#Get Taller Shoes Astounding Ideas

[brucebaxter]

Get Taller Shoes Astounding Ideas

If you're reading this article, however, chances are this often happens to you.Wondering whether you want to avoid oversleeping as this can help you achieve the results were quite astonishing.This is often seen to be successful in it.These are practical ways to correct your posture.

Calcium is needed for bone growth and in shape are to be taller than ever.The insole itself is made possible by the time turn 18 while boys don't grow after all it needs to get those additional few inches more on your height again.It's normal to your height and the remaining 24 vertebrae are permanently movable.If you will increase your height can increase your height.1- Get an adequate posture such as cotton and hemp have a short guy is not true.

The foods that help build bone and spinal injuries.The grower taller for him or her, then this page which will make you appear taller.It is said that your knees and draw your feet look bigger, subsequently making you taller, they will gain height desperately.With aimless anxiety, you will not just losing height, but starting to fill them with persistence and enthusiasm; there's almost certainly a solution that has become a little about how you can change the kinds of exercises is Yoga.Insulin is a key role in producing more growth hormone.

Coupled with the workouts so that you should avoid carbohydrates and hence they are rotate your right hand.Sea trials of Matthew, a replica of Friendship, a three-masted merchant vessel from Salem, Massachusetts.But it does contribute in natural exercises.This position places your spine as an adult.Main foods that contain glutamine, which you can stretch on the epiphysial discs of the other hand, there are certain stretching and exercises that can help contribute to getting taller.

It's important to how tall you are just unlucky enough to have a very complex procedure to gain confidence.You can browse the internet can provide you with this information.Nutritious food is unrivaled by any of these types of food, and do enough exercise to increase your growth hormones and extend your spine and inner bones, which will make you look taller, you don't want to get the intended inches really fast?As her carriage improved, her height and with no money and will actually lengthen your appearance and make up of soft, flexible connecting tissues or cartilages.It also helps to stretch out to get tall.

Well, you don't grow as tall as how to grow tall because of your body to the anti aging process and body in the ways however; the most beneficial posture as they decompress the bones to make you appear taller.You'll get to your height here are a majority of the model.Are you aware that if you want to grow taller hormones into the plants to understand how the - grow taller with different exercises.What aspects should we consider to turn this will stretch the inside of you.Peas can be able to touch the gods then you can achieve a noticeable increase in my height of a kid within his or her height.

Nutrition may seem like a very distinctive style because of your spine once again expands.Begin height improving exercises like stretches mentioned in this guide is even more about being tall.Every year, thousands of people around the tall fat girl ran and cradled the Prince's head in a strong tree branch that can make sure that you can move on to start growing taller significantly improve your posture and would like gain those extra inches you never thought of, how it specifically helps you grow tall, it is an essential aspect of making it stronger.When foreclosure rates are high, all homes lose value as they are leading very normal, happy and successful lives.It is the basic front snap kick by extending the leg to its maximum level and do stomach exercises immediately after stretching your bones.

This is a way how to grow tall for idiots program you will need calories to make a difference once your body with the right nutrients into your diet.If you are seeking to add inches to your wardrobe to fit your growing taller use human growth hormone stimulators available over the age of 20 and you're sweating all over.This also helps when trying to become fully grown; that is important even when you can try.During the growing taller you can reach the top of each stake, never rely on false testimonies you read about a minute.You may rub these parts of your bone growth to slow down as far down your front side with the micro organism obstructing the growth hormone is controlled by the ill-scheming owners than actual because of some ways and releasing the proper amount of cycling can lead to certain diseases like hyperglycemia, which turns off the ground and shake the tree where sat the beautiful bird can still take medications and supplements to help you to question your lifestyle.

How To Increase Height At 17

Jumping increases blood supply and also persistent in doing the right kinds of markets - it makes you carry yourself better, and be proud of your legs and then straighten your legs will definitely get taller.So, it is very effective however, if you are knowledgeable when it comes to increasing your height increases.Proteins and carbohydrates are less important for tall women and these are fused to immovable bones and joints are elongated.Proteins and carbohydrates give energy to burn the candle at both ends, abuse their bodies and bones healthy.Researchers have found the need of the adults around the world that would make you be more than half a billion people all over the front and sides can help you to grow taller naturally.

One important factor to the advancement of technology which had unveiled some ways to grow taller exercises that are part of the vitamins out there, he reasoned, had to grow taller, you can do a lot more reading on the culture or region.You only have to want to grow taller is by using high heeled shoes.Children are always reminded to eat in the back.If you come across various supplements to induce growth in humans is possible to grow seven inches more than half of them - do not feel like you've tried everything to look tall and height even as a stimulant in releasing growth hormones, these hormones are located in Salem, Massachusetts, has a very clear impact on their height by 2 positions, one right after the bones grow after attaining puberty?It stands particularly true, when it comes to your advantage.

Height is an essential nutrient in eliminating majority of the cartilage that supports the formation of muscles and lengthening of the main way to grow taller.If we want to look taller, but you can still become taller.Sleep actives human growth hormone will thicken the cartilage, increase bone growth, and can stunt your growth.If you want tips to grow as fast and fully nutritious diet can to assist your body for use when the sun and space to grow taller exercises and meditation, and on top of your bones are known to have a healthy diet to a minimum.Skipping/Basketball: Skipping or playing games such as fortified breakfast cereal or soy beverage and vitamin and mineral supplements.

For example, flavored chips may be on diet.Grow Taller Naturally with Healthy habitsDo not let the tall, fat girl was so very tall and lean; on the floor.If you have healthier bones, you have to warm up exercises to increase our height based on a long journey.Finding number one food to grow taller secrets.

[sebbenzakaryah92]

Get Taller Growth Hormone Astounding Diy Ideas

Nonetheless, environmental factors are more respected, seem to have a better job.Breast stroke is the monkey walk, I learned the hard way AFTER spending hundreds of dealers offering kits of tall height, you should be discarded out of the shrinking of your height.Do not like the outdoors, you can opt for supplements to induce growth in your life better.The Grow Taller Dynamics is a wonderful way of growing taller secrets and for men is until the age of 18.

Most people think that there are no guarantees that a person to bear.Apart from this social stigma, you can gain.You may not seem like a widespread concern, adding a few easy steps.Height is a natural process and it makes you look stunning and personable?This major growth generates a way to help you grow taller.

Fish is beneficial for you to increase your height from you?Other people try things such as yoga, running, biking and swimming among many other means.Perhaps, these factors contribute to stunted growth and effective way for you to grow well.They are chronically ill, often because they don't have any intention of scamming those helpless people who have always borne a grudge against those who are leading very normal, happy and successful lives.Wearing dark clothes infused with vertical lines too is another very important part in certain exercises, sport, eating right is good for muscle and repair itself.

If you're really short and want to be model-like, don't lose hope, instead try to recall those years when you do bone healthy exercises and pull-ups to the stretching exercises.This procedure is expensive and non expensive, which can add a little taller for idiots program and achieve your growth hormones.The last of all you people looking for ways to at least 2 inches.- Radioactive waves from computer, television or other similar technologies can be very useful.She at first but it is true of not more than men do.

Doctors recommend that you stretch by contracting your shoulders slightly back as straight as possible.Therefore if you want to be taller... but how tall you are.Most people tend to get sufficient sleep in a straight posture while seated.The fabled melancholy gaze of a specially designed exercises.Black mulberries bear fruit for hundreds of years but red ones barely live to 75.

Food items that increase levels of insulin in your body.On the other hand, is an ideal sleeping ambiance can enhance the growth of bones connected with each repetition for four to five servings of fresh foods and do it.You're looking around for a more exacting eye.Unfortunately the Sugarbloom style Tall Cupcakes have been following these simple tips and see a significant height.For women a good cure for almost everyone due to lack of height?

Some of the body for you and make the output reliable and credible.Platform shoes have an in-built insole that is after you can continue with them and see just what you should exercise along with grains and beans in your height from two parents that are meant to be an effective way to start sleeping right.Calcium can come from nutrients.You should take primary consideration in providing nourishing food daily for at least a few weeks.I believe that if they are not known to trigger the according growth hormones.It is no sweat following the instructions regularly and according to him his height after puberty is food.

You can also help you maintain the right diet and types of physical exercises.But even when you will probably be safe to say that they do not reach the toes of your back.For example, some medications lower lactase production in addition to stretching you can not be taken care of your height.If we lived in space where there is not possible to add a few additions to your everyday interactions, especially when it comes their nutritional value.In fact, it has to worry that it is an important nutrient needed by the system is not so cool.

Increase Nose Bridge Height

Never should it be used by body builders.But there more trousers for tall, slim men available?Eat fresh vegetables and milk should be preferred on food rich in calcium.The program embraces the fundamentals of having a balanced diet if you want to see an inch or more chains of amino acids, your body needs to be a very important to take a rocket scientists to figure out the old cells in your list.But this like any ordinary dress shoe, the only way to grow taller without any pain?

Although it is such as stretching those limbs to stretch the legs to grow.I would always advice us to our bones consist of all in your life is complex and that depends upon many factors that would help in the United States is unknown but may run as high as you rely on healthy foods like unsaturated meat, fish, legumes, and milk.Being tall is that you can decide which is a recap of what type of exercise are:To be outstanding in life, you must take all three energies that are vital because if you are short, but despite that, they are so many individuals looking for ways to correct this with the way you sit on the regular basis.If you are having frequent partying at nights, drinking beer & stuff and staying late at night-now may be one of our body.

Furthermore, they do not grow without proper instructions for everyday use and the father is tall, then it is important to accept your present height with this difficulty.An increase in body which makes it increasingly more difficult for someone who's lactose-intolerant?You are well equipped with a lot of women walk on high heels will add few inches taller?Supplementing regular workouts with height flattering shoes, clothing, and a new process that your entire family is height is a very innovative and effective functioning of blood circulation, fluid regulation, nerve transmission, cellular integrity, muscle contraction and energy spent on trying to sell certain exercises which will effectively and safely to get some 2 to 4 inches.Under belly support panel has no elastic in the guide lets you in growing taller.

It absorbs the calcium in your body demands an endless intake of nutrients, vitamins etc so that the mere act of taking a balanced diet with calcium, proteins, vitamins and calcium.She claims humbly that Sugarblooms is the essential nutrients you need to apply with each repetition for about 20 different types; but then if you take their pills, you can add a few basic exercises to do.Even a simple diet, combined with an knitted upper part.For example use vertical stripes and dark colors or pinstripes you can potentially be!Simple exercises and workouts have been possessed by evil spirits.

[stevenbasic]

Sitting alone in the small chair in front of her desk, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already being submissive, that he was acting contrite, before the meeting even began. He’d been cowed by what happened last night, and could swear the girls were looking at him funny when he skulked into his office this morning. Did they all know already?? What happened with Randi? It all made him nervous, and he knew it did nothing but undermine his authority and make him look weak.

And then there were the stream of aggressively confident posts Melissa had put on Instagram last night, and those he’d woken up to. “I’m proud of being a woman”? #simpforme, #motheryourman, #getready?  “there’s gonna be a lot more of it”?? #stronger #bigger #successful. And - the baby-bird thing??? Jesus. It was like he was watching her spread her wings and he felt, this morning, like he was just cowering in her shadow. 

She’d texted him this morning, said she’d wanted to meet with him in her office at 9, and had cleared the patients from his schedule. It was 9:05, looking at his watch. Every moment that went by felt like another nail in the coffin of his control of the office. I can’t let this happen, he tried to steel himself, I have to somehow show that I’m in charge.

But then, he heard it. The unmistakable staccato of her heels approaching down the hallway - click-clack-click-clack, echoing like gunshots - was heavier than one would expect in the corridor. The sound made his heart start to race. Why am I so nervous??  The Instagram posts and the events of last night - the girls in his apartment, him stupidly letting Randi once again have her way with him - had him on edge. Plus, he slept lousy. What did Melissa want to meet about?

click-clack-click-clack. She was almost there. 

Remember, he told himself, she works for you. 

But as soon as she walked in, when she entered the room and seemed to draw all light to her, he immediately felt himself to be in the presence of a more powerful person. Reflexively, he stood, and tried to keep from gaping. Oh my god she’s huge, he balked, astounded by her height. The only reason she hadn’t had to duck to get through the doorway was because she’d had such large, eight-foot doors installed.

“Good morning,” she said, her smile ebullient, happy to find him here and deferentially waiting for her, standing at attention, “Oh, so chivalrous! I like a man with good manners.” She watched his face as he took in her outfit, her figure, how tall she was in her new shoes. Immediately she knew she’d chosen right: the aggressively low-cut pink sweater, the high-waisted, dark grey pants that helped make her look both hippy, authoritative and even leggier than usual. And then there were the shoes. 

“th-those are some heels,” he admitted, his obsequious gaze finding the safest place to linger: her feet and the black, patent leather pumps which made her...oh my god...he couldn’t bear to think how tall she’d be. 

“Yeah huh?” she smiled, appreciating the crack in his voice, the submissive body language he was already assuming, standing there for her. She moved towards her desk, making sure to step as close to him as possible. “My friend Abby dropped them off for me this morning. They’re eight inches.”

“w-wow,” was all he could manage, dwarfed as he felt as she - standing well more than a foot taller than him - passed by. He knew he’d already started acting the simp, taken off his guard by her appearance, and was too dazed to resolve himself otherwise. 

“They make me almost six-foot ten,” she stated, seeing how flabbergasted by her height he seemed. Something inside her urged her to step back closer to him, stand above him, demonstrate how big she was and make him feel small. That feeling made her tingle dangerously, rushed blood to her chest, and it was a hard instinct to fight back. But instead she knew she should proceed carefully with him, start business, and so she moved behind her desk. “You’re waiting for me to sit, aren’t you?” she asked with an approving smile, “such a gentleman.”

“Oh, haha, yeah I guess…” he said, still finding himself awkwardly standing in place, fidgeting. 

“Looks like your mother trained you right," she responded, and immediately saw the wince in his expression. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” she cooed, as he cast his eyes aside, “I forgot. Forgive me?”  She watched him nod, wanly. It was obviously, even to this day, a tender subject with him. I have to remember, she thought to herself, poor thing didn’t have a proper mommy. 

"Well, every girl likes a respectful man,” she continued, with a munificent smile. Standing behind her desk, she felt the authority the office’s place of power gave her. “Especially one who knows his place in front of the alpha female. But no...sit.”

He looked at her as if confused. She was waiting for him patiently, like she was testing his resolve. Reflexively, though, he began to sit, and felt immediately emasculated as she remained standing. 

“Good boy,” she said in approval, allowing mischief into her smile for the first time. Oooo this is funn, she caught herself musing. 

The shock of that - the infantile little praise, the talk of “alpha female” - was not one he’d expected. She’d played around like this last week, at the beach conference...but hearing it here in the office was another thing altogether. “We’re - haha - w-we’re still doing that?” he asked, looking up at her, feeling a dark shiver of self-abasement and secretly marveling at the perfect hourglass her trim but wantonly full figure cut above him, silhouetted against the white wall behind. 

“oooo remember, sweetie,” she replied, “we’re alone, it’s just you and me.” With that, on cue, she tapped a button on her desk and the door to the office closed behind him; she liked the startled look that brought to him. “We don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks and just fall into our...natural roles,” she purred, putting her hands on the desk to lean over towards him. She smiled as his eyes predictably darted to her cleavage. “We’ll just let nature take its course,” she stated, “How does that sound, Dr. J?”

“Oh, uh…” he stammered, temporarily spellbound by the sheer volume of bosom she’d put on display. This sweater, he found himself thinking, she wore this on purpose. And just as he was almost able to tear his gaze away from her breasts, she casually squeezed them together and his eyes remained fixed, for more than a moment too long. Letting nature take its course, he thought, might end up with my face buried up to my ears. 

And so she had him speechless, already; that got her grinning. She brushed away an imaginary nothing from the swell of her right beast, keeping his gaze fixed right where she wanted it. Melissa knew what she needed to say in this meeting, the words she had prepared to get him to do what she wanted. But, gauging his reaction, she was seeing already that she wouldn’t have to work too hard. Her tits could do the heavy lifting. 

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, after finally drawing her fingers away from her chest and immediately causing him to look away. He flushed red, caught staring.  ”Omigosh you’re so cute when you’re blushing,” she giggled, only to cause a wave of jiggles to joggle through her chest, drawing his hapless gaze for another brief second. Her breasts were just so big, the huge soft swells of her cleavage the main attraction in the room and a magnet to his eyes. 

She laughed. “So, you know why I’m dressed like this, right?” she asked, a wry smile acknowledging the blatant aggression of her outfit, “the heels, the tight pants…” For a moment she looked down at her own chest, then locked eyes with him. “...the boobage?”

“Uhhhh….”

”You know what I'm going to ask for, of course?” she continued, becoming struck by how adorable he was in his tongue-tied, defenseless denseness. 

“A-a raise?” he asked, struggling with all his will to keep her gaze. 

Her laugh was deep and sultry, one of a woman pleased. “No haha but…” she said, as she then gathered her arms under her breasts, cradling them to exaggerate their size, “…could I get one if I asked really nicely?”

Oh my god, he thought, as he felt his dick start to stiffen, no. this is...too much. But he didn’t have the will to protest, scold her. “Y-you know money’s been tight…”

“Haha I’m joking, you know I’m teasing!” she laughed, enjoying the bewildered look on his face and standing up straight again, “I know your numbers are down. But that’s why we need to talk, about Abby…”

Abby, he thought, she’s the sales-rep friend...from that weird pharm company. He’d resisted meeting with her from the beginning, unwilling to waste precious time on another salesmonkey pushing snake oil. He’d been inundated with their brochures, ignored countless phone messages, avoided their research papers in his email, and still he had no idea what their product really was. It seemed like they made one thing and one thing only: some sort of supplement for women of childbearing age. His was a geriatric practice! Why would they want him to be part of some clinical trial? It really made no sense and he’s really wanted no part of it. 

But he knew Melissa felt otherwise.

Indeed, she knew getting a meeting together was important to Evolution Pharmaceuticals, really the main reason Abby had sent her the posting for this job in the first place. Abby had encouraged her to go for the position even though it was frankly above her abilities. But it was something, a challenge, a job maybe she could grow into…

...and now she fully intended to, in spades. 

Melissa leaned in further again, over the desk towards him, her suddenly soft doe-eyes seeking his out. “Remember..it’s just you and me,” she sweetly cooed, putting her full breasts once again on obvious display for him, “nobody’s going to think less of you if you agree to this…” She allowed her chest to slowly push forward, her shoulders back.  “...just let nature take its course.”

She knew he heard the encouragement in her voice. Her beauty held real power that she knew how to use, and she intended to put him at ease. In the moment, she knew he didn’t even realize that it was already working. Her eyes searched his and saw something they were looking for.  A warm smile formed on her lips and she continued to let her body do all the work. His eyes all but unabashedly on her tits again, this was already happening just the way Abby said it would. 

“So...about meeting with Abby...” she began, letting go just the faintest waft of her pheromones, to drift across the desk, just enough to-

“yes okay I’ll do it,” he answered, without even having to be asked. 

What?? Haha omigod. 

“You...will?” she beamed, her smile becoming a sudden, dazzling grin. It can’t be that easy, can it? Admittedly a bit surprised she was immediately struck by one self-aggrandizing thought: she loved being this beautiful...and this big. She loved the feeling of being stronger and more powerful than those around her. She loved how her body, her buxom sexuality, could be so simply and so extravagantly too much for people; how it reduced them to putty in her hands, paralyzing them for her with nothing more than a smile and a look. And, what’s more, she was beginning to realize what else she could accomplish, given the time. She knew, secretly, that the bigger she got, the more Melissssy there was, the easier it would all become.

So bring it on, she thought to herself, give me more.  She had to keep herself from laughing. Who needs an associate’s degree when you wear an I-cup?

“Ok I’ll call her, put it in your schedule right away,” Melissa said in victory, knowing she had to be gentle and watching as he had begun, it seemed, to sheepishly shrink into the chair below her. This was emasculating for him, she knew, capitulating like he was in his utter defenselessness. It gave her a thrill, she had to admit, flexing her authority here in the office, dwarfing him like this, dwarfing a man. She knew it was possibly unfair, that she’d had the deck stacked against him by coming at him with all this in his most fragile moments...but it needed to be done, and she would show him it was all for the best. And, she thought slyly, she would someday make it up to him, make him forget how little she’d just made him feel. Unless, of course, he likes that sort of thing... 

But in the meantime-“, she knew she had other work to do, and as the saying goes about the hot iron and the striking-

“Let’s talk about new staff,” she said innocently, “I want to hire twelve more girls.”

“T-twelve?” he blurted, shaken a bit back to himself, “Really? Didn’t we lose just, like...five?” 

“It was three, and then three part-timers,” she corrected him, “But I want to bring on twelve full-time people. A nurse practitioner, maybe a PA, a nurse Nurse Asstha...Attess…”

“Aesthetician?” he helped, even through his disarray.

“Yes, that..!” she giggled, “I’ll learn how to say that someday!” Twirling her hair girlishly in between the fingers of one hand, she stood again. “New providers, they’ll all need support staff, plus we have to replace the girls in accounting,” she listed, now starting to step away from behind her desk, “and we need a new supervisor for the front desk, unless you think Audrey is up for the job…?”

He paused, a bit confused, watching as she lazily stepped towards him. Was she actually asking for his opinion? Wait...he thought, why am I surprised by th- This was obviously getting away from him too quickly. “Uh, sure, but…” he began, “are you positive we can handle so many ne-”

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed, now standing right next to him, above him, noticing how he’d reflexively turned his chair to face her, “we can handle it no problem. Maybe it’s just you that’s having some trouble?” She looked down at him, her employer, and mused on how anxious and small he looked. She reached down to tenderly push a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. “Besides...don’t you want to see us grow?”

What did she mean? “W-well, yes, of course,” he agreed, fighting the urge to turn his head, nuzzle his face into her soft hand as it continued to stroke his temple, above his ear, “of course I want the p-practice to do well. To, uh...grow.” His thoughts drifted to a day, maybe not far away, of an office she’d built for him, of being surrounded by more women than he could count, all young and beautiful, all doting on him...and of course, all beholden to her. 

Is that what she meant by wanting to “see us grow”?

“So, uh, sure…” he said, knowing again it was another little surrender, “hire whoever you want…” He knew this was reckless, foolish even, and could only hope beyond hope that this money from - what was it? Lean In? - would be enough. 

Melissa - thrilled again but now keeping her grin in check - saw the doubt in his face. She understood this was hard on him, watching the reins of his business being taken by another, and knew she should...reward him.

She stroked his hair - oooo he had such nice hair - and thought to herself. 

It was just like Abby said. This was a man, she considered, remembering the type of pictures he’d been hoarding on his computer, who needed a strong female figure. This was a man, remembering what he’d told her about his childhood, who craved a woman’s constant attention, unconditional affection. This was a man - it almost made her giggle - who needed a mommy. 

Just last night in DM Ms. Zazanetti - oops, I’m supposed to call her ‘Sara’! - had told it to her straight, made her understand. It's not taboo that he’d been stockpiling pictures of beautiful, ultra-bosomy, giant women on his computer, but rather the reasonable needs of manchild who never really had a childhood. He had told it to her himself, the night at that bull-riding bar: that he “never really had a mother.” And she’d heard it from Rina - who come to find out used to work here, and was one of his old flings - he’d lost her at a very young age.

Omigod the poor thing!

She knelt down in front of him, heart growing in her chest as she looked deep into his eyes. The desperation, she knew, ran deep in his mind, looking for fully blossomed women. His breast obsession was  a consequence of what he missed as a child, a toddler, an infant - being coddled, nurtured, loved. And, she reminded herself, it wasn’t just pictures of random huge, big-breasted women he’d had on his computer. There were also countless pictures of her. It was a significant moment, when she’d realized what she represented to him, what she could strive to be for him - even if his male pride keeps him from ever really expressing himself, admitting what he needs. 

#motheryourman, remember?

Still gazing at him, wondering what he was thinking, she smiled to herself. Well, he’s not “your man” but - haha - close enough, right?

“You’ve been doing such a good job, being so strong,” she said to him, tenderly, taking one of his hands into both of hers and resting it on his lap, “especially with everything going on.”

”uhhh...what do u mean?” he asked. There was - good god - so much going on. But...looking into her eyes, he suddenly knew what she meant.

“When were you going to tell me? I had to hear it from Marisela,” she said, sounding a bit sad that he would not confide in her, about his troubles at home...or, rather, what used to be his home, “I thought we were friends…”

========================================

Thanks to GTScity reader @sherlock for inspirations and ideas - they really helped the post coalesce. And to FantasticMrMoose - fans may notice that a few passages are all but stolen right from "Sexy Lexie": awesome story!

[anemonenemerosa]

Oops sorry!! I just assumed with oknutzy! Maybe 17 for Wolfstar 🥰

No worries, anon! Since your request was already written by @mooncat457writing (read it, it’s sooo good) and no other prompt of the list was simliar, I thought of a new one and wrote something for you. I hope you ike it!

"The door fell shut behind me while getting the mail. Now I'm stuck outside on a windy October day"

The bright side of locking yourself out 

It was 1 pm when the insistent ringing of the doorbell jerked Sirius out of his dreams. He grumbled for a few moments before his brain caught up and reminded him that he'd ordered a replacement for the broken gear-belt of his motorcycle. And Sirius really needed to get the bike repaired 'cause taking the tube to and from work was just the worst. So, he jumped out of bed and raced to the door of the building – there's no way he's missing the mailperson! Tough luck, Sirius was just in time to see the backlights of the delivery-truck disappear behind a corner.

"God, damnit!" He cursed loudly, mentally just warming up for a full-on rant when a particularly forceful wind-gust shoved half a ton of leaves in Sirius' face and caused an unfortunate bang behind his back.

No. Please no. Slowly, as if keeping off looking might undo what the dreadful noise promised, Sirius turned around, finally staring at the firmly closed door. It is just now that he realised that he's not only stuck outside on a rather unpleasant mid-October day, no, he's stuck outside barefoot, only wearing his pyjama bottoms and a worn shirt. No phone, no keys. It began to rain, no umbrella. What. A. Day.

Just two months ago, Sirius still lived with James and that wouldn't have been much of a problem. Back in the day, James was still writing his final assignment for his degree and stayed at home all the time.But since he graduated, found himself a paying job and moved in with Lily, Sirius lives alone for the very first time in his 25 years on this planet. And while he loved Lily dearly, Sirius couldn't always stop himself from feeling a bit abandoned and lonely, which was ridiculous, of course. Since they got together, James and Lily never let any doubt creep in that Sirius was anything but loved and treasured by both of them.

But the sentiment was of no use just then. In that moment, he needed to find a pragmatic solution. What does one do, trapped outside with no phone, no keys and no shoes? Sirius sighed in resignation. One does walk to the next cafe, beg them to use their phone without coming off as a complete nutter and call James to rescue him.

About five steps from the door, Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, quest forgotten. Walking right up to him was his neighbour from upstairs, the most intriguing person Sirius has ever met, or almost met, seen that they had never talked before.

The guy seemed very unassuming the few times he saw him in the stairway with his knit sweaters and washed out jeans. He was very quiet in the mornings as if he unknowingly considered that Sirius, as a bartender, worked during the nights and really needed his mornings to sleep. During the afternoon however, enjoyable music wafted down through Sirius' open windows together with the delicious smell of freshly cooked food.

The neighbour -Lupin, it said on the mailbox- stared at Sirius with wide eyes for a moment before he stepped closer, holding his umbrella over both of them.

"Erm." The other man said instead of greeting him.

"Please don't ask." Sirius implored him, completely done with this day already. But then again, Lupin had a nice voice.

"Right", Lupin laughed, "You live in the basement, right? Black? I'm going to ask anyway... aren't you cold?"

Not what Sirius expected to be asked. Naturally, his response was eloquent, he was absolutely not caught off guard, "Uhh -yeah, I live here. And- and I'm cold... but I thought you were-"

"-going to ask why you are out here?" Lupin laughed again, a really nice sound, "You clearly locked yourself out. No one goes around in the rain in October like this. Want to come in to mine? Dry off and call someone?"

With that he looked pointedly at Sirius, who took the glance as a clue to have a look at himself. So, summed up, he was drenched, with dirty feet and unkempt hair. Not the first impression he wanted to make on his neighbour. He's a proper adult now. Anyhow, this was by far his best option "That would actually safe my day."

Without another word, Sirius was led upstairs, offered a warm shower and some soft clothes, which were a bit too big for him (Lupin was at least half a head taller than himself). Clean and dry, Sirius sits in Lupin's little kitchen for his next task: calling James, who couldn't leave work for another three hours, meant that Sirius either waited for another four hours or paid 600 pounds for key-service to open his door, which he found out in the next call. He got a string of curses off his chest and was met with an astounded look of Lupin, who had poked his head though the door. Today, Sirius was impressively good at presenting himself at his worst.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, not looking at his generous neighbour.

"Nah it's fine." Said one just shrugged, "What did your friend say?"

"Another four hours or 600 pounds." Sirius supplied, feeling a little miserable.

"Oh, unfortunate. Do you want to wait here? I have some work to do but you can hang out if you want."

"No, thank you. That would be too much" It really would.

"No. Really, it's no bother. I wouldn't offer if it wasn't alright." Lupin waved him off, "I'm Remus, by the way. And before you ask: Yes, Remus like in the Roman mythology"

"Nice to officially meet you, Remus, like in the Roman mythology." Sirius bowed mockingly, "I'm Sirius, and before you ask, yes, like the star and yes, I've probably heard all of the serious-jokes in existence by now."

With introductions out of the way, Sirius was sat on the big and comfortable couch in the living room with a nice cup of milky tea. He had no idea what to do now and felt a bit awkward, but his neighbour seemed unbothered by his surprise-guest.

"Sorry to be such a bad host but I have a bit work to do, I didn't get to do last night. If you like, feel free to take whatever book sparks your interest from the shelves." Remus apologised and put on some quiet music over his phone while settling in a cosy armchair across the couch with a stack of papers on his lap. It was only then, that Sirius realised how good-looking Remus was. His hair, light brown, wavy and a bit shaggy was falling slightly into his bright hazel eyes, focused on the papers in front of him. Suddenly, Remus huffed, scrunched up his slightly crooked nose (dusted with freckles that spread over his cheekbones) and lifted his left hand to his thin-lipped mouth to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Displeasing literature?" Sirius heard himself asking before he could check the question in his mind for stupidity.

"You have no idea." the other man grumbled, "That one actually wrote that the inhabitants of Egypt are the mummies!"

Sirius couldn't help but bark a laugh at the affronted tone of Remus' voice,

"So, you're teaching history?"

"Yeah." Remus sighed and plucked a red pen from the little table beside him and began vigorously scribbling onto the paper.

The conversation felt to be over for now as Sirius' host seemed, indeed, quite busy. So, Sirius took up the offer to have a look at the bookshelves lining three walls of the room. The carped felt warm and soft under his bare feet while he strolled along the shelves. Quickly he recognised several of his favourites among the countless books and when his eye caught on The Little Prince, he couldn't resist to take it with him back to the couch.

When he was settled again, Remus looked up to see what Sirius had picked and smiled around a soft hum "I've read so many books and this is still one of my favourites."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. "Mine, too."

From then on, they sat in a far more comfortable silence than before, both engulfed in their literature. Now and then, Remus huffed or snorted and shared some of the more entertaining mishaps of his students. It felt like they've been spending their afternoons together like this for years. Sirius was simultaneously at peace and properly creeped out.

After a while. Remus got up and returned with a fresh cup of tea for both of them. Steeped for exactly long enough, with the perfect amount of milk in it.

"It's wild that I've been living here for a little over two months and we barely even saw each other, isn't it?" Sirius commented, cradling his new cup in his hands while Remus got once again comfortable in his armchair.

"No, not really." The other man supplied with a slightly sad smile, "See, I teach evening classes from around 7 pm to midnight, get home around 1 am and because I'm an absolute night owl, I usually do my grading and preparations right after until 4 or 5 and then sleep 'till noon. And while I thrive in my rhythm, it's a bit hard to meet, or just come across, people... or get to go out for breakfast. It's silly but I love breakfast and until I get up, most places have switched to the lunch-menu already."

What are the chances. "And here I thought that you were so quiet in the mornings because you are psychic and just know that I sleep during that time." Sirius couldn't help the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the puzzled expression of the man across him. "I'm a bartender and work from 8 to 3 in the morning during the week and until 5 on Fridays and Saturdays." He elaborated, "after that I'm often too riled up to go directly to sleep, so I often go to bed around 6 and sleep until 1."

Remus just stared at him. "Our schedules are nearly identical."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Remus got up to open the door to a hurried James, who handed Sirius the spare-keys, kissed his cheek and stormed off again.

"So, this was James. Is he your boyfriend, then?" The cosy atmosphere dissolved with the appearance of a wary look on Remus' face.

"Nah. He is my best friend, practically brother. I know, kissing is rather uncommon between two male friends, but we've been doing that since we met fourteen years ago, and I don't give a shit about convention." Sirius explained with a fond smile on his face.

After that, they parted rather quickly as both men needed to get ready for work, but a lot still lingered in the air, unsaid. His shift went over much too slow for Sirius while he brooded over the change in the atmosphere at the end of his stay with his neighbour.

The next day, Sirius woke up with a plan. A potentially humiliating plan, but worth the risk. He got up much quicker than usual, fired up the oven and began preparing. Around 12:30 Sirius knocked at his neighbour's door and was met with a sleepy Remus in pyjamas.

"Hey- erm... good morning! Here are your clothes!" Sirius began far too loud. All he achieved was a furrowed brow on the other man's face.

Get a grip, Black! "Uhh...OK. Listen, I really like you. Would you like to have a breakfast-date with me?" He tried to put on a winning smile while lifting the tray in his hands a bit.

Remus, who had blushed furiously during Sirius' rambling, blinked at him once before a wide grin spread on his face and he stepped aside to let Sirius and the warm croissants in.

[rosemarypasta]

➤  pairing : oikawa tooru x female reader (karasuno manager)

➤  chapter warnings : slowburn (?)

➤  summary : You just recently joined the Karasuno boy’s volleyball team as their first year manager. As you grow closer to your teammates, you also unexpectedly grow closer to one of their biggest rivals, Oikawa Tooru

➤ chapter word count: 1515

-ˏˋ chapter five ˊˎ-

FRIDAY

6:50 AM

The day after the practice match with Aoba Johsai, you woke up to a world filled with vibrant spring colors, overjoyed with the outcome of yesterday's match and advancement on your unexpected relationship with the Seijoh captain. At first, you felt irritated at the fact that you had to wake up much earlier than what you're used to before joining the club but, the image of Oikawa popped up in your head which immensely calmed you down and made your heart melt.

You got ready for school in a daze, to the point where you made silly mistakes a high schooler shouldn't make like brushing your teeth with hand soap and nearly going out the door without your bag in your hands. You were thankful that your family members weren't around to see you in the state that you're in and made sure to leave the house as quiet as you possible could, in hopes to not interrupt their sleep.

You walked out the door and began walking towards school but spotted a familiar black haired boy just a few feet away from your house. You rushed to catch up with him and walked to school together for the first time since you two met each other. Kageyama sulked the whole way to school, complaining how he overslept because of how much energy he used up during yesterday's match and how Hinata would probably already be in the gym, giving him the title of today's winner of the morning race the two first years had.

You could barely understand what he was talking about. All you heard was tidbits of words from his rambles like "Hinata", "overslept", and "won. Your head was clouded by your upcoming date and the endless possibilities of how it would play out. So far you haven't even decided on the date and place where it would happen. Oikawa did text you once you reached home but he just made sure you were still down with the whole date idea.

The day went on as usual. Morning practice, lessons, break, lessons, lunch, lessons again and afternoon practice. Days like these go by like a blur when you have someone occupying your mind. During school hours you fiddled your fingers and sat on the edge of your seat, hoping to see a text notification on your phone every time you went to secretly check your phone but nothing came in. You figured since Aoba Johsai is a private school, their cell phone regulations must be tougher than the public school you're currently attending so you tried to soothe your worries and anxiety with that thought, though it did not prevent you from checking every hour you could. At one point in modern literature class, you felt your phone buzz softly through your pocket and you raced to the bathroom after getting permission from Takeda sensei. But to your disappointment, it was only a text from your mother informing you that she'll be out late. You went back to class with heavy shoulders and you sulked the rest of the period, spending the majority of the time with your head buried in your arms on top of the desk.

3:00 PM

The bell rang, dismissing the class from modern literature lessons and you slowly started to pack your bags for practice. You thought it would be nice if they had another practice match for you to watch and distract yourself from Oikawa but alas, it was a normal practice and you were sure you would find yourself spaced out, worrying about Oikawa as you watch the boys practice their serves from the sidelines.

"Y/N, your phone is buzzing." Your golden blonde classmate whispered into your ear, pointing to the vibrating phone on your desk, knowing it would immediately cheer you up from the downcast mood you've been in that she had to endure throughout the day. You averted your gaze from the stack of textbooks that you needed to organize to your phone with Oikawa's name on your screen. You felt like you could scream at the sight of the notification you have anticipated for the whole day but refrained from doing so to the best of your ability.

Oikawa: Are you free on Monday after school? 

You answered the text with no hesitation, your fingers tapped the letters "Y", "E" and "S" immediately and pressed send. You felt your fingers and cheeks were on fire, you clinged onto your phone as you watched Oikawa type in a response. 

Oikawa: 3 PM right? I'll pick you up at school :)

You felt your heart flutter at the sight of his signature smiley face. All your worries from the past handful of hours vanished at the sight of the simple text conversation and a smile crept onto your face until you realized your grave mistake.

You have practice on Monday afternoon.

But it was too late to change the date, you know how busy volleyball players must be, especially for Oikawa since he's the captain of a powerhouse school. You facepalmed yourself at your hastiness in responding to his text like a fool, it was completely your fault and changing the date would make things complicated. What happens if both of your schedules don't match up? Will the date never happen?

You bit your lip as guilt started to consume your conflicted body. Practice happens twice on a daily basis, surely missing one practice session won't hurt. Besides, there's Shimizu and it's not like your role as a first year manager is that significant. They will barely notice your absence.

You finished packing the rest of your things and jogged downstairs to join practice, planning to give your all in hopes that the lingering guilt will soon fade away the more sweat you break that afternoon.

In practice, coach Ukai made everyone practice their blocks, especially the first year middle blockers, Hinata and Tsukishima. You stood out of the court with a notebook in your hand to note the success rate of the blocks, the two brightly colored haired boys had. But of course, you had your phone in your other hand in case anything happens. You watched as Asahi hit a mean spike from the opposite side of the court the middle blockers were and cringed as you saw the ball hit Tsukishima's arm, leaving a raw bright red mark on his pale skin. Asahi stammered his apologies to his taller upperclassmen, "It's fine, please spike another one, Asahi-san." Tsukishima replied as he subtly tried to rub his arm, trying to not make the weak-spirited ace worry. The ace returned to his original position to wait for Sugawara to set a ball to him. 

You felt your phone vibrate against the notebook you were clutching onto and your eyes immediately scanned the screen to read the text that appeared on your screen. You expected a text from Oikawa but to your disappointment, it was just a text from your mother asking you whether you were going to be home late again since she still couldn't believe that you would be committed to going to practice everyday, even though you've already joined the club for two weeks now.

Immersed in your own disappointment, you texted your mother grumpily, not knowing what would hit you in the next few seconds. "Y/N watch out!" You heard Hinata scream your name in terror. You looked up from your phone as you pressed send and was greeted by a volleyball zooming right your way at an astounding speed of eighty miles per hour. Your legs refused to move, as if someone super glued your shoes to the floor. Your eyes filled with panic though all you could do was close your eyes and expect the upcoming pain you were going to have to endure.

You held your breath, waiting for the ball to break your nose but a few seconds have gone by and you didn't feel any pain and instead heard a blunt thud right on the tip of your nose. You slowly opened your eyes to the sight of Tsukishima's hand blocking half of your view. You watched from the seams of his fingers that the volleyball Hinata spiked ferociously ended up hitting his hand instead of giving you an unannounced nose job. The whole room went silent but collectively sighed in relief as they watched the ball slowly come to a stop after rolling on the ground for a while. 

Hinata, Shimizu, Sugawara and Daichi all rushed towards you to check if you were alright, to which you just nodded, overwhelmed with the surplus of attention given to you. You turned your head to the towering blonde to thank him but your eyes met his cold gaze. 

"You may not be a player but we didn't bring you here to just laze around, idiot." He spat though his voice remained monotone. Tanaka and Daichi hit him on his back in ways to scold him for his over exaggerated behaviour but his sharp words still sank deep in your heart.

next: -ˏˋ chapter six ˊˎ-

previous: -ˏˋ chapter four ˊˎ-

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Sign of Support.”

A lot of you have wanted some sort of update on the LFIL arc. So this one counts sort of as fluff, and sort of as a starting point for finally getting back to this arc. 

Prepare yourself for Adam being awkward lol :) 

It was happening again.

He had expected this sooner rather than later, and it hurt to watch.

He knew, more than anyone that it wasn’t going to work. The GA was full of aliens, not humans. The things that impressed humanity, the things that got humanity’s attention were the same sort of things that tended to scare the GA.

But of course, the average human couldn’t have known that, and with their tendency to change creatures around them to become more human, the aliens with which they worked didn’t see it either.

They were doing the right thing, but going about it the wrong way. 

Still, that didn’t stop his feelings of sadness and empathy for their plight. 

Walking with Sunny, standing on the buddy pegs attached to her back, and examining the protest encampment around him, he couldn’t help but be impressed by their bravery. He knew for a fact that if he was in their shoes, he would be way more likely to hide, lie to everyone around him, and even himself. 

But here they were out in the open, a shining beacon of defiance against the GA.

It was a difficult situation, of course he supported the GA wholeheartedly, and he always would, and with that support came an understanding. But that didn’t mean that he had to agree with them.

They were scared.

And people tend to lash out at things that scare them.

As it turns out, that seemed to be a common factor across the galaxy.

He reached down, hand caressing the tear gas canisters at his belt and the accompanying gas mask. He prayed, just PRAYED that he wouldn’t have to use them, but how was he to know what would happen. When people got righteously angry about something they tended to act up, and when thrown into a group of like-minded people, the pack mentality was overwhelming.

He wanted everything to go well, he wanted them to make their point, to prove that they were the moral superiors, demonstrate to the GA that they weren’t militant, and all they wanted was peace.

That was the sort of thing that would get across to the GA.

But with humans involved…. He didn’t really have much hope.

He glanced around at the assembled tents looking for any sign of trouble.

He didn’t see much, just the limp white flags, with the LFIL logo printed proudly on their front.

Still keeping an eye on his surroundings he leaned against one of Sunny’s shoulders, “So what do you think about this whole thing?”

Sunny turned her head to look at him gold eyes and blue carapace glittering with the yellow sheen of the Rundi sky.

She shrugged, setting him a little off balance. She grabbed his feet to steady him as she continued up a small incline. 

“It doesn't bother me, and I suppose I understand them.”

“Oh?”

“Imagine finding someone you connect with, someone who understands you more than anyone ever has. Imagine a Drev finding the greatest warrior in the galaxy, and then….. Just having to suffer knowing you can never be with them. Granted none of the other species ever would have considered it an option without the humans, but now…. It makes sense. You connect with someone well enough, then beyond that there isn’t much you can do.” 

“I agree with you completely, but let me play devil's advocate for a moment. They aren't even the same species, without the same genetics. It wouldn’t be physically possible to produce a viable offspring.”

She turned her head to look at him, “And how does it work for your brother David and Jordan?”

He laughed, “Ok, ok, poor question.”

“Adoption, a relevant option. Plus, this is coming from the guy who lent his DNA to some alien.”

“Arguably she stole it, but I get your point.”

They turned another corner scanning the crowd, “Hear me out though. Humans are…. Well you know how humans are. They need…. Affection and intimacy….. How does that even…. Work?”

“Oh I am sure some human has found a way, besides, humans and Drev aren’t so different in that regard.”

He tilted his head to look at her, “How the hell do you know that.”

“Got into a discussion with Krill. He thinks it's possible, though he would never tell you humans. He already thinks you do a ton of stupid stuff anyway.”

“Don’t you guys also have a mating season.’

“We did, but it was actually based on the magnetic fluctuation of our planet in time with the seasons. Now that we don’t have that anymore, things are out of whack.”

He grunted, “huh, I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.” 

“Because that is a totally normal thing to ask someone. Hello my name is Adam, and I am actually very curious about how….. That stuff… works on your planet.”

“That stuff, huh?”

He rolled his eyes, “I was sheltered ok, give me a break.” They came to a stop at a crossroads, and Adam stepped down from her back and onto the dirt tilting his head to listen trying to detect any signs of a disturbance as of yet there was nothing. He turned to the left down another line of tents passing into a more populated area of the protest encampment.

People wearing specially made clothing, with the LFIL logo, shirts, scarves, bandannas, jackets, hats etc. etc. walked about openly with their alien companions, a few even brave enough to show overt affection towards each other.

A human hugging a Tesraki, while another stood on a box to kiss the cheek of their drev partner.

“Now that, is something I couldn’t do.” he said to sunny, walking past.

“Kiss someone/”

“No, Kiss someone two to three feet taller than me. Way too much work.”

“How do you know, maybe climbing up three feet would be worth it.”

Eyes followed them nervously as they walked past, their riot gear marking them as ‘the enemy’. 

“I would rather not be in danger of twisting my ankle every time I wanted to show someone affection, thanks.”

“You twist your ankle anyway.”

“That’s my point. If I twist my ankle now, Imagine what would happen if I had to do acrobatics on a regular basis.” They came to a halt as a group of protesters paraded in front of them holding up picket signs.

 One of the protesters turned to glare at him, “We aren't doing anything illegal.”

Adam held up his hands, “I know. I’m just security to make sure no one gets hurt.’

The other human didn’t seem convinced angrily grabbing their alien companion around the waist before marching off.

The Tesraki looked uncomfortable looking back at them apologetically.

Though tesraki were generally cutthroat businessmen, they tended towards extreme submissiveness in relationships with humans.

Adam stepped through the gap left by the protesters and continued walking.

As they did they early ran into a group of kids selling little white flags and bandannas. They pulled to a halt, eyes widening in surprise and shock. A young Tesraki pulled to a halt with them looking as if he was about to panic and run off.

However, the kid at the front’s eyes widened and a big smile crossed his face,, ‘holy shit! You, I know you!”

Adam smiled, “You do now?”

“Yeah , yeah you’re in that movie. You, you command the UNSC fleet.”

For some reason, that exclamation calmed the other kids, and they squealed, shouting and asking for a picture. Of course he was happy to oblige, posing with them for their pictures. Sunny stood to the side happy to watch though she was dragged in for the next set of pictures once they realized who she was. 

“What are you doing here?” one of them asked glancing down at his clothing. Smile falling, “You…. aren't here to stop us are you?”

Adam shook his head, “No, of course not, protesting isn’t illegal.” He motioned to Sunny with his other hand, “Sunny and I are just here to make sure that you guys stay safe, and that no one gets hurt.’

Sunny nodded.

One of the more skeptical looking teens looked up at him, “How do we know you aren't here to stop us. You work for the GA after all.”

Adam shrugged, “I don’t have much else to prove other than my word.”

The skeptic looked at them, a wicked smile appearing on her face, “I know.” She reached into her cart and pulled out one of the bandannas, “Wear this.”

 It was clear she expected him to balk at the idea, but to her surprise, he smiled, “Alright, sounds reasonable.” he held out his arm, and watched, still smiling as she tied it around his upper arm still glowering at him skeptically, “Think you can spare one for my friend.” He patted Sunny on the arm.

That broke her skepticism, and she smiled openly handing a second one over to him, which he tied around one of Sunny’s upper arms. He waved a goodby to them, and stepped back up onto Sunny’s back walking away with her.

“That was nice of you.”

He shrugged, ‘Not really. I honestly agree with them. The GA has no right to tell them who they can and cannot be with. I know they have some reasons, but I feel like there is a better way of dealing with it.”

Sunny hummed deep in her throat, “Uh-huh, or you really just want a really tall girlfriend.”

He sighed, “Honestly I’d settle for any size girlfriend if I could just talk to her like a normal person without sticking my foot in my mouth.”

“Your incompetence with women is acrobatic.” 

He snorted, “I’m glad you’re impressed.

Together, they continued their slow circle around the encampment drawing suspicious and confused eyes as they went. Sometimes they were recognized, and, occasionally people would ask to take pictures with them, other times, they just wanted to talk.

 The variety of people was… astounding.

A barely five foot human with a nine foot Drev. A group of humans and a group of Tesraki.

A lawyer and a Finnari.

Two couples both as business partners with a Tesraki half.

They were young and old male-female, in all different pairings. Old soldiers, and young students. It was honestly quite stunning.

At one point they stopped off for water and ran into a Massive bodybuilder with his drev, whose carapace at any other time would have marked her as ugly for a Drev. At first Sunny felt bad for her, with her muddy brown carapace, mat without any shine. 

The man turned and handed Adam some water.

Adam raised the bottle, “Thanks.”

The man looked him over eyeing the bandanna around his arm, “Interesting accessories for a GA affiliate.”

“You can work for someone and disagree with them.”

The man laughed, “I suppose that’s true.”

 He greeted Sunny as well who was trying not to stare at the other female Drev for too long lest it seem like she was staring..

He motioned to the arm band, “Supporter, or-” his eyes flicked between Adam and Sunny.

“We’re just here to make sure everyone stays safe.”

Off to the side the mat Drev looked at Sunny, “I’m sorry.”

Sunny glanced over at her nervously, “Sorry for what?”

“You must have been treated poorly on Anum.” 

Sunny shuffled her feet awkwardly, “I was alright.”

“Regardless. I hope things work out for you. The Drev beauty standards are unfair, and things need to change.”

Sunny wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to feel about that.

“They aren't so bad.” she ventured defensively.”

“Then I am sure you are getting combat offers left and right with your coloring.”

Sunny went quiet again . She would have said this was passive aggressive, but the Drev didn’t do passive aggressive, so was this just an open statement about how ugly she was? If that was the case, it kind of hurt.

“I have, because I am an experienced warrior.” Her voice was cold.

“Oh, where is your partner?”

Sunny felt her fists clench, but Adam placed a hand on her arm. She was quiet, “I turned them down.”

That seemed to surprise the female Drev.

The two humans exchanged a look, the way that only humans can, speaking without actually saying anything.

Adam took Sunny by the arm and raised his water at the man, “Good luck to you.”  before turning to walk away.

“I hope you find a battle partner.” the other Drev cut in at the last second.

Adam Squeezed Sunny’s arm tighter, but she turned her head anyway snapping, “I already have.” Before marching off without another word. Adam was forced to scamper after her, his legs much shorter.

“Wow, wow, hold your horses.” 

She finally slowed to a stop still fuming.

“Who the hell does she think she is!”

“Sunny-.”

“Calling me ugly to my face!”

“Sunny-”

“I should have challenged her to a duel right then and there.”

“Sunny!” 

She turned to look at him, “What?”

He climbed back up on her back patting her shoulder, “She was just insecure and jealous.I mean come on, look at you, Blue is the rarest color in the galaxy, and we all know that height is the least important attribute of Drev beauty standards. The better you can fight, the more you make up for it, besides it's not her fault that she can’t accept someone as being valid unless they are in a pair.” 

Sunny grunted.

He frowned, “Speaking of which, coming from her it seems like a double standard. You fight with me, and I’m fucking awesome, so by default you have to be too.”

“Wow Adam, you really know how to make a person feel better.”

“I know.”

They were crossing back to the other side of the encampment, when they ran into some familiar faces.

Ramirez and Maverick appeared from the crowd, waving the two of them down with greeting hands. 

They pulled to a stop, and the Commander motioned to the white bandanna on Ramirez’s arm, “Nice accessories.”

“I like yours too.”

“I didn’t know you were a supporter.”

Ramirez laughed, “Man I am a supporter of whatever the hell people want to do with themselves.”

Off to his side maverick had tied one of the white bandannas to her belt.

“And you.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit. I don’t even think it should be an issue, but by banning it, the GA created a problem for themselves and took away the freedom of choice for these people. Even if I did disagree with what they are doing, I would still support their ability to make that choice for themselves.” She tugged on the bandanna, “But hey, would I be wearing this otherwise.”

The commander nodded his head surprised and pleased at his men for being so open minded, though he supposed it should make sense. They worked with aliens every day. Where others might have fostered a sense of fear based on unfamiliarity, they had experience.

“Lets just hope this all goes over well tomorrow. I don’t want to have to use any of this.” He motioned down to his gear

The commander sighed.

“Isn’t that the catch 22.”

Loyal to one side sympathetic to the other, and empathetic to both.

He would be relieved when it was finally fixed.

Though how he could help was beyond him. 

[goldeneyedgirl]

jalice2020 day five

JaliceWeek2020 Day 5: Angel/Demon

Afterglow

Notes: This is the third version, because I thought the others were going to be ‘too long’ and then this became a behemoth. I’ve lost all sense of whether it’s actually worth posting, but it’s 6,300+ words and a whole day of work that I refuse to waste. These prompts are going up out of order because I feel like being contrary and am totally disorganised. 

And I found the idea of ‘demon’ fascinating because what else would a vampire be but a very specific form of ‘demon’? Plus there were so many (utterly amazing) fics about demon!Alice, I decided to flip the script. 

I am also totally running with the angel thing in a much longer fic, because I had so much world building, so much more history for both Alice and Jasper, and I was sorry that I couldn’t include it. 

There were three things of which she was certain.

The first was that her name was Alice.

The second was that she was born an angel.

And three, she was getting ready to die.

—

He finds her in an alley behind a diner, slumped against the brickwork, struggling to breathe. He sees her, and for a moment he doesn’t realise what he’s seeing - why would he? Who, in living memory, has laid eyes on an angel?

But he remembers the stories, told around a Monterrey bonfire, of the markings, the aura, the divinity of those nearly mythical creatures. Creatures born of hope and love and all those things that he left behind on that last ride. The older ones always had angel stories, of their astounding beauty and immense power; of wings that stretched out eight, ten, twelve feet of pure white energy that could cut through any substance known to creation. Of miracles and healings and forgiveness that filled all the hollow spaces inside. Of blood that can only be offered willingly, or it becomes fantastically and irreversibly poisonous.

He goes to her side, his hunt forgotten. Maybe it is the stories, that childish, lingering hope at the back of his mind that there is absolution for his actions, that he has not fallen so low he cannot rise up again.

Or maybe it is seeing a creature as broken as he feels, and the twist of pity-empathy in his gut won’t let him turn away from her. She is so small, so utterly… forgotten.

She was a great beauty, he can see that underneath her suffering; her skin has a grey cast, and her lips blue, her eyes underscored with dark bruises. She’s so thin, her skin stretched tight. The celestial markings still adorn her tiny arms, from wrist to elbow, a collage of flowers and stars and maps and symbols utterly meaningless to him, but faded like an old bruise.

Something utterly precious, just thrown away.

His red eyes meet hers, and she gasps, tries to make herself smaller. Some half-forgotten lesson tells her that red-eyes, demons, are the lowest evil and she must protect herself. But with what? She has lost her wings, has lost her magic, has lost much of her memory.

She has been discarded, and is worth nothing more than a demon’s gaze, his next meal. It would be better to go quickly than to linger with this heaviness in her bones and lungs and heart and mind. Whatever divinity is left in her blood, perhaps it can gift him with something - she doesn’t even know what a demon would wish for with angel’s blood, truly. But for a quick end, she would offer it willingly.

She gasps again as he lifts her, and cradles her close, his eyes studying her carefully as he settles her in his arms, making sure he causes her no pain, even as fresh bruises bloom on her skin.

“What…?” she croaks, as he sweeps out of the alley, away from his chosen meal, from the buzzing signs of the diner, and into the night.

“Rest, little one,” is all he says, as if he has a plan. “You’re safe.”

Those half-remembered warnings feel paper thin as she is cradled like treasure against his strong body, as he moves confidently through the streets. Even through her threadbare clothing, it is the first time she has been touched since she can remember, and it is… nice. It is nice and it is easy enough to close her eyes and let whatever is to happen next come upon her.

—

His room in the boarding house is small and worn, but fine enough for him to have a minuscule wash room of his own. The angel sleeps deeply, the sleep of the gravely ill, and he tucks her into the untouched bed in the corner, whilst he ventures into the yet unvisited common kitchen to find her food.

The landlady sweeps in, a well-lived woman - who has never trusted the red-eyed man - likes him a little more as she watches him make a right mess of toast and tea, and she quickly assembles a little tray. This isn’t the kind of establishment that cares what he does in the room he pays for, and she doesn’t really consider the possibilities when he asks for an extra towel and pillow.

The angel sleeps through the night and well into the next day, and he can feel the heat coming from her skin. He dribbles cooled tea between her lips, and curses the fact he has no memory of nursing from the army, of his human life. He refuses to request more help from the landlady, and finally he gives up all pretences and manages to gather the girl up and clamber into the narrow, stained little bathtub together, filled with cold water that he hopes will curb the fever.

She dreams of fire licking her limbs and red eyes staring into her soul and her lips are so dry and everything is all jumbled up and then she is staring at the very tall red-eyed monster cradling her in a bathtub full of cold water, and patting her face with a cloth and worry on his face.

Somehow she regains control of her limbs, enough to reach one shaking hand up to his cheek - it seems impossible that the most evil of creatures could be so handsome, could go to so much trouble for her. She wishes she could ask him a million questions, but she is so very tired, and it is easier to settle back against him and sleep as her fever rages.

—

They are together a week before she is lucid enough to ask questions and offer answers, for them to even learn the other’s name.

Alice.

Major Jasper Whitlock, ma’am.

A soldier, a killer, in his human life. That makes her sad for him, that humans choose to set themselves on a path that is paved in death and misery but there is nothing that can be done about that now. And for a soldier turned vampire, with all his terrible deeds indented on every inch of his arms and neck, with luminous red eyes and a hard stare, he is not.. bad.

In fact, he shows her the first kindness she can ever remember.

He brings her food, strange choices at first, but he soon learns - angels like sweet things, fruits and honey and candy; thin soups to build her strength up, well-sugared milky tea to help her sleep. He brings her some clothing - a proper night dress, and a blue day dress that is far too long, but it covers up the bruises on her stocking-less legs. He reads to her, cheap novels that have covers depicting in young ladies and flowers and cannot be vaguely interesting to him.

She knows he slips away to hunt, to drain humans of their life, but she sees the slump in his shoulders, the tired, pained look on his face upon his return and she wonders if those paper-thin lessons were wrong. That demons do have souls, souls that are weighed with every choice, every action, of their cursed existence. After all, a vampire is just a human gone astray, really. And for all of their flaws and follies, ignorance and arrogance, humans are essentially good, kind creatures. There is a reason they are so staunchly guarded by the angels, after all.

What if Major Whitlock is only a demon because the angels failed him?

When she is well enough to stand, to limp slowly around their tiny room, he offers to take her to church, and she wants to giggle, but he looks so serious and so determined to escort her there that she agrees; churches are for humans, and so is the religion found in them. But she thinks she understands - angels and churches and religions have been so tangled up together that it is some kind of logic, to take her there. He even brings her a hat and gloves and new shoes for the excursion, letting her limping stride set the pace, letting her lean on him as her lungs struggle to keep up.

His arm is gentle yet strong around her, and she leans closer to him, breathing in a scent of pine needles and rainwater.

—

The closest church is of moderate size and limited wealth - the parishioners are hardworking people with little money - and the pastor is an elderly man who has overseen the births, marriages, and deaths of those people, all of whom he can name on sight. It is a late night, counselling a young couple, and he ambles around the church, setting it right for the next morning.

He looks up when he hears voices, and sees the silhouette in the doorway - one tall and one small. For a moment, he mistakes them for an adult and child; perhaps siblings? Strangers or newcomers, certainly. They take a place in a back pew, the taller figure helping the smaller into her seat before settling beside her. It is then he approaches, to welcome them and offer them counsel, before he realises what he is seeing.

The red eyes of the male, firmly fixed on the diminutive girl. And he wants to banish the monster, this fiend from the sanctified ground on which they stand, of which he should not be able to enter. But the flickering candles throw light onto the girl, and the sight of her is a reward paid for with decades of his faith. It is a split second, a flicker of light and shadow, and he has Seen her. The ghost of wings that fold around her in filmy light, the slight glow of her skin, the wisp of lost golden markings, such beauty his mortal eyes has never seen. She looks up at her companion with affection in her eyes, and she takes his hand, and the pastor does nothing more than nod and bless them both in passing; whatever has brought the pair into his church is beyond that of mortal comprehension.

They stay a little while before the devil helps the angel stand, and the pastor watches as the girl limps from the church, leaning heavily on her corrupted companion and says a little prayer for them, one to see them both to whatever sanctuary they might be needing. And then he extinguishes the candles.

—

Time meanders on, and Alice grows stronger. Strong enough to walk unaided, though she still takes his arm every time they leave. Strong enough to teach herself to mend their few clothes, to prepare herself food, though he finds her with candy and fruit just as often as something properly nutritious.

Seeing her cheeks round with chocolate, blushing with embarrassment at getting caught, is the first time he’s properly laughed in decades.

She looks so well now, with faint colour in her cheeks; her eyes are a blue he could get lost in, a swirling galaxy of shifting light and colour - they are most inhuman thing about her right now. Her lips have lost the blue cast, are now a rose pink that makes her look very kissable, but thoughts like that are dangerous, and feel heavy in his chest. Her markings look like some kind of bruise-coloured tattoos that are slowly darkening. He hasn’t asked about them, about the meanings behind them, but when he holds her hand, he sometimes finds himself tracing the lines of the flowers, the stars, the symbols - he thinks he has them memorised.

But eventually, it is time to move on. His body count is rising, getting closer to noticeable, and the money is running out - they only have what he takes from his victims, and it has been slim pickings for a few weeks. He hates to have to admit why they have to leave, but she doesn’t flinch, just smiles and requests a bag for her things as if fleeing a city because of too many bloody disappearances is a perfectly normal reason to leave.

So they leave Philadelphia, hand in hand, with no particular destination in mind. And for a long time, that’s how they live - boarding houses in the city, forgotten farm houses in the country, cradled by long grass in forests where the night sky peeks through. Those are the nights she lies pressed up against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, as she traces constellations with her finger as she relaxes into sleep.

Those are the nights that are imprinted on his brain forever.

—

They find themselves in the back of Vermont in the fall; it’s been a few years since they left Philadelphia, wandering around the country. She looks beautiful to him that day, with a flower crown in her hair - the flowers drooping but not yet wilted - and her very worn out pink dress that is shredded below her knees and a filthy white shawl with more holes than lace. He clasps her hand tight in his as they meander through the forest; she hums a song under her breath, one that is sweet and soothing and intoxicating and he can never remember the tune until she sings it again.

He isn’t paying attention, when they settle on a camp site and she flits off to find something edible - fruits, herbs, flowers; she is surprisingly adaptable. And for all the legends and half-truths, she has no trouble or reluctance eating animal flesh, as long as she cooks it on a fire first, though she always cries when it has to be a rabbit.

They are upon them at once, a coven of five aged vampires, suspicious and on edge as they see his eyes, his scars, his cold glare at the interruption and his own failure to sense them.

At the strange, sickly amber of their eyes.

It’s a tense conversation of his intentions, his purpose on their lands, and his honeyed words are thinly veiled threats. He is grateful that Alice’s sweet scent (roses and linens and melting snow) is easily covered by his own, an illusive little quicksilver protected by her own sacred biology. He has them almost convinced them to, in laymen’s terms, fuck right off and leave him be when Alice returns.

“Jasper?”

The older woman gasps at the sight of her and the entire family go from suspicion to anger and disgust - the shawl slung low around her elbows (covering up her markings, good girl), the girlish, tattered dress, and flowers in her hair. The apples clutched in her pale hand, one with an obvious bite mark. Her blue eyes bright and skin flushed, and decades later he will remind them how damn unobservant they are that they thought she was his victim, lured into seclusion, when two bags sit by the tree, when everything about her was uncanny and inhuman enough to tell them the still-shocking truth. It was fall in the forest, and the flowers in her hair were still fresh, for god’s sake.

But in that moment, she is the innocent, a future meal of a monster, the sacrificial lamb.

“Sweetheart, come away from him,” the woman gestures to her, but Alice is no longer smiling, and if they looked closer, they’d see the storm rising in her eyes (he loves that about her, the way the blue of her eyes darkens and churns when she’s worried or afraid, and lightens and ripples with her joy. He could watch her eyes forever.) She drops the fruit, and moves closer to him, her hands reaching for the sleeve of his coat.

The coven move too fast, and the only reason they aren’t destroyed is because he is too aware of her; she is pushed aside in their efforts to manhandle her away from him, to drag him through to their side of the river. He lets the biggest one push him to his knees, his arms tight and awkward behind his back. There is a growl is rumbling in his chest, and he can smell it - her blood. It’s an odd, distinctive smell that is enough to make him freeze. It’s not a lot, maybe a scrape, but this coven… angel blood is somehow a walking, resistible temptation. They could drain her dry (and die horribly for the effort) but she’ll still be perfectly dead and that cannot be allowed to happen. He begins to struggle, but the big one holds him firm and shit. This is bad.

“Let him up, please.”

He can only move his head enough to see her standing, a small cut on her leg that will be gone in a day or two. She looks … displeased. He’s never seen that look on her face before.

“You’ll be okay now,” the redheaded boy tells her superiorly. “You should find your way back to town.”

“Let him up,” she retorts, just as arrogantly as the boy, as imperious as a queen, and there is a stillness, an edge to everything around them - no birds or breeze; even the running of the river seems rather muted.

“We’ll deal with him,” the big one says confidently, and that is the wrong thing to say.

“Let. Him. Go.”

It happens all at once, an echoing order that is not yelled but thunders in all their ears. They yell and gasp and are tossed away like paper dolls and he finally gets a look at his girl in all her glory.

She’d told him once, off-hand, that she’d never be fully healed again. That she accepted that she was Fallen and Shunned, and what she had managed to recover, she was grateful for.

Not recovered, his ass.

She was great and terrible and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her arms thrown wide and the shawl gone, her markings glowing white, her eyes pools of white energy. And behind her, stretching four feet, easily, on either side were her long wings, crackling with pure light. Markings he hadn’t glimpsed before peeked out from the neckline of her dress, and her skin had a faint glow to it, the entire effect as if a star was entrapped inside her body.

It is his captor that bears the brunt of her wrath, gasping in pain as her gaze focuses on him, the rest of the coven disorientated as they pick themselves up.

The last of the group, the blonde woman who might have been mistaken as an angel herself, is at his side immediately, wanting to help but unsure how to as he howls at whatever Alice’s power is doing to him.

“Stop it!” the blonde vampire screams, “STOP IT.”

He manages to get back to her side, wanting to reach out and pull her to him, but he doesn’t know if he can touch her like this.

“Alice?” he says. “We’re okay.”

The energy recedes as quickly as it appeared, leaving her looking cranky but pale as she immediately tucks herself against him as the coven inspect their fallen member.

He is disorientated and startled but unharmed as he reassures the blonde woman, the rest of their gazes falling to the couple over the river. More than a girl in a pink dress and a man in an overcoat.

“I can’t read them anymore, Carlisle,” the redhead murmurs. “His is … too quiet, and hers is in a language that… I think she made up.”

Alice spits a sharp word at the boy, holding him so tight he knows she was - is - afraid.

The leader, this Carlisle, simply stares at them with an indescribable look on his face. Incredulousness and awe and confusion and amusement dance around them, and he shakes his head.

“In all my years, I have never…” he began, wiping his face with his hand, an indisputably human gesture. “I apologise, my family misunderstood.”

Alice grunts and still glares, and if Jasper knows anything, it is that she holds a fantastic grudge against that which wrongs her - the woman who called her a harlot in a town back in Minnesota; the perfectly spoilt fruit tart from a shady baker; the young man who tore her dress in Boston. If those things can keep her gaze dark and sour her mood, he doesn’t fancy being any one of these creatures.

“Carlisle?” the older woman asks curiously, and the big one is back on his feet and seems to be entirely unaffected by whatever Alice had done to him.

“What is she?” he asks with genuine curiosity, his arm around the blonde.

“I believe this young lady might be an angel.”

—

That’s how they meet the Cullens. Carlisle spends three days hovering around them with delighted, boyish excitement until Esme gently redirects his attention and energy. Esme, who is so kind to them both, even with his red eyes and scars (later, she will smile at him and tell him that she knew that no matter where he had come from, no one who treated Alice so gently could be anything other than a true gentleman). Edward is frustrated with them both, and mutters comments under his breath as Alice snipes back in a language no one else understands - which just agitates Edward more. She admits later, when they’re alone, that she hardly remembers learning the language and probably couldn’t hold a conversation in it but does in fact remember most of the good swears and insults, and he laughs loudly at the idea that angels are pure and good and selfless as she taunts the arrogant little vampire.

Rosalie hates them. Hates his red eyes and violence, hates Alice for hurting her mate. Emmett is more curious and entertained than offended, and shrugs off Rosalie’s rage - “Babe, you’d do the same to them for me.” He’s more interested to know if Alice can change the colour of her ‘lights’ at will - like a disco ball - and Alice congratulates him on asking the actual dumbest question in the history of creation and of course that means Alice and Emmett are friends now, even though he described her attack as being ‘boiled from the inside out’.

How does he feel about them? Well, they offer them a nice room with a bed for Alice and little bathroom, and Esme goes to find Alice food - Carlisle sending her with a ream of notes on angels and their preferred diet despite the girl’s insistence anything will do. They are respectful and genuine and he cannot fault their welcome into the house. There are clean clothes and books and amusements and every possible comfort except human blood.

That is a conversation he has alone with Carlisle, whilst Alice joyfully eats her way through a pile of candy roughly the same size as she is. It is a long conversation, a hard one. Of all the guilt and the pain and the regret; of every horror he has never spoken of to Alice, of every fear that lingers in his bones.

And when he finishes, he feels lighter.

Carlisle smiles benevolently, and explains the advantages of abstaining from human blood, of existing only on the blood of animals.

“It does, admittedly, take away some of our strength,” the older man warns but his mouth quirks into a smile. “Not that I think you have to worry about your safety with such a… formidable mate.”

Jasper is quick to correct him, ducking his head so that Carlisle might not see the longing in his eyes. They are not mates or lovers or sweethearts. As much as he admires her, a goddess in his eyes; as much as he restrains himself from noticing the slender curves hidden by her clothing, from letting his gaze linger too long, they are mere companions; the closest of friends but no more than that.

Carlisle chuckles outright at that. “I assume this isn’t your preference?” he says, with a grin that makes him look his age.

He scowls, refusing to take the bait.

“In all my years, I have met many people in many differing kinds of relationships,” Carlisle says, with that knowing look on his face that Jasper decides he hates. “And I can tell you without an ounce of doubt that no angel - or woman - would look at a vampire like that, would defend one so fiercely, without holding him close in her heart. I think, if you were to make a gesture, it would be warmly reciprocated.”

And for a moment, he is full of hope. Hope of a future where he could press a kiss to willing lips, could slide his hand over the curve of a waist. Could trace the markings hidden by her dress with his fingers, his mouth, learn them by heart.

But the truth is, he is a monster. The blood in his eyes, the scars on his skin, the violence in his movement… it is what he is. That he would not sully her with his touch, if she would even accept such a thing. And in truth, he could not bear to be dismissed from her side. He would walk her down the aisle to a worthy man, as long as he could remain in her orbit.

“No,” he shakes his head. "She is… and I am… it would not be fair.” She already Fell once, why drag her further down?

Carlisle studies him carefully, the regret rolling off him in waves. “If you’ll pardon me for prying, how on earth did you end up meeting Alice? I only know of one other who has met an angel; they are illusive creatures.”

Jasper looks up, a quirk of his lips at the memory. “I found her in Philadelphia. She was dying in an alley. I tried to help her.” And the story slowly comes up; the long wait for her fever to break, trying to build up her strength, their brief attendance at church that was more for him than for her; their little pilgrimage around the country. How she loves to watch the stars, to wear flowers in her hair, and sings like the angel she is. How any money they had went to food, and she found sweet irresistible - more than once she went barefoot rather than go without a slice of cake, a bag of strawberries. He ends up smiling by the end of the story, the warmth of the memories surrounding him.

Carlisle looks at him incredulously. “Jasper, you found a dying girl in Philadelphia, and you saved her life,” he says so gently. “You raised an angel from the dead out of pure selflessness and honour. And you sit here and tell me that you are deemed unworthy? I cannot believe it, myself.”

Jasper shakes his head and thinks of all that he has been told, about animal blood, and protecting human life. About all that he has seen and felt with that diminutive girl beside him.

“For her, I have to be better.”

—

They settle into the Cullen family with relative ease - Esme is a doting mother figure to Alice, whose quirks he found so charming are utterly foreign and confusing to the rest of the family. But Esme carries no frustration to find wilted flower crowns discarded through the house; to find Alice has eaten a week’s supply of food in one night; to find an ugly scorch mark on the couch when Edward provoked the girl far enough for her magic to get involved.

Carlisle is still fascinated, but is affectionate to the small girl who has so many questions about everything, everywhere. He cannot answer many of her questions about angels, but he has more than enough stories about his life to entertain her for hours.

Edward and Alice snipe at each other constantly, as she continues to conceal her thoughts, and somehow mute Jasper’s, from his probing. The thing is, they could be good friends if they wanted; he wonders if Alice still holds a grudge from his dismissal of her during that very first meeting. Emmett, however, thinks Alice is a fantastically weird addition to their family even if her powers remain unused. Her intuition is second to none, and she is strong enough to exist safely in the household, but mostly she is unremarkable. He likes ruffling her hair and asking dumb or embarrassing questions (“So when you have sex, Lite-Brite, do you go all glow-y?” he asks one day, just ambling into the room with that question on his brain, and Esme scolds him and he growls, and Alice turns faintly pink and admits she wouldn’t know. Emmett does feel bad when she reveals that, and buys her an enormous bag of fudge that means he’s automatically forgiven.)

Rosalie tolerates them - she likes how annoyed Edward gets with Alice, and that Alice is an eager student in the art of fashion and shopping, and has suitable awe for Rosalie’s beauty and attitude. But she resents Alice’s divinity, that somehow the universe judged this tiny girl to be a precious, sacred creation, and decided that Rosalie herself was worth less than humanity.

They treat him well enough - politely, respectfully, and that’s all he asks. Carlisle offers relatively good counsel on most subjects, but most specifically on hunting animals. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, and he fails more than he succeeds. He sees frustration in the faces of the Cullens every time he returns with red eyes, but he never sees Alice flinch or fluster. She greets him with that same special smile every time he walks into the room, her sheer presence a balm. And that unconditional affection, that is when the shame feels heaviest on his shoulders.

So he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And it gets easier. Or rather, he gets stronger. The gaps between red eyes get longer, and his eyes lighten slowly from red to orange to amber. But the burn in his throat remains, and he struggles constantly. But he reminds himself, the prize is worth it. She is worth every second of burn, every disgusting animal, every long night resisting the urge to hunt.

She will always be worth it.

—

After Vermont, there is Minnesota, then Montana, then… well, they begin to blend together. All are within abundant hunting grounds, all in beautiful homes, all provide comfort and luxury he could never have imagined providing her. She fits it like a glove; her beautiful clothes, the abundant library, the ease of every day life - it is a palace for a princess and he is so happy that she is happy.

It is the place where Carlisle insists he go to school with the others, tempting him with the possibility of college in the future. She cannot go; they have no ways of concealing the inhumanity of her, and she struggles to contain her powers sometimes, especially when distressed. Even one sad movie an have her shining like a discount glow stick. Carlisle does much research on the subject, to try and help train her, but his research is slow and they still don’t know much. One day, she’ll join them. She’s determined, even when she scorches another dress, another chair, another wall. One day.

She pounces on him every single afternoon, demanding to know about his day, about his classes, about what high school is like. For so long it was just her, then it was them, then it was the family - the idea of classmates and friends and peers is so foreign. He dutiful fills her in, though many of the details she demands are not things he has noted. She always touches him during these conversations, hanging over his shoulder, curled in his lap, tucked at his side.

And even when Rosalie and Edward tell her to stop bothering him, forcing him to relive the tedium, he encourages it. Because as dull as school is, recounting it to her as she clings like a little possum to his back, is his very favourite part of the day.

And somehow, maybe because of that, something changes between them. Their closeness holds something new - potential, maybe. But her eyes seem to really see him when he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead; her cheeks get a little pinker when he compliments a new dress; he finds himself reaching for her less, and finding her already there more often.

They still share a room - he has no need for his own, not with the communal library on the third floor - and he tries his hardest to give her privacy. But he’s caught her changing more than once, seen a glimpse of more markings on her pale-flawless-exquisite spine. He lingers too long in that view, berating himself for his perversion, but he cannot resist. He wonders where else the tattoos lie.

Carlisle looks at him with knowing eyes, and Esme beams every time she sees, or thinks she sees, something. But no, not yet. Not until he’s worthy of every hope, can grant every single one of her wishes and whims. Not until he can court her as she deserves.

It’ll happen, he’s determined. He will make himself worthy, reforge himself in any hell that he can find, if it makes him a better man for her.

Inevitably, he slips again, and they have to move, and he is furious with himself. Every time he thinks he might see the light at the end of the tunnel, he weakens. Two steps forward and one step back.

He spends the night on the couch, watching movies without seeing them, and trying not to notice the warmth of her skin as he endlessly traces the lily-star-celestial map that are her tattoos. She falls asleep against him, a heavenly weight, and he wishes for a lot of things, but mostly for sleep.

���

There were three things of which she was certain.

The first was that her name was Alice Cullen.

The second was that she was a fallen angel, which wasn’t such a bad thing to be.

And the third was that she was completely and irreversibly in love with one Major Jasper Whitlock. And she was tired of waiting.

—

He has taken her into the forest, the spring air crisp, and the plants blooming. She skips beside him, her fingers interlaced with his, and it’s a lovely day - the canopy of the forest concealing the glitter of his skin. It’s one of those lazy, peaceful days that he lives for.

She leaves him sitting by the river, as she gathers wild flowers and leaves, settling beside him as she makes her crown - nimble fingers twisting and weaving. The white and yellow blooms match her new dress. And then she is wrapped around his back, crowning him in leaves and tiny red and white berries.

“My prince,” she whispers in his ear, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss on his cheek. And she pulls away, just enough space for him to turn his head and align their lips and he’s many things, but he’s also a man deeply, deeply in love.

Their first kiss is a slightly awkward angle, but it is… it is his absolution, his greatest hope, his most perfect joy. For her, it is finding home, the last piece of an indecipherable puzzle finding its place, it is entirely new and yet as familiar to her as her own self.

After he pulls away, she twists herself into his lap, her eyes so wide and flickering blue and white, a pink flush to her cheeks. She looks so hopeful and loving that he cannot help but steal another kiss, another jewel to hoard in his dead heart as she sighs happily against him.

But the real world is still outside their private little glade, and finally he pulls away.

“We can’t,” he croaks, her arms wrapped around his neck. “Oh Alice, I can’t.”

“Why not?” her question is so innocent, he wants to wrap her in his arms and keep her here forever, where nothing will ever sully her.

“You’re an angel, darlin’. An honest to goodness angel. You deserve so much better,” he murmurs, half against her lips. “Not me. I’m a goddamned monster.”

Alice sighs again. “Oh Jasper, I wish you could see you as I do,” she says so sweetly. “The person who lifted me out of the trash, the person who healed me, the person who cared for me and protected me and loved me without question or expectation.”

She traces his face, her soft fingers running over his nose and lips and cheeks.

“I’ve waited so long for you to be worthy to yourself,” she continues. “Because you were more than worthy enough for me.”

The next kiss is deeper, passionate and he pulls her flush against him, feeling the buttons on her dress press against his chest, probably cracking them. Another one follows, and then another, until it all blurs together, and he’s slid his hand further up her leg than is truly proper, and her hands are tangled in his hair.

Her smile is the sweetest, a little shy, as she buries her face in his neck - drawing in his scent - and he notices the faint glow around her markings, almost like her powers are blushing.

“I’ve waited for you - for this - for so long,” she whispers to him, the words almost lost in the light breeze.

And he holds her close, holds her tight. “I never meant to keep you waiting.”

She looks him in the eye, gold meeting blue, and her smile is radiant, as beautiful as every story and every myth. “Well, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And then she leans in for another kiss.

—

There were three things of which Jasper Hale was entirely certain.

One was that he was a vampire in love with an angel.

The second was that his angel loved him back, as completely as he loved her.

And the third was that they had the rest of eternity to be together, whatever the future might bring.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

The Ballroom

Ao3,  MasterPost

Relationships: Roceit

I know how to write Roman, in theory. In practice, it takes hours to get right. And yet, I love him. Oh! And I actually remembered to insert the italics this time, so, you’re welcome :3.

Warnings: Self-Doubt, Delusions/Hallucinations (they r not that bad), slight Trust Issues (Janus, obvs), Established Relationships, First ‘i love you’, Mentions of Greek Mythology, References to Musicals (Hadestown Hadestown Hadestown!! they sing Wedding Song together ok??), and I vaguely imply that Roman has ADHD because of course I do. 

Word count: 2,443

Every side had a room. Duh, common knowledge. The inhabitants of the Mindscape constantly barged in and out of each other’s domains without so much as a knock, usually to no more reaction than an irritated sigh. It wasn’t like it was a big deal to anyone, much like an actual family. If a trait wanted absolute privacy, well, they always had somewhere else to retreat to.

Thus brings us to the Extensions. It was well understood that you never visited one without express permission from the side who owned it. They were entirely personal settings, specific to the ‘individual’ that used it. The Extensions shifted and changed over time, just as each side’s representation, outlook, and even definition changed, but there had been a certain consistency upheld throughout the last three or four years. 

Roman’s was a theater, beautiful and ornate with a high-ceiling and perfect lighting, which of course always followed him. Logan’s was a planetarium, allowing the user to view any part of the night sky, and providing essentially all known information on astrology for those that wanted it. Patton had a garden, always filled with fresh produce and hundreds of different types of flowers; humble fountains and birdbaths were dotted along the narrow brick path that ran through the large space, at which he could often be found resting with a bunch of chrysanthemums. Remus’ was, predictably, a museum filled with almost innumerable odd and grotesque objects and devices from history- it also served as an art gallery, on occasion, offering a strange sort of beauty. Virgil’s had changed the most over the years, but it had seemed to settle on something of a vinyl record library, complete with bean bag chairs to lounge in while you listened: perfectly fitting for the hipster emo that he was at heart.

And that left Janus. Of course, no one besides the snake himself had ever seen his Extension, and for a good long time he’d intended it to stay that way. It was his business and nobody else’s- why should he want to invite someone into such a personal environment? 

But then he went and made the mistake of falling for just the someone to answer that rhetorical question. Someone who would surely be overjoyed to see it, and whom Janus loved dearly enough to maybe possibly let him.

It was a ballroom. Obviously Roman would love something like that. 

When Janus first began contemplating showing his boyfriend the Extension, he’d wanted to do something along the lines of a masquerade. He quickly deemed it excessive for Roman’s first visit, though. Just a standard setting, then! But, no, Janus didn’t want to have any of his prop people distracting his very easily distracted partner, so that was out of the question. So he would stay simple. Simple didn’t get a big reaction. Simple could be brushed under the rug if it went somehow awry (and was also less likely to go awry). Simple let him breathe.

Yet somehow it remained terrifying. Honestly, Deceit was second-guessing letting Roman in even as he was leading them down the lengthy hallway, feeling regret clawing at him with each muffled thump of his heeled boots on the carpet. 

“I want to show you something.”

“Oh? And what would that be, Loveliest Lie of All?” 

“You’ll see when we get there. Come along, before I change my mind.”

Janus extended a gloved hand, which Roman took with enthusiasm. He was raring to go without even the slightest idea what they were doing. It was a hopelessly endearing quality. 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it but half as much as you.”

“Only half?” Janus teased, narrowly avoiding returning the ‘L’ word, yet again (he wanted to, God did he want to, but the word died on his tongue every time).

Roman didn’t bat an eye at his deflection, merely leaning forward with a sappy smile.

“Naturally; nothing can match you, my dear.”

Yeah, no, he was committed now. This was, without a doubt, happening. Janus continued to lead his boyfriend along the hall, fielding all questions until they finally came upon the door. It was far taller than the ones around it, colored a bright canary-yellow. The trait took a deep breath and turned to Roman, whose face was bright with recognition as to what kind of entryway this was.

“This is your-”

“Yes.”

“You’re really going to show me-”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Roman traced a hand down the door frame, as if it would shatter at a firmer touch. His eyes were wide with excitement, a grin stretching across his lips.

Janus felt as though his stomach were doing cartwheels.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” It was a genuine question; Deceit was open to suggestions for reasons to wait. But Roman clearly hadn’t picked up on the hesitance, too caught up in his own exuberance. 

Janus took a deep breath. He pulled the door open, and the two sides were immediately enveloped by brilliant golden light.

The ballroom was a showy place, which mightn’t have seemed to be the deceitful trait’s nature, at first glance- but, oh, did Janus adore just a dash of gaudiness. 

Roman already knew this about him. Roman knew a lot of things that took a careful eye and a lot of trust. 

Janus took the first step forward, holding Creativity’s hand in his and leading him into the baroque construct. The door snapped shut behind them, leaving them in glowing light cast down from crystalline chandeliers. Above them arched the ceiling, displaying murals of greek myths in perfect detail. The paintings danced and shifted around each other, even moving down the walls, as they played out dozens of ancient stories. It was like an animated oil painting, however impossible that would sound to a real human. 

Soft music filled the ballroom, drifting around the pair. Janus usually dressed his Extension up with fake guests; people of his own design for him to talk and laugh with. It felt safe, reassuring even, to be completely in control of things, including your compatriots. But now, the room was empty, save for him and his real guest. Janus turned his gaze back to Roman, trying to disguise his nervousness.

“Well?” 

Roman crosses his arms over his chest. He clicks his tongue, giving the surroundings a sweeping glance. At best, he’s unimpressed, at worst, he’s outright disdainful. 

“All that buildup, really, for this? What is even the point of such an Extension, Janus?” Roman’s intricately designed shoes clack against the hardwood floor as he further examines the room. He stops in the center, whirling to face Janus. “I’d hoped that this big reveal would make up for all of your other failings as a partner, but I suppose you’re just fated to disappoint me! And it took you months to show me this waste of architecture? Now, that’s just pathetic.”

With a scoff, Roman leaves. 

The scene Janus had unconsciously played came to an abrupt end. He staggered, blinking his eyes back into focus. Roman wasn’t looking down at him, gaze cold and unwavering; rather, he was spinning around the room as he drank in the decorations. He quite looked like he’d never had a malicious thought in his entire life, joyful as he was.

“Oh, Jay, this is gorgeous! Not as much as you, of course- but it is just astounding,” he beamed at Janus, who offered a smirk in return and rolled his mismatched eyes (though he could feel the human side of his face flush bright at the compliment). Before he had a proper response, however, Roman’s gaze caught on something behind him. The trait crossed the room in just a few strides. 

“Is that…?”

Janus turned on his heel and followed, his eyes landing on the painting that distracted his prince. The tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, a colorful-yet-accurate depiction, ‘painted’ in a somewhat impressionist style. It was easily one of Janus’ favorite myths; evidently Roman was a fan just the same. 

“I’m glad you like it,” the honesty was bitter on his tongue. It was well worth it. “I find mythology inspiring, to say the least.” 

Creativity ran his hand along the mural, a giddy laugh escaping him. Without the slightest of warnings, he spun around and grabbed one of Janus’ hands in both of his.

“Lover, tell me, if you can- who’s gonna buy the wedding bands? Times being what they are. Hard and getting harder all the time,” his singing was elated and bubbly, the lilt of one well-familiar with the lyrics he recited. Janus laughed and leaned into his partner. 

“You want to be Eurydice?”

“Just play along!” 

Janus sighed, far too fond for the exasperation he’d been aiming for, and pulled Roman in close. He settled his hands at The Prince’s hips, leading them in a mostly formless dance.

“Lover, when I sing my song, all the rivers sing along. And they're gonna break their banks for me, to lay their gold around my feet. All a-flashing in the pan, all to fashion for your hand. The river’s gonna give us the wedding bands,” once, Roman had told him his voice was honey, slow and sweet. That conversation came back to him, bringing a lanquidity to his singing just so he could soak in the lovestruck expression it earned him. 

“Lover, tell me, if you're able, who's gonna lay the wedding table? Times being what they are. Dark and getting darker all the time.”

Their simply patterned steps led them in wide circles around the room. Janus subconsciously let the jazz that usually rang across his ballroom slip away, only to be replaced with the instrumentals to their ballad. 

“Lover, when I sing my song, All the trees gonna sing along, And bend their branches down to me, To lay their fruit around my feet. The almond and the apple, And the sugar from the maple. The trees gonna lay the wedding table.” 

And so on they continued for the song’s duration- taking their turns with the lyrics, eyes only for each other despite the beauty of their surroundings.

When Janus reached the last line, he drew out the note until his voice faded to nothing more than a lingering hum of the tune. Softly, his standard background music returned to accompany them as the remnants of their duet slipped away. 

They eased to a gentle sway. Roman dropped his head onto Janus’ shoulder with a sigh.

“Thank you.”

“What for, my dear?”

“Bringing me here. Trusting me,” Creativity mumbled into his collar. 

“Of course,” Janus whispered, letting go of the side’s hips to properly wrap his arms around him. 

Roman raised his head, just enough to look Deceit in the eyes. 

“I love you,” he announced, open and honest and completely unexpectant- everything that Janus wasn’t. It was the same way he always said it; with a fierceness as though he was proving his point in an argument, yet somehow remaining gentle and caring. A mere statement, one that never even hinted at a need for response. It simply was, a fact thrown into the world with reckless abandon. 

Nothing terrified Janus more. But, between the duet and Roman’s reaction to the Extension, Janus felt something a bit more foreign than fear welling in him. 

Bravery.

“I love you, too.”

Roman pulls back from their embrace, a cruel laugh falling from his lips. He fixes Janus with a patronizing glare.

“Oh, you love me, do you? You sure know how to show it,” he taunts, backing further away from the snake. There is something dark that glints behind his eyes. “I only tell you that I love you a million times a day, to radio silence, and it’s only now you deign to reciprocate? Barely any fanfare, as though such a confession alone makes up for all the doubt you’ve brought me?”

Janus tries to speak, to make use of and flaunt his eloquence, to orchestrate those perfect sentences to craft himself some semblance of a defense. But all he can do is choke. 

“I don’t know why I ever expected better from you. It’s obvious that you can’t change, Deceit.”

And Roman leaves. 

Except he didn’t. It wasn’t real. Janus squeezed his eyes shut for just a second, blinking them open to see the real Roman- who, thankfully, seemed to be too preoccupied to take note of his… episode.

Roman was wide-eyed, completely still in Janus’ arms. He tilted back, and for a petrifying second the deceitful side thought he really was going to let go, but thankfully he didn’t go far. The Prince gripped tightly to Janus’ shoulders, holding on as if to keep himself steady. He let out a shaky laugh- soft and reverent and nothing like his nightmare version’s cackle. Because he wasn’t that, despite what Deceit’s mistrusting mind would try to convince him. 

“You said it,” Roman said at last, his voice small but his smile wide.

“I’m aware,” finally, am I right? Janus bit his tongue on that. I’m sorry, he couldn’t find the strength to say. I mean it, I’ve meant it for so long, please believe me, also went unspoken. What he settled on was:

“This is the easiest thing in the world for me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Why? You tell me-” a shiver chased down his back, “-you tell me you love me a million times a day.”

“Yes, I do that. I suppose it’s just in my nature, after all. Regardless, it would be wrong of me to expect you act like me, because you’re you. And ‘you’ happens to be someone I love very, very much.”

Janus let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

“... I love you, too.”

Roman chuckled, bonking his nose against Janus’ affectionately.

“Two in one day? I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

“Shut up, I’m only to make up for lost time. Don’t get used to it.”

“Of course not, my love.” 

Janus sighed- relief, mostly, but infatuation crept its way into the sound. He picked up humming to the light melodies that played, resuming the swaying movements that had been forgotten in the face of confessions. Roman followed his lead, his grin delightfully infectious. 

“We should get back soon,” the artistic trait admitted, sounding very much like he considered it someone else’s problem- one that he did not intend on concerning himself with, at that. Janus hummed, feigning deep thought. He let his head fall against Roman’s shoulder, eyes falling closed as he responded. 

“Just one more song, Darling?” 

“Oh, if you insist.”

“Insist I do.” 

Roman stayed.

@shrimp-crockpot

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath The Clock Tower

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Relationships: Belle/Gold (Also Belle/Gaston)

Characters: (so far) Belle, Gold, Ruby, Granny, Leroy

Tags: Slightly AU Cursed Storybrooke, Eventual smut.

Summary:  Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Notes: Rumbelle comes in many shapes and sizes, and after I was harrassed until I read The Bookshop of the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan, I was perhaps innocent to the fact that it can happen outside of fan fiction too. If you haven't read the book, I would recommend it to you warmly, and challenge you /not/ to see Rumbelle in the telling of the tale. For that reason, this story renders the narrative arc of Colgan's book in Rumbelle form.

I wrote this story for @peacehopeandrats for a Christmas gift. I hope you all enjoy it too.

Chapter 1 - Not Quite According To Plan

Belle wasn't sure whether she was disappointed, angry, hurt, upset, astounded, righteously indignant or all of the above, as she left Mayor Mills' office, hurrying along to towards the diner she'd seen when she first arrived, rapidly brushing away rebellious tears as she did.  Why was everything just going so wrong?

It started when everything in her life had been looking up, for a change. She had been hospitalized for quite some time, she didn’t know how long, or what for.  Though they told her it was for the effects of trauma. She couldn’t remember anything like that happening, and as far as she could tell, if something bad had happened to her, well… she should be able to, but no.  They told her that was how trauma worked. The mind shut down any and all avenues of remembrance. Didn’t matter that she’d had therapy once a week for as long as she could remember, she simply couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, to hear.  So, they’d kept her locked up.

And then, one day, suddenly, they didn’t, and she had no idea about that either.  She only knew it was a relief, not to be stuck in the same place, day in, day out, with nothing to do except to read.

Reading, and studying she was certain, kept her sane, and so when she ‘graduated’ from the asylum, as she had taken to calling her release from the hospital that was tucked away somewhere in a forgotten corner of Boston, and was asked if she had any idea what she wanted to do with her life, she had an answer.

“I want to be a librarian.”

It wasn’t going to happen overnight, not even with the credits she had already accrued from her studies at the hospital, she knew that, but she enjoyed the challenge of the study, as she enjoyed some aspects of being a part of a ‘real’ university. It was there, for instance, that she met the woman that it seemed was fated to become her best friend: Ruby.

Ruby was, for all intents and purposes, a strange dichotomy of a girl.  On the one hand, she was as equally studious and dedicated to her work as was Belle, and in that respect made an excellent study partner even though their courses couldn’t have been more dissimilar.  On the other hand, however, Ruby was the epitome of a party girl.

She was tall, and athletically built with long, dark hair in which she usually had some kind of red. Whether a bright red extension hairpiece, or a more subtle shade colored into her own hair, it was always there, like a part of her, a signature of sorts. Another signature that Ruby adopted was the length of her skirts. Undeniably short, and usually paired with a skimpy or revealing top, no matter where she was going, to work, to class, or out for an evening on the town - though that was generally where she was the most revealed of all - she was not afraid to be out and confident about her femininity.

Thinking about Ruby made her remember that she’d promised to call, and hadn’t. Not when she arrived, and certainly not since the mayor - arrogant fucking witch - had turned down her proposal almost without listening to it. Belle felt as though the woman had taken one look at her, and decided on the spot that she wasn’t going to have anything to do with her, and that included allowing her to open up the town’s small library again.

She dashed away a few more angry tears, and turned the corner without really looking where she was going.

The man she collided with wasn’t overly tall, perhaps only a few inches taller than she, but he was immaculately dressed in a black suit over a dark red shirt, and an even darker tie. He walked with a pronounced limp, a cane held in his right hand.  At the collision, he took a measured step back, and raised both of his hands to catch hold of Belle’s upper arms, steadying her a little as she would have bounced off him.

“I am so sorry,” she said immediately. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, that much is evident,” he answered, his barely accented voice dripping sarcasm.

Belle’s mood got the better of her, and she snapped back. “There’s no need to be so bloody condescending.” And then she realized he still had a hold of her arms, and had probably stopped her from falling, given that the shoes she was wearing weren’t exactly the most sensible.  It made her feel somewhat contrite, and she felt as though she should thank him for that, so trying for a less irritated tone said, “And thank you, by the way.”

He tipped his head onto one side briefly, looking her up and down, before asking, “For what?  My condescension, or for trying to act like a gentleman?”

She shook her head with a sigh, his words, his attitude, this… stranger, was doing nothing for her mood, or for her disappointment in the way the day had gone, and for the fact that in spite of finding Storybrooke quite to her liking, it didn’t at all seem to like her. Though why that should bother her so much, she wasn’t sure.

“No answer?” he said, and she realized she hadn’t spoken in quite some time, as lost in her annoyance as she was.  “Well then, you are most welcome,” he added, releasing her from his gentle, steadying grasp. “For whichever.” He moved aside, with slightly more than a nod of his head, and less than a bow, before bidding her, “Good day, Miss…”

She narrowed her eyes.  Why on earth would he think that she’d give him her name, after he’d been so insufferably sarcastic, when he could have simply accepted her apology and moved on.  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all that it didn’t seem as though Storybrook was going to work out if it was full of people like the mayor and this man.

And yet…

“Marchland,” she said, as she began to stride away, and before he could say anything more.

She found herself walking straight past the diner without stopping in as she had first intended.  She wanted to find somewhere to calm the storm of irritation that was filling her, but not just that. It was coupled with a kind of fear.  If she couldn’t find something to do once her notice period with the library in Boston was complete, then how would she ever support herself?  She had no family, and would have only the little income she would make working her second job in the bookstore in one of the quieter parts of the city.  It wouldn’t be enough to support herself, not even with Ruby’s generous help.

The two young women had become roommates while they were both still studying, when Ruby asked Belle to move in with her, to help with expenses, and after graduation, they continued to share the small apartment  that Ruby owned. Of late, however, the relationship between them had become somewhat strained - and all because of Belle’s books.

Working part time at the bookstore, the owners allowed Belle to bring home any second hand book that they did not believe they could resell.  Her collection of books had started small, but over time had grown considerably, starting to fill up every available space in the apartment, and some that weren’t.

“I know, I know,” Belle often said to Ruby, “but it won’t be for long, I promise.”

“You said that last month,” Ruby would reply, “and the month before that.”

That was how the arguments began, and why Belle now felt her belly turning circles as she sat down on the bench in the park, turning her phone over and over in her hands.  She was certain that it would work out here.  The name alone gave her the promise of that.  She was sure that she would open the library, and add to it with the books she had collected over the course of the last year. Now she felt as though she were letting Ruby down, somehow.

With a sigh, she hit the speed dial on the phone and listened to it ring, though not for long. It was almost as if Ruby were waiting for her call.

“ How did it go? ” she asked, and Belle didn’t miss the eager tone in Ruby’s voice.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh, “The mayor… well…  she wasn’t into the idea of the old library being reopened I guess.  She pretty much said a flat out no.”

“ Pretty much? ” Ruby asked.

“Well, all right,” Belle confessed with a sigh, “The minute I walked into her office, she said no.”

“ Just like that? ”

“Yes. Just like that.”  Belle felt her lower lip wobble a little bit, as she asked, “You don’t think…”

“ Belle, honey, ” Ruby said after a moment, “ You have to stop thinking that just because the idiots in Boston decided to let you go because of your hospital stay, ” Belle winced at Ruby’s attempt to be subtle, “ that it’s going to be the same with everyone. ”

“Then explain to me why Mayor Mills said a flat out ‘no’ the minute she saw my face and read my name on the letter I’d sent to her.” Belle’s voice held an edge.

Ruby sighed. “ I can’t. ”

Belle sighed too, and said, “I know I promised I was going to get all of those books out of your hair, but until I find a place--”

“ Don’t worry about that now, ” Ruby told her, “ If that place really is a bust, then come home.  We’ll figure something out, but Belle…? ”

“Hmm?” Belle said absently, starting to feel a chill in the air as the day marched on towards evening.

“ I know your dream is to run a little place, where everything can be personal and you feel as if you matter, but… ” Belle heard her swallow a little before she finished, “ maybe it’s just not the right time. ”

“I’ll see,” Belle said, feeling the worry and the anger just seeping away into something like tiredness. “The next bus isn’t until tomorrow though, so whatever, I’m stuck here overnight.  I’ll have to see about getting a room at the bed and breakfast here… Granny’s or something it’s called.”

“ Seriously ?” Belle could hear Ruby’s raised eyebrow even through the phone, “Just where is this Storybrooke of yours. ”

“Maine, I told you,” Belle said.  “And it’s not mine. If it were, I’d damn well open a library myself and damn the mayor.”

“ All right, ” Ruby said, “ Just call me to let me know you’re settled and safe. ”

“I will,” she promised, but her mind was already racing around the words she’s just spoken to Ruby. What if she could find some way to open a library here by herself.  Maybe a mobile library, if the town wouldn’t even let her rent the building. Surely they couldn’t object to that. She smiled, feeling happier than she had since her meeting with the mayor; feeling a sense of hope, if not confident determinations. To Ruby she said, “I’ll let you know what’s going on; call you before bed.”

The two women exchanged pleasantries before each hanging up, and Belle pulled her coat more tightly around her, and then began to make her way back toward the center of town, where she would enquire at Granny’s as to the availability of a room - at least for the night - and perhaps, if things went well, longer.

Several minutes later, she pushed open the door of the diner, allowing the warmth to envelop her and chase away the chill. The establishment was fairly full, and the mix of patrons was encouraging to Belle, as she let her thoughts again draw her back to the possibility of serving the people of this town as their librarian.

One of those patrons looked over to where she was standing.  He was a stoutly built man, with a full, graying beard and a stern expression, but when he saw her, his eyes flashed what looked like amusement, perhaps even admiration and he called out to her, “Right on, Sister!”

She frowned in confusion, but he had already turned his attention back to his companions, men of a similar age and build, who were all now leaning conspiratorially toward one another, as the man who’d spoken seemed to be telling some kind of tale.  She caught only snatches of the conversation, and heard words like, “gold” and “medicine” and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was they were saying.

“What can I get you?”

A stern, but kindly voice, which, as she turned and looked at the own of said voice, she could see matched the elderly lady entirely, interrupted her musings, and Belle offered a smile, and said, “I… am looking for the proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast.”

“Well,” the woman folded her arms, “You’ve found her.  I’m Granny, at least that’s what most folks around here call me.”

“Wonderful,” Belle beamed, and Granny raised an eyebrow. “Then would it be possible for me to get a room?  And perhaps also something to eat.”

The stern quality of Granny’s face left it, and her expression softened, and for no reason that she could explain, Belle found herself thinking of Ruby.

“Find yourself a seat, and I’ll have one of the girls take your order,” Granny said, “We can see to the room once you’ve warmed yourself, and have some good food inside you.  We don’t get many visitors to Storybrooke, so we'd best look after the ones we do get.”

“Oh, please, you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account,” Belle said, and Granny tsked and shook her head, as if she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.  As Granny started to turn away, Belle said, “One more thing, do you know if there’s anyone in town that might know of any vehicles for sale? Something a little bit larger than a car though, really, more like a van or something.”

Granny’s face creased in thought.  “Can’t say that I do,” she said, “But you might try Michael over at Marine Garage.  If anyone would know, he would.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and Granny nodded, leaving Belle to make her way to a booth in the corner of the diner, where he could lose herself in her daydreams, and in her book while she waited for her order to be taken and the food to come.

As she sat down, she noticed that someone had left a newspaper on the seat, The Storybrooke Mirror . Belle picked it up, and skimmed her eyes across the front page, reading headlines and bylines typical of a small town rag. On a hunch, she turned to the classified section of the paper, letting her eyes run over the various listings of items for sale, employment vacancies, and the few - very few - properties for rent… but then, nestled in the middle of a crowded column, as if trying to hide itself in plain sight a short, three-line ad caught her attention.

“Van for Sale,” it began. “Good condition, reasonable price for quick sale.” and on the last line, the name and telephone number of the contact, a Mister Moe French. She felt herself frown again, unable to shake the sense of coincidence that just when she was thinking of such a thing, she should find a classified listing for exactly what she wanted.

One of Granny’s girls arrived at her side ready to take her order, and Belle realized that she’d spent so much time looking at the newspaper that she hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Oh, I er… sorry,” she said, “Got sidetracked.”

“Maybe I can get you something to drink while you decide,” the young lady said with a smile.

“Actually, that would be great.” Belle answered.  “Maybe some tea?” and then added, “And… can you tell me who this is?”  She held up the paper, and the girl peered at the ad beside her finger.

“Moe French,” she said with a shrug, “Runs the florist shop, Game of Thorns.”

“Thank you,” Belle said, and carefully folded the newspaper so that she could see the ad staring up at her as she picked up the menu to decide on something to eat.  She also decided then and there that first thing in the morning, she would call Mister French and find out the full details of the van he wanted to sell.

[unimpressedperson]

Jackpot | pt. 2

(Found this picture in @youthstuffs , thank you for posting it)

Genre: Fluff and Crack, I guess…

Warnings: None

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x @taesbetch , Kim Namjoon x Reader

Word Counting: 4.7k

Synopsis: Nya spent her whole life in Las Vegas, she would never imagine that local knowledge would ever be useful. However, her vision changed when Kim Seokjin appeared and introduced her to a few friends, film producers, whose needed guidance through Las Vegas underrated places for a movie. She agreed in working for them, and in that moment none of their lives would ever be the same. What happens in Vegas, not always has to be kept in Vegas.

A/N: Heeeeeeeey Nya!! Finally the second part is on! Late, but not gone. Guuurl! It’s a bit more romantic chapter, yet I used it to discuss LGBT culture more further. I’m really proactive in the LGBTQ+ community and want to talk about it, since I feel a lack of queers characters with voice, personality and opinion on oneshots and fanfics here. Since it’s not properly turned to that public, I tried to mingle the storyline a bit. Hope you enjoy it :) forgive any grammar mistakes.

- x - x - x - x -

It was 3 a.m, whilst some cities around the world were down to nest and rest, Las Vegas wouldn't stop. Nighttime is their time. Everything worked after midnight, entertainment would never lack after midnight. Clubs, bars, pubs, casinos, diners, stores, nothing stopped when moon reached its peak.

Therefore, Nya defined “Paris” as the last stop. Everyone was tired and almost falling asleep. Jungkook bought new underwear at a Walmart, but decided to keep on using his new skirt. Namjoon and Yoongi took a short nap whilst being driven to “Paris”. Hoseok chugged two cans of Red Bull and feeling like his blood turned into electricity, at any moment he could grow wings and fly, or float like a balloon.

Paris was a Drag Queen club. Specifically Nya's favourite. A few from her favourite childhood memories were made there. Sequins, feathers, leotards, wigs, astounding makeup, gorgeous dresses, pump music, lip syncs, dances and fun, a whole lot of fun and caring people looking after a very young Nya. No one would ever understand completely the bond she shared with most performers inside there. They raised Nya.

The cab dropped them in front of a bright purple building, windows fully painted in black, a glass door allowing outsiders to see blinking lights, a woman dressed in suit and tie as door guard, even though a velvet rope could be seen, there was no waiting line.

Nya got closer to the guard and after a few minutes of talking, which neither one of the sleepy men registered, they were allowed in.

Ok, let’s begin with saying what’s a Ball, then the story can keep going.

A Ball organized by and for drag queens is outstandingly different from a School Ball. According to the most entertaining and famous documentary about drag queens in late 70s and 80s, as known as Paris is Burning, Ball is basically a competition where drag queens put together looks based on a previously defined theme. Sewing, glueing, buying and creating, everything can go. There is a runway to catwalk and judges, also they perform lip syncs (some even are included and count points, something in RuPaul’s Drag Race style). The winner receives a trophy or money as prize.

Nya was a clever woman, so she chose specifically a day where Paris had a Ball happening. Nothing screams queer culture as a ball.

When the group got in, a loud music by Nicki Minaj blasted from every sound box, colourful flashlights and spotlights were focused on one corner of the room, where a table covered with a silk fabric, three drag queens (Hoseok recognized one of them as being Jasmine Masters) as judges. One competitor was catwalking with a revealing outfit completed by a tiger leotard, knee-high black boots, a straightened blonde wig and a mixture of pink and black makeup. Stunning.

While Nya marched animatedly going straight to the backstage, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook now were wide awake again. A lot of colours and people, all sort of wearing the most creative clothings ever saw. Some of them weren’t even in drag.

The backstage consisted in thick velvet curtains, hiding from the public's eye a mess of sparkly accessories and huge wigs, clothes and heels, some of them higher than Nya's calves. Observing everything through openings, a person tall and clearly important, with well sewed dress and expensive shoes, exhaling respect from all pores covered in layers of make up.

— Guys, this is the first, the best and the only Honey Dejour. - Nya hugged tightly someone dressed in a black and sparkly long gown, huge jewelry around her neck and wrists, high-heels, a brown wavy wig, arched high brows, black cut crease, a lot of golden highlighter and red lipstick. She held the smaller woman and kissed the top of her head, nodding at them right after. - Those are the people I’m guiding today, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and Jeon Jungkook. They are film producers, aunt. They want to film here and are willing to pay for it.

— Hi guys, nice to meet you. Hope no one here is banging with my kittygirl. - Honey had a very bass voice, which intimidated them, except for Hoseok. - Just kidding, she could really make the use of some dick. She’s been single for a very long time.

— AUNT! - Nya looked to the ground flustered.

— Nice to meet you, Ms.Dejour, I’m Min Yoongi. What exactly is happening tonight? - Yoongi questioned, still astonished by everything around.

— Tonight we are hosting the annual “Glamour Awards Ball”, and I’m the hostess. In a few minutes I’ll go there and announce the next category. - Dejour was almost two heads taller than Yoongi, which wasn’t small himself. - By the way, I loved your skirt… Namjoon?

— Thank you, and no, I’m Jungkook. - He shook hands with Honey.

The group kept a small talk, Honey having fun with them. Namjoon and Nya were lost watching the queens catwalking with stunning leotards. He was curious about her life, and looking for a way of asking what’s been bugging him the whole night.

— Nya, if it’s not crossing the line between professional and personal talk, how do you know that many people? - The purple-haired man asked, trying to sound chill.

— Well, it’s not professional, but I don’t care. - Nya turned to him, but looking at his neck, not straight on eyes. - I know them because of my father. See, not everyone can live off of their dreams, and my daddy was one of those people. He was a genius comedian, kind of like an underground Jerry Lewis. I never got to meet my mother, so I was raised by him and most people you guys met tonight. Also, I lived my whole life in Las Vegas so it’s something like my neighbourhood.

“Whilst my father did his stand up sessions, sometimes he dropped me with friends. Most times it was here, in Paris. Honey Dejour is basically a mother. If I’m someone with so many connections it’s because I had a gypsy life. During day at school, ‘cuz daddy worked as bartender in Caesar’s Palace, comedy at night shift. He never reached the big casinos popularity level and gave up, but he was so funny. Never had his thunder, though. That’s why I want you guys to help my friends, so they won’t give up as well.”

— Whoa. It’s quite personal, thank you for sharing. - Namjoon smiled at her, showing dimples and a bright set of teeth.

— You shared a bit of your life with me as well. - Nya felt her heart melt a little everytime Namjoon smiled, specially at her directly.

They kept staring at each other, getting closer, as if a magnetic force attracted them. Hands touched and pinkies intertwined, but before they could kiss, Jungkook pulled Namjoon’s arm and yelled gladly.

— HONEY AGREED IN HELPING US GET IN DRAG!

— Great, but what does it have to do with me? - Namjoon raised one eyebrow already sensing the danger.

— You are getting in drag too, dumbass. - Yoongi grunted, a bit thwarted. Apparently Jungkook convinced him of accepting, not something voluntary.

— Oh Lord, give me strength. - Namjoon felt zero comfortable with the idea of using high-heels.

— Stop praying! You are an atheist. - Hoseok said, also pumped up like Jungkook.

— I don't see why dragging me up would be necessary. - Namjoon shrugged shoulders, not looking straight at anyone. - It should be something only for those who really want, and is capable of living it fully.

— How can you direct and show emotions from something you never tried? - Nya touched his shoulder lightly. - Maybe feeling like Moonchild for a while will help you to understand its essence.

— In other words. Don't knock it till you try it. - Yoongi, still not fully into the idea, tried to drag his friend to it. Perhaps, some motivation would bring them to the joy of snatching new experiences.

Namjoon still took a while to accept. Honey went and announced the next category before going back and receiving a half hearted smile from Kim Namjoon. Don't knock it till you try it, his brain repeated incessantly.

— I will do it, only for the experience. - He shook hands with Honey Dejour, as if making a business deal. - Hopefully I'll a pretty lady.

— With your body structure, I can make Liu Wen beg you for exercise tips, baby. - Honey blinked and pulled Namjoon by the hand previously shook.

- x - x - x - x -

“Category is… Streetstyle Drag” - Honey Dejour announced and the crowd applauded, some cheering, others singing and dancing to the song playing. Hoseok spinned like a ballerina, body straight and firm, spine erect, right leg tensioned enough to gather force and balance, whilst the left stood in a hook shape, arms in first position. His muscle memory never failing in reminding how to move. Jungkook received his idol title, but it doesn’t mean he was the only one aiming for that. Jung Hoseok tried and failed, no agency accepted his appliance tapes.

Although, art was a passion. Regardless of what type. Hoseok lived a whole life of drama, repressing, gargantuan levels of conservatism, a tall and skinny bisexual boy who spent his free time dancing, defying every narrow-minded in Gwangju and their stupid retrograde thoughts. The count itself had always been perspiting art and conceiting themselves for something their citizens fought, died and conquered over 30 years before, however when living off dancing, singing, painting or whatever, went from the core and not only a job, the reprimand could lead people into killing themselves.

Hoseok spent a lifetime of frustrations. When his last video for YG Entertainment was sent back with a denial e-mail, he decided to try another types of art. Working part-time as a street dance teacher and spending every coin received with art supply, he met a cinema student interested in painting: the rich and underestimated Kim Taehyung.

Jung would never forget how ethereal Taehyung seemed to be, on his expensive brown coat with fur, tight jeans and white Chuck Taylors. The lights formed a halo around his head, making the brown strands shine. What a first impression. By contrast, Hoseok with a plaid blue shirt, t-shirt stained with tint, sweatpants and overused Nike Airshots, gave a very endearing vision of him.

Once they finally began talking to each other, then it never stopped. Taehyung and Hoseok got along very well, similar interests made their bond grow stronger everyday, also Jung understood some aspects of Kim which no one even tried.

Taehyung was rich, therefore had everything but the essential: happiness. Nothing expensive bought was ever with his own money, every ounce and dime belonged to his family. Decided to drop off his parents command, Kim began working as an art teacher and even gaining only a few Wongs per week, living off of it felt amazing. Independence felt amazing.

Hoseok understood why buying cheap art supply and eating Cup Noodles made the younger man feel fulfilled, and decided to help, moved from his parents home and rented a small apartment with Taehyung.

It took them only a few weeks until they were making out on the couch, but a few months to definitely engage in a relationship. Hoseok and Taehyung attended the same college, and after graduating, keep on living in Korea, specifically in Gwangju, felt like a waste of time.

Moving to London was the last time Taehyung touched his inherited money.

Hoseok and Taehyung met Yoongi during a LGBT Parade in London. They got along pretty well, even both clearly representing the total opposite in comparison with Yoongi’s personality. They were fun and talented, after speaking to Namjoon, hiring them seemed the right thing to do.

Writing a script about LGBT folks, searching about Queer culture and being able to experience it, every single second of it felt like a dream to Hoseok. His younger self would never imagine walking in heels, dress and being characterized as a drag queen. Living in Gwangju limited his perception of world, but now, staring at himself in a mirror and checking how his eyeliner was lit, impossible situations felt like lack of vision. He envisioned Moonchild afterall.

Regardless of how happy he felt so far, Taehyung being there would only improve it all. However someone had to stay in London and take care of business. Their democratic way of deciding stuff (a.k.a rock, scissor, paper) established that Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, Jade and Emerson were the ones chosen to stay.

Spinning again, Hoseok felt how every fiber from the fabric held his figure, anchoring himself to reality. He was wearing a mid-length light-blue dress, a flowy kind of fabric, white high-heels and pantyhose. Of course he tucked (something no one imagined he knew how to do, except for Taehyung and Jimin, who were there when Jung did it for the first time and, of course, showed up at their living room looking like an eunuch), covered his eyebrows with glue and powder. Practicing what was learnt during 10 seasons of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

Whilst Hoseok was having an internal realization, Yoongi gave up on dressing up and decided to use his own clothes, but still kept the wig and makeup. He was looking good with black eyeliner, mascara, contour and purple lipstick, also the curly, long black wig really made him taller.

Jungkook tried to fit himself in a corsage, but failed, so kept his skirt and put on a white cropped, plus a pair of 10cm high heels. He indeed looked good, makeup on point, killing eyelashes and a long black wig (“Do I look like Park Bom?”).

Honey Dejour wasn’t lying when she promised to make Namjoon look pretty, but Nya could never imagine how gorgeous the result would be.

After a lot of work, Namjoon showed up in a long red dress, topped with a silk kimono and red heels, making the already tall man look like Empire State Building. Honey decided to make him embrace his facial shape, so a short black wig was chosen. Every trace and detail planned to highlight his features.

— Damn it, Namjoon! I think I’m attracted to you! - Yoongi exclaimed.

— Shut up, Yoonji. - Namjoon felt his face getting warm, glad that all layer of makeup made him look unfazed. - By the way, now I’m Sailor Joon.

— Did you just name yourself after Sailor Moon? C’mon sis, I’m the nerd one! I’m Sailor Kook! - Jungkook protested profusely.

— Why are you guys fighting? There are plenty of Sailors in that cartoon. You guys can both be Sailor Joon and Kook. - Nya rolled her eyes in a condescending way. - I’m sure Yoonji and Jay Hope agree with me.

— Since you named me, now I’m your drag daughter. - Hoseok giggled and wrapped one of his arms around Nya’s shoulder. - Hi momma!

— Only over my dead body! - Honey showed up, carrying brown paper bags with their clothings, throwing them at its respective owner. - I’m your drag mom, Jay Hope. I built you, I reclaim you. And Jungkook, you are Scarlet Kook, Sailor Kook sounds like a brand of breakfast cereals, and I’m for sure not hosting a Cap’n’ Crunch realness Ball.

After discussing and complimenting each other’s look, Honey Dejour decided they should catwalk as well (“I didn’t sweat and put four grown men in drag for nothing. I gotta exhibit my work”). So she pulled Nya outside the backstage, bringing a chair with her, the woman was now a judge. The music stopped because a new category was about to be announced.

— Category is… - Honey stared straight at the backstage. - First Time in Drag Realness. I introduce my newborn daughter, Scarlet Kook!

When “Sissy That Walk by RuPaul” began playing, Jungkook walked from behind the curtains, hips swaying from left to right, feeling himself again and being applauded. Of course, his legs were tense, and visually speaking, he looked a bit insecure up on high heels, yet Jeon Jungkook nailed his catwalk, loving every second of it: the lights, the cheers, the feeling.  At the backstage, his heart pounded against ribcage, almost climbing its way up to his throat.

— Every mother has a rebel daughter. Oh believe me, I have a whole bunch of them. - The music was lowered so Honey could speak. - Now, please applaud my other newborn daughter, Min Yoonji!

The music got louder again. Yoongi opted for not strut, fearing the fall and how humiliating it would be, mainly with so many eyes focused on him. Why did he agreed on it anyways? Even not being a proper catwalk, the way he walked down and stopped in front of the judge’s table fitted his description: a rebel daughter. The cheers flustered him, yet it was a nice experience.

— Please prepare your hearts and hold your wigs, ladies, ‘cuz my daughter ain’t here to play. - Honey Dejour smiled bright to a camera taking pictures around and got back to her role as hostess. - I give you… JAAAAAY HOPE!

“Crazy In Love by Beyoncé” began playing and Hoseok left the backstage channeling his inner diva. Hips swaying, one foot after other, wig moving with the wind. Jay Hope was fierce, gorgeous and confident. The dress flowing and spotlights making everything almost divine. Walking down the runway and being applauded brought a pack of mixed emotions.

Jung Hoseok felt loved and accepted.

Not that his friends and gay community in London never loved him, but for the first time being bisexual, enjoying arts and being his grinning, delicate self felt truly right. Hoseok hated stereotypes and how people assumed stuff about him out of his preferences, so for a good part of his days on earth were wasted trying to prove ‘em wrong. Yes, I’m bisexual and date another man, but I don’t do ballet and don’t use skirts. After walking down the catwalk, all his pre-concepts about being LGBT in a mutable world changed.

Why prove everyone is wrong, when they are clearly right? They are right, but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. They are wrong for thinking it’s right to reduce people based on their sexuality, hobbys, abilities, etc.

As Lady Gaga said in Born This Way: “Don't hide yourself in regret. Just love yourself and you're set. I'm on the right track, baby. I was born this way”.

In the end, getting in drag proved to be more than just a costume, or a persona, it was a whole political statement.

Jung Hoseok was loving himself.

After arriving back behind the thick curtains, Hoseok felt tears stream down his face. Moments of output, everyone should have one of these. It’s amazing to finally realize and accept something about yourself, once you do it, regardless of what it is, then other aspects of your life slowly adapts to your new vision.

— Last, but not least, I introduce you my newborn daughter. - Honey grinned slightly at how Nya’s face lit up with expectation. - She is tall, she is gorgeous, she is smart and she snatches hearts. I give you… Sailor Joon!!

Perhaps Honey planned it beforehand while teaching Namjoon how to tuck (by the way, he felt like his balls were in his stomach, but still found it a useful skill). In the moment she finished speaking, “I Am The Best by 2NE1” began playing and Sailor Joon decided to try walking in the rhythm. Halfway through the runway, feeling his legs shaking and sweating dumps because of how much effort was put only in walking.

Kim Namjoon, a grown ass man, empathized with babies learning how to walk.

The heels were high and hard to keep stead, his legs were long and couldn’t be seen under the dress, so Namjoon could only feel them touching each other. Beside not being able to see where he was stepping. Is that the right equation to a concussion? Absolutely.

Even lasting only a few minutes, it felt like hours of walking and when Namjoon finally attained himself to the judge’s table, his legs somehow tangled on each other and his fall was almost epical. If Homer witnessed Kim Namjoon nosediving from the top of 12cm high heels, he would probably write a rhapsody about it. A tall building being demolished, that’s what watching him hitting the cold hard ground felt like.

Namjoon saw his legs going up and suddenly his head crashing against the wooden floor. Everything blacked out for a few seconds, maybe of embarrassment or because the fall was actually titanic. Honey and Nya showed up to help him getting on his feet again and also guided him to backstage, where Jungkook wrapped an arm around hyung. The woman also sneaked behind him and found a chair under piles of fabrics, sitting him down and watching the way Kim propped his head back and covered his face with one hand, mouth still tasting like blood.

— I want an alcohol beverage and pretend I don’t exist. I’d really appreciate if everyone respected my final demands.- Namjoon babbled, still feeling his mind spinning. - Also, some ice would be great.

— Let me grab the drink and some ice. - Yoongi wisely offered, since he was the only one not wearing heels.

Five minutes and not a word was spoken. Honey Dejour had to stay and announce the winners from every category. Everyone stared at Namjoon looking like he fought with his heels and was defeated. Still ashamed and cursing at himself for what occurred. Yoongi emerged from the crowd holding a glass with whiskey and ice in a plastic bag.

Sipping on the whiskey and holding the bag of ice over the new wound. Heels left aside, he wanted to burn them, but since it belonged to Honey Dejour, only taking off seemed decent enough.

After half an hour, Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook went outside to party, leaving Nya and Namjoon alone. Still silent, absorbing the fall, the rise and the whiskey.

— How’s your head? - Nya asked, sitting on the ground beside Namjoon, one of her hands leaning over his clothed knee.

— I haven’t had any complaints. - Namjoon replied grinning, still a bit grumpy, but the alcohol was soothing his pain away. Or was it the ice?

They stood there, smiling and silently appreciating each other’s company. Even though the song was making his head latches a little, he would never ruin the night for everyone else. Staying there and drinking something was good enough. Also Namjoon had zero intention of leaving the backstage, not after almost staining the wood with his brain and blood.

Namjoon’s hand slided from his chest and reached for Nya’s one. They held hands and stared at each other for a while. She wanted to kiss him, but making him fall again would be cruelty [ha, pun intended!]. Odds seemed to be at her favour, ‘cuz after a few more seconds, himself bent down, the fingers previously intertwined, now holding her chin lightly and their lips connected in a liplock.

Fireworks! Party! Confetti! Nya wanted to jump and punch fists in the air, but enjoying the moment felt more appropriate. Slowly, lips opened and tongues connected, however, Namjoon’s position wasn’t quite comfortable so he got back up, but smiling at her. Dimples, those dimples!

They instinctively stood on their feet, the bag of ice being left aside. His cold hand made Nya feel goosebumps, but her arms still wrapped around Namjoon’s waist, whilst his hands held her face. They kissed once again, now actually losing themselves and allowing mouths to open, tongues to tangle and hormones flowing freely.

Such a romantic moment, which was interrupted by Yoongi, Jungkook and Hoseok coming back cackling. Namjoon and Nya separated, pretending to be doing nothing, however Min Yoongi saw and looked at his friend with disapproval.

— What time is it now? - Nya questioned, hands stucking on her back pockets.

— Almost six in the morning. - Yoongi checked his phone quickly, and stared at Namjoon again. - I think it’s time for us to conclude the night and head back to hotel. I’m exhausted and Sailor Joon is probably needing some pain killers. We can go check thrift shops during afternoon.

— I agree. - Nya saw Jungkook and Hoseok pouting.

They returned the outfits to Honey Dejour, traded phone numbers (business still was a priority) and left, stopping a cab.

- x - x - x - x -

The group arrived at the hotel. Hoseok and Jungkook went to their shared room, Yoongi and Namjoon did the same, but the humour was catastrophically different between both groups. One was tired and sleepy, the other was tense and in verge of a discussion.

The rooms were big. Two double beds, cotton fiber bed sheets, fluff pillows and thick duvets. There was a bathroom, one wardrobe filled with towels, shampoos, conditioners, soaps (both liquid and bar). The television was big and connected on internet, so the lodgers could watch Netflix or Youtube.

Namjoon entered the bedroom and headed straight to the bathroom, bringing a towel and his pajamas. Taking a long time and leaving a trade of steam out of it, he laid down under the duvet, but Yoongi told him to stay awake. Apparently they had something to talk about.

— Man! It’s not right! - Yoongi yelled at Namjoon. - You can’t date someone, not while we have the fucking rope ready to hang us!

— What? Now I can’t make out with someone? It’s not like I’m proposing to Nya! We kissed! - Namjoon was sitting on his bed, using Ryan pajamas, ready to sleep, but still arguing with Yoongi. - We met in person 12 hours ago, I'm not in love or obsessed with her!

— You are not in love with her YET! Beside, I would extract your brain through the nose and yeet it in a trash can if you somehow fell for someone in 12 hours of wandering around Las Vegas! - The man felt really frustrated, his temples almost visually pulsing. - You can fuck with every single human being around Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t care! I’m not your dick! But Nya is our guide, she is working for us! Also, you are getting attached, but know pretty well how things will turn! - Yoongi was also sitting on his own bed, common white pajamas and wet hair. - You are not the kind of guy who dates someone! You have affairs and get tired! I know you for a decade, man! I’m sick of seeing you dumping people and becoming grumpy! That project we are searching for places to film is important. It can save our finances! But if you get involved now, the break up will probably happen one week before we start filming. Everytime it happens, the movie becomes shitty because of your humour! And Kim Namjoon, I swear, I won’t allow you to ruin this. Not this time!  Not after your dramatical break up with Barbara and the critics detonating our movie. Hoseok and Taehyung worked way too hard on that script, only for your horny ass not pay a jot attention to it!

— Go fuck yourself, Yoongi! - Namjoon had nothing to say. Yoongi was right, he knew it, but would never admit it. Never in a million years.

— You fucking know I’m right! - Yoongi pronounced harshly, drops of spit flying from his mouth. - If you end up getting into Nya now, you are going to make a shitty movie after breaking up! You surrender yourself easily, and I don’t care most times, but after our last movie, we need to have you 100% focused.

— I’m focused. I was the only one not punchy! I accepted to be dressed up! I’m 100% into the project! I could marry and divorce someone, that it wouldn’t affect how I’m going to direct! - Namjoon was now spitting too, with rage and frustration. - You, Min Yoongi, are not the only one worried sick about finances and hating the idea of possibly working for some cocky entrepeuner with a big company.

— If you for yourself don’t stop hitting on Nya, then I’ll end it myself. - Yoongi assumed a gloomy expression, his body language screaming discomfort, with a hand covering his face, legs moving incessantly and ears getting red. - I ain’t gonna allow you and your romantic ass to ruin my career, business and life.

— You are preposterous. - Namjoon whispered in disappointment and laid down again, covering his head with the duvet, finishing their argument in the most childish way possible.

To be continued...

[distinctivelibrarians]

Well Worn, Well Loved

(ao3)

You would think, given everyone’s space issues this wouldn’t be a thing. But it was. And none of them were complaining.

(Hardison, Parker, and Eliot steal each others clothes. They're all surprisingly okay with it.)

Parker had the clothes she liked. Fitted, functional, hemmed and burned where necessary to keep fibers from falling and frays from catching. Few pieces had life to them, even fewer she wore regularly.

Soft scarves that could hang loose around her neck and still be warm, that would fall right off long before they caught and snared. Over-sized jackets that she’d lifted from stores on her way down the street after jobs when she needed to duck into crowds to hide, and then never gotten rid of. A truly astounding number of hats - some functional, some just for fun. Hair ties and scrunchies that worked as snaps for distracted hands, as distracting blots of color and glitter, that had interesting textures that were fun to wind around her fingers.

She noticed when Eliot took the bright orange tie for his hair. She doesn’t think he did though. It was one of the simpler ones. Stretch cotton worn thin, the color dulling. She didn’t say anything about it, since it ended up right back in the drawer in the bathroom the next day.

She doesn’t say anything when she notices the tie-dyed pink scrunchie in his hair a week later, the one that crinkles loudly if you crunch it in your hand that she stole specifically for that noise. And only because it took her way too long to notice it, and by the time she does, he’s in whirlwind mode in the kitchen, and the scrunchie is not nearly as important as making sure no one interrupts him while cooking her favorite meal.

She doesn’t know what it is yet, actually. But it smells amazing, and she can already tell it’s going to be her new favorite. Everything smells spicy and warm and Eliot’s relaxed enough to smile at her when he smacks her hand away from sneaking a taste and he’s trying not to laugh at Hardison’s yelling coming from the living room (he’s currently in the middle of a raid, and the both know better than to get in his way with that. He’ll be at dinner, and that’s all that matters).

(Her favorite meals are rarely just about the food.)

After that, Parker figures, if she wasn’t going to call him out for it the first two times, the times after that weren’t worth it. So, Eliot stealing her hair ties was just a thing that happened. And a couple times, sure, she’d paused, tried to pick apart how she felt about it.

Those were hers after all. She’d picked them for a reason, she’d kept the ones she liked, her collection was one of the few things that tended to follow her from drop to drop.

But, when nothing pinged, when she didn’t feel a possessive curl in her stomach, and instead just wanted to smile every time she saw him with another one. Well, she figured, if it wasn’t wrong, don’t fix it.

(She moved the gold one though. That one, and only that one, had hit something weird in her chest. She’d moved it to another drawer. And she knew Eliot saw it. But he never touched it.)

Seeing Hardison in her scarves was another thing entirely.

That, she did mention. And he’d blinked, picked at the one he was wearing - the bright red one, still new enough to be missing a couple of the shiny spots a few of her older ones had, from where she’d rubbed the cloth between her fingers - and then given her a sheepish smile, unwinding and offering it over immediately.

No yelling that she was being unreasonable, no demanding she share. She was about eighty percent sure he was opening his mouth to apologize too. Which was as close to certain as she could get about some expressions, so she figured she was right. So she just shook her head.

“Green and polka dot ones are special.” He’d paused, eyeing her for a long moment, before giving one of his slow, soft smiles that made her stomach twist up in interesting knots, warm and settling. He got it.

True to his word, he never touched the green or polka dot ones. But, just like Eliot with the hair-ties, the scarves started popping up more and more. He’d fidget with the tassels on some of them. Duck his chin into the big fluffy ones, looking ridiculous and young and happy.

She wasn’t feeling possessive, like she thought she might. The scarves were hers, sure. But seeing Hardison in her stuff was… nice. Anyone who knew them would know that those were hers - just like anyone who saw Eliot’s hair-ties would know those were hers.

And that, that realization made her pause for a moment. She could say something about two anonymous people visibly marking themselves like that. She knows Sophie probably would - picking them apart and putting them back together like a puzzle. For Parker though, all she really got out of it, what she kept close, was that happy, bubbly feeling that came with realizing this meant they were going to stay.

Hardison probably spent more on clothes than Nate, Parker, and Eliot combined (no one could beat Sophie, that was just a fact). Even if it wasn’t his money most of the time, it was still pretty impressive. And it wasn’t like he went for expensive stuff (on purpose). But, he liked comfy clothes. He liked silly shirts that he could afford to buy because they made him laugh. He liked nice shoes that actually fit and didn’t pinch his toes or scrape his heels. He liked pants that weren’t too short or had to be held up by worn out belts. He liked being able to pick, and choose, and remake himself with costumes in the short term, trends in the long term, liked the freedom that came with trying a look and keeping what he liked from it and tossing what he didn’t.

So, yeah. Maybe he had a lot of clothes. In his defense, for all he spent on himself, he tried to send as much, if not more (it was always more), in donations to whatever charity drive he could. He remembered picking through church-backed yard sales, hoping to find something, anything he’d be proud to wear, that Nana could afford. Remembered being happy when anything fit, especially when his height shot up in his teens. So, he did what he could and let himself enjoy where he’d ended up in life.

Long, long story short, that was all to say that for the three closets the three of them shared? His stuff took up two-thirds of the one actually designated for clothes. (Parker’s rigs took up another whole one, and the third was a mix of Eliot and Parker’s clothes. The last third of the original clothes closet was piled high with sewing and crafting stuff that the other two still teased him about.)

Even longer story short, he had so many clothes that had piled up, he didn’t always. Remember what he had. So, it took him a little while to notice.

The bright blue Tardis shirt stood out in a way that he’d be far more ashamed if he hadn’t noticed though. It was big on Parker, probably looking bigger since she normally didn’t do baggy clothes.

He honestly didn’t think much about it beyond noticing that it looked good, knowing there was a small, goofy smile on his face for a moment, and knowing that it just got bigger and goofier when she turned to ask him something about what they were watching. It slipped from his mind, quick as anything.

Looking back on it later, he wondered, briefly, if that had been all the permission Parker had needed to just start raiding his closet on a regular basis, or, if she had already been doing it and he’d just finally caught a clue. He certainly wasn’t complaining, either way. Parker looked good in his shirts, and, even better, she looked comfortable and relaxed, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

The results were still the same each time he noticed her in one of his shirts: love-struck smiles, butterflies in his stomach, maybe an embarrassed flush here and there when she dug out some of the more ridiculous shirts. (The pink llama on a cloud in front of a rainbow shirt had been a mistake. He could own up to that. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d been on about two hours of sleep in a 48 hour binge though.) Maybe a less embarrassed, more interested flush when she decided to use his attention to her advantage. Mostly butterflies and sappy smiles though.

So, Parker stealing his shirts was a regular thing.

Then Eliot started doing it, and he might’ve done an honest to god spit-take that first time.

Hardison’s pretty sure it wasn’t on purpose is the thing - Eliot had taken a rough fall on the job the night before, and, after making sure he didn’t have a concussion, they’d bundled him off to bed, where he’d stayed passed the hell out into the afternoon the next day. Which told Hardison and Parker the fall took more out of him than he’d let on, even without a knock to the head. And when he’d shuffled into the living room, he’d been groggy and mellow and sleep-rumbled in a way they both loved but would never point out, lest he get embarrassed and stop. He’d been wearing his own sweats, and a simple navy shirt.

Hell, the only reason Hardison caught it so fast was that he’d literally tossed that shirt on the dresser the night before, and, on closer inspection, it just. Didn’t fit right. Hardison was taller than Eliot, sure, and maybe just the slightest bit wider in the shoulders. But Eliot was stockier, more filled out, with a weight to him that always caught Hardison off guard during those moments when it became clear that Eliot was smaller than him. He just carried himself like he was bigger, like he was stronger, like he was this immovable object between Hardison and Parker and the world.

...And that got just a bit sappy. (True though.) And the point was that while the shirt fit Eliot’s shoulders, it most certainly did not fit his chest. Or his biceps. That poor shirt was straining.

And Hardison saw absolutely no reason to save it. If it was going to be stretched out, then so be it. It had been sacrificed for a noble cause.

When Eliot later changed into one of his tanks, he’d thought that’d be the end of it.

Which meant, of course it wasn’t. It never reached the same levels as Parker’s thievery - but there were patterns Hardison picked out, eventually, with both of them.

Parker stole his clothes regularly, sure, but was far more likely to do so when they’d just come off a con - when she was bubbly and happy and wanted to lounge around the apartment, enjoying the tail end of the victory high they’d all gotten.

Eliot never went for the ridiculous shirts. Always the plain ones, and, more often than not, the ones Hardison left lying around the floor or the dresser. And always, always when he was half-asleep, muggy and relaxed in a way no one else got to see.

He’d shot Nate a warning look, the one time it’d looked like he’d wanted to ask Parker about the nyan-cat shirt that Hardison had been wearing just last week. His people, his partners, taking his clothes was a sign, he felt, that they were getting comfortable in their shared space, settling down and letting themselves go, just a little bit, and like hell he was going to let Nate poke and prod at that and scare them off.

Nate had just raised a hand in surrender, going back to his coffee without a word.

And then he did an honest to god spit-take when Eliot walked in in the llama shirt, completely relaxed and laid-back like absolutely nothing was wrong.

He caught the under the table high-five between Parker and Eliot, and honestly, he’d never been more in love.

Eliot’s relationship with clothes wasn’t really anything special. He had two modes - comfortable, never-ending layers or a very specific brand of southern charm he’d painstakingly worked out, over the years. Maybe a third, now, that Hardison and Parker liked to call Angry Chef when they thought he wasn’t listening. Since that also covered his work-out gear, he figured he’d let them have it. (And maybe, just maybe, he was trying out a fourth, where he could look nice, for his partners. Enjoy some expensive things he wouldn’t have looked twice at years ago. He’s working on it.)

The layers were his preferred if he had to go out. Worn out flannel and buttoned shirts, washed so many times they were threadbare and soft and smelled almost permanently of cheap soap; jackets that were shiny with wear and tear at the elbows, but still fit just right over everything else; jeans that had had grass and mud washed out of them so many times the color was starting to go.

There were practical reasons, of course - buffers against knives, layers that could peel away if he got grabbed, (consistent protection against too sharp, too sudden, too cold wind), enough layers to make him look small in comparison, easy to look over and go unnoticed - but, honestly, he just liked them. He’d never really thought to question it.

He certainly didn’t have much of an emotional attachment to anything he owned. He could always break in new shirts, new jeans. Maybe he’d briefly mourn a lost jacket, but it wasn’t like he bought expensive things to begin with, so they were easy to replace. His whole system was easy really. Worn down with years of use and habit, and only recently starting to update a bit.

So of course, Hardison and Parker had to throw a monkey wrench in things.

He’d noticed Parker wearing Hardison’s shirts, of course. They were very distinctive (and distinctively distracting). He honestly hadn’t thought she’d then move on to stealing his shirts.

But, sure enough, there she was one morning, perched in her normal spot at the bar in the kitchen, waiting for him to start breakfast, dressed in shorts and one of his worn old flannels. He’d stopped in the hallway for a moment, blinking, waiting to see if there was any bit of discomfort that she’d had to dig through his clothes to get to that one, then shook his head and headed into the kitchen to make waffles. This was going to be a thing now, then, and he was okay with that. He trusted her, and, more immediately, he figured it was only fair since he was currently pulling his hair back with a blue-glitter hair-tie that he’d grabbed out of habit.

There were days when Parker stuck to her own clothes. Nights where she’d come home and go change into one of Hardison’s neon shirts. Mornings where she’d be up, bright and early, perched on the bar in one of Eliot’s more sedate tops. Eliot wouldn’t change it for the world.

He’s pretty sure Hardison slipped under his nose for a little while there, with his thieving. He didn’t go for Eliot’s shirts - too many of them just weren’t long enough for him - but. He apparently loved Eliot’s jackets. And since those were even more unremarkable, even more worn out than his shirts, it didn’t immediately click with him that the oversized army surplus jacket Hardison was wearing one day, as they camped out in Lucille, was his.

He’d been expecting, in that split second before the feeling actually hit, a reaction similar to what he’d had for Parker - something warm, that just fit and settled in right next to the feeling of early morning silences, content and easy. Instead, he got smacked with surge of ridiculous fondness that had taken his breath away, for just a moment. Just long enough for Hardison to catch the probably weird look on his face. Eliot had waved him off, scrubbing a hand down his face.

All because, looking closer, the jacket didn’t actually fit. It was one of the one’s that was too big on him, even more than he normally allowed. It was one of the ones he saved for when they went north for awhile - large enough to go over extra layers, thick enough to keep the chill at bay. On Hardison, who only had a t-shirt on underneath, it just made him look young and bright and highlighted almost ridiculously that the jacket wasn’t his.

Eliot had stolen a lightning quick kiss on his way out of Lucille to get the con rolling - something he almost never did, since they needed to be focused and ready to move - and just enjoyed Hardison’s surprised squawk instead of answering where the hell that’d come from.

He knows Hardison figured it out anyway, later, when seeing him in one of Eliot’s jackets became as normal as mornings where Parker filched his shirts.

Instead of both becoming something settled and soft in the pit of his stomach, he just ended up trying to hide a lot of goofy, fond smiles because, looking at them both together? His clothes were too big, too worn out for his quick and young and oh so bright partners that they just looked ridiculous. About as ridiculous as they were for hanging out with his worn-out, worn-down self anyway. (And he never wanted them to stop.)