d run your fingers along the spines of all the books like greeting old friends. 

like when you flipped open a book of fairy-tales and traced the outline of a boy with melting wax wings, plummeting from the sky. 

“you know, i used to always daydream about flying as a kid,” you said. 

hinata quirked his head, “why?” 

you smiled, “dunno, seemed like a fun thing to do.” 

hinata smiled then too, “well, it’s not that hard.” 

you looked at him, “you... know how to fly?” 

“sure i do!” 

you laughed, then, but not a mocking kind of laugh -- a delighted, dancing kind of laugh that made hinata’s whole chest fill with hot air and helium. 

“you promise to show me some day?” 

hinata had nodded so hard his head might’ve come right off it’s hinges. 

“hey, what’s ‘daydream’ in french?” he asked. 

you blink at him, “reverie.” 

“wow... beautiful.” 

you laughed again, nodding, “it is, isn’t it?” 

and he decides then, watching as you smile at something suga-sempai says, as you quirk your head curiously at kageyama, making him flush a hilarious shade of crimson as well, that sure, there are a lot of beautiful things in this world. 

but none of them quite so beautiful as you. 

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 4

fevers.

You’re struggling with a harsh fever. (AO3)

Words: 1,633

The following weeks were a blur of the same old routine. Reading, writing, drawing, and trying to speak. Progress was made but it was all too frustratingly slow for your own liking. You could make sounds now but they were embarrassingly hoarse and your throat was sore from the work. Only Hange was around for the vocal lessons and you were pleased with that. Who knows how Levi would tease if he heard your voice as it was now?  

You could sound out your vowels and other simple noises, your irritated huffs and puffs now came with sound, something Levi wasn’t too happy about. Hearing you express your agitation with his presence annoyed him like no other but he often held his tongue. One stern glare would settle you down for the time being, you knew your place and that was enough for now.  

“Oi...” He said, as he opened your cell door just a crack for you to come retrieve your lunch. No response, even though you’re sitting right there in your cell reading at your desk he presumed. Levi rolled his eyes before stomping into the cell and harshly dropping a tray down next to your slumped form. The loud racket from the clanking metal and glass shook you from your slumber. You must have dozed off instead of studying.  

A gleam of cold sweat made your forehead shine as a few loose strands were sticking to you. Levi frowned before snatching his hand away from you, afraid of being too close. He recoiled in disgust before exiting the cell and heading towards Hange’s office.  

“Shitty Glasses, your favorite titan looks sick.” He says wiping his hands clean on his handkerchief. Hange didn’t take their eyes from their microscope lens, they simply hummed at nothing in particular. Levi’s eyes narrowed; he’s sure they hadn’t actually heard a word he said.  

“Oi! You hear me?” He asked, stepping closer, again, he was partially ignored.  

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Someone’s not feeling too good right?” They said, slipping a new slide under the scope and scribbling notes haphazardly in their messy notepad. Levi pinched the bridge of his nose before kicking at Hange’s stool to garner their full attention. Hange gasped as their arms flailed to grab the desk before them as to not fall on their ass.  

“O-oh! Who’s sick?” They sheepishly asked as they tried to set everything back to rights on their disorganized table. Levi huffed at the scene before him before giving Hange a well-deserved lecture about keeping tidy and listening when they’re spoken to.  

“That brats down there sweating like a hog, get them a bath. She looks shitty.” He said as he turned to make his leave for a cup of steaming black tea.  

“I’m busy why don’t you do it?” Hange complained taking one last glimpse at the specimen in their microscope slide. Levi said nothing, simply leveling Hange with a stare over his shoulder.  

“Joking, joking! Right away!” Hange rushed past Levi in their haste to get a bath running for you. Levi shook his head before continuing down the opposite hallway for his tea and some quiet time in his office signing off on reports.  

You had hardly touched your lunch when Hange got to you. They cocked their head to the side as they watched you pick away at the vegetables on your plate, long gone cold. Hange playfully huffed at the sight, surely a hot bath, fluids, and some rest and you’ll be right as rain.  

You gave Hange a weary smile and wiped your forehead clean of any lingering sweat. Hange returned that smile and ushered you off to the bath, this time allowing you to wash your own hair. The two of your shared a few laughs as Hange walked you through their latest experiments and the daily goings on with the Scouts.  

“They’re really curious about you, you know. Sooner you can talk and we get things cleared up I think Levi will let you meet people.” You snorted at that, sure he would.  

Hange barked a hearty laugh before continuing.  

“He’s actually not so bad when you get to know him.” They said with a soft smile, reminiscing on the good times.  

You scrunched your nose up at the thought but you also were the type to see the good in everybody, and surely, he had some good qualities if Hange could stand him. Of course, he’s strong, intelligent, and admittedly handsome, but is there truly anything charming about his character? Not yet at least, you thought.  

The time spent in the hit bath must have taken its toll on you, your face was flushed red and you were out of breath just sitting there. Your heart was pounding and your vision was growing dark around the edges. You motioned for Hange to come help you stand and with hand movements you told them you desperately needed something to drink. Swiftly, the two of you made it back to your cold damp cell where you shuffled into bed and they were off once again to grab you a cup of warm tea.  

On the way to the canteen for a clean glass, Hange spotted and angry Levi storming down the hallway. Quickly, Hange tried to avoid the Captain but he caught up to them with little effort and grabbed them harshly on the arm.  

“Shitty Glasses... where are those reports I asked for yesterday?” He grilled, folding his arms over his chest with a look on impatience plastered of his pale face.  

“Uh... I got carried away in my research– but, I can work on that right now and get them on your desk tonight!” Hange clasped their rough hands together, almost begging for Levi’s patience. He sighed before he agreed and begin to stalk off further down the hallway.  

“Ah! But can you get our guest some tea? I think she’s just dehydrated. Thank you!” Before Levi could protest Hange was gone in an instant to go finish up those reports as ordered.  

“She’s no guest.” He muttered to himself as he fixed two cups of steaming jasmine tea, adding a bit of mint to both drinks. His light footfalls descended the stairs and you groaned realizing it wasn’t Hange but Levi that was bringing your drink, meaning he’d probably sit down here and watch you until the early evening. You tried to feign sleep, hoping to avoid any awkward interaction with the man but he saw through your trick in an instant.  

He cracked open the cell door before sighing in annoyance.  

“Oi, come get this cup.” You hesitated a moment before tossing the thin sheets off of your body and shuffling towards the bars. You gave Levi a curt nod before graciously taking the warm tea from him and drinking it like you hadn’t had water in weeks. It did well to soothe your aching throat and warm your body instantly.

He quirked an eyebrow at that but instead of commenting he slammed the cell shut before taking his seat. He drank his tea with more patience than you, savoring the cool minty flavor that could ease any illness he ever encountered. Thinking back to Hange’s words earlier you decided to show your gratitude properly now that you finished that delicious tea.  

You raised your tea cup to Levi in cheers before giving the man a shy yet genuine smile. He simply nodded before closing his eyes and continuing to sip his drink. You flopped down onto your bed as your pounding headache began to cloud your senses.  

<3 

For the next three days your mind was foggy. You don’t remember much other than sleeping majority of the day, sweating, a skull shattering head ache, and a fresh cup of tea three times a day.  

You also developed a dry cough that destroyed your throat, unfortunately you found the tea did little to soothe that even though you hardly had the energy to sit up and drink. You looked horrible, soon enough Levi and Hange knew this was no mere dehydration spell. Something was clearly wrong, maybe you were battling a fever of some sort.  

An emergency report was sent to Erwin and the next day he was standing before you, a heavy hand over your forehead.  

“Definitely a fever.” He said, confirming their conclusions.  

“We should move her to the infirmary for the time being until this fever breaks.” He spoke as he pulled the damp sheets from your body. You shivered at the change in temperature, shrinking in on yourself.  

Levi frowned, he wouldn’t like the idea of you being out of your cell and upstairs but you looked gravely ill. He sighed in defeat, if he were in chargehe’d bring any medicine you’d need down here but Erwin was too foolishly kind.  

As you at up to stand with the Commander’s help a sharp pain shot through your chest. You gasped and clutched the sweat laden fabric over your chest, your lungs were on fire, heart pounding against the back of your sternum. You doubled over as a violent cough racked your body, drops of crimson blood spilled to the wet stones underneath your feet.  

Hange gasped, rushing forward to catch you before you hit the ground, your consciousness quickly fading. Levi’s eyes widened at the sight before him, lines of blood spilling from your lips, utter pain etched across your features, drenched hair dripping with sweat, your labored breathing loud and rushed. Erwin rushed out of the cell carrying you up to the infirmary with Levi and Hange hot on his heels.  

Your consciousness was wavering, all you know was that you saw many concerned faces on the way to wherever you were being carried.  

And then everything went black.  

[you-can-call-me-wanda]

Home Movies

Pairing: Nasty Suicide x Reader

Author’s Note: I want to apologize for how long these imagines have been taking me. Lately, I just feel like my writing is turning out like shit, and I never wanna give you guys something that I don’t think is good. Anyways, ignore my pity party, and enjoy this! 

ALSO, this one does focus heavily on having a kid with Nasty and pregnancy is sort of implied (but I tried to keep it open towards other means of becoming a parent), so if that’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

The sound of your own laughter stopped you in your tracks as you carried a basket of laundry down the hall. You tilted your head in confusion. It wasn’t every day that you heard your own voice echoing from another room in the house.

“Nasty,” you called, knowing that he was somewhere around. “What are you doing?” You had a feeling your lover was behind this.

Sure enough, Nasty’s voice responded from the same direction of the familiar laughter you heard earlier.

“In here!”

You put down the laundry and followed his voice to the living room, where you found him lounging on the couch, entranced by the home videos playing on the television screen. He was still clad in his boxers and a t shirt, not yet dressed for the day. A steaming cup of coffee was perched on the end table.

“What are you watching these for?” you asked as you made your way over to him and joined him on the couch.

Not taking his eyes of the screen, Nasty shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Just saw the tape and decided to put it in.”

You looked to the screen to see what was going on. On the TV, a younger version of the two of you were giving a tour of your new home to your good friend, Razzle, who was behind the camera filming.

“Over here,” Nasty said, walking into the master bedroom, “is my favorite room.” The room was sparsely decorated, you and Nasty had only a sparse amount of money leftover from your first deposit on the house.

Razzle piped up from behind the video camera. “Why’s that?” he asked as he panned the camera around the room.

You rolled your eyes as a wolfish grin came across Nasty’s face.

“Well,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, “me and (Y/N) have a lot of fun in here if you catch my drift.”

Razzle made a gagging sound in the background as you and Nasty burst into simultaneous bouts of laughter.

“Come on,” you said once you’d regained your composure. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”

The video cut out a few moments after that and skipped ahead to another date in time. This time you and Nasty’s friends sat gathered in the very same living room you were currently sitting in, talking amongst themselves.

You snuggled up next to Nasty, who swung an arm around your shoulders, as you watched the scene unfold. You had to admit to yourself that watching these snippets from your past brought back a wonderful feeling of nostalgia.

“What’s with the camera?” Michael asked, looking directly into the lens. His eyeliner was heavy and made his blue eyes pop loudly. He looked younger and his hair was long.

Nasty must have been the one holding it because you suddenly came into frame wearing a huge smile.

“Well,” you said, “We have something to tell you guys.” This earned the attention of all your guests. You wrung your hands nervously in front of you. After a beat of silence, you finally spoke again. “Me and Nasty,” you began, looking over to the man behind the camera for moral support, “we’re going to have a baby.”

Shouts of surprise and excitement immediately filled the room. You couldn’t quite make out what anyone in particular was saying as everyone was speaking over each other. Sami, one of your best friends, was the first to stand and engulf you in a hug. He leaned in to whisper something into your ear.

The video paused and you looked over to see Nasty holding the remote. He turned to you with a sentimental look.

“Do you remember that day?” he asked you.

“Yeah,” you hummed. “If feels like just yesterday.”

He nodded his head in agreement with you. “It’s hard to believe it’s been five years.”

As if on cue, your son’s footsteps could suddenly be heard coming down the hall. He appeared in the doorway shortly after, dark fluffy hair sticking up in every direction and his pajama clad body practically bouncing with the energy only a four-year-old seemed capable of possessing.

“I dreamed about an airplane last night!” he cheered upon entering the room. He clambered his way onto the couch without invitation and wiggled his way between you and Nasty.

Nasty smiled down fondly at the child. “That’s super cool bud,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair.

“What are you watching?” the little boy asked, eyes instantly drawn to the colorful images paused on the television.

“Home videos,” you responded. “Videos from before you were born.”

“Is that Uncle Sami?” he asked, pointing to the frozen screen. Sami and you stood mid-embrace.

“Yeah,” you said. “This is right after we told everyone that you’d be joining our family.”

Your son’s big blue eyes squinted at the screen, trying to make out what was going on. “Was he happy?” he asked.

“Everyone was happy,” Nasty answered.

Your son nodded, content with that response, and turned his focus back to the TV.

Nasty took the hint to unpause the video.

The hug between you and Sami faded out as a new video began. This one, weeks later, at a birthday party for Nasty. You were filming for a change and had the camera pointed to Nasty who was seated on the couch opening birthday presents from his mates.

He was pulling the tissue paper out of a gift bag as he joked around with Andy and Razzle. They were sitting next to him, balancing plates of cake on their laps.

Finally, Nasty pulled the gift out of the bag and held it up. It was a shirt, made for a baby, with the words, “future drummer” written across it. The gift, of course, was from Razzle.

Everyone laughed while Nasty jokingly rolled his eyes at the present.

“No way!” he playfully argued, putting the shirt down. “My kid’s gonna be a guitar player.”

“Yeah!” Andy sided.

Razzle was quick to retort with a list of reasons as to why drums were a much better instrument than guitar could ever be. You kept on filming, entertained greatly by the scene in front of you.

“Hey!” Mike cut in, pulling the attention to him. “What about saxophone?”

Shouts of disapproval could be heard before the video cut out and skipped ahead.

You and Nasty both laughed at the memory while your son looked confused.

“I want to play drums,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

“You do?” you asked, surprised. He’d never said anything about that before this moment. “You’re already learning guitar.”

Your son nodded determinately. “I want to know both.”

Nasty shifted to look at him. “Hmm, I see,” he said. “I guess I can call Uncle Raz today and see about getting you some lessons,” he said.

Your son screamed with joy and threw his arms around Nasty’s neck. Your heart swelled at the sight of your two favorite boys sharing such a sweet moment. Your son had turned out just like Nasty, not just in looks, but in personality as well. He seemed shy and reserved in public, but around his friends and family he was always talking and making everyone laugh. He absolutely loved music too. Nasty had begun to teach him guitar when he was just two. The boy had begged to learn as soon as he knew how to. You felt extremely lucky to have the two of them in your life.

You turned your head as Nasty switched on the home videos one more time.

“Babe, look at him.”

You were holding the camera once again. It was aimed at Nasty, but this time, he was standing in the nursery looking down fondly into the crib.

You panned the camera over as to catch sight of the baby sleeping soundly inside.

“He’s adorable,” you whispered, careful to keep your voice lowered so you wouldn’t wake the baby.

“He’s perfect,” Nasty corrected. He looked up and you brought the camera back to focus on his face. “I love you,” he said, “and I love him. My perfect family.”

You leaned over your son and captured Nasty’s lips in a quick kiss, feeling nothing but overwhelming love for the man sitting next to you. He returned your kiss hungrily.

“Ew,” your son whined from beneath you. His nose crinkled up in disgust.

“Ew?” Nasty said, feigning shock. “I’ll show you mister!” he declared before grabbing hold of your son, pulling him onto his lap and covering the giggling boy’s face with kisses.

“I love you too,” you answered off-screen. “I love you both.”

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 21/?

Part 20

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

XXI

Martin doesn't wake up with a start. His heart isn't hammering in his chest and his breathing isn't shallow and hurried; his nightmares are not the kind that makes you feel in danger, the kind your body wants to wake up from.

They're... gentle.

Calm walks down into a soft grey expanse where he knows nothing can hurt him, because he is alone asides from his thoughts, and the sadness that permeates his every step.

He guesses it must show somehow when he's dreaming of the Lonely, because he usually wakes up to Jon or Gerry's gently concerned voices, and a hand nudging at his shoulder until he decides it's time to come back.

Funnily enough, it's the lack of those what does it this time; if neither of the two is waking him up, that means it's one of those rare, blessed nights in which the three of them were able to sleep, and they're going to be pretty sad if they wake up and find that Martin dreamt himself into the Lonely.

He wants to think they'd be at least, even if it's a bit selfish.

It's with that want that he opens his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, and he turns to Jon with a slow-spreading smile when he hears him muttering something about a cat in his sleep. He doesn't Watch people's nightmares on the nights Gerry feeds him, and it's nice to know he's just having a regular dream. It feels... normal. Like what Martin wants the rest of their lives to be.

He looks over Jon's shoulder, to see how Gerry's doing, and his stomach flips when he notices the man is not in bed with them.

It's okay, it doesn't have to be something ominous, Martin thinks. His heartbeat is speeding up now though, as he climbs off the bed and investigates the empty bathroom, before risking the rest of the cottage. People go for midnight snacks, that's a normal thing to do. Even if Gerry doesn't get hungry, he still likes to eat.

He jokes and says it makes him feel like a person, though Martin thinks he's the most human of the three of them, whenever he watches him hold Jon in his arms, looking down at the man like he's surprised he's still there, and the soft light of the cottage projecting a golden hue over his dark hair, making Martin's hands itch for a notepad and a pen.

His stomach knots tighter and tighter over itself, when he moves down the corridor towards the kitchen, and finds the entire cottage is encased in darkness.

"Martin?" a voice asks from the pitch-black kitchen, and Martin jumps, his chest flooding with the mix of exasperation and relief that has become synonym with Gerry in his mind.

"Why are you in the dark?" Martin asks, his voice soft. It feels important, for some reason, that they don't disturb the silence too much. As Martin's eyes get accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Gerry's form against the far end of the kitchen, his hair messed from restless sleep, his face tired, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Don't need it to see," Gerry whispers back with a shrug. "Why are you up?"

Martin makes his way over to him, leans on the counter by his side. It's hard to say if Gerry's radiating warmth, or if Martin is just too cold. "Nightmares."

"...Ah. Sorry." Gerry reaches over to place his mug on the table, and turns to face Martin. "Are you- I could make you a cup of tea. Can't promise it'll be any good, though."

His tone is genuinely apologetic, and Martin feels his lips curl into a smile. "Well, you had to be bad at something, didn't you?"

"Is my lack of tea-brewing ability a deal-breaker?" Gerry's voice carries the hint of a smile now, and his fingers brush against Martin's on the counter. "I'm willing to take some lessons, if that's the case. I happen know the perfect teacher."

"It apparently isn't a deal breaker, because you're both hopeless at it." It's mind-blowing, to think they're just... here.

Alive, standing at the kitchen in the middle of the night, the scent of coffee curling around them like a blanket as they make quiet jokes about a relationship that they haven't discussed, but that is somehow there anyways. The tension of looks exchanged over Jon's head, of brushes of skin that feel loaded with electricity and the knowledge that the other will be there, steady and reliable like the sunrise every morning.

"Well... the offer still stands, or if you want some of my coffee-"

"I shouldn't." Martin shakes his head. "It gives me anxiety, and I was hoping to go back to sleep."

"Oh." Gerry looks sideways and up at him, looking at a loss of what to do. Martin finds it endearing; of course Gerry can't deal with the thought of not fixing something; can't even fathom the thought that just his presence is doing wonders to ground him. "Can I do something, then?"

Martin looks down at him, at the faintest gleam of moonlight that comes across the dusty windows -they need to clean that before Jon takes it upon himself to do it- to only insinuate the beautiful mix of blue and green of his sweet, concerned eyes.

"You could kiss me, Mister Keay."

The embarrassment of being so blunt is more than worth it, when Gerry's eyes fly wide open, and a surprised chuckle escapes him, almost sounding like it was punched out of him.

"I- would that help?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his lips and Martin is so taken by the sight of him that he nearly leans down to do it himself.

"I think there's one way to find out." Martin smiles.

Gerry's hands are careful when they finally land on him; one on the back of his neck, one on his cheek, just like he's seen him touch Jon a handful of times before they kiss. Martin's heartbeat speeds up, and he might be drunk on the feeling already, the thought of being wanted almost as intoxicating as its counterpart.

He lets himself be pulled down, lets his face be tilted to the side, and the hand on his cheek pushes his glasses up his forehead so they don't get in the way.

It's a bit poetic, to kiss this ghost of pain and ink and love under the quiet glow of moonlight, and know that the only lonely thing in this kitchen is the mug of coffee cooling on the table.

They separate slowly, like waking up on a lazy morning, and Martin's wet lips tingle with want and with the weight of words it's far too soon to say.

"Did that help?" Gerry sounds cocky and pleased, but also a little bit breathless, and Martin rolls his eyes as a wave of warmth washes over him.

"You know, I'm not so sure," Martin taps a finger against his chin. "We might have to try again to confirm."

Gerry laughs quietly, probably to avoid waking Jon up, Martin thinks, and the words threaten to spill from his lips again. "Well, we have to be certain, don't we?"

-------------------------------------------------

"She knew these were not her children, and this was not her home. But they kept calling her mum, and there were many, many pictures on the mantle showing the happy life they lived. Feeding the ducks at St. John's, having a picnic by the lake, playing at the beach, practically every moment of their life documented in carefully crafted snapshots. She did not remember having a spouse that captured those moments either, but surely the pictures couldn't be lying to her, could they? She'd had a bad night's sleep, she was confused, and she needed to make breakfast for her children, what kind of mother would let them go hungry? She swore she'd never be like her own." Gerry readjusts his arms as Jon shifts on his chest in seek of a more comfortable position, and he reaches forward to kiss the crown of his head before continuing. "She started breakfast as she usually did, eggs on toast, and two slices of grilled ham, one for her and one for Dusty. Her hands stilled over the sizzling pan as she contemplated the name that felt so natural in her mind but that didn't fit with the reality she was currently living. She had two children, a house, and a lovely spouse with a lens for a face. She did not have a playful little mutt with ash-colored fur and a long lolling tongue, always with a chewed up stick by his awkardly large paws-"

"So what you're saying is you can escape the fears with the power of quiche and the power of puppies?" Martin asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

"That's exactly what I'm getting from it too, Martin, thank you." Jon snorts, and Gerry squeezes him in retaliation before looking at Martin. He finds him by the window, sitting at the little table they dragged there, with a notepad and a steaming cup of tea before him.

"Don't encourage him, that's how you end up having to pull him from coffins and alternate dimensions."

"In his defense, it was hardly his fault that he got hit on the face with that bat."

"See? Martin knows when things are my fault, that one wasn't."

"The coffin was definitely your fault, though." Martin points at him with the spoon he used to stir some sugar into his drink. "Is this a mixed one?"

"It definitely sounds like it. Spiral, Stranger, Eye... I'm thinking it's the house itself." Jon shifts some more on his chest to look at Martin too, before squeezing Gerry's forearm. "We'd known if someone would just finish the statement."

"So demanding." Gerry rolls his eyes.

"The hungry, hungry Archivist," Martin mutters under his breath as he blows on his cup of tea, and Gerry snorts over Jon's offended 'Martin!'. It's- it's good to see Marting feeling comfortable enough to joke around. "Sorry, sorry! Finish it, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't apologize," Gerry chuckles. "Where was I?"

"The power of puppies," Jon grumbles.

"I'm going to stop feeding you, sir."

----------------------------------------------------------

"You should treat me to lunch or something, I've been sitting on a bus for eleven hours," Tim groans as he stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back.

"That's kind of your fault though," Martin chuckles. His shoulder feels cold where he bumps it against Tim's, a reminder that none of them really escaped the Institute intact. "You could've come through Helen."

"And miss the chance to feel like a regular human being? Martin, please." Tim bumps his shoulder right back as they walk down the main street. The little town is quaint and quiet, picturesque in a way Tim knows both Martin and Jon are suckers for, which he supposes is good enough. Martin deserves to end his story in a place like this. "How have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, we've- we're doing well. It's- it's good. We're good." There's a spot of color to Martin's face when he smiles, and Tim rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You've really got the worst taste in men, it explains why you were never into me."

"I hope you'll be able to forgive me," Martin laughs. "How are things back home?"

Tim shrugs, shifting the cardboard box he's carrying to support it on his hip instead. "It's going. Elias is still nowhere to be found, not that the police are really looking for him anyways. Basira could probably find him, but she's got other things to worry about now."

Martin lets out a slow exhale, his shoulders growing a bit heavier. "Still no luck with Daisy?"

"She knows how to find her just fine, and Daisy's leaving a trail of dead avatars that's pretty clear to follow even for regular people." Tim sighs as well, running a hand through his hair. "Daisy moves too fast though. There's no way to predict where she's going next, she's not following any pattern."

"Yeah... Jon said as much. He's tried- he says the things he Sees in her mind make no sense, it's all impulse and instinct, nothing logical that he could understand."

"That sounds about right," Tim mutters. The thing that broke out of Daisy's skin, that launched down the tunnels in a clash of claws and fangs and blood along with the other two... he doubts there's much human thinking going on with any of the hunters right now. "I suppose it's not too bad as long as she's only hunting avatars, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Martin says quietly. "I don't- things don't feel as black and white anymore, if you ask me."

Tim snorts.

"Some of your best friends are avatars?" He asks. Martin arches an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look, and Tim feels the teasing smirk on his face turn pleased instead. "Yeah. Okay."

-------

The place looks nice enough, a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate and a path made of stepping stones leading to a door whose blue paint has long since chipped and faded under sun and wind and rain. It looks... inoffensive, a little slice of the countryside to escape the chaos of the city, or whatever terrible plans your eldricht monster of a boss has weaved for you. Cozy and warm and welcoming, a place where one could make a home.

Martin pushes the door open, and Tim freezes at the very familiar scent coming from inside.

"...Tim?" Martin turns back to look at him when he doesn't follow him in. "What's wrong?"

How to explain it to Martin that nothing is wrong, or rather nothing he can put to words?

He remembers this smell, and the last time he felt it, the sound of rain spattering on the windows, and a movie on the background. He remembers teasing (back when he thought he was healing, that maybe one day there would be more to his life than just mourning his brother) about feeling like he was being set up for something, and then the hurried announcement and yes, don't be ridiculous, of course I'll move to the Archives with you, does that mean I have to call you boss now?

The thrill of being a safe space for someone, even broken as he was.

"Tim, are you-"

"Martin? Did you bring- oh." Jon stops just short of actually stepping out of the kitchen, looking at him like he's a ghost and the Desolation inside him burns, though whether it's Jon's sorrow or his own that he's feeding off of is anyone's best guess. "I'm- hi."

I hate you. I miss you.

"Hey," Tim pushes through a dry throat. "You- you made barg?"

Jon nods slowly. "I understand, if you don't want to eat with m-"

"It would be very stupid, though," interrupts a third voice, and Gerry's stepping out into the living room from somewhere deeper into the cottage. "You'd have to go all the way back to town to find yourself a sandwich or something. You look like crap, but I guess a long bus ride will do that to anyone, even fear avatars huh?"

His voice is somewhat terse, and Tim wonders if he can feel the hurt in Jon's voice just as intensely as Tim himself can. The air in the room grows heavy as every eye settles on Tim, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm- yeah. I think I'll ask Helen to give me a ride back. I can stay in her for a while to make it up to her," he says finally. Things are never going to be the same. Tim doesn't want them to be the same. The friendship they shared once was rooted in pain too, but this is different. "I could eat something, I guess."

-----

"I'm- I brought some statements," he says later that night, after they've had dinner and cleared the plates away.

"Oh?" Martin arches an eyebrow where he's dropping an armful of blankets and a pillow on the sofa.

Tim averts his eyes.

"I just- I know you have other ways to feed now, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep your boyfriend from running dry too soon." He can feel their eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze on the little radio on the table by the window. "We don't want you going out to hunt random people."

"Thank you, Tim." Jon says quietly, carefully. Tim doesn't have to look up to guess Jon isn't looking at him either, or the small lopsided smile.

"Hm," he says. "Dinner- it was good. Thank you."

-------------------------------------------------

"Gerry? Martin wants to know if- what are you doing?" Jon's words taste like surprise and laughter, like warm honey, like so many emotions Gerry has never had aimed at him before, and that feel like coming home. "You've got dirt on your nose."

Gerry looks up to find Jon leaning out the open window, looking down at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. He's suddenly very aware of how he must look, the aforementioned dirt on his nose, and his hair done up into a messy bun to keep it out of his face, kneeling on the ground with a pile of badly pulled weeds by his side.

"I'm- I've never had a garden before." Gerry shrugs. It's not so much the words he's embarrassed about, but the implications. Like painting the door, like oiling the gate, building a garden is not something one does for a temporary place. "I just thought it would be fun to try- whoa, careful!"

He reaches up to hold Jon's forearm as he all but climbs out the window and comes to crouch down by his side.

"Have you started thinking about what you will plant yet?" Jon asks. There's not a hint of compulsion in the question, despite his eyes lighting up with the eerie green of his powers. "Maybe a raspberry bush, carrots... some potatoes later on?"

Gerry snorts. "Did you just use the Beholding to Know what veggies we could grow?"

"It's high time it was useful for something." Jon shrugs, giving him a coy little grin. When Gerry reaches over to pull him against his chest he comes easily enough, laughing. "You're going to get dirt on me."

"Get used to it." Gerry presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Jon turns his head then, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I love you too," he says.

The words pour into Gerry like warm water over a sore muscle, and they settle in his chest right where his heart should be, bright and warm and so sweet with emotion that Gerry can't bring himself to answer in any way other than squeezing Jon tighter against his chest, burying his face in Jon's mess of soft dark and grey hair.

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

-------------------------------------------------

"I thought you were done with the pining, sir," Gerry whispers into his ear, the grin clear in his voice.

Jon merely smiles and moves along on the sofa to make some space for him, before he turns back to look at Martin.

He's practically nose-deep in the old transistor radio they found back at the toolshed, his sleeves rolled back over his forearms and a streak of dust across his forehead where he scratched absentmindedly a few minutes ago.

"I'll give it to you, it is a nice view," Gerry adds. He's got no regards for subtlety of course, and Jon smiles wider as Martin's cheeks flush a little, though he keeps his gaze stubbornly focused on the inside of the radio. "Are you sure you don't want us to get a new one?"

"This one is perfectly good, thank you." Martin rolls his eyes. "It just needed some cleaning."

The satisfied smile on his lips when he flips the switch and the speakers crackle to life is a memory Jon will treasure for a long while.

"You continue to surprise me, mister Blackwood." Gerry chuckles. "What are we listening to?"

"I don't really- oh, this is good." Martin smiles again when the radio picks up a frequency. The music is somewhat static-y, but still recognizable as some old 70s rock. The tempo is fairly upbeat and cheerful, and Martin bounces a leg to it. "The silence was starting to get to me."

"We can't have that," Gerry nods solemnly, climbing to his feet. "C'mere."

"What?" Martin chuckles, but his hand comes to rest on Gerry's offered hand as the song picks up in rhythm.

"I'm asking you for this dance, sir." Gerry grins and pulls him up and against him in a twirl that has them tripping over each other and stumbling to regain their balance.

Jon smiles softly to himself as he watches them fall into step with each other, laughing all the way like a couple teenagers that have had one too many beers.

Gerry leans up to kiss a freckle on Martin's cheekbone, and Martin's eyes slide over to pin Jon, brighter than ever and making his heart skip a couple beats.

Jon stands no chance when large hands wrap around his wrists to yank him to his feet, but realistically, he wasn't really going to put up much of a fight.

'You can't dance and stay uptight' indeed.

-------------------------------------------------

"It just doesn't make too much sense, if you ask me," Melanie says. She's not terribly worried about it, but it's been on her mind for a while now. "Jon feeds from you now, Helen has me or Tim in her corridors sometimes, I don't think I've ever seen Tim feed... I thought these things forced you to hurt people. Like the Slaughter did with me."

"I don't think anyone really knows, firecracker. The entities don't come with a manual, no matter how many old idiots have tried to write one." Gerry taps her knee softly with something cold and hard, and Melanie wraps her hand around the cider can. "Jon still has statements sometimes, so he and Helen are still feeding off of other's fear. My best guess is that Tim is feeding the Desolation with his own."

"What's Tim afraid of?" Melanie arches an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. It's both sweet and tart on her tongue, a good contrast to the bowl of salty chips Gerry placed on her lap when they came to sit at the garden.

"Jon, mostly," Gerry grunts. "Or rather, Jon mourning the way he was before. The Desolation is about sorrow and loss too, and those two have enough of that."

"Wow, I didn't know you were still so bitter about him ruining your first date." Melanie hides her grin behind the can; she can practically see Gerry rolling his eyes from the scoff he gives next.

"I think I'm allowed to be wary of an avatar of the Desolation holding a grudge against Jon."

"Or thinking he does."

"Or thinking he does," Gerry agrees. "What I'm saying is- I don't think even the avatars themselves know how this works, asides from 'feed your entity or you'll have a bad time'. What Gertrude and Dekker knew, what I thought I knew- even what the Eye lets me Know now is very limited when it comes to this."

"What about Martin?" Melanie asks.

"What about him?" Gerry asks right back, his voice careful. Melanie rolls her eyes.

"Does he feed too?"

"Not quite," Gerry says quietly after a moment. "He's neither here nor there, you know? Lukas forced him into the Lonely, but then he chose it himself. He's like Basira, or you when you had the bullet, only there's nothing to pull out of him to fix it."

The disappointment at this fact is clear in his voice, and Melanie remembers once again the kind of person her friend is.

"I'm sure having you helps." She shrugs. "All of us, I suppose."

Including herself in it feels weird, but right. Georgie's laugh comes through the window, mixed with Jon and Martin's quieter chuckles, and a crackly radio playing old classic rock. The garden smells like moist dirt and the cool, crisp highland air, and she can hear Gerry digging around with what she guesses must be a spade.

"I wanted to kill you when I first met you, you know?" she blurts out. And now I'm here sitting with you while you work on your dumb little garden, she thinks, but doesn't say.

"I did get that impression, I don't know why. The knife, maybe." Gerry chuckles, and his spade thuds on the ground before he comes to sit against the wall with her, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah." Melanie goes to take another sip of her cider to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She knocks her foot against Gerry's leg. "Yeah, me too."

-------------------------------------------------

What with his mother, his general insecurities and the whole 'comiting to the embodiment of loneliness' thing, Martin has had very few opportunities to live with people in his adult life. He's surprised to find that he likes it, despite the constant itch of frustration coming from the bits of the Forsaken buried feel within him.

There's something to be said about hearing Gerry whistling to himself as he works on the garden, or waking up from a nap to the scent of whatever Jon is cooking for supper.

There is notoriously less to be said for stepping on a wet towel at four in the morning when he's just trying to go into the bathroom to pee.

"Gerry!" he snaps, trying to keep his voice to a whisper because even if Jon isn't asleep or even in the room right now, it's four in the morning.

"Martin? What happened?" Gerry asks a second after, his voice just the slightest bit shaky still, which Martin would take pride on at any other time. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you insist on leaving your wet towels on the floor?"

"...Oh. Sorry?" Martin can practically hear Gerry's sheepish smile. "In my defense, I mostly lived in motel rooms?"

"Yes, and then you lived with Jon for like seven months." Martin rolls his eyes, straightening back up. "I'm going to have to do something about it."

"Oh, are you? What will you- oompf!" Gerry's low, teasing voice is cut short when the balled up damp towel finds its mark, and Martin closes the door to the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

-------------------------------------------------

"We should start thinking of what we're going to do, I think." There's something to Martin's voice when he says it that gets Gerry into high alert mode immediately, which is a bit ridiculous, considering they're standing in front of the produce rack at the farm shop while Jon chooses some vegetables.

"About what?" Gerry asks.

"Well mostly I-" Martin stops and clears his throat. "I just-"

Martin stops again, this time with a little chuckle that sounds more nervous than amused. Jon turns around, eggplant in hand and eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Martin?"

"This is probably the weirdest way I've asked 'what are we?' in my life," Martin says after a couple seconds, shaking his head with a smile. "But mostly- are we staying here? At the cottage, I mean."

Oh.

"We can't keep living off of our savings, and I somehow doubt Elias is going to keep paying me and Jon a regular salary," Martin continues far more casually now that he got past the initial awkwardness, seemingly unaware of Gerry's brain blanking. "It does get a lot cheaper with the two of you not needing to eat, but I should probably try and get a job to, you know, feed myself and the like. I guess my question is if you'd rather stay here or go back to London or...?"

Gerry feels his eyebrows raise as what Martin is asking slowly rains down on him. It's- it's one thing to entertain his normal, boring life fantasies, and another one completely to hear someone else voice them.

"Hm. I suppose we do have to return to London eventually, to help look for Daisy." Jon taps his bottom lip with the eggplant's stem. "Whether we stay there or not is another matter entirely, I suppose. I don't really have a preference, Gerry-"

"The carrots won't be ready to harvest until next year," Gerry blurts out when they both turn to look at him. It feels important, for some reason.

These past three months have been a dream, so pleasant and calm Gerry has caught himself thinking on more than one occasion that maybe- maybe he's done, and he can rest now, here at the end of the world with these two.

Maybe he's earned this.

Jon and Martin are still staring at him, the former's eyes are gleaming with something that looks like fondness, and the latter's got a hand up to hide his grin.

"I mean- we can go wherever-" as long as they're together, that is, but he's not about to say that, not after using carrots as his excuse. "Just-"

"He does have a point, Martin." Jon interrupts him with a shrug, coming closer to slot himself under Gerry's arm.

Martin nods sagely. "We can't just leave the carrots."

"Stop," Gerry snorts, shaking his head as Martin comes to lay a kiss on his forehead. I guess that's a yes on the job hunting, then. I could try to get something too."

"Huh." Martin blinks, and his shoulders shake with a little huff of laughter. "Gerry, I think you might be the one person on earth whose CV could look worse than mine, even with the unverifiable previous job."

"What a blast of an interview though, can you imagine? 'It says here you haven't had a job since... Pinhole Books around ten years ago?' 'well yes, I was off stopping terror rituals and killing people, and then I was dead for four years, but I got better.' "

"I think I'd hire you just for having the guts to lie like that," Jon says from under his arm, before accusingly pointing the eggplant at Martin. "And your previous job is hardly unverifiable. I actually think your previous boss would give you a sparkling review."

"The one you killed after he put me in a nightmare dimension?" Martin asks, an eyebrow arched and his lips curled into an amused grin.

"I'm trying to flirt with you, sir," Jon deadpans. His voice has the light, tangy aftertaste of his bittersweet jokes, and Gerry squeezes him a bit against his side.

Martin's grin turns pleased as his face colors slightly, which makes Gerry smile when he realizes Martin was just fishing for the confirmation.

"I could give you a recommendation letter too." Gerry tangles his fingers in Martin's free hand. "Martin Blackwood? Overqualified for any job you throw at him, his only areas of opportunity are the occasional arson in work premises and the fact that he's very bad at keeping people out of his office."

"Certain people," Martin says, butting his forehead against Gerry's with a smile.

"You two are ridiculous," Jon chuckles. "Let's get home already."

Home, the word rings in his chest like a bell, like the heart he wasn't given back but feels the pull of at every waking moment.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

-------------------------------------------------

The creature -it is shaped like a human, but the hunter knows better, can smell the monster in it- squirms and thrashes in its jaws, though what end it hopes to achieve is a mystery to the hunter, because the only thing it gets for its trouble is for said jaws to clench down tighter around it, until yellowed, long fangs pierce skin and stain red.

It tastes like dirt.

The hunter despises the taste of dirt, and even more so the feeling of it sliding down its throat, far too evocative of another time, another life that might as well have lasted forever, were it not for the prey it let escape, that for some reason came back and clung to it as tightly as the hunter now clings to its newest victim.

Deep down in the hunter's chest something sparks to life at the thought, the memory of thin hands pulling at it even as pointed stones dug into their skin. The prey has a name, or at least it used to.

The hunter shakes its head, trying to rid it if the useless, confusing thoughts.

It too had a name one day, but that does not matter now. It is the hunter, and what it does is to chase, to kill.

It lets go of the broken body between its jaws, just as another scent drifts into its nose.

The hunter changes tracks, and starts the chase again, leaving behind any thoughts of previous prey, named or not.

Jon sighs, blinking the black and white and red of Daisy's vision away.

It's nothing new, he had an inkling of what he'd See even before he looked, but it still hurts. With each day that Daisy passes under the thrall of the Hunt her mind grows more and more distant, far from any reach they could have.

They need to go back to London soon. Between himself, Basira and Gerry, they might be able to pin Daisy's location before she bounces again.

It hurts. Jon is more than aware that after so much fighting to become something else, what dragged Daisy back into the pit she promised to not to return was her fondness for him.

The darkness in the room recedes a little when he opens his eyes again, the green glow casting eerie, menacing shadows out of every unassuming object, like trying to convince Jon he's not the most dangerous being to ever sit in this living room.

Down the little corridor come the sounds of Martin's soft snoring and whatever it is that Gerry's mumbling in his sleep, and Jon sighs. The tape recorder still runs somewhere in the living room, waiting perhaps for a declaration.

"I'm- I'll breach the topic with them tomorrow." He says in the end. Talking to the tapes has always felt grounding. "We just have to find Daisy, and then we'll be free to come back here for however long we want."

For the time being... there's no use in worrying, Jon guesses.

Out the corner of his eye he catches Martin's notebooks on his little table by the window, and he feels his lips arching into a smile despite himself.

They've come a long way from Jon fishing out discarded poetry from garbage bins, he thinks to himself as he pulls one of the notebooks. Thankfully, Martin has said he doesn't mind them reading his things as long as he isn't in the room, so this will make for a nice distraction.

"Good things", Jon reads aloud from the page he opens at random, which he notices has a lot less crossed out sections than the others. Apparently Martin found his words pretty easily after a few stumbles at the beginning. "You'll- you'll have to forgive me, Martin," he tells the recorder, chuckling. "I've never had a voice for poetry, in my opinion. But I'll leave it to the jury to decide."

He clears his throat, holding the notebook open with two fingers, Martin's neat, tight handwriting illuminated in green.

'Good things, by Martin K. Blackwood.

There is something interesting to be said About things that come in threes.

Like coins in a fountain rings to a circus, or stars to Orion's belt, Like three acts parts to a story that is not finished yet.

Why is it that three's a crowd, yet Good things come in three's? People always say hello, Jon. My apologies for interrupting whatever it was that our mutual acquaintance managed to sneak this into, but I thought it better to let her arrange the delivery as she saw fit.

Hopefully this finds you alone; I shouldn't speak ill of a gift from our patron, especially with how well he served his purpose, but as useful as he's been in keeping you alive and encouraging you to develop your powers, your dear Gerard is quite adept at getting in the way, no doubt he gets it from Gertrude. Though I do suppose I should stop underestimating Martin by this point, shouldn't I?

I must admit, I neither expected nor wished to watch him walk out of the fog with you. It is far too late in the game for unwanted variables, but by this point I suppose I must simply sit back and hope that the Mother's blessing is enough to keep him out of my designs.

By this point I suppose you have attempted to stop reading, I don't recommend it, you will only hurt yourself. I thought your little retreat had lasted enough already, and you could use some help getting back into the flow of work.

Let us begin then, just one more, for old times sake.

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

[fallinnflower]

keep the sunshine (in my heart)

minghao x reader (university!au, trip!au, fluff)

wc: 7k

a/n: this has been in the works for far too long. everyone pokes fun at mingyu but out of love. title based on the song “summer’s gone” by ashmute which i highly recommend. i once again attempted not to gender the reader but they do have long hair idk. this was posted twice before but tags didn’t work so it’s being posted again and hopefully it works now lol

The first time you meet Minghao, you're getting a piggyback ride from Mingyu because your walk on the beach ended with one of your sandals breaking irreparably. Thankfully, there are plenty of shops ready to sell you a new pair — once they open for the day. You'd forced Mingyu out to see the sunrise with you on this first day of vacation before the gaggle of friends you'd both invited showed up and made the house party central. He said this was just karma.

Your tall friend is walking with an exaggerated sway, and you squeeze your arms around his neck tighter.

"Yah, Kim Mingyu!" You snap, blowing at a strand of hair that fell in front of your eye. "Walk normally, I'm getting motion sick, you punk."

"You don't get motion sick, Y/N," Mingyu replies, and you huff in annoyance because he's right. Leave it to Mingyu to remember the stupidest things about you. As you're about to tell him to put you down, you'll just walk with one foot bare, he comes to an abrupt stop. You peer over the top of his head, eyebrows furrowed, but can't see anything notable. More people are on the beach, but you don't see anyone important.

You lift one arm to poke at Mingyu's cheek—

Suddenly, your friend starts running back towards the coast, leaving you to redouble your grip. You let out an awful screeching sound, cursing directly into his ear, but he pays you no mind.

"Minghao!" he yells. A lanky guy in a denim jacket who's squatting in the sand with a camera pointed at the horizon turns towards you both. His expression remains decidedly nonplussed as Mingyu continues barreling down the beach towards him like an excited puppy. As soon as Mingyu stops, you start pounding on his chest.

"Put me down, you maniac!" He lets go of your legs and stoops a bit to let you off his back. You grumble and begin tying your hair back into a ponytail, barely sparing his friend a glance.

"You're early," Mingyu says, totally delighted at the sight of his friend. Minghao lets his camera fall against his chest as he stands, nodding.

"Yeah, I decided I wanted to take some photos. I haven't gone to the house yet." His sharp gaze travels over to you, squinting slightly against the early morning sunlight.

"You must be Y/N."

"The one and only," you reply, ducking your head. "I hear you're Mingyu's smartest friend. Well, aside from me."

The Chinese boy smirks, snorting slightly at your comment.

"Well, if you're headed to the house then we'll just go with you. Then Y/N can change into some different shoes," Mingyu snickers, and you swat at his arm.

You take off your sandals, following the boys as they start up to the beach towards the house.

"Wasn't Jun coming with you?" Mingyu asks.

"He decided to drive himself. He wasn't done packing yet."

"Sounds like him," he laughs. "I'll just test my cooking on the two of you tonight then."

"And what's on the menu, Chef Mingyu?" You ask, poking him in the ribs. Minghao chuckles as Mingyu swats your hand away.

"If you keep acting like this, then all you'll get is ramen."

"You say that like it's a punishment," you retort.

"Depends on how much he's making," Minghao chimes in, leaning forward to look around Mingyu at you.

"Maybe I won't make you dinner at all!" Mingyu huffs, though his pout dissipates quickly when confronted with both yours and Minghao's laughter. As the Chinese boy shoots you a conspiratorial smile, you can't help but think that you like having someone like him around.

The three of you spend the evening together, preparing the house for the others to come tomorrow. You turn in relatively early, all sufficiently exhausted from the previous day.

After how yesterday morning had gone, you opted to go out to the beach on your own in the morning. Over the course of your years working and going to school you'd gotten into the habit of waking up early, especially when in unfamiliar places, so you were up shortly before the dawn.

You're putting on your spare shoes by the door when suddenly someone else starts down the stairs.

"Morning," you call, not looking up. The voice that replies surprises you into looking back, startled when you find Minghao grinning down at you.

"You're up early," you say, standing up and running a hand through your hair. Minghao looks exceptionally stylish, especially in comparison to you in your tank top and ratty shorts. His camera is still slung around his neck, and he motions to it as he replies.

"I wanted more photos of the sunrise. The forecast for today looked promising."

"Well," you reply, watching as he puts on his own shoes. "I'm not much of a photographer, but we could always go for breakfast after. If you don't mind me tagging along, that is."

"Sure." His response is cool, but his eyes seem to light up a bit at your offer. With that, the two of you head out the door.

The walk to the beach isn't far, and it's spent in surprisingly comfortable silence. You had expected Minghao to be more intimidating, but he seems relaxed as you make your way down the sandy sidewalk to the shore. The breeze is almost chilly, the coastline quiet with all the seabirds still sleeping. You can't help but cast glances at the boy beside you as you walk, noticing once again how attractive he looks. Even in such a casual setting, he's gorgeous, practically a work of art, his brown bangs gently ruffling in the wind. Catching a glimpse of his camera, you think that if you were any kind of photographer you would rather take photos of Minghao instead of the sunrise. He seems like a rarer kind of beauty in your eyes.

As the two of you walk, you're content to follow his lead. The sunrise is pretty from anywhere to you, but Minghao seems to have an artist's vision — so you decide to trust his judgement, especially since the window for his work is so briefly open.

He pauses for a moment when you both step into the sand, and you halt a few steps later. His brows are furrowed as he looks off into the distance, and you cock your head to the side.

"What's up?"

"I think we should head to the pier," he says.

"Fine by me," you shrug. "There's a restaurant over there." Minghao rolls his eyes at the playful grin you give him before nodding and leading the way once more.

The tide is gentle, the waves rolling in slow and short. Once you near the pier and Minghao finally settles into a place to take photos, you find yourself wandering towards the water. You may not have an eye for photography, but you've always loved collecting seashells.

As the waves continue rolling in, you find yourself wishing your sandals hadn't broken, trying to dodge the water so as not to ruin your sneakers.

You find a small handful of shells as you wander, none that are particularly extraordinary but a couple that look very similar with holes in them. You make your way back up the beach to Minghao, dropping into a squat beside him and holding one of those two similar looking shells out in each of your palms.

"Which do you like more?" you ask, and Minghao turns his gaze to you, though he keeps his camera pointed at the horizon. His brows furrow in concentration, and you find yourself amused by how seriously he's taking it. It's actually a bit heartwarming.

"The one in your left hand." You hum and place the shell atop his knee nearest to you, smiling.

"A token of our newfound friendship," you explain, turning your body to look out where his camera is pointed. "They'd make good necklaces."

"How fashion-forward of you," he says drily, but you catch him putting the shell in his pocket with a smile nonetheless.

After getting what he seems to deem a sufficient number of photos, he puts the lens cap back on his camera and stands, offering you a hand to help you.

"You said there was a restaurant by the pier?" he asks as you brush the sand off your shorts. His hand lingers in yours for a moment too long, but you try not to think too much of it — maybe he's still just tired.

"Yep," you jerk your chin towards the point where the wood of the pier meets the asphalt. "It's on the base of the pier."

"Lead the way."

You do. Soon enough the two of you are seated on the pier, overlooking the ocean with two steaming mugs of coffee between you and waiting on breakfast platters. The restaurant is otherwise pretty empty; you imagine it isn't exactly prime time, but it makes it all the better for you. Minghao has set his camera on the table and is leaning back in his chair, both of you looking out across the ocean.

"I think the view is better from here," you muse, chin propped in your hand. Minghao responds with a hum, then, lowly,

"Yeah, I agree." You turn and find him staring at you, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips, but before you can say anything your food suddenly arrives.

The moment you can see and smell it in front of you, you realize just how hungry you are. Forgetting any possible pretense of manners, you dig in hurriedly, shoveling a forkful of French toast eagerly into your mouth. Minghao chuckles, though he looks away in mock surrender when you shoot him a pointed look.

The two of you finish breakfast just in time for some of the shops to open, and so you resolve to buy yourself a new pair of sandals. Although you told Minghao he didn't have to accompany you, he decides to do so nonetheless, holding the door open for you as you enter one of the many shops on the main road.

You're in the middle of perusing sandals when suddenly you feel a slight pressure on your head. You turn in confusion only to find Minghao laughing under his breath, fixing a bucket hat onto his head. It's a faux denim number, ridiculous but not awful, and yet you can tell he hasn't been so kind to you. You glare at him as you pull your own bucket hat off, though even you can't hold back a snort of laughter when you see the ridiculous design. You reach up and pull Minghao's hat off his head, replacing it with the green frog hat, giggling as you look at the tiny little eyes sticking off the top.

"Mm, that's more like it," you say. "I think you should get it."

Minghao laughs and turns towards a small mirror near the sunglasses display messing with his bangs under the brim of the hat.

"Maybe I will." You laugh and turn back to the shoes. You finally find a plain black pair in your size, though when you turn you find Minghao laughing at something once more, with his back to you.

"What?" You ask, peering around him curiously. He shuffles off to the side, pointing out a bucket hat with ramen printed all over it.

"We have to get it," you say, looking over at him. Minghao shakes his head, turning the corners of his mouth down in an attempt to hide his obvious smile. You nudge him with your elbow until he finally breaks into an open-mouthed grin.

"If we don't get him a hat, he'll feel left out," you continue, and he sighs.

"Fine, fine."

By the time the two of you make it back to the house, Mingyu has woken up and is on his second cup of coffee. He offers a relatively lazy greeting when you enter, sprawled across the couch. You walk over and shove his feet off, making a space for yourself as Mingyu grumbles under his breath. Minghao rounds the couch and places the hat on Mingyu’s head, only for the taller boy to immediately pull it off and take a look. He laughs and places it back on his head, and Minghao takes a seat.

"Any word from Jun?" you ask, reaching for the television remote. Mingyu shrugs, gulping down more coffee before responding,

"He texted a few minutes ago that he’s on the road, but that's it. Anything from the girls?"

"Yeri had a final this morning, but I think it's finishing up around ten or something."

"So we're on our own for lunch, is what I'm hearing," Minghao says, and both you and Mingyu nod. After a moment of watching TV mindlessly, you suddenly turn to Mingyu again.

"Do we need to do anything before they get here? Like, grocery shopping or anything?" The mere mention of errands causes Mingyu to slump further into the couch, as you reach over to swat his arm, rolling your eyes.

"Not now, you're no use without enough caffeine in you. Once you've entered the land of the living, I mean." Mingyu huffs at your comment, taking another sip of his coffee before responding. He also takes the opportunity to drape his legs across your lap, and you roll your eyes and pinch his calves in an effort to get him to move.

"Yah," he says, pulling his legs away with a whine. "What do you guys want for dinner?"

"We should get seafood while we're here," you say, then fix your gaze on Minghao. "What's a seafood dish you like?" The Chinese boy looks startled for a moment, but quickly settles into a more thoughtful expression.

"Maeuntang?"

"Ohh, I love stew," you say, turning your gaze to Mingyu. You give him your best puppy dog eyes, but are met with his hand extended in front of your face.

"Stop looking at me like that, it's creepy."

"It's supposed to be cute!" you pout, moving his hand. "If I stop, will you make the stew?"

"Yes," he sighs, putting his hand down.

"Thank you!" you squeal, upping the cuteness to a level you know your friend will hate. He quickly pulls his legs off of you as he wedges himself into the far corner of the couch.

"Stop," he whines. "Did you have too much sugar or something? Minghao, help me!"

"You're on your own," Minghao responds drily, and you finally relent, using the opportunity to bring your legs up onto the couch instead. Mingyu shoots you a scandalized, hurt look.

"You're mean."

"Only to my bestest friends," you coo, reaching over to pinch Mingyu's cheek. The boy huffs in annoyance, slumping against the arm of the couch and bringing his mug back up to his lips.

"How long have you two known each other, again?" Minghao asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"Too long—"

"Our whole lives," you say at the same time, cutting Mingyu off. "He's like the brother I never had."

"You're annoying," he grumbles, and you laugh, pinching his cheeks again and forcing him to smile.

"Says the one who followed me to college." Mingyu's ears begin turning red, and you ruffle his hair with an ever-widening grin.

"Just because you got your acceptance letter first doesn't mean I followed you."

"I don't know," Minghao chimes in, leaning forward in his seat. "Y/N makes a pretty convincing case."

"I thought you were supposed to be my friend," Mingyu grumbles, giving Minghao an accusatory look as he squirms out of your arms. There's a resounding thump as he slips off the couch and lands on the floor. He picks up his mug off the coffee table and downs the rest of its contents in one swig before sighing and getting up,

"I'm going to the grocery store."

"Want help?" Minghao asks, starting to rise from his seat, and Mingyu hurriedly shakes his head.

"No! Just stay here and then help me carry the bags in when I'm back."

"Fine," you say, as you cross the room to sit beside Minghao on the loveseat. You sling an arm around the Chinese boy's shoulders,

"I'll just stay here and hang out with my new best friend."

"You're so mean!" Mingyu calls, then slips out the front door, leaving you and Minghao to chuckle in his wake. You retract your arm and lean into the corner of the seat, stretching your neck slightly. Minghao fixes you with his sharp, inquisitive gaze, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you always give him such a hard time?" You immediately laugh at his question.

"Always," you confirm. "Unless it's really serious, you know? I mean it when I say he's like the brother I've never had. I give him a hard time but, like, I'd fuck someone up for him."

Minghao laughs again, leaning into the opposite corner of the loveseat. He runs one graceful hand through his hair, the strands falling back into his eyes immediately.

"Yeah," he says. Then, in a softer tone of voice, gaze drifting out the window. You find yourself smiling as you look at Minghao, studying his profile for a moment. After a beat of silence he speaks up again.  

"He's lucky to have you in his life." Your grin immediately widens,

"Damn right he is."

Later, when you've both settled into your own little routines to pass the time, you find yourself thinking — he hadn't said someone like you. He'd just said you. And you may be overthinking it, but it makes your heart flutter, nonetheless.

Jun arrives in the early afternoon having stopped for lunch along the way, and by the time he’s exiting the car Joy and Yeri are pulling into the driveway behind him. You throw your phone down onto the couch and run to the door to greet everyone, waving excitedly. Jun, despite not knowing you very well, is the first to run up and accept your hug, the girls quickly joining in to make it a group endeavor. With a sigh you let go of them all, ushering them into the house.

"Mingyu, be a man and carry the bags in," you say, linking arms with Joy and Jun, Yeri clinging to the former. Mingyu takes a step back to avoid the chain of people flooding through the door.

"I'm not the only man here!"

"Then be the manliest man," Jun jokes. Minghao waves from the stairs, laughing as he watches the four of you trying to maintain your chain as you take your shoes off.

"Where's Mingyu?" Minghao asks.

"Proving his worth," you reply, earning a laugh from him.

"Who am I sharing a room with?" Jun asks, and you shrug.

"Don't know, but it's not me. I paid for that master room!" you say.

"I'm calling dibs on Joy as my roommate!" Yeri chimes in, and you roll your eyes.

"That was the plan anyways, Yeri—"

"I know, I just needed to make sure everyone else knew it!"

As the four of you make your way into the living room, laughing and chattering, Minghao makes the rest of his way down the stairs.

"Need help?"

"Yes!" Mingyu cries, dragging the luggage through the doorway. Minghao chuckles and takes a suitcase in each hand, making his way back into the house.

"Alright, baggage claim is in the dining room," Minghao calls, and as he comes into the living room you watch the others leave. You flop onto the carpeted floor, staring at the ceiling as you listen to their footsteps eventually making their way upstairs.

"Resting after a hard day's work, I see."

"Shh." You press a finger to your lips, closing your eyes as you hear Minghao take a seat beside you. "I took care of the booking and planning, Mingyu does the manual labor. Fair trade."

"Mm. A match made in heaven." You scrunch your nose up in disgust, opening your eyes to fix the lanky boy with an accusatory glare,

"That makes it sound romantic. Try again." Minghao raises an eyebrow, letting out a laugh,

"Teamwork makes the dream work?"

"Better," you say with a nod. It seems as though Minghao is about to say something else, but suddenly Joy calls down the stairs,

"Are you guys going swimming with us?" You look over at Minghao as you sit up, offering a shrug.

"When in Rome," you say, more to him than to Joy. You stand up from your seat on the floor and shoot Joy a thumbs up; she flashes you a broad smile before running back up the stairs. Although Minghao hadn't done more than smile amusedly at your statement, you hear him behind you as you leave the living room — although you simply head down the hallways to your room while he goes upstairs.

After changing into your swimsuit you make your way out onto the porch to slather on sunscreen. Given your prime location and the fact that you've already unpacked all your things, you manage to be the first one out, followed shortly by Minghao and Mingyu.

"Get my back?" you ask, holding the tube out to the first person on the porch. Mingyu eyes it.

"Only if you get mine."

"Deal." Minghao lingers by the door, and you wave him over in front of you, squeezing sunscreen into your palm before passing the tube to Mingyu.

Although you had waved him over like it was nothing, you felt almost immediately embarrassed touching Minghao so casually. It isn't exactly a regular occurrence for you, putting sunscreen on a boy's back.

A cute boy's back.

You try not to think about it too much as you rub the sunscreen in, but when Minghao curls his shoulders forward slightly to make the plane of his back more flat and even for you, you find yourself mesmerized by the way his skin glistens under the bright sunshine. His skin is a warm but light tone, like honey in color and just as smooth. You hesitate for a moment, hands lingering near his shoulder blades, only shaken from your stupor when Mingyu announces that he's done and needs someone to do his back. Hurriedly, you clear your throat, rubbing the last of the sunscreen into Minghao's back in quick circles.

"Done," you announce, softer than you meant to. You barely see Minghao's grateful smile before turning around to Mingyu, trying desperately to hide the blush rising on your cheeks. Maybe you can just blame it on the sun…

Thankfully, the porch is soon crowded with the rest of your friends, all laughing and talking. Joy pulls her hair up into a bun and turns her back to you expectantly almost as soon as you finish with Mingyu's back, and although you roll your eyes you oblige.

Once all of you are properly covered with sunscreen — a fact which Mingyu is sure to double check before letting you all off the porch — you make your way down the beach.

The back porch leads off directly into the sand, although the path to the beach itself is too narrow for you all to walk in anything other than a single file line. That, of course, doesn't stop the conversation from flowing between you all as you follow Mingyu's lead down to the beach. You find yourself acutely aware of Minghao directly behind you, suddenly conscious even of the way you walked, wondering what his sharp gaze might notice about you.

You're snapped out of these thoughts once again by Mingyu — although this time it's out of reflex. Being his friend so long has made you finely attuned to his clumsy ways, and you register him tripping over his own flip flops almost before it even happens, quickly reaching out to grab his elbow. At first, you're so focused on saving your friend from falling flat on his face that you don't notice someone has taken hold of you as well, helping to provide a counterweight for you and your much taller friend.

Mingyu rights himself and chuckles awkwardly under the teasing remarks, flashing you a grateful smile. You glance back at Minghao just as he pulls his hand away.

"Thanks," you say, feeling oddly bashful. Minghao sweeps his windswept bangs out of his eyes, smiling.

"No problem." You stare for a moment too long before nodding and scrambling to catch up with Mingyu just a few steps away, trying to convince yourself that your heart is racing because Mingyu almost broke his nose and not because of a sudden, stupid crush.

It doesn't quite work, but your splashing match with Joy and Yeri takes your mind off of it at least.

The first afternoon with everyone at the beach house is spent in a relaxed state; after returning from the beach, almost everyone took showers and then naps. Unable to sleep, you simply sprawled out on the couch in the living room with a glass of tea and your laptop in your lap. With your earbuds in, just in case anyone decided they wanted to use the television, you caught up on some recent videos you had missed in the bustle of the past couple of days.

It isn’t until you’ve exhausted your YouTube subscription tab that you find yourself becoming restless, eager for something to do. You go into your room for your wallet, thinking it might be nice to get some ice cream and just walk along the beach, and then you spot the shell from earlier sitting on the top of the dresser beside it. You examine the hole in it once more, smiling as you remember your morning with Minghao. On a moment of impulse, you start digging through your bag until you finally find the necklaces you had packed — or, well, left in the bag from your last trip and hadn’t bothered to put away. You unclasp them both and let the pendants slip off the chains, replacing one with the shell and clasping the other closed again; the other chain you let pool atop the dresser, fully intending to give it to Minghao later.

Only to find said boy standing outside the door to your bedroom, one fist raised in preparation to knock. The two of you jump slightly at the sight of the other, but you quickly dissolve into laughter with Minghao following shortly behind.

“Hey,” you say. “I thought you were napping.” He shakes his head.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he replies. “So I was hoping you’d want to go for a walk.”

“Perfect timing,” you chirp. “I was about to go get some ice cream, care to tag along?” Minghao’s expression slips into a grin, and he chuckles,

“Sure, why not.”

He’s already turned and started towards the front door when you remember the chain on your dresser, and you quickly duck back into your room to retrieve it.

“Wait!” you call, and Minghao does so, looking back at you with a puzzled expression. “Do you still have the shell from earlier?” An amused smile once again makes its way across his face as he notices the chain in your hands.

“Yeah, I think so.” After fishing around in the pocket of his jeans, he brandishes the shell. You eagerly hold out your hands for it, passing him the new jewelry item with pride.

“There, now we can match!” You hook your thumb under your own shell to show Minghao, who only chuckles and shakes his head. However, you think you see a faint wash of pink across his cheeks, even though his hair hides some of his face from you as he looks around for his shoes. You watch him for a moment longer, unable to keep from smiling, before finding your own sandals and slipping them on — only to realize you left your phone in your room.

“I’ll be right back!”

As you dart back to your bedroom, Minghao takes the chain and wraps it twice around his wrist, fashioning it into a bracelet. After pulling the shell around to rest atop his wrist, he pulls out his own phone and snaps a picture of it in front of the window, smiling fondly at the image once he’s cropped it and adjusted the coloring. By the time he’s pocketed his phone, you’ve re-emerged with your own. You slip on your shoes again and offer him a breathless grin,

“Ready?”

“Yeah, my treat,” he says, grinning to himself in amusement as he listens to you whine as you follow him out the door.

“Good morning!” you hear from behind you as you’re putting on your shoes. Just the sound of Minghao’s voice is enough to bring a smile to your face as you stand back up fully.

“Do you ever sleep?” Minghao asks teasingly as he makes the rest of his way down the stairs. You shrug,

“What’s the point of a beach-house if you’re not taking walks on the beach?”

“Or photos,” he adds. You step aside to give Minghao room to put his shoes on, shoving your hands in your pockets. While you wait, you lean back and peer out the windows bordering the front door, smiling when you see that the skies are still relatively dark. The two of you will make it out to the coast just in time to see the sunrise. You rock back on your heels as Minghao stands up, opening the door and motioning for him to lead the way.

It’s quiet as you stroll down the driveway of the house, with even the birds remaining quiet prior to the dawn. Minghao’s camera thumps gently against his chest in tandem with his feet falling on the pavement. As the two of you make your way onto the sand towards the water, you let out a sigh and let your gaze fall on the waves.

“You know, it’s kinda nice to have someone to walk with,” you say.

“Is that your way of saying you like my company, Y/N?” Minghao’s grin is annoyingly smug, and you elbow him slightly, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t get too excited,” you say. “Mingyu still has years over you.” He laughs into the wind, and you watch as he begins to slow his steps, looking for a good place to sit down and take photos. You follow him halfway down the coast before he finally stops in his tracks, squinting out at the sea before finally dropping into a squat. You stand beside him, trying to pick out exactly what he’s taking photos of like a game.

However, after barely becoming settled, your hair starts getting in your face, with the wind seeming to change directions every few seconds rendering it impossible for you to keep it out of your eyes. The only sound to disrupt that of the natural seaside is the shutter of Minghao's camera. As your hair once again whips against your eyes, blocking your view, you let out a frustrated grumble and stoop down behind the Chinese boy. He turns curiously to look at you as you bow your head, and you nudge him,

"Stay put and block the wind for me." You rake your fingers down through the strands, twirling them up into a haphazard bun. With a contented sigh you drop back off your heels to sit in the sand beside Minghao. He grins crookedly at you, eyes curved up into amused crescents.

"What?" You ask, noticing his gaze.

"Your hair's a mess," he says. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can manage to form a word Minghao has let his camera fall back against his chest. His long, slender fingers suddenly reach towards your face, gently tucking some hair behind your ears. As his fingertips skim against your jaw you find yourself falling breathless. Minghao leans back, dipping his chin in a nod of satisfaction at his work. You clear your throat and look back out towards the sea, hoping the light of the rising sun masks your blush.

"It was because of the wind," you grumble. Then, after hearing Minghao's shutter go off once again you mutter, "Thanks."

Out of the corner of your eye you see Minghao smiling smugly, and so you shove him with your elbow — though you yourself can't keep a smile off your face. You draw your knees to your chest and cross your arms atop them, dropping your chin atop them.

With a long breath you close your eyes, the backs of your eyelids burning redder than the sunlight on the sea—

And with them closed you don't see where Minghao's camera is suddenly pointed when the shutter goes off, leaving him smiling to himself as he looks at the image.

"We should order a pizza," Joy says, lying back on the living room floor. The half-open window lets the evening breeze into the house, and you watch the fan spinning in lazy circles above your heads.

"Ooh, and beer! Do we have beer?" Yeri chimes in, looking towards you. You shrug and jerk your chin towards Mingyu.

"Ask the chef," you say, earning a playful glare from him.

“Fine by me!” Mingyu pipes up, “You all have bottomless pits for stomachs anyways, feeding you is a hassle.”

“But you still love us, right?” Jun asks, and you bat your lashes exaggeratedly at Mingyu,

“Yeah, you still love us, right, mom?”

“Shut up, no child of mine would behave like you do. Or be as ugly,” Mingyu whines, throwing a pillow in your direction. You catch it with a laugh, wrinkling your nose in amusement.

“Mm, you’re right — with your genetics, they’d be even uglier.” Joy and Yeri break into giggles at your words, Jun following suit and Minghao snickering alongside them. Your best friend glares at everyone in the room, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

“You guys are gonna have to order pizza every night from now on! Such ungrateful children.”

“Alright, someone find a local place that delivers!” Yeri demands, clapping her hands together as everyone continues to laugh at Mingyu’s expense. Minghao pats his shoulder, still chuckling however, as Joy lifts her phone above her face announcing,

“On it!”

The next few minutes pass in a whirlwind of chatter, everyone pitching in their ideas about what pizzas should be ordered until finally your group settles on three — and play through multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors to determine who’s going to get the beer.

“Here, Mingyu, here’s the money — remember, at least four packs, okay?”

“I hate you all!” he grumbles, but he shoves the money in his pocket regardless as all of you swarm around him, forcing him out the door.

It’s only once you’re all at least a few drinks deep, reclining in the living room full with your stomachs full of pizza, that Yeri suddenly sits up from where she’d been leaning against Joy’s shoulder and makes the animated suggestion:

“We should play truth or dare!” When nobody disagrees with her, she picks up her half-empty bottle of beer and downs the rest before setting it down on its side in front of her. The rest of you shuffle into an approximation of a circle, lopsided and elliptical at best, watching intently as Yeri spins the bottle for the first time.

It lands on Mingyu, who’s still sober enough to take one look at Yeri’s devious grin and choose truth. The game goes on for what seems like forever, and by the time it’s Yeri’s turn to spin again your cheeks and stomach hurt from laughing so much. Breathlessly, you lean against Minghao’s side and watch the bottle spin around, ooh-ing dramatically with the rest of your friends when it lands on Joy.

“Dare,” Joy says without even being asked, looking confidently at Yeri. The youngest grins with the same degree of confidence, smugly announcing,

“I dare you to stare into the eyes of the most attractive person here for as long as possible without reacting!” Your drunken selves all lean in to see Joy’s reaction, which is in exaggerated pout.

“How am I supposed to compete with myself?”

“Yah!” Yeri cries, swatting at the tall girl’s shoulder as Joy dissolves into laughter.

“Okay, okay!” Joy finally says, pushing at Yeri’s hands. “Since you came up with it, why don’t we compete?” Yeri tips her chin up confidently, and you scramble for your phone as the two girls shift so they’re facing one another.

“I have the timer,” you say, before counting down for the competition to start. Barely fifteen seconds pass before Joy begins to slip into a smile, causing your small group to break into disappointed groans.

“Come on, did you even try?” Mingyu laments, and Joy narrows her eyes at him,

“Are you saying you could do better?”

“Anyone could do better!” you chime in, and both Joy and Mingyu turn to you.

“Then let’s all try it,” Yeri suggests, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Everyone find a partner, and we’ll each have a timer. Losers have to clean up!”

You turn to look at Minghao who’s seated beside you, and he offers you a smile as the both of you reposition yourselves. Joy demands a rematch against Yeri, leaving Jun and Mingyu as partners. Once everyone has their stopwatches at the ready and poker faces on, the competition begins, the only sound in the room is the faint music you’d almost forgotten was playing off the smart TV. A new music video starts up as you stare into Minghao’s eyes, and you find yourself lost in the swirls of color reflected there, the bright reflections from the television making his eyes kaleidoscopic.

It’s Jun and Mingyu who end up losing, with Jun taking advantage of Mingyu’s obvious embarrassment by leaning in closer and closer to the tall boy until he falls onto his back on the floor.

“Yah, why were you so close to me?” Your best friend cries, and you bite the inside of your cheek in an attempt to keep from smiling. It proves futile, however, once Jun begins laughing, and you find yourself giggling. You catch a glimpse of Minghao’s smile as you lean forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment. He shifts his opposite arm to tap the stop button on the stopwatch app, and silence falls over the room once more for a few seconds. With your eyes closed, you focus on the rhythm of Minghao’s breathing, all other sounds slipping away.

Joy’s victorious cries eventually cause you to lift your head, and you turn to watch her as she excitedly announces the new time — just over one minute. Yeri pouts as Jun affectionately pats her head, and you notice Mingyu is still lying down, one arm laid over his eyes. You lie down on your side, snickering when you see through the gap that his eyes are closed; he’d managed to fall asleep. Of course, being his best friend, you’re quick to point out to everyone that he’s totally passed out, prompting Jun to sneak towards the kitchen in search of a marker. Joy and Yeri follow in search of more beer from the fridge, and you roll onto your back, watching the shadows play across the ceiling for a moment as Minghao stands up to stretch his back and legs. You hear the gentle fluttering of the curtains and feel overcome with a sudden desire to see the ocean once again. Looking up at the Chinese boy, you can’t help but smile, and make the decision to take him along on your little field trip.

"I need fresh air," you declare before rolling onto your stomach and pushing yourself up onto your knees. You hear Minghao huff out a laugh under his breath as he reaches a hand down to help you up, which you accept. The room tilts slightly, and you let out a short laugh as you lean into him, forcing him to bear your weight as he leads you out the back door. Although you’re sure he expects you to stay on the porch, you move immediately towards the stairs. You jump down into the sand, laughing as the grains seem to spring up around your feet. Minghao follows behind you, less energetically. Eventually, you both sit down a few yards from the house, in view of the waves.

You pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your crossed arms. The night air is humid as it rolls off the sea, but not quite warm, leaving your skin feeling sticky yet covered in goosebumps. Out of the corner of your eye you see Minghao pulling out his phone and aiming the camera towards the moon where it shines into the water. You find your gaze drawn to him like the tides to that silvery orb, unable to keep from smiling as you tilt your head to the side. With your cheek pressed against your folded arms you watch him snap photo after photo. After a moment you close your eyes, trying to breathe in time with the waves as they crash along the shore, the only other sound that of Minghao’s phone camera going off intermittently.

"You like taking photos of the beach, don't you?" you say without thinking, cracking one eye open and watching as he pushes his bangs back out of his eyes. Minghao lets out a laugh that's more of a breath than anything,

"I like taking photos of anything beautiful." You giggle, the laughter fading into a sigh as you sprawl out onto your back in the sand. With less alcohol you know that you would be annoyed by the feeling of it sticking to your skin, tangling in your hair — but that's a problem for sober you, morning you. For now, you find yourself content with looking up at the sky. It's cloudless, probably the best view of the stars you've had in years. You can see when Minghao turns his phone off again, plunging you both into darkness.

"Minghao," you say, drawing out the last syllable as far as possible. You like the feeling of saying his name, the openness of it, the smoothness as it rolls off your tongue. The stars above look like they're moving, spinning in lazy circles.

"Hm?"

You watch the spinning stars, laughing a little to yourself. With a sigh, you pull your gaze back down to earth, focusing on Minghao's face. Even with the alcohol in your system, his features are sharp, distinct, attractive.

"I think you're the coolest person I know."

He might be smiling. But before you can say anything more about it, a breeze blows off the water, spewing sand onto your face. You let out a squeal and scramble onto your feet. The sand seems to give way beneath them the moment you stand, but as you dip sideways you find yourself in Minghao's ready arms. He holds onto you for a moment, looking you over for any sign of injuries, and you lock your gaze onto his face. Center yourself. Once he's confident you're not going to keel over, he loosens his grip on you.

"Come on," he says, finally, sighing. "Let's go inside."

Without a word, Minghao takes your hand. Your fingers lace together naturally, and you focus on the warmth of his palm compared to the cool night wind, smiling broadly and unabashedly as you follow him back up onto the porch.

“By the way,” he says, pausing before pulling the sliding door open to let you back in. “I think you’re pretty cool too.” You giggle.

“Is that your way of saying you like me?”

Minghao holds your gaze, and you feel your breath catch in your throat for a moment. But he doesn’t say a word, just gives your hand a squeeze and offers you a playful, mysterious smile before opening the door and pulling you back into the room where Jun is drawing what he calls catstronauts on Mingyu’s arms. As you take a seat, trying not to laugh too loud, Minghao leaves his hand in yours, and the smile remains on your face for the rest of the night.

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 019

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey everyone!! I know it's been quieter around here, but enjoy the chapter I hope! Sort of sweet filler. Billy nurses a hungover Evie back to life as they reach a common ground with their relationship. Evie returns to school as the new Keg King. Chp title is after that Depeche Mode song. TW: Light light mention of a past r*pe/abuse & Pica. Smut!!

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 19: One Caress

   Death. Hot, swampy death. Somehow mixed with frigid chills. 

   Evie cracked her eyes to light and moaned. Loud enough to wake the body spread on his back next to her. Billy spied her. Curls spiraling endless directions. Knotted all over. 

   Face pressed into the pillows, Evie held her thudding brain. Figured it might be unspooling around a cracked skull. There was movement as Billy reached over her to pull the curtains further closed and block the early morning sun. 

   “You seriously woke up at seven with that bad a hangover. Figured you’d sleep in longer. Must be a pride thing.” Billy hummed and draped his arm over her. Casual as can be to tuck back in. He made this rumbling sound into her shoulder blade and sighed out.

   Evie realized finally she wasn’t alone and scrambled up, almost tumbling over the bottom edge of the bed if Billy hadn't snatched her wrist.

   “Easy!” Came the sharp hiss. “Take a moment to remember last night if you can.” Brown eyes squinted to blink at him. Blurring the gold honey of him together. Billy made a face. “Jesus, you’re looking at me like I’m taking a dump here, Evangeline.”

   “Oh, jeez,” Evie fisted her curls so he let go. Her eyes began to dart, finding the events and piecing them. Little by little. “Jesus Dolly Parton Christ.”

   “That’s some poetry I like.” Billy reclined, covered in a loose sheet looking his insufferable cupid self. One hand behind his head while he tapped a rhythm into his abs. Evie moaned again, curling up toward the curtains.

   “I did a keg stand…”

   “Oh, yeah, you did.” Blue eyes rolled. “Your highness.”

   “Did I puke on anyone?”

   “Just some sorry ass purple primroses.” He’d snarked with some amusement. “You almost got me, but I aimed you just fine.”

   “Shit. I’m-”

   “You’re gonna piss me off if you apologize again. That’s a stupid girl habit you need to shake.”

   “Stupid girl habit, pfffs. I’m Billy Hargrove. I'm perfect and glowy with the face of a damn cherub. Know-it-all.” Evie huffed and mumbled to mock him but Billy continued.

   “You just did to me what I did to Harrington. Figure I had it coming. I’m still Billy-The Shit-Hargrove. Smoke and mirrors as you think.” His chest rose and air blew out his mouth. “We didn’t do anything, I just helped you home as you poured your tasty heart out.��

   “Yeah, uh… It’s all coming back. Argh...” Evie rubbed her face and aimlessly waved for him to stop talking. She noticed Billy still had his jeans on, no shirt. Then, spied her own outfit under the robe. “The hell are we wearing?”

   “You were keen to flash me those Fenny wiles so I tied you into the drunk girl straitjacket. Took some wrangling, but I think I earned the gold,” he blinked, “and I didn’t wear anything under the denim. I figured jeans were better than you waking to my huge, raw morning wood...unless you’re into that.”

   He winked which earned him that scrunchy scowl he loved to see on her face.

   Evie collapsed back on her front. Cursing daylight. Lingering black makeup still smeared around her eyes.

   “Okay, well, I can die now. Officially. Thank you, Billy, for bearing witness.”

   “No, no, I’m nursing you back to health today. We both smell like party. Get up. Water. Pills. Shower. Gonna shower at my place and then I’m coming back for breakfast. I’ll make your birthday up to you if you’ll let me. Hope you let me, cause I’ll bug you another two months until you don’t.” Fingers tugged for messy curls until she grumbled.

   Evie poked those bright eyes up. 

   “There was talk of a couch day. I remember.”

   “You remember everything?” Thick lashes batted the vulnerability away. She softened.

   “Everything. Feel like death,” she said, “but waking up in your arms wasn’t so bad.” Billy brightened, liking that. Maybe too much because he looked smug. “So, the couch. You and me. Us. Can you manage that? Relaxing with casual stimulation.”

   “Oh, say stimulation again. Slower,” Billy uttered and Evie rolled her eyes. “Gonna let me come back over?”

   “Maybe.” She hitched and whined, ruffling her curls. “Knowing my mom, she’s gonna stay until closing. Around six or seven tonight, she might go party straight from the shop. She's made that a habit on weekends. I don’t know, as this year is going she’s just home less. City friends. Dating. And I feel bad cause it’s almost easier.”

   Billy didn’t comment.

   “My throat still hurts from last night and we do smell pretty ripe...gonna shower. Clean these sheets too.” 

   “We haven’t even made a proper mess of them.” Billy came up on his elbows with a suggestive look. They shared another beat before his tone changed. “I should have stayed.”

   “I wish you did. But, I also wish I didn’t run into Fredrick’s arms after that dance. It was stupid. We can both make idiot decisions. Still young, I guess.” Evie turned her eyes. “But, you’re here now and we’re not yelling at each other.”

   “It’s a whole new world. Keg King.”

   “I need to forget that.”

   “School won’t. None of the schools there will forget it. Betcha even Tannen knows.” Billy pushed up and Evie followed, stretching until something cracked delightfully. “Heard from him?”

   “Something with a DUI or two… I don’t know. He made his threats already.” She stopped to pet Blue, shifting the kitten off Billy’s coat while he snagged his shirt. “Tell Max I said hi if she’s around.”

   “Give me thirty.” Billy took his coat, gave her ass a pat, and waltzed out. Unworried. Evie dragged into the shower. Stood there under the warm spray with her head pressed against the cool tiles. Swallowed some aspirin down and slid her eyes to the container of cherry red pins.

   There wasn’t a melancholy welling inside her empty gut, but she found it odd. This craving to indulge. To swallow sharp objects and let them click around musically inside her. Make them part of her routine. Eat artificial things until she was made from them. A doll on the top shelf threatening to take a tumble.

   Wet curls hung over her shoulders and breasts. Evie closed the mirror and looked at her body there. Head tilting. Towels fell around her feet. She opened her palms, arms slighting lifting in a submissive motion. Evie thought to cover herself but didn’t. Imagined a shell opening so the world could look at her. Admire her. Pluck her free and decorate her with tiny diamonds and opals. Maybe seaweed and shells like a pretty siren.

   The mirror lights washed her flesh out as they would an old starlet. Flash. Romancing Evie as she blew kisses to an empty lens, hoping to be loved beyond it. She might die if they don't all love her. Want to screw her. Want to open her up and peek inside. Flash. Keep her at arm's reach if they don't like what they see. Flash. It doesn't matter because she's still a wondrous thing to covet.

   She imagined several hands piecing her parts together. Painting them with deft brushes. Evie could sit on a shelf still. She could also let them loop red strings around her broken limbs. Contorting fingers walking her upon a empty stage with the same washed-out lights. Evie would be anything for them. Give anything for eyes and lights and brushes that caress her.

   Hands pushed her curls back over her shoulders. Evie really looked at her body. No shame. No sex. No fear. No disgust. Just flesh and blood and muscle wrapped around bones with marrow made of that electric stardust. Flesh that offended the world, they had to fetishize her to stand her. Nothing really mattered if the lights washed her away though. The lights would tell them to love her regardless because she was the next great thing.

   Flash.

   Lips pushed into the mirror's reflection, breath ghosting to leave an imprint that faded as she leaned back. Her neon demon flitting out to curl and poison the world so she wouldn't have to choke it down alone.

   “I don’t want to be them,” Evie sneered there, “they’ll want to be me.”

   They’ll claw. And scrape. And scream. And die. Just to be a second rate version of Evangeline. Steam rose around her, placed adoring kisses upon her skin.

   A kiss and a promise wrapped in that vengeful neon demon she fed and hid from the world that had ruined her. Broke her parts to pick and choose the best. A demon she still kissed and tried to preen with kindness because Evangeline tried. She tried.

   Evie hadn’t been cruel. She told lies. She made messes. But, she tried and she had always hoped that would count for something. It didn’t with her father. Or Mona. Not even Fredrick, he liked her mutilated. But, Evie tried to hold onto that kind girl with fire and hopes to create music that rained to make flowers grow even bolder. She deserves something. Anything.

   She was already carved out by this life. Felt like she might hit bone if she dug any further. Piles and piles of ash spilling out longing veins. Organs delectable enough to feed on from souls that sapped her vitality away. What else was there to do but scream until someone heard her? Scream for the girl she lost. The people who would never care to understand that. Scream until they were forced to scream over her. Until they were all roses falling at her feet.

   As she looked at herself here, Evie wondered if that girl was even alive anymore. And if she’d already let her down. If she could be forgiven. If she could forget a specific howl of thunder that came after crackling lightning. Lips near her ear to preen so sweet.

   "My little mouse-"

   Flash.

   Hands shaking, she thrust the mirror open and pricked her finger on a cherry pin. Blood beading before she settled it upon her tongue to devour it. 

   It didn’t make sense. She was happier. Today, she was better. She was in control. But, this... It was built into her. Settling comfortable with everything else. A need. A hope. A cycle. An addiction. Girlhood was a horror story written by a true romantic. This, she knew well.

   Just once, Evie figured. She could wean off it. She could gather her parts and sew them back together without help. Carve the person she lost to the world in something stronger.

   It’s fine. This is fine.

   Flash.

   Unable to see whoever was in the mirror now, Evie shut the lights out and hurried away. She pulled a long sleeve tee on with a faded floral design. Decided leggings were a god-like invention and was stuffing socks on when Billy let himself back in.

   At the sound, she clenched her stomach as if he’d walk in and see the artificial fragments that made her up now. A softer breath puffed. Everything was neatly hidden inside. Soon to be a part of her shelf collection. Footsteps came to her while she bent over to toss her wet towels in the hamper.

   “Can’t knock-?” Evie was spun around into an oncoming hard kiss. Lips colliding before Billy hitched and pulled out. Fireworks burst.

   “Hey, I waited for that.” He winked and went into the kitchen. Owned the space. “You look like hell still, Evie. Couch. I’ll make you something greasy to eat.” 

   “Ugh, I won’t even fight you on this...and you’re well aware of that.” Evie fell onto the sofa. Sagged. Heard Billy clicking around. “You’re not gonna make a mess, are you?”

   “Quit worrying, let the master work.” He peered at the kitten eagerly eating from her dish.

   Evie heard something sizzle and flipped TV channels. Turned the brightness and volume a little lower while she draped over the sofa's arm. Tried to distract herself as the meds kicked in. Melting around her pricking pin. Billy padded back in with a paper plate. Something stacked high on it.

   “What did you…?” Evie blinked and sat up to make room for him so he put the plate down. Still warm and steamy, gooey cheese oozed from fresh bread. “Grilled cheese. Oh hell, that actually looks really good.”

   “I made a bunch. Stuff that hangover.” He spied her and stole the remote. Evie was too busy leaning over to pull a cheesy sandwich apart to fight him. Readily, leaning into Billy’s shoulder, Evie got comfortable there as they shared a silence. A hot, greasy meal that was perfection. Even a few laughs over the TV. 

   She forgot about pretty made up dolls. About that girl she lost. About whatever was trying to take its place. About screaming and thunder.

   “I think we should set some ground rules for this thing since we’re obviously avoiding labels,” Evie said during a commercial, wiping her fingers on a napkin before she pushed up. “Water?”

   “With ice if you really wanna impress me.” Billy kicked back and heard her scoff. “What do you mean, rules?”

   “I mean,” the sink started running from the kitchen, “just...you wanna be with me and I wanna be with you and we’re not gonna bring a third party into that. Basic ‘don’t screw this up’ rules.”

   “Unless you’re into it.” Billy cracked his cheekiest smile as she returned. Ice clicked in two glasses. Billy put one arm up on the couch to gesture so she tucked in there. Cups clicked and they hydrated as if a mission was afoot. 

   “Ah, use the coaster.” She leaned forward so they could set the drinks down. Billy rolled his eyes and sat back, legs spreading.

   “You worry too much, I know how to tell people I’m seeing a girl.”

   “How public can we be? If I try to kiss you or, god forbid, hold your hand at school...will you be weird about it now?”

   “No, and just give me a slap if I get weird on you again.” He shrugged. “If I wanna slip you my tongue or smack your ass, are you gonna get all squirrely on me?” Billy tipped his head back when he felt her chuckle.

   “Depends on who you do it in front of. I figure you’ll use your brains for that judgment. I hope.” Came the softer reply. Evie curled into the warmth of him. Stared at his neck and watched the muscles and veins shift under tanned skin. Wondered about sinking her teeth there. “You can get handsy within reason. Do that thing where one person slips their hand into the other’s pocket as they walk.”

   “I’ll give you the John Hughes fantasy if you throw me a little pornstar now and then.”

   “Bet you think every nasty thing you say makes me blush.” 

   Evie wiggled down and settled her head in his lap. Eyes snapped down to see her face crinkle with a brighter smile, still only somewhat fatigued from the night before. Curl spiraling long over her shoulders and his thighs. He caught one around his finger. Twirled it with a thoughtful expression before he looked at her eyes.

   “You are beautiful, Evangeline Fenny.” Billy had to sigh it. A fierce and tender proclamation. A stunning spell cast over her like a thin veil. Twinkling jewels. Flash photography.

   It became clear that they held power over each other and that this was the closest she’d ever gotten to her name in lights.

   And Evie did blush. She didn’t look away from his eyes. For once. Not when they flickered to catch her gaze. Lost in Billy, she rose and turned over on her hands and knees. Leaned toward him carefully. Billy inhaled her perfume, got this fluttered look as she took his chin and tipped it to place a delicate kiss upon his throat. Another touched the line of his jaw.

   One muffled sound fused them together. Evie’s back hit the couch. The remote fell with a clatter. Fingers laced, Billy shifted her hand next to her head. Saw her pause to kiss his knuckles. Tough with scars from too many fights that burst them open. 

   Fingertips gave this gentle caress of Evie’s hairline with his free hand. Careful as if something here could shatter. Thick lashes fluttered so she turned to look up at him there. Words crushed in her throat. Almost pleasurably.

   “Open your mouth.” Billy longed to taste the fragmented syllables. Lips parted. A finger swept the kiss-puffed swell of them. “Little wider.” His own mouth curled. Thumb rubbing a circle into her chin before he came down. A vaguely sweet-salty kiss. Tangy, almost reminding him of that balmy California air.

   Evie matched him. Pushed back. Cupped his face. Made a heavenly sound that vibrated into him.

   And she leaned out as if struck by lightning.

   “What’s your middle name?”

   “What?” He laughed, watching her lashes flutter. Hand midway to touch her breast.

   “Your middle name.” Evie fingered the metal pendant when it hung down from his neck. Traced a line across his collar before tucking spun gold behind his ear. 

   “Why?”

   “So suspicious.” She tugged his tee so he’d kiss her again. Slower this time. “This, Billy, is totally a date. So, I’m asking about you about you.” Frankly, Evie wanted to know every little, silly thing there was to him.

   “Feels like that perfect, lengthy ending of a date to me.” The snark had Evie pouting. Stopping anymore kisses he dared to plant. Billy gave pause. “It’s stupid. My middle name.”

   “Well, now you have to tell me.” She shifted so he could drape his weight across her, one elbow planted near her head. Billy rolled his eyes. Cringed.

   “Seamus.” He mumbled, sparking. “Don’t laugh. Mom chose it after an ancestor on her side.”

   “Just smiling cause you told me. That’s not bad!” Evie pressed her lips when they trembled. “William Seamus Hargrove.”

   “Yeah, I sound like a creepy lighthouse keeper who's really into masturbating.”

   “One out of two.” Evie squealed as he pinched her side for that. “Marie!”

   “Huh?”

   “My middle name. Marie.” Arms looped loosely around Billy's shoulders. They wrapped each other up, spoke intimately of casual subjects. All too easily. 

   “Evangeline Marie Fenny.” He gave it a taste. Liked it.

   “Uh-huh.” Evie’s fingers twirled idle into Billy's curls, massaging circles into the back of his warm neck. “My mom got the middle name from this famous Voodoo Queen in New Orleans. She thought to name me Christine, Wendy, or Beatrice but when I was born, she changed her mind at the last minute because she saw me and said the name just came to her from this epic poem. Said it was star-worthy so she plucked it down from the night sky and kept it as her own.”

   "A star?" He panned to focus on her expression relaxing.

   "It's a lot to live up to." Something to grieve deeply in that.

   “Hm. Voodoo Queen. So, do you like to turn boys into creatures when they cross you? Frogs, goats, and bats maybe? For sacrifice?”

   “I mean, that’s the first thing they teach us, obviously. Voodoo is actually peaceful and balanced, it just has a violent misconception because of racism. It’s an even exchange of life and energy. A relationship you build with actual effort. Signature.”

   “My mom might have liked it, she was spiritual-like.”

   “My aunts know more. They were pretty worked up when my mom branched out. I like to think she balances a couple religions to get by. She does the same thing with hair styling…and boyfriends.” Evie puffed, eyes elsewhere. “Just a jukebox, she changes the song by whatever is gonna comfort her most that week. I just tell people she’s open-minded and she is.”

   “My dad hates your mom more than he’s hated any neighbor we’ve ever had. And we used to live across from these guys he didn’t like me talking to. Said they were living in sin. Well...he used worse words.” Billy admitted, vaguely entertained because Neil loved to spit words only when backs were turned. He was a coward. “They were always nice to me. Owned this fancy cake shop so they sometimes gave me a truffle if I was playing on the apartment steps.”

   “I can picture you small. Face all messy with chocolate.” Evie gushed there. “Probably the cutest thing. Bet Neil hated them more for being sweet.”

   “The one and only time he spat the word out in the open, one of those guys broke his nose. I got the brunt of that anger later, but it was worth it. Just makes me like Mona more.”

   “I’m sure.” Evie blinked, sighing elsewhere under Billy’s gaze. “My mom and I have a disconnect, but I am proud of her. She’s so educated despite having me young even if people don’t know it. She’s marched for human rights and she’s braver than she knows. She always stands for something and I hope I can one day too. Even if her big, noble causes distract from her home life.”

   Evie paused with this searching look. Unsure if she should indulge the thought that swept her eyes. Gently, she continued.

   “I don’t think her mom ever loved her. Nana was always so cold to her, not like with the older sisters. I noticed that young. She might have liked me only cause I was her one and only grand-baby.”

   “Why’s that?”

   Evie flickered her brown eyes again, frowning.

   “You can’t repeat this, not even to me.” A sigh followed when Billy nodded. “When my mom and dad got divorced...that Christmas break she took me back to N’awlins. They live in this big place, I used to think it was a castle. Her three older sisters, growing old together. Nana was with them until she passed away. I used to hang out in the attic when I wasn’t at their store. Going through boxes of memories.”

   “Yeah.” Billy nodded for her to go on.

   “My mom wasn’t supposed to be born. Nana had her sisters. She had this husband. Perfect life. A shop to pass down. One night, she was closing and a man attacked her. Held her down and…” Evie swallowed. 

   “Oh…”

   “He hurt my Nana bad. I don’t think she was ever the same, how can you be? But, she got pregnant with his baby. Kept it and that was my mom. I think my mom spent her whole life trying to make up for it. I’m sure she knew.”

   “How so?”

   “My grandfather left not long after she was born and..my Nana wrote him this letter I don’t think she ever sent. It was begging him to just take Mona and love her right. It was full of apologies and, I think she was gonna kill herself. I don’t know what changed her mind. But, I found that letter and read it. It was in my mom’s things. Under the floorboards of the first dollhouse she ever made herself. She must have found it all the same. Maybe when she was my age.”

   “Probably wasn’t an easy thing to find for her.”

   “Right. Might explain why mom can only handle the dainty things in life. She just wanted to be loved. So, I think after that...I tried even harder to be perfect for her. I know she loves me and her mother never loved or wanted her. She tried so hard for everyone even if she’s bad with the negative. We’re friends. She always tells me I saved her life so I’m scared of letting her down. What if I can’t save her one day?” Her voice cracked so Evie swallowed a lump down to level herself. 

   Billy felt that prick his heart. Deeper than he liked. But, the advice still came out clear.

   “That’s not your job, Evie, you need a mother. You have plenty of best friends.”

   “I thought she married my dad cause she loved him, but really I think she married the first person who promised to care for her. Who whisked her away from her mother’s cold house. It worked out that he was always traveling for work. It feels like everything I thought I knew about my life wasn’t real.” Evie caught herself, eyes on Billy’s pendant. She hoped it protected him. Well enough. “But, my dad. I bet he thinks about me every day. I know it.”

   It was always striking and peculiar how Evangeline spoke of her father. Billy pictured a string being pulled from her back to rattle the same peppy sayings. Over and over again until perhaps she believed it too.

   Evie paused to stare at Billy thoughtfully. With the pull of her string, she switched modes to become something else. 

   “What kinds of things to do you like to write about?” She asked with this dreamy sort of expression crossing as if the words before were all imaginary. She was fine. Her mother was fine. Her father, he…

   It was all fine. Picture perfect. Paparazzi flashing to send her into a sea of spots. Memories wiping.

   “I don’t know, anything to not be here.” Billy caught himself, both of them still wrapped around each other. “Not here, I mean. I’m here.” 

   Billy seemed to realize how present he was and shifted off her.

   “The words almost don’t sound real.” Repetition. A mild chuckle. “I’m here.” He sounded them out carefully. Evie pulled up. Stared at Billy sitting on his knees between her legs.

   “That’s it.” She said. “Labels and rules aside. As long as we’re just here, I think we have a handle on this. I can manage that, can you?”

   I’m here, Billy gave this closer look and nodded. Earring dangling. Fingers twisted his ring around.

   “Are you going to tell Neil or Susan about this?” Evie’s question made him pale noticeably.

   “Hell, no. It’s better if my dad doesn’t figure it out. Don’t like him talking to you.”

   Evie didn’t argue with that.

   “I don’t think I want to tell my mom, she’s just a lot when I’m seeing someone or liking anyone point-blank.” Evie winced.

   “Don’t freak on me if I pull from you around my dad. I don’t trust him near you. He’ll say shit and you don’t need that.” Billy peered aside until Evie took his hand, shaking it almost officially.

   “Deal. Screw Neil.”

   “Oh,” Billy laughed, “you're still a funny girl, Evie.” Eager as can be, he cupped the back of her head. Kissed her into the couch. They forgot the dull aches that kept them so grounded. All giggles, she squirmed out to escape him. Left Billy breathless and tugged as she got up. “Wait, where ya going?”

   “Um. My room. Duh.”

   He lit up and tried to play cool which melted the second he scrambled to scoop her from the floor.

   “Ah!” Evie wiggled and clung to him. Feeling his muscles bulge and strain as they always did. Made her heart sing. “We didn’t discuss this!”

   “If I can lift it, it’s mine. You spent all last night challenging me, what do you expect?” Billy jostled her which had Evie wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders. Barely squealing.

   “Okay! Don’t drop me!” She squeezed into his arms and balled up. Billy laughed all the way to the bedroom. “I didn’t wash the sheets yet.”

   “Even better, let’s make a bigger mess of them.” Billy dropped her playfully into the covers. Pulled his shirt off as Evie sat up. Eyes falling to the hard contours. He relished that she liked to look at him. Fingers wrapped around her wrist, encouraging the cool palm into his skin. Up the deft lines in his stomach. “You can touch, I won’t charge you for it.”

   She dropped the awe and pushed from him. Laughing back into the pillows.

   “You’re such a pain.” Evie stiffened because Billy dropped down to crawl up her body. Pretense gone. One hand cupped her jaw. Urged it open as fingers stroked the silky cheek. Thumb curving the swell of her parting mouth. Evie kissed the pad and let the digit slip along her tongue. 

   “You’re so good.” Billy shuddered when he felt her tongue whirl obediently around his thumb. Breathless. Evie reached down to undo his belt. Sly as can be. 

   “You’re eager.” She whispered coolly against the wet thumb tracing a line down her chin.

   “I haven’t been laid much the past few months, I’m collecting. Times I tried didn’t work. Sue me.”

   “Poor thing.” She cooed, working his zipper down until Billy bit his lip. Hips shimmied between her spread legs. He jerked her hips up to get the underwear and leggings off in one expert pull. “Did you think about me when you tried?”

   Billy narrowed on her. Sighed as a hand slipped into his jeans. Moaned.

   “Yes.” He stole himself a kiss. “Couldn’t even measure up to that kiss in the street.”

   “Remind me how that went.” Evie hitched a laugh and he smothered her down. Scared the syllables with his tongue.

   Billy pulled her hair for good measure, pushed his open fly into her bare skin. He didn’t waste time this hour as she moaned and pulled for him. Adjusted to find her core. Hips snapped together, both of them mostly clothed in disarray. A good ache built as he moved. Hard and intent like he was making an impression into her flesh. Into her marrow. 

   Evie would remember him and this time and how he played her. Totally. Neither of them would be running. This moment was about the long haul together. They kept slowing to just look and breathe. Noses nuzzling. Soft exhales in turn. Billy broke kisses to push his face up against her hair and jawline, arms sliding underneath her to cling. He let Evie whisper sweet things into his flesh. Let her hold him just as close.

   At the sweetness of her coaxing, he spilled inside her. Earlier then he meant.

   “Shit.” Billy started to push up when Evie’s legs caught his hips.

   “Stay,” she puffed, “stay like this for a bit.” She prodded and pawed, openly needing him. So very bad.

   “I’m crushing you.” He mumbled into her cheek. Trapped in heat.

   “I like it.” Evie’s arms looped his shoulders. Both of them got the shakes. “I like how you feel right here.”

   “You didn’t come yet.” Hot breath ghosted her neck.

   “It’s okay.”

   Billy blew air into her jaw. Kissed the line of it before he reached down to finish her.

   “Yeah?”

   “Ngh, yes.” She mewled out silently. "Oh, Billy." That was his favorite song in truth.

   “Atta girl.” Billy kept planting kisses. Evie twisted with nowhere to go. Whimpered until she was locking under him. Mouth back open for his slow tongue. She reached a peak and let him slowly bring her back down.

   Lips muffled into her collar. He stayed there inside her. Took every piece of comfort she offered. One hand reeled up to pet her curls. Arms kept him firm against her so he could listen to her twittering heart slow and lull. Fingers danced too delicate across flesh.

   Evie whined as he pulled out. Felt the absence burn hot. 

   They messed the sheets. She was still pulling for him until he pushed her over. Wrapped himself around her after fixing his jeans back up. Leaving them open. Evie shifted, restless until Billy kissed behind her ear.

   “Just sleep. Not going anywhere.” Billy’s words lulled her back to relax. “Quit squirming about it.”

   She stilled, fingers trailing up the hair on his arm before she dropped her head to the offered bicep. Evie tilted Billy’s wrist to see the watch, groaning.

   “It’s not even noon.”

   “Maybe you’ll think next time before you get up hungover on a weekday before eight,” Billy mumbled into the curls. 

   “Only did it for the Hargrove grilled cheese.” Evie closed her eyes to sigh. "You fell for it."

   “Guess we’re both screwed.”

   “Mm-hm.” She let her mind flutter. Felt Billy’s hand stroking her bare thigh. 

   Fingers moved up her hip. Kneading the flesh. His palm trailed over her tummy and she didn’t stop him. Didn’t clam up at a boy touching her fuller areas. Billy worshiped her skin. Breath hot into dark curls. She almost wondered if he was trying for another round massaging her hip like that with dancing fingertips. 

   “Hard to nap when you...when you touch me.” She sounded breathless.

   “Like touching you,” Billy mumbled. “Gonna figure out a way to prove it to you without the label. This thing.”

   “For a boy who likes to talk, I notice certain words are hard for you.” She felt the arm under her wrapping tighter, pulling her further into his fire. “Not judging. I have problems words too.”

   “Still good with my mouth.” Billy shifted hair from Evie’s neck and jaw. Settling his lips there, lazy as can be. “And my hands. But, you still have something nagging you tell you I’m not being truthful about the exclusive thing. Gonna figure out how I can make that up to you.”

   “If I really didn’t trust you, Billy, I wouldn’t have let you stay here.” Evie shifted around to face him, still laying on his bicep. There was plenty of fear. Fear of exposing her heart and vessels and nerves to be plucked. Fear she'd like him more than he liked her. Fear this relationship would be such an easy thing to fall into.

   "That's honest." He decided, lashes batting. Evie reached up and traced this curving line near his mouth.

   “Just be with me cause you want to be and try not to raise your voice if you’re upset." She dropped her hand. "It’s okay if you’re upset, you can tell me. It just freaks out when men raise their voices. It’s like thunder and I...I’m scared of thunder.” 

   Evie recalled the passive-aggressive way Fredrick would slam things when he was upset with her instead of outright telling her. How he’d wait until she was near tears and begging his forgiveness. Billy studied her eyes. Saw lightning flash within them. Knuckles came to her cheek. Gave an idle caress. His soft lips found her brow and lulled her heavy eyes until they began to flutter. Billy laid there and watched Evie fade, let her sleepy frame tuck into him. Under his chin. She found solace. 

   He thought of the men in her life and his life who raised their voices. Who hit. Who broke them down to a series of parts they can pick and choose from to make a doll that suited them best. This image they placed up carefully for protection, it may have shattered them both distantly. Billy didn’t want to be a piece of thunder in Evie’s life. Striking to make his points so she wouldn’t forget them. 

   But, Evie slept so soundly in his arms. Barely twitching while his hands roamed her body. Under the shirt down her bare back. Threading into fluffy locks of thick hair. These little caresses that were her lullaby. It made Billy believe with all his soul that he’d never be like them.

   And it made it so easy for him to follow her in darkness.

** ** ** 

   “You’re awfully quiet, Max.” Evie turned her head in the seat. Trees whizzed by illuminated with little flits of the morning sun. 

   “Just a test today, I guess.” Max had her backpack clutched close in her lap. Almost hiding behind it. She hinted a smile. “I gave Billy shit this morning.” Billy snorted in the driver’s seat, nodding. One hand idle on Evie’s knee. Hot through the denim.

   “She did. Neil wasn’t around.” 

   “Hey...I told Will and them I’d go to the arcade. Just to hang out after school. I’ll be home before dinner.”

   “Does Neil know?” Was all Billy asked.

   “Yes, he thinks I’m just going to see El. Stays quieter if I’m seeing the Police Chief.” Max plucked up her skateboard. “I won’t need a ride so you guys can make-out.” She snickered while Billy swerved to park at school.

   “Yeah? Beat it.” He shifted his seat, patting Evie’s knee to make her wait there. Max jumped out and hopped on her board.

   “She does seem off,” Evie remarked more so to herself.

   “Things at home are off, it’s making it weird for her and her friends.” Billy shut the door with a hard look. Exhaling out his nose. “It was bound to.” Evie watched Max skate down the hill around other students. Seemingly isolated. She didn’t push the subject and wiped the frown aside. Mauve lips upturned when she peered to see Billy staring at her face. Not reaching for a smoke yet.

   “Got something for you.” He said instead, fishing into the front pocket of his denim jacket. “Tried to figure out how to make this official for you. Here.” 

   Billy dropped a silver chain in her hand without ceremony. The silver ring he wore on his middle finger hung from it. Evie wondered what he’d fidget around with now when he was deep in thought.

   “I don’t have a class ring or Letterman jacket for you because I’m not a douche. But, guys do this. Don’t they?” Billy peered at Evie eyeing the ring before she met his gaze. 

   “It’s perfect.” She turned, gesturing so he could help her put it on. It sat lower than the little music note she usually wore. Evie debated it and pulled her dad’s necklace off, looping it around her wrist as a bracelet because she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Maybe it not being in plain sight would make her easier to look at for Mona. “Thank you.”

   “My mom got it for me. She had it in the family and said it would fit me one day. That and this chain.” He fingered the saint pendant. 

   “I’ll be careful with it,” Evie promised him. 

   “It sits exactly where I wanted it to.” Billy flashed some pride.

   “Over my heart?” Her eyes glimmered.

   “Over your tits.” He laughed when she shoved at him, tugging his collar in for a kiss. 

   “You’re gross,” Evie mumbled, pecking him once more. She fingered the ring and beamed. 

   “You’re into it.” Billy turned her chin for just one more. She could live in this. 

   Just one more kiss.

   Deciding to join the rest of the student body, they got out. Evie slung her strap over one shoulder while Billy held his bag in a wad at his side. They met each other around the car before Billy slipped his arm around her waist, bringing Evie into him. Fingers delved into her back pocket.

   Every teen around them took note. It was official. Comments piled in as they passed into school.

   “Great party, Evie.”

   “Looking good, you two!”

   “Love your outfit, Fenny.”

   Whistles cast and overlapped suggestively. 

   “This is weird.” Evie leaned into Billy as they got to her locker. Students looked at them together. Offered winks or smiles. Students who never addressed her much before.

   “You’re the keg king. What’s that saying?” Billy had shrugged. “Heavy is the head… Fine is the ass.”

   “I regret you already.” Evie broke to laugh at him. “Pure poetry, Billy.” She shut her locker, paused to see Heather headed her way looking apprehensive. Another smile crossed, even fuller than the last. Heather seemed to respond and follow it.

   “So, I heard I missed a piece of history.”

   “Hardly, I puked everywhere.” Evie swept curls behind her shoulder. “Billy, can Heather and I have a sec?”

   “Depends, am I still an asshole prick?” He leered over Evie’s shoulder.

   “You’re back down to normal prick status.” Heather beamed even sweeter while Billy caught his tongue between his teeth, seeming to like that. 

   “I can work with that, princess.” He tugged Evie’s curls and went around them to head to his locker before the first period. Evie shifted on her feet so they walked along together.

   “I know...things have still been kinda weird.”

   “I just figured I’d let you and Carol work through your stuff, you know?” Heather looped her arm into Evie’s.

   “Can’t without my best friend there. Sure, Carol and I are bonding, but that doesn’t… You and I went to dances together, Heather, we stayed up eating junk food and watching terrible movies. We bought our first bras together.”

   “Our mothers made that day so mortifying, I think I’m still messed up from it.” Heather giggled with Evie snorting next to her. “And you got a real B bra while I basically bought a damn bandage.”

   “We’re repressing the memory together.” Evie tugged her down the next hallway where Steve scrambled to snatch her into an unexpected bear hug.

   “Tell me it’s true, oh my god, Evie.” He was near howling with laughter. Evie, shocked that Steve lifted her feet from the floor, stammered through the broken train of thought.

   “What?” She got spun around with a cry as Heather cackled. Students hurried around them. Steve wasn't strong like Billy, but credit was due.

   “You’re the keg king?” He shook her by the shoulders. “You smashed Billy’s record in front of him. In front of everyone?”

   “I’m never drinking again.” Evie dropped her head to his chest, hands covering her face.

   "You're my absolute hero, Eves, I hope you know that." Steve gripped Evie tighter, got close like he thought to kiss her but resisted.

   “Yeah, you’re going to have to fill us in on everything at lunch.” Heather decided, grasping Evie’s hand. “Jesus, Steve, get it together.”

   “Let me have this, Holloway. She's mine.” He squeezed Evie’s amused frame back into him. “He made my life hellish.”

   “I’ll dedicate the win to you. How’s that?” Evie slipped from Steve, laughing now. “Lunch. We’ll give Billy shit about it together.” A wink that Steve matched, thoroughly enjoying this momentous day. Evie rejoined Heather to hurry toward class. “How about a sleepover? Us, Carol, and Max. I think she needs more girls in her life. No boys invited.”

   Heather hugged her books close to grin easier.

   “I’d like that.” 

~~~~~

A/N: Letting these two finally just be intimate is everything to me. Thank you so so much for reading. Comments and rbs are well loved and appreciated!! Feel free to chat with me, pretty please! Tag list & ask open. xoxo :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10​ @charmed-asylum​ @unmistakablyunknown​ @lukespatterson​

[thatesqcrush]

Lockdown Lovin’ (or Got a Screwdriver?)

AN: I started this fic prior to the pandemic. I had a hard time finishing it and then suffered an incredible loss. I wanted to finish it more for myself. Forgive me for typos + such. 

AN2: This also fills the birthday-songfic challenge from @thefanficfaerie w/”Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira.

AN3: Thanks to @madpanda75 & @youreverycolor for the titles.

CW: Smut, so much smut. Language.

WC: 5k

Tags: @youreverycolor @madpanda75 @melsquared79 @tropes-and-tales @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @glimmerglittergirl @dreila03 @mommakat32 @garturbo @lovebennycolon @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarlettsoldier @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @redlipstickandblacktea @infiniteoddball @xemopeachx @misssirenlove @letty-o @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoollike @trekinthruthestarwars @mormonsinthepiazza @gibbs274 @choppedgalaxynerd-blog-blog @germansarechill @neely1177 @misssirenlove @i-t-s-a-n-d-y @dianilaws - anyone else just ask, xo 

---

August in New York City was always oppressive and muggy. You could almost see the steam coming off the concrete from your top-floor walk up apartment. The sun was beating down at 7:00 A.M. and your air conditioner was on the blink. You sat by your windowsill, desperate for a breeze and drank a glass of ice-cold water in an attempt to cool off. You were in your underwear and a t-shirt, which already felt like too much clothing. However, you had court that afternoon and you had to leave in thirty minutes to get into the city to be prepped by your ADA, Rafael Barba. 

With a heavy sigh, you peeled yourself from your chair and put on your best pantsuit: a black ankle length suit with a double weave blazer and a cream colored button down adorned with tiny black polka dots. You slipped on black-flat slingbacks and wrapped your hair in a low chignon. You clipped back your bangs and sprayed your hair. You layered some gloss and smacked your lips. ‘Oh come off it,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s never going to happen.’

Unbeknownst to Rafael, you harbored a tiny thing for him. How could you not? He was intelligent and wildly attractive.

You clipped your badge and grabbed your wallet and phone, before heading out of your apartment.

You had only been outside of your apartment for not even five minutes and you were already dripping with sweat. You hopped on the subway and took relief in the cool, but filthy air that blew past you as the subway lurched to a stop. The subway chugged upwards the Williamsburg Bridge and you could admired the steel infrastructure of the suspension bridge. Despite it being early, the train was packed to the brim from when you got on at Marcy Avenue. As people got off, there was no relief in personal space as more people hopped on. You noted how quickly people forgot about social distancing from even just months prior.

Eventually the congestion eased and by the time you got to the last stop on Chambers Street, the subway had only a few passengers – also in their suits and ready to take on the day.

You placed a coffee order on your phone and by the time you walked out of the subway, your iced latte was waiting for you. Being that you were soon to be in the company of one very cute, but typically cranky ADA, you made sure to also grab him a coffee as well. You had been in Barba’s presence enough to know that he usually took his coffee black but occasionally ordered a piccolo latte with a ristretto shot. And because you knew that for every good lawyer was an even better paralegal, you ordered an extra iced coffee.

Fancy coffee drinks in hand, you made your way into One Hogan Place. The building was quiet and you knew in an hour or two that would all change. You flashed your badge at the security guard and was quickly screened for any weapons of mass destruction before being allowed to pass through. Down the hall you went and you turned into the corner where ADA Rafael Barba’s office was located.

To your surprise, it was empty.

You glanced at your watch and were about to reach for your phone when Rafael burst through, tossing a large duffel bag to the side. You jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut, nearly dropping the drink holder.

“Morning,” you replied wryly, before taking a sip of your coffee. “You seem chipper.”

Rafael glared at you before his eyes settled on the coffee. “Carmen called out; she’s sick with a stomach bug and my shower is busted so I had to shower at the gym.”

You arched your brow. “You work out?”

Rafael ignored you and rubbed his jaw. “Uh, is that coffee?”

You nodded. “I knew you and I had prep this morning, so I wanted to get us started on the right foot.” You handed Rafael his coffee and a small smile twitched across his face. You noticed the stubble that graced his face and for a brief moment, you wondered what it was like to feel that against your own skin. You involuntarily shuddered.

“How could you shiver? It is ten thousand degrees outside,” Rafael replied.

You rolled your eyes. “And how you could drink hot coffee on a day like today is beyond me.”

“Studies have shown that drinking a hot beverage on a hot day actually can cool you down,” Rafael replied. He set down his coffee and walked over to his desk. He opened up his laptop.

You nodded and sat down, making yourself comfortable on his couch. The office was warm and you shrugged off your jacket. “Is the AC on?”

Rafael nodded. “Old building, sometimes it takes a bit to get going.” He banged on the AC unit behind him.

“That seems… very high techy techy,” you quipped. “They let you graduate Harvard?”

“I am a man of many talents,” Rafael returned, a small smile again twitched across his face. “Shall we get started?”

---

Rafael was merciless in his prep. You appreciated how much he care he put in his work. From your experience of watching him in court, he always seemed to anticipate what would be asked before it was even asked.

“You studied your grand jury transcript?” Rafael asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paced his office. He went through his papers – you suspected it was his infamous (and bulletproof) answer tree.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks flush. “I did.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to go through them once more?”

You cocked your brow. A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead. ‘Holy hell, it is hot in here,’ you thought. “I’m ready.”

Rafael nodded. He grabbed a kerchief from his desk drawer and wiped his brow. “If you deviate from your statement in any way, it will create reasonable doubt about all of your testimony.”

“I am not going to deviate,” you retorted with a sigh, grabbing your belongings. “I got this.”

“After you detective,” Rafael motioned as he slipped on his suit jacket. He was wishing he hadn’t – it was so hot in his office but he didn’t want it to wrinkle. You walked towards the door and turned the knob but it didn’t turn. You tried again, feeling your heart begin to race. Nothing. You pulled on the door. It was jammed.

“Uhhh, we have a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Rafael asked, moving past you. He tried the knob but he had no luck, so he tried again more forcefully and then to his chagrin, the doorknob completely came off the spindle, ensuring that the two of you were completely locked out.

“Did you just get us locked out?” you questioned, nervously laughing.

“I – I – I did not. The door knob broke off,” Rafael replied defensively.

“Oh my God,” you exclaimed. “What do you mean the door knob came off? You broke the door?”

“I did not break the door!” Rafael replied trying stick the door knob back on, but failing.

“Good job MacGuyver,” you retorted. “You slammed the door and fucked it all up.  

He tossed the knob towards you and you caught it. You looked at it and then at the jammed door.

“I went to the Academy,” you called from behind. “Not locksmithing school. Come on, use your brain Harvard.”

“Oh, I may have a lens repair kit in my desk,” Rafael exclaimed before hurrying back to his desk. He searched his desk but came up empty. You remembered the bobby pins in your hair and removed your chignon, which sent your hair cascading down in waves.

Despite the fact you had not gone to locksmithing school, you tried to give it a go. You fussed with the knob but nothing worked.

“Any lucky sleuth?”

On close inspection, you could tell the threads were shredding. You swallowed hard. “No. We’ll just have to call security.”

You could hear Rafael on the phone with security.

“Security said they’ll get us out,” Rafael replied. “Twenty minutes tops.”

Twenty minutes turned into thirty. And thirty turned into an hour. No one had come by. “Maybe I should call Carisi,” you wondered out loud.

“He’s in Brooklyn, assisting the DA there on the Boland matter,” Rafael replied. The room had grown exceptionally warmer. Rafael removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“Where the hell is the security guard? Where is everyone else?” you wondered.

“Everyone is off for summer this week. It’s been pretty bare bones.”

You turned around and watched Rafael as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing his muscular, deliciously veiny forearms. Unconsciously you licked your lips. “Do you have the answers for everything?” you quipped.

A bang on the door interrupted you. “Mr. Barba? It’s Jimmy with security. We’re going to get you and Detective L/N out as soon as possible. We will need to call the locksmith because of the doors. The whole building was built in 1930. We can’t just remove the door hinges with any old tools.”

“That’s great!” you called out, relieved. “How long will it take?”

“The locksmith we are leased with is in the Bronx, so we’re looking at another hour or so.”

Rafael sighed. “Thanks Jimmy.” He looked at the clock and mentally calculated as to whether or not going to court was still realistic and decided there was still enough time. “Might as well go over your testimony once more.”

“Really?” you questioned, before a wave of heat flashed through the room. “Jesus Christ, how hot can this room get? Think you can crank a window open or that AC some more?”

In your fit, you removed your suit jacket and untucked your blouse. You undid two buttons from the bottom and tied the loose ends. You grabbed your hair tie and made a messy bun.

Rafael watched you as you tied your shirt up. He saw the barest hint of exposed skin and his mind wandered, wondering how incredibly soft your skin was and what it would be like to touch it. His eyes trailed over your derriere and he appreciated how your pants fit you so well, snuggly covering your curves. You were oblivious to the sexy sight you presented.

“Well?”

Rafael blinked, bringing himself back to the present. “Oh, yeah, I’ll see what I can do about the air conditioner.”

Rafael banged on the air conditioner one more and let out a string of Spanish expletives. He was growing warm himself – he wasn’t sure if it was the heat wave, half-broken air conditioner, or being in close quarters with you.

Rafael was not sure as to when he first became enchanted with you. You caught him off guard completely. Not only were you pretty, but you were also extremely intelligent. You had transferred over from major crimes. Quickly, Rafael found himself longing to work with you and any time he had a chance to work with you, made his day that much brighter.

After his doomed from the start-relationship with Yelina, Rafael chose to put work over his heart. This hadn’t meant that he was celibate – he had his fair share of women in his bed. Rafael had one rule: to never let matters of the heart affect his work. So instead he pushed down his growing attraction as if he were burying opposing counsel with document production. Nights where he was most restless and unable to sleep, he would give in to the temptation and on release, it was your name that escaped his lips.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling weary from the heat. You plopped yourself on the couch once more, fanning yourself with one of the many legal pads that decorated the office. You used your other free hand to text Olivia about your circumstance.

“I am sorry about this,” Rafael apologized. He walked behind his desk and bent down. He rose back up and came up with a water bottle. “Here.”

Your eyes widened at the water bottle and you eagerly snatched it from his hand. The tips of your fingers brushed against his and you felt a spark shoot. Rafael’s green eyes met yours and you wondered if he felt it too.

You choked out your gratitude and tilted your head back slightly, chugging the water, desperate to relieve some heat. Rafael watched you intently as you swallowed. His eyes trailed from your mouth to the triangle of your neck, settling on the jugular notch. You brought your head forward and some water slipped from the bottle, droplets landing on your lips. Rafael swallowed hard once more as he watched your tongue dart out and catch the stray droplets. His cock twitched in his pants and he exhaled slowly as he sat down next to you.

The AC made a sputtering sound before letting out a whizz. You both looked at one another and you cringed. Rafael let out another string of curses as he got up to check the AC. It officially bit the dust. He pushed up his sleeves and opened the window. You bit your lip, admiring his ass from the distant as he pushed up the window. The sounds of the city filled the office and if you listened hard enough, you pretty sure you heard “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira blasting from some car stuck in traffic.

All the attraction, the tension

Don't you see, baby, this is perfection?

You let out a little giggle. How apropos.

Rafael turned to you. Sweat was dripping from every pore. He was going to be a mess by the time you and him got out. He was grateful that he had a spare suit on hand, as most lawyers do. “Y/N, uhh – do you mind if I took off my dress shirt? I am going to sweat to death.”

You did your best to hide a smile and couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Sure thing counselor. By all means.”

Before you knew it, Rafael was standing in front of you in his undershirt and suit pants. You tried to play cool and not gape at him. From the neckline of his v-neck, a tuft of chest hair stuck out and you could make out a gold chain.

‘Goodness,’ you thought to yourself. ‘That’s going to be fuel for weeks.’

“I am sorry I have been so tough on you.”

You shook your head back to reality. “What? Oh, no – you are just doing your job.”

“I know, but I have been riding you hard.” As soon as it left his lips, Rafael felt his face redden. “I didn’t mean – I…”

“I wish you would.”

The words flew out without you thinking and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror.

Rafael’s own eyes widened slightly. “What did you say?” He sat down next to you once more and gently removed your hand from your mouth.

Your stomach dropped and you willed yourself to not puke. “I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate. Fuck.”

Rafael took a breath. “I’m not.”

You were sure the heat was getting to Rafael. This all seemed like a hallucination. ‘It has to be? This isn’t real – is it?’ you thought to yourself.

Before you could even question him further, Rafael pulled you into a kiss, mashing his lips against yours. You hungrily pushed back, as months of pent up want and desire became reality. His tongue slid against your plump lips, seeking entrance. You opened your mouth wider to allow him greater access. You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, holding him in place. Your free hand roamed his chest, moving to his arm, feeling the muscles twitch underneath.

Rafael broke the kiss to move to your neck and your breath hitched as he quickly found a sweet spot. You pressed against him and pushed down using your body weight against him. You laid on top of Rafael, your body melding into his. You resumed kissing, getting lost in the sensation of his lips on yours.  Rafael explored your body eagerly – his hands were on the back of your ribcage before trailing down the knobs of your spine to your buttocks, where he grabbed and squeezed at your covered flesh. You could feel his erection press against your belly and it heightened your arousal. Finally Rafael broke the kiss and pushed up against you so that you were sitting up once more. “Is this okay? We can stop.” His breath was laborious.

You bit your lip and nodded. Wordlessly you untied the bottom of your shirt and then nimbly unbuttoned it. You pushed it off and tossed it to the side. Rafael opened his mouth to comment but found himself at a loss for words as he stared at your cotton covered breasts. It was the simplest of racerback bras – no fuss, no muss. You unclipped the front and exposed yourself. Your body was flush pink – a rosy hue covered your skin and your nipples were hard and taut.

“How is this for answer?” you asked standing in front of him. You kicked off your shoes, your bare feet against the carpet. Your heart continued to hammer in your chest. You unbuttoned your pants and unzipped them before pushing them down to your ankles and stepping out of them.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rafael replied, taking your form in. “But you really don’t – I don’t want to pressure--”

You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated, almost irritated sigh, placing your hands on your hips. “Rafael I want this. I want you. How much clearer can I get?”

Rafael smirked and you let out a breath of relief. Rafael stood and quickly undressed as well. You let out a giggle as he stood in his boxers with a very sizeable tent evident and brightly colored striped socks. Rafael took a step towards you and pulled you to him. He captured your lips once more before reaching down to grab you and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Your foreheads touched and for a moment you both stood still savoring the moment, your lips were barely touching and breathing eachother’s air. You pulled away briefly and winked.

“Now, can you please fuck me before…” you paused and looked at the clock before you looked back at him. “Before security gets here with the locksmith?”

Letting out a low chuckle, Rafael took a few steps back and he sat down, bringing you with him. Rafael cupped your breasts and lowered his mouth over a nipple, causing you to gasp.  Rafael’s tongue swirled over your nipple and used his teeth to graze the sensitive flesh. You arched into him as his tongue licked a broad stripe along your sternum before moving to your other breast. You threaded your hands in his dark hair and tugged as you lost yourself to the magic of his mouth. Rafael continued his oral onslaught, as he dipped his tongue along your collarbone, tasting the salt of your sweat. His hands ran up and down the sides of your body, from the curve of your hips to the swell of your breasts.

“Oh yes, Rafael. Jesus, fuck that feels good,” you cooed. You rose up slightly and took one hand and guided it down. Rafael took your hint and cupped your pussy. He could feel how damp you were through the thin material and he moved the material to the side to stroke your lips. Rafael groaned at how wet you were and he teasingly stroked you, your arousal coating his fingers. You mewled and your hips undulated, trying to get more.

“Pacencia detective,” Rafael husked. “Look how wet you are. You have made quite the mess of yourself. Is this for me?”

Something about his heavy gaze made you feel some type of way and weakly you nodded. The air in the room was charged. Rafael teasingly stroked you more, the tips of his fingers ghosting your clit. Finally, he sunk a long digit in you, knuckle deep. You moaned as he thrusted his finger in and out of you. Without hesitation, another digit slipped in. Your head lolled forward, with your hair covering your face as you gripped his shoulder’s tightly.

“What a tight little pussy,” Rafael growled, as he continued his ministrations, messaging your inner walls. His thumb circled your clit.  “I can’t wait to fill it up with my cock.”

Tension began to build in the pit of your belly. You were dangerously close to coming. You gasped loudly, all the air leaving your lungs. Rafael immediately withdrew his fingers and you sobbed loudly from the lost contact.

“Detective YN,” Rafael warned, his voice low, dark and warning. “You have to be quiet. Next time you can scream as much as you want, but we’re still in my office.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be good,” you whispered. “Please,” you implored. Inwardly you beamed at the idea of there being a next time.

Rafael pressed a soft kiss to your lips and then his face turned serious as realization hit him. “I don’t have condoms,” he rushed out. “I am clean. I was just tested. If this changes anything…”

“I’m clean,” you replied breathily, shaking your head. “On the pill.”

You kissed again, your tongues rolling against one another’s. You sucked on Rafael’s bottom lip so hard you were certain it would bruise. You reached down in between your bodies and pulled out Rafael’s cock. It was deliciously thick and hard. Cum had dripped from the head of his cock and you used that as lubricant and stroked him. Rafael threw his head back and groaned; his desire for you was deep in his bones and never in his wildest dreams did he think this was how his day would go.

You raised your hips once more and slid your panties to the side. Rafael gripped his cock and lined it at your entrance. Slowly, you sunk down on Rafael’s cock. A dreamy smile spread on your face; the stretch his girth supplied was delicious. Rafael sighed as his cock was engulfed by your wet heat, gripping him like a vice. His hands gripped your hips and he brought you down until he was buried to the hilt. Resting your hands on his shoulders once more, you began to bounce on his cock and set the rhythm. Quiet moans and groans filled the office.

Rafael could not believe the sight before him – many nights he would lose himself in the fantasy of you and here it was happening. Your tits bounced with every thrust and he reached up to cup and squeeze. He sat up a bit to take a globe in his mouth.

“Oh God, oh God,” you half-whispered incoherently, the pleasurable sensations over taking you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

Rafael grunted as he met you thrust for thrust, his fingertips digging into your skin. “Turn around,” he panted.

On shaky legs you stood and Rafael, now standing, pulled you to him. He pushed your sweaty hair from your forehead and then cupped your face. “The desk.”

You bent over the desk and spread your legs, in eager anticipation. Rafael positioned himself behind you. Hands ghosted your skin before taking residence at your hips. He rubbed his cock up and down your slit before he pressed himself fully; he withdrew a bit and before you could protest, snapped his hips, fully entering you. You both groaned at the sensation.

“Dios mio, you feel so good,” Rafael moaned out as he began to piston in and out of you. Waves of pleasure coursed through him. “Fuck!”

Rafael leaned down and pressed a love bite against your shoulder.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. “Give it to me.”

“Take it Y/N; take that cock,” Rafael grunted. He slowed to rotate his hips, teasingly before he continued to fuck you without abandon. Your mewls served as encouragement. He reached around and gathered your hair into a ponytail and pulled. Sweat dripped off of your forehead and splashed down onto a legal pad that you were gripping in futility.

Fire pooled low in Rafael’s abdomen, signaling the anticipation of release.

Your orgasm began to build and you felt the air in your lungs begin to get sucked out of your body. Your walls started to flutter and Rafael knew you were close. He let go of your hair and reached around to rub concentric circles on your swollen nub. “Cum for me.”

You lurched forward and let out a bleated cry as you dissolved into pleasure, coming hard around his cock. Rafael gasped at the sensation of you coming undone and it added to his own release. “That’s it,” he murmured. “So good.”

Rafael’s thrusts were erratic as he pounded upwards into you and you knew he was close.  “Come for me Rafael,” you choked out as air rushed back into your lungs, rolling the R in his name. “Damelo.”

Your words were his undoing and he let out a strangled cry as he stiffened, releasing into you. You could feel his cock pulse and twitch inside of you and you came again, your walls fluttering around. Your bodies slumped against one another. You were both dripping with sweat – partly from the overheated room, but mostly from your frenzied interlude. Rafael stumbled backwards and you mourned the loss. You straightened up and felt his release trickle from your cunt. You stood in front of each other awkwardly.

“That was…” Rafael began, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was drenched and his crucifix was plastered to his skin.

A sudden banging interrupted him and you jumped. “Mr. Barba, Detective Y/L/N, it’s Jimmy with security. I have the locksmith with me. We’ll have you out of here in 10 minutes tops.”

Your eyes widened. ‘Shit.’ The two of you ran around the office scrambling for your clothes and to get re-dressed.  The door opened as you shouldered your jacket back on.

“Woof, it’s hot in here,” Jimmy announced. “You guys alright?”

You and Rafael looked at each other. Rafael smiled. “Just perfect.”

You smiled back and looked at the clock. “Seems like we’ve got court in 15. We should go.”

Rafael nodded and motioned for you to go ahead. “After you.”

The two of you walked towards the elevator and waited for it to arrive, not another word spoken. Finally, unable to take the silence, you piped up. “So about that next time…”

The elevator dinged signaling its arrival and you both stepped into the elevator. “After court?” Rafael questioned. You noted the hopeful inflection in his tone.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting off early,” you replied staring at the screen marking the descent from the floor to the lobby.

“If there’s anyone getting you off – it’ll be me,” Rafael growled as he backed you into the wall into another kiss.

FIN.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x08)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 08: We Are Going Knowhere

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: oooof!!!

Word Count:I sound so bad for actually turning happy that there was a positive patient in our block because that would increase the chances of my neighbourhood undergo a strict lockdown and then I wouldn’t have to go to work. My fam doesn’t understand this but I need some time with myself to recharge for good and so they look at me like I am posessed.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The lens focused from its blurriness over to the kitchenette where Bucky stood making himself some coffee.

Scott: Are we rolling? *nods* Cool. *clears throat* So turns out that there is another unspoken romance waiting to bloom in our midst and as a hopeless romantic with an engineering degree I am utterly disappointed in myself for not figuring it out sooner. *looks at some invisible void in the distance* Well, I would have if I wasn't so obsessed with my other couple goal. I would have. *smiles at the void* *speaks softly* those two almost gave me a heart attack last night!

A sweat-drenched Steve walked in after a run around the facility. "Hey," he greeted Bucky before turning towards the dorms. "Hey," Bucky greeted back while pouring his coffee and looking at America's ass strut down the lounge in those grey track pants that were just the right amount of tight across those butt cheeks jiggling down the hall while the camera caught that steaming hot coffee colour the -otherwise spotless- white island brown as Bucky's eyes and heart skipped with that booty while his hands holding the coffee pot forgot what they were supposed to do. Scott entered the lounge to find that coffee dripping down everywhere while Bucky was lost. "Watch out, Buck," he called out, breaking the Captain's trance on this Seargent, "your gay is showing."

Scott: *contemplates* huh...I should get that on a t-shirt.

"I don't get it. He's your best friend. Why don't you just ask him out?" Scott bit into an apple and looked at Bucky mopping up the result of his gaze and one sexy booty. "I can't ask him out because he is my best friend, Scott," Bucky sighed. "It was kinda easy to do this charade back in our day. Now, everyone is out of the closet like-" "Like your everyday lounging shorts," Scott added, getting a nod agreement from Bucky. "And I'm not even sure if he looks at me the same way." Scott had to look at the camera after on real slow blink in Bucky's direction.

Scott: *inhales while keeping his palms together in front of his face* Boy, do I have news for you! *opens his hands and tries to stop the excitement from making him scream* That dude literally fought Nazis for you! TWICE! And then brought you back to f****ng life! *tries not to cry* *whispers* Dude! Why are my OTPs so f****ng dumb!

On Our Trip to Knowhere The camera showed Lulu trying to swim in the sea of berries in a crate while popping one in his mouth whenever Loki wasn't looking. "If the merchant asks for mixed berries I'm going to sell you off to him," Loki announced from the cockpit. Well, at least Lulu thought he wasn't looking. The distraught and drooping fluff looked at you for any sign that this wasn't true. "No, he won't," you mouthed and shook your head before turning back to co-pilot - well, whatever was remaining of- the spaceship Loki had bargained from the last station. Putting the coordinates in for his stop, he turned around and brought his hands together and did one loud clap. "Alright. Everyone listen up. There are some things you need to take care of when-" You moaned incredibly loud, dramatically your head in every possible direction. "Uuuggghhhahaaaarrgggghh!!" "What." "We have heard this befoooore!" "And you will hear it again! Because Knowhere is dangerous. It has all kinds of filth gathered here hiding in the dark wh-" You wanted to groan one more time but something in the vast emptiness before you caught your eyes and took your breath away. "What...is that?!" your voice barely got out while a smirk landed on Loki's lips with a shine in his eyes. The camera quickly came forward to record what seemed like a gigantic skull being the bed of inhabitants floating in the dark of the space. From where its eyes were supposed to be, was a cavern lit with life inside while sizeable pods came and left from the jaw and ears. "That, my dear, is Knowhere," Loki declared softly, quite mesmerised for a moment by this look of awe in your eyes, "land of the lawless created when the Dark God Knull used his All Black sword to decapitate a Celestial. Seeing as the rotting skull was worth quite something to someone in some part of the universe, a notorious group by the name Tivan decided to make this their base. And as opposed to their demeanour, they are quite a dangerous group of underworld criminals, mind you." Loki had to turn his head and look at you when he did not get anything in response and found you sit there a shade lighter, looking right at the skull where you were headed. "Surely we'll be safe if we avoid that group, right?" You looked at him for a seed of hope to get out of this alive. "Right, Loki?"

Loki: *presses his lips together* *snickers* *lets the chortle slip his mouth* *guffaws for the next minute with tears streaming down his eyes while holding onto his stomach* One minute later Loki: *clears his throat* *wipes the tears from his eyes* Ah! I love humans!

"Oh, sweetheart," Loki practically sang a soft note in your direction with a gentle head tilt, "we are going to meet their leader."

The Lounge Team "Hey, would...you...like...ss-coffee?" The camera shifted from a disconcerted Bucky barely standing by the kitchenette on his wobbly legs to an encouraging- though a little disappointed- Scott standing there while Wanda sat on one of the barstools by the wall and witnessed the whole practice unfold. "Bucky, sweety," Scott pressed ever so sweetly, placing his hand on the island in his direction, "Steve would always like a coffee for his rat-like heart. We have to get him to have that coffee with you! Make him know that you want to have that coffee alone with him. Want to hold hands with him. Want to let him know how much you care for him. Want t-" "Want to let him know how much you want to bang him," Wanda commented, taking Scott by surprise. "How long have you been sitting there?" The Ant-Man asked with a hand on his chest. "Long enough," she shrugged while popping roasted almonds in her mouth. "Bucky, all you need to do is declare you like him. Rest will be easy peasy, lemons in vodka squeezy." 

Natasha: *tsks*Совсем беда с парнями. Без нас ни один из них даже не узнал бы, что второй жив. Wanda: *giggles* Ты бы видела, как Баки сегодня себя вёл в общей комнате, весь такой смущённый. Даже в глаза Стиву не мог взглянуть, не краснея. В конце концов он просто взял, молча пододвинул Стиву кружку кофе и ушёл — а у с��мого из ушей так пар и валит. Natasha: *rolls her eyes* Мои зверята и то сообразительней, чем эти двое. Wanda: *gasps* У тебя есть питомцы?! Natasha: *no change in emotion* Как-нибудь познакомлю. Так вот, возвращаясь к теме парней: ты замечала, что как только Баки заходит в комнату, Стив прямо весь тает? Wanda: *wide eyes* Замечала, и не только! Он только взглянет на Баки, как у него в голове начинает играть музыка из фильма "История любви", а перед глазами волосы Баки развеваются, как в рекламе шампуня. *blushes* *clears throat*  Да, и еще он почему-то переставляет себе, что на Баки из одежды только красные стринги. Natasha: *a big, toothy laugh* АХАХАХАХА!

Knowhere There were smoke and liquor everywhere the cameras swerved. There were creatures young and old, weak and bold, gathered to gamble, fight, rave, smuggle, hide. Anything unordinary you could think was there. From genderless strippers to non-binary fighters- the far corner filled with one hollered at the other, whistling, catcalling, making signs that you did not want to know the meaning of. Loki, on the other hand, was enjoying all fifty expressions your face reflected at the scenic view of the inside of Knowhere. Lulu, though mesmerised by the lights everywhere and blown away by the flying pods, still hung to your shoulder. If he had eyes, you were sure they would be wide open with their focus just on those flying machines as he made crackling noises at them. Javi caught you flinch and jump away from a creature looking like a six-year old's version of Satan but in green. Satan growled at you before pretending to bite you and lick those yellow fangs of his while he chortled with his equally appalling buddies. "Kin sibe nom torra," Satan rolled his R's while gurgling through his throat at you- someone who had no idea what that guy was talking about while trying to fiddle through your bag to find those earpieces the Hardy boys had provided you. "Ugh, is this what Clint has to go through?" That Satan dude stepped closer to you, driving you two steps back. All the onlookers could feel the sudden rush as they watched you stand one step away from backing into a murky wall while Satan smirked his dirty smirk at you, taking one potential step before Loki stepped in to put a hand on his chest. "Ukt sast nom kore grata," the God practically sang before parting his fingers with that chest while his face screamed 'yucky'. Just as he uttered those words, that smug grin on Satan's face got washed away to show confusion and fear eroding in those beady eyes. "Sica rom ni froa," Loki gestured him to walk away with a kind smile before turning to look at you with your jaw unhinged just a little. "Wha-how...what was that?" "Oh, they were catcalling you in the most vulgar way possible," Loki replied, looking at the address in his navigation device. "....okay? And?" "And-" he clicked the device close and pointed at a distant pathway- ever so casually with the other hand in his pocket- "I told them to only ask you to go with them if they liked getting their heads eaten when you orgasm." And the Silvertongue walked away, leaving that jaw to unhinge a bit more.

You: *grunts* now I wish I could do that *crosses arms in disappointment* *camera pans out to show Loki standing by your side, looking at you like a lost cause* Loki: This is why you do not have a lover You: *huff* *repeat his lines to him louder* this is why you do not have a lover!

The Collector's Den There were no guards on doors, something you thought would be a default scene considering you were walking into the Space Illuminati Warlord's lair. The neon colours breathing around you from creatures and elements unknown were too much for the eyes to deal with in one go. But it all seemed to be toned down to normal when your entire body felt itself jerk to prevent a heart attack at the sight of the four feet high and three feet wide head preserved in a tank right next to the entrance. "That's...one way to greet people," you muttered, your eyes still on that creature while your legs followed Loki further into the appropriately-named Collector's business place.  "Marvelous!" A voice boomed in the house of Tivan and you had to pull yourself back to the front, stepping closer to Loki to witness a creature anatomically very similar to a human walk towards your group with a pep in his step. "Finally someone who knows the worth of the head of a dark celestial." The white hair on his head stood as straight as a distraught anime character along with his brows. His lips were what caught your attention with an apparent thin tattoed line running down the middle, ending right before the chin. If that wasn't enough to make anyone wonder what in hell was this creature, the sudden whip of his cape was the last straw to help you innocent ones realise this one was the mad kind. "Tell me, oh beautiful one-" he bowed in front of you his hands going back in the air like a ballerina- "what do you think of that head?" You looked at Loki for some help. He simply shrugged and put his pale fingers on his lips, leaving the floor to you. "...that it's...big?" "It's hideous," the Collector grumbled. "A beauty like you should not have to see something so indigestible. EVER!" He whipped his cape again, making you shoot your brows up and turn towards the camera.

You: Ooooohohoho *giggle* my God! This guy is more dramatic than any theatre majors I have EVER seen! *gasps* Oh- Loki: No! We are not taking him to earth to meet theatre nerds. You:  You: *slump back* *grumble*

"Welcome to the humble abode of this mere creature that goes by the name Taneleer Tivan. Address me as you wish your grace. Your husband has been our esteemed partner for quite the time in this space." There was nothing but a slow blink that escaped you at the thought of the mafia lord thinking you were Loki's wife. Then, a finger rose in question at the audacity of that white-haired baboon reaching to that conclusion just by seeing you two together. "Okay, excuuuuse me," you started off with bubbling rage, "first of all, you have amazing eyesight for noticing I'm beautiful. And second of all, your partner wishes!"

Taneleer: *narrows eyes at the camera, oblivious* I am confusion

Loki simply rolled his eyes before touching a windchime next to him. "I see you still have your spies on a decent payroll, Tivan. Was it the Kou-Gare that boarded with us on the shuttle from the last station? Or was it the Djinn you had your clan's symbol etched on his back?" Taneleer blinked quite fast before breaking into a chortle, his head thrown back and his hands flailing. "You are still the same shrewd Silvertongue! I told them you would find out sooner or later." The camera focused on your expression- a swirl of shock and thrill. "But I do have to ask," he sang before turning to you, circling you like a cat, "where did you find this one? And what was so special about her that she got to stand by the side of the God of Mischief." He practically purred inside your hair while taking a sniff as you stood there frozen, looking at Loki for some sort of escape. "She is a human, Tivan," Loki called out, still looking at the windchime that refracted light into a colourful rainbow all over Loki's skin. And like a good chameleon, Taneleer's colours changed while Loki looked smug for the camera, his back still turned to you and the Collector. "By your Gods and mine! If she is a human how is she more alluring than you?!"

You: *smug* If I had a mic? I'd drop it. *still acts out a mic drop*

The colours on Loki's face washed away as fast as they had come. His lips forming as many different-sized Os as they possibly could. "What? WHAT?!" Taneleer simply nodded, observing you like an art connoisseur from a respectable distance. "Say, my ever-enchanting one-" with a leg bent out, he bowed to take your hand in his- "would you bestow upon this meagre merchant the honour to honour you by studying your essence?" "Okay, that's it," Loki muttered before covering the distance in two strides and breaking away that unwanted hand-holding; smacking away Taneleer's hand while taking yours and holding it in his. "You," he pointed his finger at the collector while the camera focused on his hand holding your wrist, "you are going to help me-" Taneleer parted his lips to say something before being shut by Loki's words- "BECAUSE you owe me for saving your life!" And then the God turned to you, the distance between the two of you lesser than Lulu lying on the ground. He was in fact lying on the ground, trying to make angels in something clearly invisible to the human eyes. "And you," Loki announced softer than he wanted to, his eyes locked onto yours. For the moment there, that was all it was. His greens shining like a freshly washed forest from rain shining under the new sun. And your eyes were the treasure quarry of y/e/c stones buried under the water looking up at that forest hiding both the light and darkness inside it. Seconds passed. Both Taneleer and the camera looked at each other for answers before the former slowly dragged his wine glass from the table to the edge, letting it fall and clunk on the floor, loud enough to break the God out of a trance. "You will stay here with Lulu. Do not cause trouble till I get back." Authority in his voice, he inhaled a lungful before furrowing his brows- trying to understand what had just happened- and turning to walk away. "Who's Lulu?" Taneleer was curious. You seemed to pop right out of your own trance by the question, beaming at the collector before picking up Lulu in your arms to let him purr in your embrace. "My baby." Taneleer took the appearance of little hairy creature in. "So much hair...or fur?" before turning to Loki, waiting for a second and then following him. "I told you not to take those drugs during your sexual endeavours for information extraction, Silvertongue."

The Lounge The flatscreen was muted, showing you sleeping in the back of the spaceship Loki just bargained for cheap. Your lips were parted and you were drooling all over the blanket underneath you while Loki set the ship on autopilot to come to take a look in the back. Javi was asleep too, with Lulu in his arms, both of them sprawled on the seats bunched up together by the last owner. What Loki did not realise- or did not bother to validate- was that the cameras were still running; those electronic bugs with space technology still buzzing around the temporary gravity.  He stood next to the makeshift bed of crates bunched together for you to sleep over, snoring loud enough to make Lulu's head vibrate in the direction of the voice. The camera focused on the screen when the expression on Loki's face bore a look barely ever seen before- soft. He was on his knees, putting the blanket wrinkled in your arms over your shoulder, securing it on both sides before moving a stray strand of your hair away from your face. He said something, apparently to you, but the only thing the camera in the lounge caught was the moving lips before frantically shifting between the screen and Natasha, Wanda, Scott and flustered Bucky; neither of them catching the lens' drift to look at the screen. Natasha and Wanda watched from the sofa as Scott still tried to get Bucky to open up a little more. "I can't watch this anymore," Natasha grumbled to Wanda with an emotionless face towards the two men, "just tell me when he comes." "Oh, oh, oh, he's coming," Wanda whispered, poking Natasha before transforming her excitement back to a dull sober self.

Wanda: So, I can always tell where this man is in the house. He does this thing where he will pick up a theme from something he is into lately and his brain keeps playing it on repeat. Last night Natasha made him watch Phineas and Ferb and so *flails her hands* *smirks* it's going to be the title sequence all day. *turns her smile into a fine line of distaste* and thanks to her I no longer have to listen to Never Gonna Give You Up for another week.

"Hey, Bucky," Natasha called out the ex-winter soldier as loud as possible, "I'm proud that you came out of the closet buddy! You should be proud of being bi. We are here with you." She clicked her tongue and finger-gunned him. Confused but delighted at the gesture, Bucky shared a chuckle with an equally excited Scott. "Thanks, Nat. But I don't know how will be able to tell to-" he turned just enough to let his eyes catch Steve standing frozen by the lounge entrance-"...Steve."

Tivan's Den "This is crazy. And so cool?! I wish I had the means to collect all the weird things around the world." Lulu chirped at you while tapping at the glass that had a pink coloured female inside it while you- bright-eyed and enthralled by the extraordinary roamed about the place, looking at the gems and flora, bugs and skeletons around this place. One little piece of quartz caught your attention for it had waves inside it as if clear water was kissing the pale dull sand on a clear beach and making it come to life. Your hand went for that crystal when you felt your brain jerk you back. "Ooooh, we're not supposed to touch anything. I don't want to be stuck in a death game again," you muttered before pouting at the crystal and walking away. Away from that shelf to turn and find yourself facing a golden music box and shrieking as low as possible. Lulu raised himself where he stood before leaping towards the shelf you were fangirling about. "Lulu, look!" You whispered in heated excitement, your toes barely keeping you on the ground, "a music box with Loki's helmet on it! You think it belongs to him?"

Lulu cautiously moved closer to the box sniffing it like a curious cat, pausing for a bit before rubbing his head with the precious trinket. "Okay. So, you approve!" You clapped and picked the box up. "Aw! You think little Loki got this as a gift on one of his birthdays?" Winding the lever as far as it went, you refrained from squirming as you opened it. A sweet sound was followed by Lulu's camera catching a hairpin inside the box. The camera caught the expression of pure awe on your face that was looking at the intricate designs on that hairpin while also catching a cloud emerging behind you that was slowly morphing into a figure; something you were not aware of. Lulu, on the other hand, seemed to feel the presence as the camera jerked and a hiss came out of the little one in the direction of the figure that was out of focus but slowly walking towards your back. "It's beautiful!" You whispered. "Do you think it belongs to his...mom, Lulu?" Another hiss came out of Lulu and this time you turned your gaze up in confusion at him. "I sure hope it does," an echo of a voice called out from behind you, making you shriek, jump away from that direction, hit your head in the shelf in front of you so hard that you went limp and fell down with one loud thump.

Back Where the Boys Are The back room of the Collector's den was rather more sophisticatedly decorated than the marketed front; not to mention the equally more bizarre antiquities surrounding the room as the God and one human entered. "I need a tool to break me out of these," Loki declared while directed Taneleer's gaze towards his handcuffs. Taneleer raised his brows and tapped his fingers onto each other. "Looks like someone forgot the key during their playtime!" A snicker left Javi and Loki almost lost it. "Why does everyone keep thinking I would voluntarily shackle myself to these forsaken cuffs!" "How many people have pointed that out by now?" Taneleer asked while supporting his weight on the nearest shelf. Loki shoved off the question, paused, blinked and then huffed. "Five," he muttered. Javi tskd from where he stood, signing something with one hand. "That Terran says eleven," Taneleer pointed out, now judging the God with his narrowed eyes. "Do not jest me, Collector!" "Jest you! You, the God of riding SOLO with nothing but self-preservation in your blood, trodding in space all mighty with a beautiful Terran and you expect the fauna to not suggest something titillating going between the two of you?!" The eye-roll Loki felt, almost made the audience wonder if they would disappear in the back of his head. "There is nothing going on between me and her. She's just. A friend." The most dramatic gasp came out of the Collector, his hand going over to his trembling lips. "He used the f-word," the poor mafia lord whispered to himself. "What? I have had friends before," Loki shrugged through his shoulders, not making eye contact with his company before getting conscious of the camera. "Oh, name one friend besides me who hasn't exploited you for their own wishes!" "Can we please get back to busi-" "That's because you don't have any-" "Peter!" Loki blurted out of nowhere before realisation hit his face and made a split-second eye contact with the camera before composing himself. "His name is Peter and if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone and then myself. Remember that." The weight in his words seemed to shift the power in the room, impressing the Collector beyond what he asked for. "Yes, yes! Don't boil your blood over it," Taneleer sang rather sweetly, swinging his hips and humming something. "Well? Are you going to help me or not?!" Loki huffed. "Give me back whatever grace I left with you." Taneleer muttered something that was not audible to the God.  "You did what?!" Taneleer groaned. "How do you have such sharp ears?" "YOU SOLD MY GRACE!!!" "Well, not sold so much as bartered for a nice sample of a fae's DNA. So, I'd say it was a good deal." The collector was in the middle of turning to face the God when he felt himself being shoved into the wall behind him by Loki. "You are-" Loki hissed- "going to get me-" and grabbed his throat- "out of these shackles-" and tightened his grip on the OverLord- "or this is the last thing you will see before you die." The Collector winced and croaked for air, begging through his eyes when Loki let go just enough for him to speak. Wheezing for as much air as possible, the Collector looked at the God with eyes of a mercy-seeking peasant. "Now, now, my sweet God! If you kill me...who will save your precious friend out there?"

to be continued...

[jate-kara]

“Hey, have you seen the…? Oh.”  with the Domino Twins?? Ty💕

sojourn | on AO3

“So, where are we going?”

Echo snorts softly and ruffles his hair. The ship hums, hurtling through hyperspace. Fives isn’t sure what coordinates Echo put in and, despite his question, he doesn’t really care. The war is over. Where they go now is completely up to them.

“Get some sleep,” Echo says. “You’ll see.”

“Tell me it’s not another swamp planet, at least,” Fives says, a week later when he’s still scraping the mud off his boots and shaking the water out of his ears. Not wearing armor means he feels lighter when he runs, but it also means his boots don’t have as much traction. He never thought mud could be so slippery.

“It’s not,” Echo says. “I promise.”

It isn’t until their ship powers down that Fives realizes he’s never touched snow without the fear of being lit afire.

But there is no war here.

“Fives, c’mon,” Echo says, and Fives barely has a chance to spin around before Echo shoves him bodily and he goes hurtling face-first into the snow. His cheeks are freezing, Echo’s laughing, there are tears in his eyes, and he’s never felt so alive. Fives chuffs a giggle that turns over and over and avalanches into a wild laugh. He strips off his gloves and drives his hands into the ground below until they prickle and sting with the cold. The sky is bright. The air is crisp, burning in his lungs. He takes a deep breath – again, again.

Echo doesn’t make him go back into the ship until they both start shivering. He disappears into the kitchenette for a few moments and returns with a blanket and a steaming hot mug.

“Cocoa,” Echo says, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Tech told me we were supposed to try it after we finished up here.”

Fives quirks a brow and accepts the mug. “‘Finished up,’” he says. “It’s not an op, Echo.”

Echo rolls his eyes and slides into the co-pilot’s seat. “You get to pick the next set of coordinates,” he points out. “So where are we going?”

Fives sips at the mug. It’s sweet. Searing. He likes it already. “Be patient,” he says. “You’ll see.”

“Fives.”

“You made me wait,” he points out. “You also made me crawl through the mud.”

“Sorry,” Echo says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. His lips twitch into a mischievous smile.

“You just had to see that damned tree.”

“It was a good tree.”

“It was not worth a ten mile hike.”

“It definitely was.”

Fives hums over his mug. “Agree to disagree,” he says. “Deal?”

“It was a good tree.”

No deal.

“Where are we?” Echo asks, as soon as the ramp touches the ground. Fives shoves his shoulder and slings his pack over his shoulders.

“A planet,” Fives says dryly.

“Fives, have you seen my….oh.”

Fives tosses the pack to him, then helps him secure it. “How do you misplace a pack on a ship this size?” he asks, and tugs a strap tight. “Where do you think it would’ve gone?”

“Just make sure it doesn’t fall off.”

“If it fell off, it would serve you right.”

“It’d technically be your fault, since you’re the one who’s supposed to be checking my gear.”

Fives shoves the back of his head. “It’s secure,” he says. “Happy now?”

Echo elbows his ribs gently. “I will be once you tell me where we are.”

Fives grins. “You’ll see,” he says. “Just follow me.”

Echo’s used to being the leader, between the two of them: guiding, not guided. Nonetheless, the most he does is sigh and fall in line. Fives squeezes his wrist. “You’ll like it,” he says. “I promise.”

The sky is dark, sparkling with stars. They’ve seen space a thousands times, but always through a lens: always with a ticking will to survive. Echo’s transfixed and for a second, Fives is quiet.

“C’mon,” he says at last. “I wanna get going.”

“Hmm?”

“C’mon!”

Echo shakes his head. “Right,” he says, and for a second, his eyes are just as bright as the sky. “Right. Lead the way.”

The path to their destination is neither short nor easy. By the time they stumble to the top of the hill, they’re both breathing hard.

“Sorry,” Echo heaves, uncapping his canteen. “I didn’t realize we were going to be repeating ARC training today.”

“Please,” Fives wheezes, “this is nothing compared to what Rex put us through.”

Echo tilts his head in silent allowance. “True,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “That was much worse.”

Fives nods to the hillside, then eases down. Echo takes a seat beside him. “What are we looking for?” he asks, swiveling his gaze across the space below them. As far as the eye can see, it’s just forests and green. Mountains stand jagged on the horizon.

“Just wait,” Fives says. “You’ll see. I read about this.”

“You can read?”

Fives smacks his arm. “Just wait,” he repeats.

“For what?”

“Echo, please shut up. For two seconds. I’m begging you.”

Echo holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”

“Don’t you always?” Echo feigns dismay. “Am I supposed to?”

“Be quiet.”

Echo props his arms on his knees and rests his chin atop them. He’s coiled with anticipation, but it’s looser than the concentration he had during the war. Lighter. Fives scoots closer and slings an arm around his shoulders.

The sun breaks the horizon in a burning orange haze: a cacophony of crimson and gleaming gold. The beams strike the mountains and reflect and refract, bathing the range in blazing bright. For an eternal breath of a moment, the world is dappled light.

Echo’s breath catches in his throat.

“Kinda cool, huh?” Fives says. “Told you you’d like it.”

Echo swallows thickly. “Fives?”

“Yeah?”

“Just be quiet,” he says, and blinks once, again. “All right?”

Fives pulls him close and ruffles his hair. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

They stay there for a long time, silent beneath the flaming sky.

--

[redbeansoups]

Pristine

Tsukishima Kei x Reader

In which you and Tsukishima Kei are comfortable.

*

He tastes pristine; sweet and fresh and lively. Like evening showers in the spring.

You pull away, a string of saliva falling against your bottom lip; you’re sure your lips are red and swollen by now, bruised purple with attention. Strands of your hair have fallen in wisps along your face.

He doesn’t look any worse for wear, somehow, though there’s a grin there that you can’t help but catch. His glasses are folded neatly and hang along the collar of his shirt; his hair lays as it always does, blonde locks swept casually to one side. His eyebrows are raised in a blatant, unabashed amusement.

Your first instinct is to laugh, hands pushing playfully at his chest. “You’re the worst,” you chuckle, hands already moving to run through your hair–a feeble attempt at taming it, you think, though it brings a sense of satisfaction regardless. “What’s up with you looking so good all the time?”

“Did you expect anything less?” Tsukishima says. He takes a step back and begins wiping at the lens of his glasses; he’s meticulous about smudges. Once satisfied, he brings the frames up and sets them on the bridge of his nose; his eyes narrow in amusement as they catch sight of you. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shoot back, attempting to straighten the collar of your uniform.

You don’t miss the smirk that widens on his face. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh, shut up.” You throw a pointed glare his way, though the reaction you receive is less than satisfactory; Tsukishima throws his head back in a bark of laughter. “Tsukishima, shut up!” you say, louder this time–though the malice of the words dissipates with the giggles that ensue.

Soon, the two of you are laughing together, backs pressed against the classroom wall, knees tucked to your chests.

(He’s got a nice laugh–restrained in volume, but deep and resounding and genuine.)

The Class-4 representatives are painfully oblivious to your afterschool antics. Privately, you’re grateful for their naivete. It’s only thanks to them, after all, that your cleaning-duty dates have continued.

Tsukishima’s back on his feet before you are, wiping at the knees of his slacks. Spots of dust fall to the ground, a pale gray fluttering down onto the cool wood beneath you. “This is your fault,” he tells you, flicking a particularly stubborn fleck at your face. It falls onto your cheek; you splutter as you wipe it off. “If you hadn’t distracted me, maybe we would have gotten some actual cleaning done.”

You scoff in mock offense. “You started it,” you reply, standing up in turn. He’s right, though; there’s a thin layer of dust coating your bottoms, and you brush it hastily away. You scramble to his side as he picks the discarded mops back up from the ground, making sure to take yours in hand as well.

The sun has already begun to set; the classroom is enveloped in a pale orange.

Tsukishima dips his mop into the bucket, and gives the tips a squeeze. The droplets of water trickle down into the bucket in a rhythmic pitter-patter. “I think you’re mistaken,” he tells you, pressing his mop against varnished wooden flooring. “You leaned in first,” are his words. He steps towards one corner of the room and begins his mopping.

You mirror his actions, wetting your mop and doing the same. “You texted me this morning, though,” you tell him, trying to hide the smirk you feel tugging at your lips. “What was it you said? I want you to–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, (Y/N),” he drawls. Then, pausing in his movements, he turns to look to you. There’s a glint in his eyes. “Unless, of course, you want to talk about what you sent me last night?” The tips of your ears have begun to burn. “That photo of yours..” He’s smirking now, a single eyebrow cocked upward; his elbow rests atop the handle of his mop.

You avert your eyes away from his, but his gaze feels hot on yours; he’s boring holes into the side of your head. “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,” you say, despite the warmth in your ears. You swirl your mop around aimlessly.

He laughs again, and, satisfied with his victory, resumes his movements.

You resolve to get him back later.

*

Tsukishima walks you home that day; it’s become customary for the two of you, like a weekly ritual of sorts. It works perfectly; neither your photography club nor Tsukishima’s volleyball club meets on Mondays, and Yamaguchi has cram school to attend, which means the remainder of the afternoon is yours to do with as you please.

Sometimes, though, hanging out with Tsukishima is more of a pain than anything.

“Stop putting your elbow on me!” you exclaim, pushing the boy’s arm away. He’s taken to using you as an armrest as of late, and the mockery is irritating–to say the least. “I’m not your personal armchair,” you grumble.

You want to wipe that smug smile off of his face.

“Aw, getting all upset?” he taunts. His bag is slung over his shoulder; his headphones hang over his neck. “I can’t help it, y’know–you’re the perfect size to take advantage of.”

The elbow returns, and you let out a groan.

“I hate you,” you grumble, making sure he sees the discontent in your eyes. You jut out your bottom lip for emphasis.

He rolls his eyes, making a point to press his elbow firmer into your scalp; the two of you take a left turn. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he replies, adjusting his grip on his bag. Its contents rustle within–the bulk of the noise, you’re sure, is composed of long-discarded candy wrappers. “Anyway, consider it payment for me walking you home.”

“I never asked you to start following me home,” you say. “You’re the one that chose to in the first place.”

“Playing the blame game again, I see?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes now. You reach up and push his elbow aside; this time, the arm doesn’t return.

The two of you walk on for a little while longer before your house comes into view.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask him, half-jokingly; your hand is already pushing open the gate to let yourself in.

“Never in a million years,” he answers, laughing.

You laugh back, and shut the gate behind you. “See you tomorrow, then,” you say, watching as he turns to walk away.

“See you.”

*

Yamaguchi doesn’t speak to you much, though he looks at you with thoughtful eyes. Sometimes you feel him watching you during class, sharp eyes taking in your every movement.

His curiosity is palpable. You’re sure he asks Tsukishima about you, privately, when he’s well out of your earshot. Maybe during volleyball practice, when it’s just the two of them together; maybe between drills. Maybe after school–you’ve seen them walking home together.

Or maybe right now. It’s a particularly dull math class, you have to admit–your teacher is droning on and on about derivatives or something along those lines, and you truly cannot find it in you to care.

Yamaguchi seems to be feeling a similar way, because you catch him in the corner of your eye, leaning forward in his seat to mutter something or other to Tsukishima. The two of them sit around the center of the class; not ideal, surely, for whispering during lectures, but they seem to be accomplishing it nonetheless.

Their whispering, of course, is no odd occurrence; what strikes you, however, is the nervous glances Yamaguchi keeps tossing you. His eyes flick back and forth between Tsukishima’s figure and yours as he continues under hushed breaths. You pretend not to notice, fixing your eyes down at your notebook and scrawling mindless lines onto the page.

And then Tsukishima glances up at you, and you’re torn away in an instant.

The two of you lock eyes. His are lazy and hazel and lidded; yours are wide, attentive.

He smiles, just barely—and then turns away.

Yamaguchi’s whispering halts, but he shoots Tsukishima a glare riddled with suspicions.

*

It’s months later that he invites you into his home. The Tsukishima household is clean-swept; it smells like wood varnish and detergent and surface cleaners.

Tsukishima leads you to his room and shuts the door behind, only to return to the room moments later with a tray balanced precariously in one hand; two plates of strawberry shortcake sit atop it, accompanied by steaming cups of green tea.

“I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but I’d like not to clean any more than I have to,” he drones, watching as your face lights up at the sight of the sweets. He sets the tray down on the table before you two, and moves to cross his legs beside you.

“How hospitable,” you laugh, spoon already sinking into the fluffy treat. “Thanks for the cake.”

He’s already dug into his own serving; his tongue laps at a dot of cream caught on his lips. “I was hoping you wouldn’t eat your portion so I could take yours."

“Well, too bad,” you mutter, shoveling the spoon adamantly into your mouth. The airy texture of whipped cream spreads across your mouth, delicate and sweet. “I intend on finishing it, thank you very much.”

He chuckles, and, after another spoonful, sets his plate back down onto the table. “Do you now?” he asks, moving closer. “Nothing better to do, (Y/N)?”

The teasing lilt of his voice is easy to ignore; you’ve long become accustomed to it. “Nothing at all,” you say, raising your chin defiantly at him. “This cake is the only reason I agreed to come, after all.”

"That’s not what you told me last night."

You laugh good-naturedly, setting your own plate back on the tray. “Maybe so,” is your answer.

“That’s what I thought.”

He presses a kiss to your lips.

He tastes pristine; sweet and fresh and lively, with just a touch of strawberries on the side.

[lisbonsteresa]

There’s Gotta Be Some Butterflies Somewhere (Wanna Share?)

this was originally going to be a fun little holiday gift for @cachekakusu​ (but now it’s more of an apology for making her relive her past 🌸✨ LiTerArY tRaUmA ✨🌸). In either case, it’s essentially a longer version of our chat threads, but i tried to make it as fluffy as possible to atone for my actions

hopefully it works aflksdj

At first only a dark screen was displayed, with shuffling and whispers heard in the background. Then someone hissed “Lens cap!!” and a picture suddenly appeared of two teenagers sitting at a long table; a laptop sitting in front of the girl and bright smiles on both their faces. “Hi everyone!” the girl spoke, directing her words straight ahead at what must have been the camera lens. “Welcome back to our channel. If you don’t already know, my name’s Lyra and this is Will.” The boy next to her raised his hand in a slight wave. “And we decided we wanted to do something a little special for today’s video.” “That’s right.” the boy continued, “To celebrate reaching five thousand subscribers – and thank you so much for that, by the way  –” Lyra nodded fiercely next to him, echoing his statement. “we’re going to do a little ‘Get to Know Us’ Q&A.”

“We are!” Lyra finished. “And, point of notice; this is a livestream, so we’re just going to take the questions as they come, and you’ll get to see our completely unedited reactions to them. But please keep the questions like PG-13,” she added, “because I’m pretty sure Will’s mum still watches our videos.” “Oh she definitely does.” Will confirmed. “And she and I would both appreciate everything staying mum-appropriate.” Lyra laughed “Excellent. And hi Elaine!” she looked directly at the camera with a grin and a wave, then focused her attention on the laptop screen in front of her. “Oh wow and we already have our first question: from aeronaut_txn: how long have you known each other? Hm, it really has been a while hasn’t it?” she paused, thinking, “Will and I met when we were – what, 12?” she glanced over at Will and he nodded in agreement. “Actually it’s kind of a funny story; I first met Will after he got stuck under my porch chasing his cat.” “Not Kirjava, by the way.” Will interrupted, looking only mildly embarrassed at Lyra’s last statement. “Our old cat, Moxie.”

“Of course not Kirjava,” Lyra snorted, “she barely ever leaves your side.” As if summoned by the mention of her name, the unusually large cat in question suddenly leapt up onto the table, fixing Lyra a look that would have been very judgmental were it coming from a human. Will grinned and reached up to scratch at Kirjava’s ears and the feline happily moved her attention to him, purring softly and butting her head against his hand while Lyra continued. “I’m convinced that if you could find a way to sneak her into school she’d never leave you alone.”  “Says the girl who hides Pan in her backpack every other day.”

“That’s because Pan is quiet, and sneaky, and good at hiding. And besides, Kirjava’s like three times his size.” Kirjava suddenly let out a low growl and leapt across the table to bat at Lyra with her paw. “Er….no offense.” Lyra reached slowly out and Kirjava seemed to let the slight pass, letting the teen scratch under her chin. There was a sudden squeak and flash of fur as Lyra’s pine marten scrambled down from his usual perch on her shoulder and onto Kirjava’s back. “And now you’ve gone and woke him up.” Lyra huffed, but there was a smile on her face as she watched Pan and Kirjava start to chase each other around the table.

“I think if anyone’s to blame for that, it’s you.” Will laughed, gently shooing the animals off the table before they knocked something over. “Anyway, Moxie was….. let’s say she was a free spirit.”  “A very nice way to say she just did whatever she wanted.” “Well yes, but she was a very good cat all the same. Although she did have a habit of running out of the house whenever she got the chance despite not being an outside cat at all. One morning a few summers ago I was helping my mum unload groceries and Moxie just sprinted out the door and was halfway across the neighbor’s yard before we even realized what was happening. I ran out to go get her, but by that point she had already sequestered herself under their back porch. Should’ve been easy to grab her, but the space was a little…..narrower than I was expecting.

“I was on my way downstairs when there was this yowling noise out of nowhere; maybe the angriest sound I’d ever heard a cat make.” Lyra looked as though she was trying very had to hold back a laugh. “And then someone was calling ‘help’ from our backyard, so I went outside to look and all I see is Will’s little Spider-Man pajama pant-covered legs sticking out from under our porch.” 

At this point Lyra was laughing fully, and Will wrinkled his nose in indignation. “It should be mentioned that my mum does her shopping very early; I wouldn’t have been wearing the pajamas otherwise. And anyway, they were cool for a 12-year-old.” “Oh yes, very cool.” Lyra snickered. “Especially when I had to pull you out by your ankles and they almost fell dow-” “Lyra!” Will snapped, clapping a hand over her mouth and glaring at her. “We don’t have to mention that part on camera.”

‘Right, right, sorry” she snorted, still looking very pleased with herself as she pulled Will’s hand down and addressed the camera directly. “Anyway, the point is, we were able to get Will successfully extracted, and luckily for him, I knew the easiest way to squeeze back under and grab Moxie.” “Oh yes, we’re all very lucky that you liked acting like a feral child and digging tunnels into the mud under your back porch” Will muttered, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like someone’s still stuck on the pajama pants and forgetting the great sacrifice I made in getting that cat back.” Will let out an exasperated sigh “Not the scar-” “You mean the giant scar I still have on my arm after your cat fought me tooth and claw on the way out from under that porch? That scar?”

Will covered his face and groaned “You know I think I’d rather deal with your mum twenty times over than have you keep holding that scar over my head.” Lyra laughed at that. “You sure about that? She was steaming mad when she saw it – came running out the back door yelling about rabies and ruined clothes and ‘undignified behavior’ as if I wasn’t wearing a Mickey Mouse jumper and dungarees and, you know, twelve.” “She was pretty imposing though.” Will admitted. “She usually is.” Lyra sighed. “But you didn’t miss a beat – looked her right in the eyes and said ‘don’t worry ma’am, Moxie’s had all her shots’ and then….what was it?” Will shrugged. “Something about how she should be proud to have raised such an upstanding citizen for a daughter – which is an hilarious statement, by the way, knowing you the way I do now –” Lyra snorted and stuck her tongue back at him. “and it seemed to satisfy her.” “Oh the best way to appease my mum is definitely through compliments.” There was a slightly sour tone in Lyra’s voice, but it faded as quickly as it came. “I think that was when she decided she liked you.” “She likes me?” Will sounded shocked. “Well, not that she’d ever say as much, but I think she sees you as my most mature friend.” Lyra shrugged. “Sometimes I think she might even be a little intimidated by you. You might not know it for looking at him,” she said to the camera, “but Will can be very serious when he wants to be.” “Well I have to balance you out somehow, haven’t I?”

“Oh shut it.” Lyra rolled her eyes and knocked her shoulder against Will’s, but there was a fond smile on her face nonetheless. “Anyway we didn’t really talk much after that and Will went back to his house, but we spent the rest of the summer in one of our backyards or the other, and when school started we found out we were in the same class, and things just kind of went from there.” “And now here we are: four years later and I’m still stuck with her.” Will said through a smirk. Lyra’s smirk matched his. “Mhm, lucky you. Anyway, next question.” Her eyes moved to the laptop screen in front of her and she began to read through the options. “Ok let’s see… sky-iron-soul asked…what was your favorite film of the year?” Lyra immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, just barely stifling her laugh as she looked over at a groaning Will. “Oh I don’t know,” she began, removing her hand to rest her chin on it while she smirked at the irritated boy, “what was your favorite film this year Will?”

“Lyra, please-” “Funny thing is,” she grinned towards the camera, “Will here has fallen asleep during every film we’ve ever gone to see.” “Not every film!”

“Oh right, sorry, you did manage to stay awake for all of Cats. Would you say that’s because it was your favorite though?” Will fixed Lyra with a deadpan stare. “No, I would say that was because you kept poking me in the side every five minutes to ask me what the hell was going on, as if I would possibly have any more idea than you”.

“Right, well, in my defense…” Lyra shrugged, “Cats”.

“Actually,” a voice spoke up from somewhere off-screen, “if you pay attention, Cats does have a fairly well thought out plot that you can follow-” But the rest of the sentence was drowned out by the collective groans of the other two teens. “Roger, not the Cats debate again.” Will sighed, turning his attention to the unseen boy. “It’s bad enough you made us sit through two hours of that monstrosity.” Lyra agreed. “Must you continue to torment us with it now?” “Fine, fine,” Were Roger in front of the camera, it was easy to imagine he would be holding his hands up in in mock surrender. “I guess there’s no accounting for bad taste. But seriously Will,” he continued, seeming to pointedly ignore Lyra’s fake cough-covered ‘yeah, yours’ “The cinema’s the worst place to fall asleep. Why don’t you just nap in class like me and Billy?” “Listen it’s not like I mean to-” Will paused as if he had just realized what had been said. “Actually, first of all, don’t do that, that’s bad” he continued, looking for all the world like a disapproving lecturer while Lyra snickered next to him like the teacher’s pet. “But I don’t go into the cinema planning on falling asleep, it just happens. I mean it’s dark and the seats recline and they’re actually weirdly comfortable-”

“And you constantly overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion.” Lyra interrupted. “Lyra, please don’t start this again.” Will sighed, rubbing his eyes as if he was already tired of the topic. Lyra was undeterred. “I’m not starting anything; I’m continuing a conversation you keep refusing to participate in.” Her face softened. “I’m not trying to berate you, but you do too much Will. I mean, A-levels, and your apprenticeship, and tutoring, and helping your mum around the house…. you do it all wonderfully, of course, but it’s still too much.” Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with Lyra. “I just wish you’d get how important it is to take a break sometimes and relax, which is what I thought going to the cinema would be, but you always end up just snoring into my shoulder.” Will squinted at her in disbelief. “I don’t snore.” “Yes you do, but that’s not the point.” Lyra replied, cutting him off before he could argue further. “Honestly I don’t know why you even come anymore. I mean, what are you getting out of it?”

Will glanced at the camera, suddenly looking as if he wished very much they were having this conversation anywhere but in front of it. “Because…. you’re always so excited when something new comes out.” Lyra paused, taken aback for a moment. “And because you’re absolutely impossible to say no to.” He seemed to relax more as he settled back into his usual teasing tone. “Seriously,” he continued, grinning up at the camera now, “the second she hears ‘no’ she pulls this sad, pouty face like you just kicked Pan across the room.” Still smiling, he turned his attention to Lyra, expecting a laugh or a sarcastic response, but found instead that she was simply looking at him with wide eyes. “So you mean you’ve only been going…for me? Her voice was uncommonly gentle and her cheeks were unusually pink. The teasing mood seemed to dissipate. “Well, I mean, not just for you,” Will began, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “sometimes we go with Roger and Billy, after all…” Lyra’s eyes hadn’t left his face. “but yeah. Mostly, I guess.” Lyra’s face broke into a wide smile. “Oh Will-”

“Now don’t go getting sappy on me.” He interrupted, nudging her shoulder gently with his own. “It shouldn’t be a surprise that I like seeing my best friend happy. Besides, it’s the same as you going to all those cooking classes with me, even though you burn everything you make.” “I don’t burn everything.” Lyra sniffed, looking offended at the accusation. “Nearly everything, then.” Will shot back. “Alright fine point taken.” She replied with a grin and an eye roll. “And you’re right, it’s not a surprise. It’s just…..really sweet.” She smiled warmly at him and reached her hand out to hold his atop the table. “Thank you Will.” Will grinned back at her and squeezed her hand lightly “Of course. So we’re still on for Friday?”

“Definitely. But from now on, I’m buying the tickets.” “What – who says?” “I say.” She smirked. “If someone’s going to pay for you to take a nap in a sticky-floored auditorium, then that someone’s going to be me.” Will grimaced “But you’re already buying the popcorn!” “Of course I am; I’m the one who eats all of it!”

“Fine” Will conceded with a roll of his eyes. “But from now on you can’t complain if I fall asleep on your shoulder.” “Hey I never complained about that; I complained about your snoring.” “I don’t snore!” “And the drooling.”

“I do not-” They were cut off by a very loud – and fairly irritated – “Ahem” from off-screen. Both teens jumped slightly, blinking in surprise when they found that their faces had somehow grown much closer during their bickering, and that they had yet to release their hold on each other’s hand. “Not to interrupt,” Roger’s voice came again (sounding like interrupting was in fact the very thing he had had in mind). “But you do have other questions here guys.” “Right,” Lyra seemed to collect herself; pulling her hand away from Will’s and clearing her throat. “So anyway, next question. Ok, from nobiggerthanamustardseed: do you have any plans for the future? Wow mustardseed, you sure know how to bring the excitement.” They both stopped to think for a moment. “Well,” Lyra began, “we’re both studying our A-levels right now, but I think Will has a more concrete idea for his further education than I do. There’s a lot of different subjects I’m interested in, but lately I’ve been focusing more on language.” “Yeah you mentioned that,” Will broke in, “more ancient languages right? Like symbology?” Lyra nodded. “But I’ve also been thinking about taking a gap year. Dr. Malone’s been saying she might need an assistant on her research trip next year, and her last paper on dark matter was fascinating. It’d be nice to do a little traveling too. I’d have to make sure I force you to visit me though,” she looked over at Will with a smirk. “Get your head out of the books.” Will snorted in response. “As I remember it, having my head in the books wasn’t a problem when I was helping you study.” “Yes, how could I forget, oh great Professor Parry” Lyra’s voice was dripping with sarcasm; Will only rolled his eyes in return. “No to be fair, I probably wouldn’t have passed my anatomy exam without your help, even if you were a bit of a drill sargent.” “No, you definitely wouldn’t have.”

Lyra clicked her tongue in mock annoyance. “And just when I was trying to give you a compliment-” “That’s what you call a compliment?” “When it’s directed at you, yes. Anyway, enough about me; tell the people what you’re going to do.” But before Will could open his mouth to respond, Lyra was already talking again. “He’s going to be a doctor.” Will laughed. “Well you don’t have to say it like that.” “I can’t help it.” Lyra responded. “You’ve only been talking about it since KS3.” “What, and now it’s a bad thing to have goals?” “Of course not, it just gets old talking about all the courses you’ll need to take and the admittance requirements that need to be met.” Lyra sighed, but it was clear to see her complaints weren’t serious. She turned her attention to the camera: “But since you all haven’t had to suffer through all of that, I’ll tell you that Will is absolutely brilliant – got nearly perfect scores on his GCSE this year, an apprenticeship with NHS, and he’s already fielding scholarship offers for uni.” Next to her, Will had covered his suddenly pink face in embarrassment, but couldn’t seem to stop a wide grin from spreading across it. “Even though you’re almost insufferably noble about it,” Lyra continued, “I am very proud of you, and I know you’ll make an amazing doctor.”

Will’s grin only grew as he uncovered his face to meet Lyra’s eyes. “Thank you.”

A beat of sincerity passed between them, interrupted almost immediately by Lyra. “And even though I cannot stand the thought of being forced to share you with the world, your gift is too great to keep you all to myself.” Will rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. “So long as you promise not to forget little old me while you’re off saving lives.” Lyra continued, throwing a melodramatic arm across Will’s shoulders.

“You’re such a ham.” He laughed, gently shrugging her arm away. “Weren’t you the one saying you wanted to go to a different continent with Dr. Malone a few minutes ago?” “I don’t recall that, no.” “Besides,” he continued with a roll of his eyes, “we live in Oxford. Any university I’d want to go to is an hour away at most. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Belacqua.” Lyra seemed to drop her theatrics, looking instead at Will with soft eyes and a gentle smile. “Is that so, Parry?” “It is.” He answered, his expression mirroring hers.

Another beat passed between them, longer than the first, before Lyra’s attention shift back towards the laptop screen. “Alright everyone, I think we have time for one more question. Let’s see… here we go, from EP1985: how long have you two been dat – ” her sentence cut off suddenly, and she glanced nervously over at Will then up at the camera before continuing. “Oh no, we’re not –” but her words stopped suddenly again, her face very rapidly turning red. His curiosity piqued, Will leaned closer to Lyra to read the question over her shoulder “We’re not what?” he asked, squinting at the screen to make it out, before his eyes grew wide and his cheeks grew red to match Lyra’s. “Oh! No, no, definitely not.” He continued with an awkward laugh, leaning back to sit ramrod straight in his chair and stare directly at the table in front of him, while all the time Lyra seemed as if she was trying to both watch his every move and pretend he didn’t exist. There was a moment of silence as both teens avoided eye contact with each other, the camera, or – presumably – Roger. Finally Lyra cleared her throat and said, her voice slightly strained, “Sorry to disappoint anyone, I guess, but Will and I are… just friends.” Her eyes flickered quickly over to Will, who nodded quickly in agreement. “Exactly. We didn’t mean to give you guys the wrong impression, but there’s nothing but friendship here.”

Hearing the other’s words seemed to let them both relax, although their faces were still flushed. “It’s kind of funny, actually,” Lyra began, catching Will’s gaze again, but with amusement rather than worry in her eyes, “how many times we’ve heard that since we started making videos.”

“Yeah it’s weird,” he replied, a grin slowly forming, “don’t know how everyone keeps coming to such a crazy conclusion.”

“Anyway, that’s all the time we have for today!” Lyra said, addressing the camera directly. “Thanks so much for your questions guys and we’ll –” Will’s voice joined her’s for their usual sign-off. “ – see you back here next week!” Outro music began playing as Will and Lyra leaned their heads close in a now inaudible conversation, and the very last thing that was heard before the picture faded completely to black was Roger’s voice muttering a weary “Absolutely hopeless.”

[vernonfielding]

A moment of divinity

Story No. 12 of my Season 7 Countdown Project. This one is written for @andrewsambags and @madeofitzits, who are both such incredible assets to the B99/Newsomberg(/bespectacled-Jake/Andy) fandom.

This story is ALSO my submission to the B99 2020 Vision Challenge. Thank you to the organizers at @b99fandomevents for putting it together!

Summary: “I got to see the world through your eyes.”

The morning he accidentally switched contact lenses with Amy was one of Jake’s favorite moments of their first year of marriage. Interesting. Takes place during Casecation. (Read on AO3.)

Jake high-fives Amy on his way out of the shower and her way in. Once upon a time in their relationship they would have showered together if they were running late for work and needed to save some time (and more likely making themselves even later). But they’ve been married three months now and living together for two years and honestly, shower sex is super overrated. It’s crazy slippery and someone always bumps an elbow or gets soap in a really uncomfortable place and it’s too cramped to get the right angles or leverage.

Still, it’s fun watching Amy’s butt disappear behind the shower curtain.

Jake grins to himself as he turns to the medicine cabinet. The mirror is steamed over and he resists clearing a spot with his hand – Amy hates the smudges – and opens the door to grab his contacts. For a second he’s confused when he can’t find the familiar frog-face case he keeps his in, but then he remembers Amy made him throw the case out after he dropped it in the toilet. He sighs and takes out the boring blue case instead.

He’s only had contacts for about a year and he’s still not good at putting them in blind, so when he closes the cabinet door he glances at the shower, and Amy’s hazy (but still somehow sexy) profile under the water, and then rubs clean a corner of the mirror so he can see what he’s doing.

The first one pops in but feels weird against his eyelid, like it’s at the wrong angle (which yes, he knows is impossible, it’s a circle), but he blinks a few times and it seems to settle. The same happens with the second one. His vision is a little off but the bathroom’s full of steam so he just closes his eyes as he towels himself off and slips on the boxers he slept in.

He opens his eyes again as he turns toward the bedroom – and for a second he thinks he’s having a stroke. He doesn’t have any idea what a stroke feels like (he’s not entirely sure what a stroke is, actually) but the sudden blurred vision, the way the familiar lines and shapes of their bedroom have gone all sideways, and the accompanying vertigo must mean that something is very, very wrong. Jake stumbles toward the bed, hands flailing out in front of him because he can’t see, and practically collapses. His heart is hammering in his chest and he’s blinking madly, eyes tearing up.

His eyes – Jake laughs out loud when he figures it out. He’s put in Amy’s contact lenses. She’d even told him when he borrowed her extra contact lens case to be careful they didn’t mix them up.

He’s massively relieved that his brain isn’t going to explode (he’s pretty sure that’s what a stroke does), and he flops back on the bed, blinking up at the blurry ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead. His vision is still totally screwed up but the contacts aren’t actually uncomfortable, and as long as he just lies there he doesn’t feel dizzy.

It occurs to him that in a way, he’s seeing through Amy’s eyes. And he knows that’s not really how it works and that Amy would tell him he’s being ridiculous but- it’s also kind of true.

He smiles to himself as he pushes up on his elbows and slowly looks all around their bedroom, taking in the familiar and yet suddenly new surroundings. He squints at their matching bedside lamps and the floral prints hanging on either side of the headboard, the colors and shapes fuzzy, taking on new forms. The ferns on top of the armoire are a dark, muddy green, and their blurry arms seem to be waving at him in the breeze from the fan. The wicker laundry basket in the corner is a friendly looking lump, the bookcase a somewhat threatening dark tower, looming over the bed.

He knows this room so well that he could close his eyes and perfectly imagine the line-up of items on Amy’s dresser: the bottles of perfume and lotion, the silver tree that holds her few pieces of jewelry, the quilted box that her abuela gave her long ago, still holding the keepsakes of a child, shells and foreign coins and shiny buttons. He cranes his head to look behind him anyway, to see the shape of them from a fresh, Amy perspective.

He’s been seeing the world through her eyes for years now, really – as a partner and as a friend, as someone he loves and as someone he will spend the rest of his life with. But it hits him anew, now that he’s literally (sort of) seeing through her eyes, how incredibly lucky he is. No one else gets to be this close to her, gets to share her life with her and experience the world with her always at his side. His heart seizes at the power of that thought.

This woman – somehow he finds a way to love her more every single day.

“Jake!” Amy’s panicked voice shakes him out of his near-blind reverie, and Jake sits up, looking blearily toward the bathroom.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

Amy doesn’t answer right away, but Jake makes out her hazy silhouette in the bathroom doorway, steam puffing out around her so she looks like a dream, soft and ethereal.

“Ames?”

“Why am I wearing your contact lenses?”

Jake shuts his mouth. He blinks at her and though it doesn’t help clear his vision, he feels pretty confident that she looks annoyed. Perhaps very annoyed.

Then she tilts her head to one side, and he can feel her eyes on his face, and she says, soft this time, “You’re looking at the world through my eyes, aren’t you.”

“Maybe?”

Amy stumbles toward him, arms outstretched the same way his were, towel wrapped around her body, and when she bumps into his knees she grabs onto his shoulders and peers into his eyes (probably – even up close he can’t see too well).

She says, “You are a ridiculous goofball and I love you, so much.”

He beams back up at her and says, “I love you,” and he kisses her with his eyes – her eyes – wide open.

+++

Amy refuses to let him have his own contacts back after they’ve both taken the lenses out of their eyes.

“They’ve been in my eyes. That’s gross,” she says.

“But I’ve just been wearing your contact lenses for the past five minutes,” Jake says.

“Yes, and that was sweet, but also gross,” Amy says, and dumps his contacts into the trash, along with her own.

The thing is: Amy has a backup pair. Jake does not. He was down to his last pair and hadn’t gotten around to ordering more and yes, Amy told him ages ago to just get the daily disposables so he’d always have a huge supply on hand but he hasn’t yet.

“You can’t go to work blind,” she says, following him into the kitchen once they’re both finally dressed.

“What do you think I did before contacts?” Jake says.

“I try not to think about that,” Amy says. “Seriously, put on your glasses, babe.”

He rolls his eyes – his back is to her, so it’s safe – and squints into the refrigerator to make sure he grabs the orange soda and not the Orangina bottle. When he turns around, Amy’s right in front of him, close enough that he can see her just fine.

“Please?” she says.

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, just unfolds his glasses and carefully slides them onto his face, nudging them into place with a finger. The room snaps into focus, startling and satisfying at once.

“Better?” Amy says.

Jake shrugs and mutters “I don’t know” under his breath even though he knows he’s being childish. It’s only when he sits down at the table with his bowl of Froot Loops that he realizes he’s grabbed the Orangina after all.

When Amy hands him the orange soda instead, the smirk on her face is clear as day.

+++

No one at the precinct cares about his glasses. The only person who says anything is Charles, and he tells Jake that he looks like an international spy slash billionaire playboy slash Russian dancer.

“All three?” Jake says.

“Not all at once, but yes,” Charles says.

“Cool,” Jake says, and means it.

He’s still not planning to ever wear the glasses in public again, until he’s walking out of the precinct with Amy, their shifts ending at the same time for once, and she yanks him by his badge into a dark corner of the parking garage and mauls him with her lips.

“What was that for?” Jake says, panting, when she finally breaks away. His glasses have steamed up, and he reaches up to take them off so he can wipe them on his shirt.

Amy grabs his hand though and growls. “Leave them on.”

“Oh,” Jake says. And then, “Oh.”

He does eventually get new contacts. Just- not right away.

End Notes:

Title is from Bikini Babe Workout (Bash Brothers).

When I first saw the 2020 Vision Challenge (with associated squinting Jake gif) I immediately was like, oh hell yeah I’m writing Jake with glasses! And then I saw the theme was “new” and thought about Jake seeing the world through a “new,” Amy perspective. And well. Here we are.

At first I just thought it’d be fun to try to explain how they managed to swap contact lenses. But as I got started writing I had to ask myself, Why in the world would this be a top five moment for Jake?? That’s a weird top five, right? (I hope my answer is satisfying.)

This canon doesn’t match with my AC/DC canon (in which Jake already has contacts/glasses). But my rule for this project is that the fics only have to be compliant with actual canon, not my own canon. I know, that is too many canons. Just trust me, it’s all cool.

I would have been happy to have written an ending wherein Jake decides to wear his glasses every day forever and ever but – stupid canon. Here’s hoping for season 7 bespectacled Jake.

[seekingseven]

The Most Sincere Kind of Lie (Ch4)

Chapter 4 of my Linked Universe fanfic! Also available to read here on AO3

┍━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┑

Legend woke up to the sound of humming and the disturbing sensation that the fabric of reality was being torn from underneath him. He sputtered and sat upright in the bed, promptly smacking his forehead into Sky's chin.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up," Sky said with a half-lidded smile. "It's just that the lady wanted to wash this bed sheet and I offered to help her out. Somehow Hyrule got cream all over it and she said it'll make the linen go bad." The bleary, confused look on Legend's face was met by a gentle chuckle from the other hero. "You can sleep on one of the other beds, though, if you'd like. We’re not going to be leaving for another half an hour or so.”  

It smelled like morning and clouds and screaming, weeping demons. Legend felt his muscles spasm and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Woah! Legend, Legend! It's alright. It's alright, look, it's just me. Look, hey! Look here. Look! Listen to me, Legend! Legend! It's me, it's Sky. You know me. It’s alright. It’s okay. Calm down, you’re safe. It’s just me."

The cool metal of the Lens of Truth and the Magic Mirror pressed up against the bones on the underside of Legend's fingers. The skin of his knuckles stretched tight over his bones, and the artifacts’ handles shook under his grip. Everything was blurry. Everything was red. Everything smelled like burning clouds and tears and crippling guilt.

That voice, though...

He knew that voice...

His femur crunched against the bone of his hip socket as his chest tipped forward. He was falling…

Falling..

Falling...

"Hey, I've got you,” Sky cooed. “It's alright. Whatever happened was just a dream, okay? You're okay. It's okay." Unfamiliar fingers ran through his hair. Legend squinted at the blurry form in front of him and, upon recognition, nearly crumpled in relief.

Sky. Oh, it was just Sky. Oh, thank Hylia. It was just Sky. Just the happy, lazy, vaguely irresponsible Sky, who had blue eyes, not orange ones, who had blond hair, not red. Legend’s temple rested against Sky's collarbone for just a moment longer before he pulled himself out of the embrace. His heart wasn't pounding anymore. Legend blinked quickly and got to his feet, trying to walk off the pins-and-needles in his legs, deaf to the words falling out of Sky’s mouth. So many words were said, words of the comforting, meaningless, cliche sort, words he didn't really hear. There was mention of breakfast and travel and laundry and red and green and a blue sword and a broken-hearted hero with a soul so wracked with grief it found no relief outside of self-flagellation. And then the world was black and grey and Legend was left with the sinking, sinking hopelessness that came with knowing you had no control. His breath became short. He blinked quickly. The world came back. Sky kept talking, a confused, sluggish smile creeping back on his face as he mistook the Legend's blank stare for attentiveness. Words, words, more words, and Legend found himself breaking the brief lull in their one-sided conversation.

"Hey, I can take those from you," the veteran heard himself say.

"The bedsheet?" Sky wondered aloud as Legend took the bundled linens out of his hand, "Oh! That's quite nice of you. Are you sure? You don't look too good."

"Mmmm, don't worry about it." The prickly, uncomfortable conviction that he should say more tugged at the hairs at the back of his neck. Sky, clearly baffled but not one to argue about having mundane household chores lifted off his back, shrugged and smiled. The veteran found himself walking downstairs and out to the backyard, where a small tin tub and block of soap stood waiting.

He didn't realize he'd taken the lens and mirror along with him until he dumped the sheet into the tub and heard the tell-tale clank of metal on wood. Oh no. Oh no. Every half-decent mage knew that magic and water rarely mixed: the artifacts’ enchantments were liable to dissolve if left in there for too long. Blood screamed in the small matrix of veins behind his ears, and his hands shot forward into the tub. He pulled both artifacts out of the water before his heart had taken another full beat and neurotically dried them on his tunic. A hot glob of air stuck itself in his throat. Legend coughed dryly. Praise Hylia, both artifacts looked fine.

A demonic, curious part of him hummed with relief.

"Mr. Legend!" a feminine voice cried out behind him, "please don't worry yourself about the linens! Sir, please. I can't have a guest do housework in good conscience." The Wise Man’s daughter crept up next to him and fiddled awkwardly with the corner of her apron. Her face was set in a tight, uncomfortable grimace.

"Ma'am," Legend began with a smile, "please believe me when I say these chores are more of a pleasure to do than anything else. I've been traveling for a long time. It's nice to something normal like this every now and then." His eyes lingered on the white, frothy suds drifting lazily on the top of the water. He turned to face the woman. "However, would you mind terribly if I did ask you a favor?"

"Oh, of course not!"

"Sky and Wind. You know them?"

The woman nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. "Wind is the little one with the blue shirt, and Sky is the, uh..."

"The sleepy, lazy one, yeah." Legend smiled as the woman giggled into her hands. His focus drifted to the blue mountains in the distance. "May you please, if possible, give them something sweet to eat? A pastry, perhaps, or maybe something cold for the journey? I understand if it's not possible, I really do. But, well, don't let them know I told you this, but they've...been through a lot lately. Maybe this would cheer them up a little bit."

The woman's face brightened at the idea. She started to say something, but second-guessed herself and quickly hurried off towards the house. Legend's heart was warmed by her eagerness. It was a good thing to know that people didn't necessarily need the blood of the hero to be altruistic and compassionate. He turned his attention away from the woman and back to the laundry in front of him. The water swirled and burbled happily as Legend gently cleaned the bedsheets. There was something soothing in the repetitive, mindless movements. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Scrub, press, check for stains. Repeat. Repeat. Watch the cream stains fade and surrender, watch the cloth darken with water. Scrub, press check for stains. The mountains looked so pretty from where he was sitting. Repe--

"Legend!"

The veteran turned around, not at the sound of his name, but at the loud, uneven footsteps he would recognize anywhere.

"....morning," Legend said, suspiciously eyeing the bottle Hyrule carried in his hands. Brownish, clumpy water sloshed around within, and the murky silhouette of what looked like a dead fish floated inside.

"Good morning," Hyrule cheerfully responded. "I got you breakfast!"

"Where is it?" Legend questioned, trying to distract himself from his growing dread.

"Right here!"

Of course.

The bottle.

Legend opened his mouth slowly, carefully picking his next words. "What is it?"

"Fesikh," Hyrule answered. "You've never seen it?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's something like, uh, pickled fish. It's really good, a delicacy, even! The Wise Man’s daughter and I made it just for you!" The excited grin on Hyrule's face started to slip when he saw how Legend shirked away from the bottle.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be able to eat that. I haven't -- uh -- I'm not really hungry. Maybe something lighter? Do you guys have any bread and cheese?" The skin of Legend's hands had started to wrinkle and bloat in the soapy water.

"Oh, uh, I think Wild made omelettes. He's in front of the house with the other guys -- Time went out to ask the townspeople if they needed help with anything and we're just waiting for him to come back before we head out."

"Sounds good. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Legend turned back to the soaked bed sheet, which looked mostly clean at this point. The sound of Hyrule's footsteps faded behind him as the veteran hung the sheet up on the laundry wire. He'd done a good job cleaning it; not even a memory of the whipped cream could be found. Legend knelt down in front of the tub and washed his face and neck with the leftover water, scooping the less-sudsy bits of water into his hands and combed it through his hair. It trickled down his neck and along the ridge of his spine, leaving wet spots behind on the back of his tunic. Oh, that felt so much better. He stood up and strung the lens and mirror to his belt. Now that the bedsheet was clean, he might as well go and get breakfast.

The smell of cooked eggs and steamed vegetables was almost too much for Legend's empty stomach to bear. He found himself sprinting around the house and over to Wild and barely refrained from tearing the proffered plate from the latter's hands. There was no doubt in anyone's minds that Legend would have eaten the whole thing with his hands if Four hadn't cautiously extended a set of utensils to him. A wet breeze skittered above the grass. Legend admired the small, careful clusters of horsetail grass that skirted the nearby river as he stuffed his face with breakfast. The other heros chatted quietly amongst themselves, drifting in and out of the house to collect and assemble their things. Warriors dropped off Legend's stuff on the step behind him, muttering something about only doing it because the veteran looked a little bit preoccupied.

A witty response was already building itself on the tip of his tongue but was cut off by the low, authoritative rumble of Time's voice. The Old Man had returned, and the tight look on his face betrayed the fact that he didn't come with good news.

"Alright, boys. From what I could gather, everyone in Saria Town is relatively happy and healthy. However, the River Man said something about a certain Darunia Town seeing a higher frequency of monster attacks than usual. From his description, they seem to be of the infected sort, and some of them have made their way to the city bounds."

Hyrule's eyes went wide at the news. Everyone turned to look at him, this was his Hyrule, after all, and he was the only one who could properly gauge how bad this situation was. And, if the ghostly pallor on his face meant anything, things weren't good.

"We'd better get going quickly, then," Hyrule began. "Darunia Town is in East Hyrule -- we'll have to cross the sea to get there and the closest dock is at least half a day's walk from here."

"Does the town have a militia to fend off the attackers until then?" Four wondered aloud as the group of heros began to pack up.

"Not exactly a militia, more like one knight. He's a very talented knight, of course, but I don't think he can protect the town by himself. The thing that worries me most is that Darunia has more children than any other town in West or East Hyrule."

"They need all the help they can get, then." Twilight asserted. The entire group nodded in agreement. Legend picked himself up off the step and tried not to heave -- this was exactly what happened when one ate too much too quickly -- slinging his bag over his shoulder as he hopped off the porch.

Just as they were all about to leave, the front door swung open and the Wise Man hobbled out.

"Gentlemen! A moment, please. I'm so sorry to disturb you all," the Wise Man apologized as he made slow, unsteady steps down the stairs. "I just need to speak to Mr. Legend about something. Is he still here?"

Legend, who was straggling behind the rest of the group, stuck his hand in the air. After a few seconds of deliberation, the group moved on without him, leaving the veteran with the warning to join them as quickly as the conversation was over. Slowly but surely, the Wise Man made his way over to where Legend stood. A yellow scroll, flaking at the edges, was bundled in his withered hand.

"I wrote the fusion spell down on this scroll, in case you wanted to attempt it once again," the Wise Man explained.

Legend took the scroll in his hand and casually unfurled the edges. He was half-inclined to give it back and explain that he couldn't read (he could, of course, just not anything written in Hyrule's Hylian) but the words died immediately in his throat.

Every word was written perfectly in his Hylian.

"It is a very ancient spell," the Wise Man continued, "so if you think you might have trouble reading it, I've got a dictionary right here that translates Modern Hylian to the Ancient variant."

"It's alright, sir. I can read this just fine."

"Of course, I should have expected no less from a young mage as talented and well-versed in magic as yourself."

Legend's throat burned. His stomach clenched. His fingers shook with adrenaline and his obsessive curiosity rejoiced with him.

"Thank you," Legend heard himself say, "but I don't think I'll have a chance to use it."

He cringed at his own blatant lie.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The beach's pink stand crunched loudly underneath the multitude of leather boots. Hyrule stood alone on a tiny dock -- not even a dock, really, more of a pathetic outcrop of rotted wood -- and stared at the crystal blue waters ahead.

"Is something wrong?" Sky questioned.

"Yes." Hyrule confessed. "I mean, uh, kind of. I realized just now that my raft probably won't be big enough for all of us." The thin, wiry brunet stepped aside from the doc to reveal a Hyrule-sized wooden raft bobbing in the water. "And the sea isn't safe to swim in...unless you're a River Zora with a, uh, magical force field or something, you won't be able to make it across."

For some reason, this earned a chuckle from Time.

"I mean, we could just make another raft," Wind suggested.

"I've got a few extra bundles of wood with me, as well as some rope. It’s pretty flimsy, though, so if anyone has got binding materials that are a little tougher it might be a good idea to use those instead," Wild said.

"Perhaps we should buy some rope," Warriors mused. The captain turned to Hyrule. "Do you know if there's any place nearby where we can find some?"

"They might sell some sort of fishing rope over in Mido Town," Hyrule said, pointing to the distant shadow in the vague shape of a town. "We can also get lunch from there, since Wild would be using most of his firewood to make the raft."

"Mido Town?" Time mumbled to Legend. "What an odd name."

"I dunno, 'The Water Town of Saria' was also pretty weird."

"I suppose you're right," Time conceded with a wistful smile.

Wild, with Twilight's help, had already laid out a rough raft scaffolding. Four suggested that they just head into the nearby woods to cut down a few trees and expedite the process, but Wind pointed out that the forest was too unfriendly for exploits of the kind.

"Ah, you remembered what I told you about the forest?" Hyrule sheepishly asked Wind.

"Of course. I listen to you when you talk, Hyrule."

This only made the traveler smile wider, but the sailor had already gotten himself knee-deep into a squabble with Warriors.

"Please, Wind, I think I can handle something as simple as overseeing the construction of a raft," Warriors asserted, chin pointed loftily over his shoulder.

"I'm an islander and a sailor!" Wind protested. "I know a thing or two about rafts. I can handle being in charge for three seconds, you know!"

Legend watched the entire exchange with a bitter taste in his throat.

“Wind, just go help Four untie that bundle over there,” Warriors sighed, waving away the indignant sailor glaring up at him. The captain turned his eyes to the rest of the group. “We’ll need two people to go into town to get rope and lunch. Wind, Sky, that will be you guys.”

Legend grinned. This was the perfect opening.  

“Hey, Wars, d’ya think I could swap out with Wind?” the veteran questioned off-handedly.

“What, scared of a little hard work? Wait, no, let me guess, you’re scared of rafts? Is that right?” Warriors teased, obviously a little more than irked at the constant questioning of his leadership.

The veteran chuffed at Warriors’ comment and shrugged, blinking slowly and lazily. “Nah, not quite. I haven’t been feeling too good lately, Sky can testify to that,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the smiling Skyloftian, “and I think a little walk would help clear my head. You know? And also, I think the sailor’ll do a much better job of overseeing this than you think. Don’t forget that this guy literally stuck the Master Sword in Ganondorf’s forehead.”

The Links were silent.

Legend smirked so hard that his cheeks hurt.

Wind looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to cry or crush Legend into a massive hug.

“So, what’ll it be, pretty boy?” Legend quipped.

Warriors rolled his eyes, but there was a resigned scarlet flush on the tip of his ears. Legend was sure it wasn’t from the heat.

“Okay, sure, whatever. Wind can supervise. I’ll supervise his supervising. Is that better?”

Everyone nodded in casual agreement, and Wind let out a wild whoop . His eyes met Legend’s for a brief moment, sparkling with gratitude.

For some reason, even this victory wasn’t comforting. It was too temporary of a fix. Legend broke eye contact and looked away.

“Uh, everyone? I-In regards to lunch, do you guys want to know what they sell in Mido Town? I spent a lot of time there during my journey -- they’ve got really good food. If you guys want to, uh, want to choose, I can tell Sky what they have, and he can write a list. Then you guys can choose what you like.”

Everyone was grateful for the diversion Hyrule supplied and crowded around the traveler without a second thought. It was only a matter of minutes before each hero had decided what they wanted, and more than one Link was watering at the mouth at the prospect of lunch.

“So,” Sky began, reading the finalized list out loud, “Time, Wars, and Wild want meat rice, Twi and I want salad, Wind and Four want shrimp, Legend wants, uh….bread?”

“Hey, I‘m not a picky person. Carbs are good for long term energy storage, anyway.” Legend explained. Four hummed in quiet agreement. Sky shrugged and continued on.

“And finally, Hyrule wants...oh dear, I can’t read my handwriting. Hyrule wants… H-A-L-V-A?” Sky said, the questioning inflection thick in his voice.

“Halva!” Hyrule replied cheerfully. “It’s like a really sweet paste. Don’t worry, there’s only one food vendor in the whole town, and he sells all of this stuff. You won’t be able to forget anything even if you tried.”

Sky and Legend looked at each other and shrugged, waving goodbye to the group as they veered off the path and made their way to Mido Town. The thwack of wood-on-wood and the high-pitched shout of Wind’s instructions faded as the two heroes walked on. The sun beat down relentlessly, glinting off the glassy sand and burning into the lacy hair on their heads.

Mido Town was even hotter and quieter than the path leading to it. A sun-baked wind blew through the shells of abandoned buildings, pushing around the crumbled remains of brick and mortar. Pink sand hovered in gritty clouds. It fluffed and plumed up to their waists every time the two heroes took a step. The faint imprints of their footsteps were swept away by a floor-length wind.

The villagers eyed them quietly. No one smiled. No one waved. Blinds closed. Doors shut. If it weren’t for the suspicious, life-weary eyes peering at them through darkened windows, Legend and Sky would have assumed the place to be abandoned.

Was this the kind of treatment Hyrule received during his journeys?  

“Are you alright?” Sky queried, only half-looking for the vendor Hyrule had mentioned.

“Mmmm. It’s a great thing to see that this is the world I left behind for Hyrule. Nice to see that this is the fruit of my labors.” Legend’s voice was deadpan and flat despite the obvious ire in his words.  

Sky said nothing. Grief flickered across his face.  

“This is the world I left behind for all of you,” Sky mumbled to himself. His voice was barely audible over the humming of sifting sand.

“Ugh, Sky, you aren’t to blame for any of this,” Legend said. “And anyway, there isn’t a point in looking for someone to blame. It’s, it’s not going to fix anything. Beating yourself up for something you can’t control isn’t...uh...it isn’t a very smart thing to do.” His voice and thoughts and confidence began to trail off, but Legend forced himself to continue. “Let me just say that you’re so much stronger than you think you are. I, uh, I think Hylia made a wise choice.”

Legend turned to his companion and rested a hand on Sky’s shoulder. He had no more words left to say, nothing left inside his brain but the overwhelming conviction that he should be doing more. Should he confess? Should he tell Sky that he knew -- that he knew so much more than he should? That he knew everything Sky was trying to hide?

His soul fragmented under the weight of his guilt.

Sky gently curled his fingers around Legend’s wrist. His thumb rested on a vein on the underside of the veteran’s arm, and his breathing slowed to keep time with the blood’s calm thrum. A tear dribbled off Sky’s face and landed in the hot dust below, darkening and clumping the fine grains together. Eyes, dark and dull and unbelieving and flashing with ghostly wisps of orange, glittered with tears. Legend squeezed Sky’s shoulder and pulled away, lost for words and lost in thought.

┕━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━┙

[iguessihavemore]

Just a little content in these trying times

It’s just audition tapes. A big chunk of it you guys have actually made yourselves that I just wrote over in hopes of them flowing together a bit more. So yeah, credit to the creators of each character! Hope you find these fun!

The scene is set in a luxurious bedroom decked out in pinks. A brunette sits at a vanity with her back facing the camera, twisting a final lock of hair around a curling iron. When she frees it, it falls just above the collar of her white T-shirt. She twists around and flashes a glossy smile. “Pardon me for not being completely ready.” She began, smoothing out her denim skirt as she got closer to the camera.

“I noticed too late that my hair wasn’t perfect, and I can’t have that.” She bounced one lock near her face. “My name is Amelia Delaney. Daughter of Johnathon Delaney. He’s not well-known outside of our town, but he owned quite the successful department store in our local mall.” Her expression falters into a distant gaze for a brief moment, but she snaps out of it in a second. “I say ‘owned’ as unfortunately, my dear old father was killed in a robbery gone wrong not long-”

A car door slammed in the background, and Amelia’s face changed to hollow shock. “Umm… and his passing left me alone with my elder sister, Melissa, who’s only pleasure in life must come from seeing me miserable.” A second, closer slam could be heard next, and Amelia cringed with a whispered swear. She made a swift move toward the camera. “And that’s why I need the money. I have to get away from her please I’m losing my mind.” She said in one breath before turning off the camera.

*III*

A beep sounded off, assumingly letting the auditioner know the recording began, as the honey-blonde girl was looking away, leaning in what looked to be her closet doorway. Handmade steamers and folded paper animals littered the frame. “Alright, listen ‘ere, ‘n listen close.” She brought a blade up cooly, twirling it by the handle. “I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer-”

She froze. She let herself chuckle, and rolled her one exposed eye. She cocked her knife to the side. “...but I think it’s better if you pick me. Annabelle Dwight. For your sake.” She faced the camera lens, giving the blade a gentle lick. “It’ll hurt a lot more for you that way. I promise.”

*III*

Two girls sharing a shirt sat on a bed in the center of the video. One of the two flinched in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the camera to begin recording, despite the fact that they were both staring at it. “Erm…” They glanced at each other. It was clear they were related, identical at that. The girl on the right attempted to perk up, her smile quavering. “Did you know that the average person is more likely to be hit by lightning twice than they are to ever meet a conjoined twin?”

“Not that we’re… uh, threatening anyone. Putting us on the show isn’t going to make anyone get struck by lightning.” The girl on the left tapped her fingers nervously. Her sister couldn’t keep up her facade any longer either, and deflated. The left one, the one with longer hair, spoke up again. “We’re really, really shy. We can barely be around people that aren’t from the orphanage. When we are… we fall into an act we’ve inadvertently made, a ‘creepy, conjoined sisters’ thing. We don’t mean to, but, like, it’d be a lie to say it hasn’t saved us a few times by some people who think they can get one over on us.”

“We’re pretty strong, all things considered, but at the end of the day we’re still a kind of crippled. The world is scary, so when we’re scared, we naturally try to make it think we’re scarier!” The shorter-haired sister said. “But it’s basically impossible to make friends like that, eheh. Not unless we’re in an enclosed space with the same people for a long time… like the orphanage.”

“Or an island!” The left exclaimed. “And with the oddballs that Total Drama attracts, we might even be able to get used to them faster than we ever have before! Erika and I- er, Avery, is my name- are really excited and hopeful for this opportunity-”

“So please, PLEEEASE consider us!! We all know we’d be good for ratings! Even if we don’t make past the first vote, you get views, and we had a chance!”

The sisters ended the video by begging ‘please’ until it cut off.

*III*

“Hi! My name is Cameron, and to prove I’m Total Drama material, I’m gonna summon satan.” A girl with plum purple hair in a bob cold-opened, the shot swinging as she was in the process of moving it where she needed. She placed it on a short patio table, the time being after sunset, the sky dim. A loud chatter shouted off-screen, indiscernible in video, but Cameron straightened so her head was out of the shot and yelled back, “It’s just for business, mom!”

She lowered down with a mischievous smile, ready to do something with the ouija board and candles set up on the ground. The harsh voice started up again, and Cameron groaned in irritation. She left the scene for a few moments, their voices going back and forth. She returned with a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine, I’m just gonna summon a normal, lame ghost I guess.”

She lit the candles and began to seat herself, but before she sat down her mother yelled once again, this time something about fire could be heard. “UGH, MOM!” Cameron shot to her feet. “I do this all the time! Why do you only care when I’m actually trying to show people-!?” She stomped away once more. Once that chatter ended, she came back and instantly plopped down in her spot with a huff. “Alright, okay. Here we go!” She closed her eyes. There was a pause, the lighting of the video going unnaturally dark. Her green, choppy bangs waved in a sudden big breeze. A content smile crossed her face, the film glitching at the edges. It switched to night vision just as a pair of legs clad in mom jeans materialized behind Cameron, hand on hips, and then the video cut out entirely.

*III*

A platinum blonde, choppy-haired boy clapped in the lens of the camera, pulling his hands away to reveal his panicked expression. “Total Drama! I’d be the perfect contestant for your new show! Or season! Whatever!” He awkwardly did half of some kinda hand gesture. “And I could just do something cool right now to convince you, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life. You’re about to see a compilation of me proving myself for years!” He leaned back a little, looking above the camera. “Thanks for making the montage, mom-”

The film abruptly switched to a shot of a flock of birds, pecking away at a green field of grass. A bush behind them rustled, and the blonde burst out. The birds erupted upwards, but after the curtain of wings cleared, the boy was triumphantly holding one in his hands. A swarm of beaks began to descend upon him before the scene changed.

The next clip started in the middle of the boy furiously arguing. The camera wasn’t initially focused on him, but started to come up behind him. “It was NOT a foul!! How would you know, I was on the field- you’re just some dumb referee! He kicked me first-!” After a turn, it was revealed that the person he was arguing about was a toddler, both of them with potato sacks pooled around their feet. It cut off when a woman came up beside the film taker to ask her to calm her son down.

A few more clips later, it returned to him as he was auditioning. “So that’s why you should pick Jackson!” He screeched. He brought his fist into view, clutching a lemon. He squeezed it with a battle cry, and a spray of lemon juice shot out in all directions. “AAUG-!!!”

*III*

A latina girl with long dark hair stands at a countertop, tapping a spoonful of dried jasmine flowers into a cup and pouring a stream of steaming water over them. She stirs it with a spoon before glancing at the camera with her dark eyes.

“Hello, Chris.” She begins, a haughty tone etching her words. “Starting another season, hm? And here I thought you’d run out of ideas. I mean, building an entire island after the last one sunk? I don’t know how you’ll top that.”

The girl leans forward on her elbows, letting go of the spoon. It continued to stir around the cup as if guided by an invisible third hand. “But let me get to the point: you need new contestants to traumatize. And lucky for you, I’m going to step into that role.” She straightened, waving her hand in the air. The spoon stopped as a cupboard opened on its own, a box of cookies tumbling out and floating over to her. She opens the top as it rests itself on the counter, taking out a cookie to dunk in her tea. “Now, I can’t promise that I’ll start fights with the other contestants, but I will… work a little magic.”

She chuckled, nibbling at her snack. “Something to really blow them all away. I’ll see you there.” She waved lightly with her free hand, sending the film off with a snap.

*III*

“Okay… alright.” A pasty young adult said as they fidgeted. Their pink eyes darted nervously behind their glasses, but held a determination to them. “Hey there. You gotta pick me, Jupiter! Know why!?” They jolted about, picking up a med’s kit into the frame. “Who else can patch up a kid’s leg one-two-three STAT! Eh?” They chuckled under their quavering breath, the kit shaking in their hands. “Ehhhh?” They let out an involuntary sigh, dropping the white box.

“A-and between me and you…” Their eyes flicked about with purpose this time. “I need to be the one to get this money. I- I need my mom to think-” They sighed with a pleading laugh. “I just want… okay, okay, listen my bro,” They clasped their vibrating hands together and looked into the lens. “C’mon man, please?”

*III*

A pink-clad teenager sat on her bed in a pastel room, the wall behind her adorned with heart-shaped decorations, pressed flowers, and pictures of the Greek coast. She gave a short wave with her ebony hand. “Hello. My name is Marina. I am fifteen years old. I am applying to be considered as a competitor in the newest season of Total Drama.” She stated one-after-the-other, smiling and getting to the point with each thing she said. 

“I am a great team player. I always play fair, no matter who I’m up against. And if I win, I would like to have my Sweet Sixteen in Greece.” She finally let herself get a little off track, her eyes trailing to the side. “I mean… my sister, Stella, would be upset that I didn’t put the money towards our Quinceañera… but I’m sure she’ll understand. Eventually.”

Marina perked up as a door opened off screen. She watches someone get closer to the camera, until another girl’s face is right in front of it, completely blocking the shot of Marina. “Oh, hey Stella. I thought you were outside picking berries?” Her voice said.

“No berries.” The newcomer stated.

“No berries? What about oranges?” Marina suggested.

“Yeah.” The face turned towards her sister.

“Yeah? You want to go pick oranges? We can make orange cake.”

“Yeah!” She moved away, revealing the auditioner once again.

“Okay, let’s go pick some oranges.” Her eyes followed Stella out of her room. She stood up towards the camera, picking it up to her level. “Well, that’s all the time I have. Pick me! Um- please. Thank you.”

*III*

An auditorium is already applauding when the tape begins, a girl in a bright blue hijab coming up to center-stage to take an impressive-looking award.

It cuts to the same girl at a field, standing on her hands and looking forward. Her legs bend backwards but her feet stay placed about her head, with no help beyond her own strength and flexibility. She holds a bow and an arrow with her toes, only showing her strain once or twice, but nowhere near enough to break her steely demeanor while doing such a feat. She pulls back the string with one leg, and releases it. The camera follows the arrow through the air until it sticks its landing just above the bullseye on a target a few yards away.

The scene cuts again to the young woman, now in a completely different outfit and addressing the camera herself. “My name is Nadine, and I’m a winner. As a competitive acrobatic, you know I don’t go for easy wins. Your game show is in a similar boat, but I intend to accomplish it with just as much ease. Observe.” She turns and picks up a new bow ‘n arrow, flicking a lighter and catching the arrow head on fire. She got in the position from earlier, and began to draw back the string. On its way, however, it nicked her head scarf and left a flame- and with the way her eyes widened, she definitely wasn’t oblivious to it.

*III*

“Is this thing even on?” A girl with bright green hair pulled back with a bandana muttered to herself. Her tongue was sticking out as she messed with it, until finally noticing the blinking red light. “Oh! Okay!” She jumped back, revealing that she was standing in a kitchen, dressed in a pink apron. “Hi, I really want to be on Total Drama! I’m really cool and super strong and I bake awesome cookies-”

She reaches for a pan on the counter in front of her bare-handed, and begins to hold up her freshly baked cookies for the camera. Utter pain shoots across her face as she drops the pan, screaming. A bang makes her shout again, pulling up a reddening leg that must have gotten hit by the hot pan.

“OW OW OW!” She chants, hopping around one-footed. “Ugh, I’m so stupid-”

The hopping jostled the camera. The shot suddenly became a blur as it fell to the ground, shattering the lens.

“Oh, dangit!!”

She shuffles towards it on her knees, her chin just cut off. “Uhh… My name is Paulie, by the way-” It cut to black on its own.

*III*

“-But I have my audition tape right here-” The video was trained on a fully clothed boy standing in his room, but the person filming moved the camera around wildly. They briefly settled on a shot of a roll of sticky tape on a desk that the auditioner was gesturing to. “Why are you filming-? To prove that it’s mine-?”

An irritated growl sounded out of frame. “That’s not going to get you into the show, Roger!” There was a quick pan between the boy and a windowpane on the next wall, then back to him. “Show them what you can do or you aren’t going to be picked!”

“What are you talking about!? I want to be on it if YOU want me to be on it, but I already told you I’m not cut out for it! They aren’t going to like me any more than anyone else does!” Roger argued.

A hand materialized from behind the camera and lightly clutched the cloth on his shoulder. “You need to win the MONEY, dunce! They’ll pick you once they see your tricks- now jump out the window!”

The boy gasped in shock, despair filling his eyes. “I can’t believe- you finally want me d- dead…” He whimpered. He tore away and went to pout on his bed. “Leave me alone, then…”

Presumably his sibling yelled in frustration, shaking the camera. “Fine! I’ll just follow you around until you accidentally do something…” They griped before switching off the video.

*III*

Not much can be seen at first except for a silhouette leaning forward, framed by the orange light of a campfire. A flashlight flicks on, and the tall girl in front of it can be seen in full color, plus a few trees of the nighttime forest around her.

“Howdy!” The girl says sweetly and boldly. “The name’s Rosie! I saw your little TV show on forever ago, and I’d like to camp with y’all!” 

She gets to her knees and reaches into a backpack mostly offscreen. “I can do all kinds ‘a knots, I can do them backwards, sideways, inside-out, blindfolded-” She twisted the rope around as needed then tossed it aside. “I can hike to the top of a mountain in a day, swim upstream in a thunderstorm, and know every single berry by heart!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out two handfuls of small blue berries.

“Right now, here’s a little test. Which one do you eat?” In a moment, she flung both behind her. “Neither!” She shouted proudly. “If you snacked on a pokeberry OR a nightshade, you’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

She placed a hand on her chest, grinning wide. “I love to camp. ‘Makes me feel alive.”

She glared at the camera without warning. Her eyes darkened. “”Pity some folk don’t properly enjoy it. I suppose I’ll have to weed those out.”

*III*

Bouncing up and down on her bed, a girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair greets the camera with a wide smile. Her yellow wall behind her was decorated in stars and displayed several pictures of macaroni art smothered in glitter. A light shadow near the frame moved away, the person behind it ready to begin. “Okay, it’s rolling now. Say hi, Stella.”

“Hi.” The latina girl ducked down a bit and gave an enthusiastic wave.

“So, Stella, can you tell the camera why you want to compete on Total Drama?”

Rather than answer, she waves again with no change in expression.

“Yes, hello Stella. Do you want to be on Total Drama?”

“Yeah!” She agrees gleefully.

“Why?”

“Yeah!”

The girl taping the audition giggles and tries a different approach. “Okay, if you won the million dollars, what would you do with it?”

Stella moved her eyes away as she pondered it, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Party.”

“You want to have a party?” The other pressed.

“Quinceañera.” The auditioner specified. She closed her eyes, brought her hands up, and wiggled in her seat like she was dancing to music.

“That sounds like a great idea, Stella. Back to the show, are you a good team player?” The camera-girl asked. Stella agreed. “Yeah? And do you like to make friends?” Stella agreed again. “Okay, say goodbye to the camera.”

“Bye bye!” Stella slid off the bed as she said this, already wanting to see the playback.

*III*

Tony doesn’t GET an audition tape. I hate this man. I’ve been trying to think of an audition for him forever and it just. Ain’t. happening.