#I did a triple take when I came across this meme

[breedaboo]

[nolanell]

At The Museum Headcannons

The awesome @max--phillips made the meme below, and being an History of Art graduate, I wrote some headcannons for it.

For this piece, Oberyn is Modern!Oberyn / Pero is Modern!Pero / Din Djarin is SecurityGuard!Din

Lots of clickable links in this as I have linked to the artists and artworks referenced. Big thank you to @getlostbobby for an amazing idea for Max Phillips!

Dave York: You were surprised at how receptive to the idea he was. You had honestly thought he'd encourage you to go, but without him. And yet here he was, with you. He was looking at the techniques used, marveling over feathery paint strokes Rembrandt used for hair, the dramatic light and shadow of Caravaggio, and the paint application of Courbet. Dave seems to appreciate anything where a noticeable technique has been used, and he is particularly taken with anything that shows off the skill of the painter. He surprises you even further when he starts talking readily about symbolism in art and the conventions he sees in different artworks. As you're leaving, he tells you that he loves 'The Ambassadors' by Holbein and would like to come back as he could stare at it for hours.

Marcus Pike: He was so excited when you asked him to come with you. He'd been wanting to go for ages, but didn't want you to think he was asking you on a date that was 'something he wanted to do' or that he was going and you were there just to tag along. He was genuinely interested in everything that was in the collection, but was equally as interested in what you thought about each piece. He never got annoyed at any of your questions and was eager to have a conversation about art with you. He noted he thought you had an interesting perspective on a lot of the pieces that he hadn't thought of, and he excitedly explained you had given him some insight that had never occurred to him. As you queued up in the gift shop you asked what his favourite piece was, and he laughed and said he couldn't pick just one.

Ezra: He was more than happy to go with you, mainly for your company and in the hope he might find something to captivate his imagination. You and he got a fit of giggles over a nude sculpture and for a good half an hour you had to stifle giggles as you walked around together, seeing more and more of them. You calmed down quicker than he did, but you did find it adorable that he found such joy in something so childish. What did catch you off guard though, was the way he fell in love with the dreamy, hazy Monets. He sank onto one of the benches and just stared at it for what felt to you like an eternity. When you sat next to him, you listened intently to how he spoke of their ethereal, dream-like beauty. He was truly captivated by them and you promised you would let him know if there was ever a special Monet exhibition at the museum. He particularly liked the 'Houses of Parliament' paintings, and was happy to hear they were part of the permanent collection.

Jack Daniels: He giggled with you at the nude figures, but explained he thought the contrast between nudity in art (and how it is highly regarded) and modern censorship of nudity was bizarre. He was then totally hooked on art as social commentary and this dictated how he viewed a lot of the collection. His natural pace around the museum is quite quick, but he was more than happy to go at your pace and stop at anything you wanted to take your time over. He would listen to what you had to say and offer his own opinion. In terms of anything he actually liked, rather than found interesting alone, he mentioned he really liked Van Gogh's 'Wheatfield with Cypresses' series. They felt like home, he said.

Max Lord: He very matter of factly told you he would only come with you if there was a special exhibition he was interested in, and he wouldn't bother with the permanent collection. He was happy to come to the Andy Warhol special exhibition but would only go at his own pace, and was done in an hour. He went straight to the café afterward to wait for you, though did get drunk on the overpriced wine while doing so. You asked what he liked best, and he said 'Triple Elvis' by Andy Warhol, but refused to elaborate.

Oberyn Martell: He loved recreating poses of the pieces you looked at, particularly if it was the dramatic retelling of a myth. He made you join in with him, explaining that it wasn't as fun on his own, and it was the best way to enjoy the storytelling. He did, however, ask you to pose on your own by 'Girl With A Pearl Earring' by Johannes Vermeer, as he felt you could recreate it perfectly, and took a photo on his phone. Overall he prefers visiting the permanent collection as there is so much he wants to look at, and feels he could spend hours upon hours looking at everything on multiple visits. Most of all, he loves sitting in the café with you once you're finished looking around together, discussing what you'd looked at over a bottle of wine. On one visit, he buys a print of 'Judith Slaying Holofernes' by Artemisia Gentileschi as he thinks both art and artist is a strong female piece for his daughters.

Frankie Morales: He was a bit nervous about going with you, thinking you were so much smarter than him, and that it would all go over his head. He was happy to go around with you, asking about what you found interesting and looking at anything you pointed out. However, he was surprised to find that he really liked the pieces that showed everyday people doing normal, day to day things. He was particularly interested in the ones that showed what people did for fun, like 'A Concert' by Lorenzo Costa. He found it really cool that the mouths were painted in a shape that showed it matched what sound they were actually singing, based on the music score in the painting. He was really excited by 'A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte' by Georges Seurat. He loved seeing the dogs in the painting, which is what made him look, but he also loved the 'slice of life' feel to it.

Javier Peña: He agreed without hesitation to come with you, but once he got there, he felt so out of place that he headed straight for the café to wait for you. He insisted you take as long as you wanted and to not worry about him. He didn't get far, though, and pulled you over to 'At the Theatre' by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. He very quietly told you that while he thought you were much more beautiful than the girl in the foreground, he said it reminded him so much of the first time you met. He'd seen you across the crowded entrance to the embassy, and he felt like the face of the man in the background, desperate to meet the beautiful girl across the room.

Comandante Veracruz: He only agreed to come with you because you swore you'd be out before closing time, and because you promised that when you were done, you'd have dinner at the restaurant he'd been eyeing up for weeks. He went straight to the café, mumbling 'before closing' as he went. True to your word, you came to find him with a good couple of hours to spare. He melted a little bit when he saw how happy you were at having spent most of the day surrounded by art, and promised he would come with you again and try and look at some of the exhibits.

Pero Tovar: He only went because you promised you wouldn't mind if he spent the whole time in the café. He said he would wait until he got bored, then you were on your own. You were almost as surprised as he was, though, when he stopped by 'The Battle of San Romano' by Paolo Uccello and was genuinely interested in it. He actually asked you questions about it, and asked why it was so important in how artists approached perspective in painting. He also spent a lot of time looking at 'Whistlejacket' by George Stubbs and marveled at the accuracy. He did eventually go to the café, but was there for much less time than he thought. And he asked you to get him a print of 'Whistlejacket' from the gift shop when you were done.

Max Phillips: You regretted asking him to come as soon as the words left your mouth, but you weren't sure why. You knew he would do something ridiculous, this is Max you were talking about; you just couldn't figure out what. 'Licking a painting' was not on your bingo card of Max shenanigans, but here you were in the museum, staring intently at whatever exhibit was on the other side of the room as Max was escorted out. Once you knew he was gone, you turned around to check where he had been, and had to stifle your laughter. For all the embarrassment, knowing Max was thrown out for licking 'Saturn Devouring His Son' by Francisco Goya was possibly the funniest thing in the world, and you had to hide your laughter for the remainder of the visit.

Din Djarin: You had started talking to the quiet security guard after he apologised for disturbing you. Some guy had tried to lick a Goya in one of the other rooms, and the guard had bumped into you as he led the guy out. As he was apologising, he noticed you were looking at a piece by Kazimir Malevich and made an incredibly insightful comment. It hadn't occurred to you before, and from then on you always made an effort to seek him out when you visited. It turned out he was really into Piet Mondrian and the Constructivist movement, which explained the Malevich comment. He doesn't have a particular favourite piece, rather more interested as the movement as a whole, and how it develops. He takes you by surprise when he is very excited to tell you about an exhibition coming to the museum on astral photography (he later explained he had wanted to apply to work at NASA as a kid). Your heart melts when he shyly asks if you'd be interested in coming with him on his day off.

[harperhug]

In case the article gets paywalled:

What Good Is 'Raising Awareness?'

Just being educated about diseases isn't enough to make people healthier.

In 2010, a strange meme spread across Facebook. People’s feeds were suddenly filled with one-word statuses saying the name of a color, nothing more. And most of these posts were from women.

The women had received messages from their Facebook friends that were some variation on this, according to The Washington Post: "Some fun is going on ... just write the color of your bra in your status. Just the color, nothing else. It will be neat to see if this will spread the wings of breast cancer awareness. It will be fun to see how long it takes before people wonder why all the girls have a color in their status. Haha."

Oh, okay. It was for breast cancer awareness. Except, no, wait—how? The Susan G. Komen Foundation had nothing to do with it, though it did get them some Facebook fans, according to the Post story. It wasn’t clear at all who started it. There was no fundraising component to the campaign. And the posts weren’t informative at all. In fact, their whole point was to be mysterious. Maybe people asked their friends what they meant by just posting “beige” or “green lace” and then they had a meaningful conversation about breast-cancer screenings and risk factors, but I’d guess that happened rarely, if at all.

This incident is just one example of the nebulous phenomenon of “raising awareness” for diseases. Days, weeks, months are dedicated to the awareness of different health conditions, often without a clear definition of what “awareness” means, or what, exactly, is supposed to come of it.

Recommended Reading

According to a commentary published this month in the American Journal of Public Health, the United States has almost 200 official “health awareness days.” (The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services lists all national health observances on its website.) And that’s not counting all the unofficial ones, sponsored by organizations.

The paper was an attempt to begin to investigate whether awareness days actually improve people’s health. Jonathan Purtle, an assistant professor at Drexel University’s School of Public Health, teamed up with Leah Roman, a public-health consultant, to see whether awareness could even be quantified.

“We both kind of anecdotally observed that there seem to be more [awareness days] than ever,” Purtle says. “In public health, and in medicine, we’re putting more and more emphasis on evidence-based practices. Everything should be informed by science in some way. We asked ourselves, has anybody ever evaluated these things, do we know if they’re effective at all?”

The answer: Not many people have, and we really don’t.

Awareness days do seem to be on the rise, by at least a couple measures—the researchers found that more than 145 bills including the words “awareness day” have been introduced in U.S. Congress since 2005, a huge leap compared with previous years. Articles that reference "awareness day"  in the PubMed database have followed a similar, but less extreme, upward trajectory.

Trends in Attention to Awareness Days in U.S. Congress and Health Science Literature

But most of the articles Purtle and Roman found in their search (which was just preliminary, not a systematic metareview) were editorials or commentaries announcing or discussing awareness days. Only five studies empirically evaluated the effects of an awareness day, “but the designs weren’t that rigorous,” Purtle says. The best one, according to Purtle, found that on “No Smoking Day” in the U.K., five times more people called a quit smoking hotline than the daily average. “But that was about it,” Purtle says.

So evidence really is lacking on what good these awareness days do.

Liz Feld, president of the nonprofit advocacy organization Autism Speaks, says she has seen results from World Autism Awareness Day, which was April 2, and Autism Awareness Month, which goes on for all of April. The organization has raised more than $10 million so far in April, more than 50,000 people registered on Autism Speaks’ website, and more than 18,000 buildings around the world illuminated with blue lights on April 2 as part of the “Light it Up Blue” campaign. A spokesperson also told me that “Light it Up Blue” was a trending topic on Facebook and Twitter on April 2.

The money is something concrete that came out of the awareness month, but what about the rest?

“One-third of people who live with autism are nonverbal,” Feld says. “The power of a global blue-light movement is very strong. On that day, that is the collective voice of the autism community. That’s a show of power. The blue lights are really a voice.”

Here, "awareness" seems to mean sending a message, getting attention, and getting people to talk about the issue, at the very least on social media. During the week of the most recent World AIDS Day, December 1, 2014, AIDS.gov got the most engagement and new followers of the entire year, Miguel Gomez, the director of AIDS.gov, told me in an email. Perhaps not coincidentally, the organization’s HIV Testing and Care Service Locator got nearly triple its average traffic on December 1.

Social-media activism gets a lot of criticism, some of it deserved, some of it less so. (There's even a somewhat pejorative term for it: slacktivism.) On one hand, it’s an easy way to reach a lot of people, and it often amplifies the voices of the marginalized. On the other hand, changing your profile picture for an awareness day (something Autism Speaks asked people to do for Light It Up Blue) might just be the smallest possible unit of support for a cause. If not backed up by money or deed, it’s little more than lip service. But lip service is not nothing—if enough people do it, it could help shift cultural norms, as Melanie Tannenbaum wrote in Scientific American, about people supporting marriage equality by making equals signs their profile pictures.

“Based on everything that we know about our brains and their bafflingly strong desires to fit in with the crowd, the best way to convince people that they should care about an issue and get involved in its advocacy isn’t to tell people what they should do—it’s to tell them what other people actually do,” Tannenbaum writes. “And you know what will accomplish that? That’s right. Everyone on Facebook making their opinions on the issue immediately, graphically, demonstrably obvious.”

With a controversial issue like marriage equality, enough equals signs on Facebook pages could send the message that this is a common cause to support, and just maybe, gather more support, in a snowball-rolling-down-a-hill sort of way. The thing is, though, that with diseases, everybody’s pretty much already on the same side. There aren’t pro-cancer people who need convincing to come around.

“The question I would ask Autism Speaks or someone who's doing some sort of initiative like ‘Make your picture blue,’ is how they think that will trickle down into some sort of positive outcome for people with autism,” Purtle says.

So I asked.

“First of all, anyone who takes the time to change their picture, they feel invested, like they’re part of something,” Feld says. “That’s the culture we live in now. It’s a way for them to participate. It creates a sense of a community, it really goes back to that. People like to be part of something, look at the ALS ice-bucket challenge. They wanted to be part of something that was bigger than themselves. It’s free, it makes you happy, it makes you feel like you're doing something.”

But Feld recognizes that this isn’t enough.

“You’ve got to follow it up with something else,” she says. “What comes with raising awareness is a responsibility to do something about what you’re aware of. I always say to people, ‘April 2nd is great but what happens April 3rd?’”

When so much is vying for people’s attention, especially online, including the couple hundred other awareness days, even if you get people to listen, how do you get them to do more than just post a status?

There is a sociological theory called narcotizing dysfunction, which proposes that the more people learn about an issue from the media, the less likely they are to do something about it. Purtle and Roman posit that this might be an unintended effect of awareness days, that people might “conflate being knowledgeable about a health issue with taking action to address it.” It’s not enough to just say “this is a problem, and we need to do something about it.” There are a lot of problems in the world that need doing something about.

So in addition to awareness-raising, to try to get people to do something, Autism Speaks fundraises and asks people to sign petitions. “[When we try] to get corporate sponsors, I always tell people here, you can’t just go pitch this as a moral imperative,” Feld says. “There are a lot of moral imperatives. An effective awareness day has got to give people a window into what a real person who's living with autism is going through. My goal is for people to see the face of someone with autism on Autism Awareness Day, so that they carry that with them on April 3rd, April 4th, April 5th.”

Awareness days wouldn’t be so popular if there weren’t an appetite to address health problems. “People want to do something, which is good,” Purtle says. What he worries is that awareness campaigns’ focus on the individual—what you need to know, what you can do—could reinforce existing troublesome ideas about the origins of health, especially with conditions like obesity and heart disease, where lifestyle is a big risk factor.

A lot of people believe, he says, that “it’s really people’s choices that determine their health outcomes and if they’re unhealthy it's either: 1. They made bad choices, or 2. They’re just unlucky and have some genetic thing. These awareness [days] seem to be reinforcing that if you’re aware of the health issue, it’s a good step, and it might be even sufficient to address the health issue. That really flies in the face of the complexity of the various forces that influence a person’s health and a population’s health.”

Those forces include environmental, societal, and economic factors—things that can’t be fixed with knowledge alone. “I think if more people understood that, perhaps we’d see awareness days looking a little bit different,” Purtle says. A better awareness day, he thinks, would spread information about the prevalence of a condition and its risk factors, as well as policy changes that could lessen disparities or help people living with the condition.

“Neither Leah nor I think awareness days are necessarily a bad thing, nor is awareness a bad thing,” Purtle says. “Awareness can be a first step toward changing behavior, but in my opinion, more importantly it would be a first step to positively address the policies that impact a population's health.”

[adventuresloane]

Chicken Soup for the Undead Soul

Summary: "'Alright, I'm here to make chicken soup and accidentally scorch your petunias,' she said, 'and I've already...well, sorry about that.'"

This is...bonding? Kravitz thinks this is bonding. (Taako gets sick and Lup and Kravitz cook for him idk what else you need to know.)

Rating: T (for safety)

Relationships: Kravitz & Lup, Kravitz/Taako

((Yes it’s another of my ask meme fics I polished up and put on AO3 u gotta deal))

Read on AO3

As was her wont, Lup called, "Anyone home," didn't wait for a response, and then phased into the house through the two inches of wood. Kravitz stopped, then set the lamp he was holding back into the box of baby blue packing peanuts. He waited for the smell of burning living room curtain to reach his nose. Luckily, it didn't, this time.

She floated in the foyer and looked around in a confident, surveying manner, skeletal hands on her hypothetical hips, as though he weren't standing right in front of her. "Alright, I'm here to make chicken soup and accidentally scorch your petunias," she said, "and I've already...well, sorry about that."

Those had been purchased and planted hardly four days prior, but Kravitz didn't remark on that. "Lup. You don't know how glad I am you're here."

She gave a congenial little shrug, causing the flames that rose from her shoulders to shiver upwards before falling again. "Well, hope I didn't keep you waiting. How's Taako?" The question came out quickly. It was particularly relevant today, but it was also one of the first things she asked every time she came in. "That doofus had better be sleeping."

"He's trying upstairs, I think. Not that I would get my hopes up."

"'Trying?'"

"Yes." Kravitz waited. The black, featureless face inside her red hood stayed fixed on him, and she did not carry on the conversation as he'd hoped she would. It seemed that she wanted more from him. "Well...well, I think it's hard for him. He hasn't slept once in the time that I've known him, or in the past decade at all, as far as he's told me. I'm sure he's out of practice if all he does is Trance."

"Oh! Right, right," she said. There was a beat, and then it passed. In the same tone that she'd had when she'd first floated in, she continued, "Well, whatever. He's lucky he's capable of lying in a bed at all."

"Ha, yes," Kravitz said, right before he said nothing. For a few moments that felt too long and vaguely sweaty to him, he stared at Lup, and presumably she stared back, in spite of the fact that he couldn't tell where her eyes were. Her spectral form bobbed slightly up and down in the air, and flames with dark red centers licked off the char-black bones of her hands, and suddenly he was rather glad she always knocked rather than, say, floating up through the floor unannounced when she felt like it. And now the silence was decidedly awkward. He pushed aside one of several unopened cardboard boxes with his foot. "Um, it's his own fault, really. Taako's been spending all his time trying to unpack and organize the house at the same time he's getting things organized to start his school. It's no wonder he's fallen ill--"

"Language." He turned to face her when she piped up. "Just say 'got sick.' No one says 'fall ill' anymore."

He couldn't quite hold back his grimace.

"Hey, you were the one who asked me to correct you when you talked like an old geezer."

This was true. It was also true, he was sure, that she enjoyed chastising him for a change, when normally he was the one telling her what to do during reaper training. He moved on. "Anyway, like I said, I'm glad I have you here to help now."

"Everything going alright so far."

"Yes. Well, I think so. I pre-salted the chicken, like you said. It's been waiting for five hours."

"That'll do. We can start on the broth. So how about the seasonings I told you to get? Did you pick up the rosemary?"

"Yes."

"And the parsley?"

"Two teaspoons of dried."

"And the oregano?"

He screeched to a stop, balked. There was no way. He had double- and triple-checked the list she had given him. He couldn't have missed anything. Could he have missed anything? He didn't know anything about cooking, but Taako always said something about the balance of flavors, and what if he'd just pulled a playing card out from the middle of the tower--

She laughed. "I'm fucking with you. Lighten up, dude." She attempted to pat him on the shoulder as she floated past him into the kitchen. Her hand passed right through him a couple times, but eventually she hard enough to make contact. Sometimes she spent a lot of time trying to touch corporeal things. Maybe that was how she'd burned the flowers. "Anyway, who's gonna use oregano when you've already got a buttload of rosemary in there? Come on."

But that was what he was here for today, to be her hands. According to her, there was precious little room for error when making this soup if they wanted to do it The Right Way, no leeway for her to accidentally drop in too much celery or pepper. There was precious little room for error, Kravitz reminded himself as he followed her instructions to strip the chicken meat from the bones.

"I bought a few different kinds of noodles, since I wasn't sure what was best," he said. "There's those twisty egg noodles, thin pasta, the flat ones--"

"Flat," Lup answered rather like a patient schoolteacher, "and don't break them up when you put them in the soup. He'll slurp them up one-by-one when no one's watching, but he'll never admit that."

"Right." He wanted to say, I knew that. He didn't exactly know, not from experience, and yet it was the kind of thing he'd expected from Taako. He felt like he didn't have to be told.

"That comes later, though," she said. "The noodles cook separately, and it doesn't take long."

"Oh. Alright."

"We used to make the noodles from scratch back on the ship and save them for rainy days, but store-bought's gonna have to do. Hey, do you have a pepper mill?"

"A what?"

"You know, for grinding up fresh-cracked pepper. Taako likes a lot of it."

Kravitz thought. "I think Taako does, but it might be in storage." He clumsily tried to get his nails under the papery skin of a garlic bulb, trying to peel it off. "Did he tell you he likes it fresh-ground better?"

Lup cocked her head a little. "I don't think he told me, per se. He just...well, he always used to like it that way, at least."

He nodded, stiffly. Then he continued nodding through a litany of other questions and corrections from her, about keeping the skin on the onions when he puts them in and how often he'll need to skim the fat from the top of the broth and how to extract the flavor from the bones and how much anise to add. There was a temptation to remark that he could, in fact, operate a stove. But he would say this for her: for someone who came across as so impulsive sometimes, she was surprisingly fastidious when it came to cooking. She knew everything about this dish. About what Taako liked about it. Given that he didn't feel hunger and as such hadn't done much in the way of cooking for hundreds of years, he had little choice but to listen to her. Although it would be nice if she could stop instructing him long enough for him to try to absorb what he was doing, so that he could remember all these details himself, for the next time Taako got sick.

He was so busy trying to keep up with her that he barely registered it when she abruptly switched to praise. "You're not half-bad, Skele-friend."

"Huh?" he responded, all dignity. "Oh, well, I'm just doing what you tell me. Or trying to."

"Yeah, well, you're doing a good job of it. Especially since you haven't taken orders from anyone less than a goddess for, what, a few centuries?"

"And you haven't made this recipe in quite some time. It's incredible how well you remember it."

She paused. "Taako's the one who always used to make it, actually," she murmured. "I'd be the helper. Unless I was the one who was sick. Then he'd do it himself. I feel like it's about time I returned the favor."

Kravitz couldn't keep from grinning at the thought. "I had a feeling he'd be a caring older brother."

"He's not my older brother. We're twins."

"Who's older, though?"

"Neither, we were born at the same time!"

"So you're the younger one."

She attempted to give him a playful shove. "Of course you'd take his side," she said in an exaggerated grumble. "I suppose you've had siblings?"

"Yes," he said quietly. He returned to stirring and said nothing else. Mercifully, she got the hint. After a moment, she materialized a white wand of sharpened bone into her hand (one of Barry's ulnas that he'd gifted to her, she'd told Kravitz once, which...said something about their relationship, alright). He watched her point it into the broth.

His side-eye must have been more obvious than he'd suspected, because she huffed when she caught sight of him staring. For someone whose face was little more than a black void with an ember-like glow of red at the center, she could give quite the eye-roll. "Relax, Mr. Death Cop. It's healing magic." She stopped for a moment, apparently to judge whether she could push her luck. "Though, you know, necromancy is hardly different from the stuff clerics do every day."

"I'm no great arcanist, Lup. I just take down cultists. And you know that whether or not clerics do it doesn't matter to the Raven Queen. Whether it's Vampiric Touch or Revivify, it's still a corruption of fate."

"Alright, spare me the speech, please. I'm just saying," she said with another shrug. "I am an arcanist, and I can tell you that it's the same kind of magical energy to heal or hurt, just flowing in different directions."

There had been an eon when he had felt that as opposed to simply knowing it, back before he'd had a scythe or a home in the Astral Plane. When he could ease his mother's headaches with a song.

"Shit," she shouted out of nowhere, and simultaneously, blue flames from the gas burners shot up suddenly. Kravitz scrambled for the heat dials. "Shit, wait, I just remembered something."

"What is it? Did we forget something?"

"Doesn't everything he eat taste like Gogurt now?" Her voice began to pitch up a little, grow strained. "What if he can't even taste the soup?"

"It's okay, Lup," he responded before she could go on. "I've asked him about that. He said soup doesn't count for the curse. He'll be able to taste it."

"Oh." She sounded as though she'd let out a sigh of relief, though she lacked lungs. "Okay, I just wasn't sure. Magnus had to tell me that, you know. I wouldn't have even known Taako was cursed otherwise."

Kravitz glanced her way. "Does that bother you?"

"It's not like he has to tell me," she said quickly. Then she hesitated, which, as far as he had learned, was not characteristic. She could be patient, but not hesitant, not unassured. "It's just weird that I...don't already know, I guess. I've just--you'll want a chef's knife for that."

"Which one is--?"

"Curved blade. And it's easier if you don't move the knife back and forth. Just pass the carrot under the blade while you chop." She sighed. "Anyway, I just missed things. A lot."

Kravitz bit his lip. "Well...you still know him like no one else. You realize that, don't you? I feel like I'm playing catch-up with all the rest of you. You all had a hundred years to figure him out. And you in particular had quite a few more."

"You're not doing too bad on that front already, bud." He could have sworn he saw a smile peek out from under the hood. He didn't recall her ever calling him "bud" before. "Not from what Taako's told me, anyway."

He stopped stirring the wooden spoon through the golden fluid for awhile. "I guess it's good you'll be moving in with us before too long, huh? We can bring each other up to speed."

"Listen, this shit's gonna be done before long. Why don't you take it up to him yourself?"

Kravitz looked her way. "You sure? It's your soup. You don't want to come up with me?"

"I'll see him plenty later. I'm sure I will."

Minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Taako's bedroom--their shared bedroom, now, with a new king-sized bed and mattress. There were a few instances of throat-clearing before Kravitz heard a croak of "Come in."

He pushed through the door, steaming bowl in both hands. "Hey, darling, have you slept at all?"

"Can't sleep at the best of times, babe." Taako followed up the answer with a snort. "This cold's some bullshit."

He chuckled. "I told you you'd get sick if you kept working like you've been."

"Can it, Bone-Hands McGee." He sat up and struggled to sniff some air through his stuffed nose. "Hey, is that--?"

"Lup helped." He lifted his shoulders in a way that he hoped would come across as self-effacing, as if the soup in his hands didn't smell like absolute heaven.

"That so?" He wiped his nose with a tissue, though not before Kravitz saw the blush creep into his warm cheeks. He saw that blush a lot, and always just at the moment that the two of them met eyes. Each time was a gift, whether Taako meant to give it to him or not. "Let's give it a whirl then."

Kravitz sat next to him on the bed and watched the whole while as Taako held the bowl under his nose, let the steam waft up into his sinuses, tipped his head back to show his smooth neck and closed his eyes and drank the broth slowly. Then he licked his lips abruptly and said, "Not bad for someone who considers fancy wine to be an entire meal. Hey, get out of my bed of contagion. You're the one who's gonna get sick next."

He chuckled and ran a hand through Taako's already pillow-ruffled hair. "That's the nice thing about being dead already, sweetheart. I can't get sick." To prove the point, he kissed his cheek.

He kept doing it, in fact, as he and Taako sat together and as the soup was slowly consumed. He hummed softly, then sang more so. And a few times, when he touched his lips to his boyfriend's skin, he tried to dredge up the kind of magic that he hadn't hadn't used for centuries, for the majority of his life. Not since he'd been alive. It felt far different from the kind he used to electrocute or grapple a necromantic cultist, and at first it felt like trying to run water through a pipe that hadn't seen a drop in decades. But he felt the warmth of the magic like he felt the vibration of his vocal chords, energy coming from deep inside of him, from nothing. Taako seemed to breathe more easily as the Healing Word took effect.

It was after the bowl had been sitting empty for awhile that Kravitz felt Taako's breathing slow next to him and take on the rhythm not of meditation, but of sleep.

[kpopshitposter]

Heyooo, can you do prompt 64+65 for woosung please 🥰

Writing Prompt Meme

“Never stop smiling.” & “I’ll keep you warm.”

PLOT: You and Woosung were so in love. Every day was like a dream. Every moment was beautiful. Until he wants to move to Korea to pursue music. Years go by, and it isn’t until a fansign that you finally get what you’ve been needing. 

My masterlist

It’s been years. Not just since you last saw him in person, but since you last spoke to him. 

You and Sammy had studied together. That’s how it all started. You had been paired up for a joint presentation. You had never spoken before, but he had always been someone you’ve noticed across the room. His beauty was intimidating. You’ve never picked up the courage even for small talk.

Now look.

You had to sit with him, alone, and talk. For hours. Until the project was done.

If you had known the painful end that was to come, you wouldn’t have been so excited to get closer to the person from your fantasies.

It started out so simply. It was work-focused, purely business. Have my number so that we can arrange to meet up. Text me when you’re on your way. You forgot your notebook at my house - oh I recognise the people on the cover. You like that band, too? Have you seen the stage they did in onesies? No? Maybe when you come to pick it up we can watch it together.

Everything had flown into place.

The notebook had given you the tools you needed to get him talking about something other than work. You got to know him very well very quickly after that. You’d keep one another updated about the group, you’d go shopping for their albums together. 

He started to message you more randomly. He started to send you little heart emojis. He started to sit next to you during classes and try to have lunch with you. You didn’t want to get ahead of yourself and be set up for disappointment, but the evidence was there, and the evidence was real. Maybe he felt what you felt, too…?

Then their concert came.

You agreed to go to the concert together, of course! It would be your first time out with him at night and for some reason that made it taste like possibility. You were more excited to be with Sammy than you were to see the band… and by the end of the night, you knew you were right to be so.

The night had started with him having an arm around your shoulders on your way to the venue (using how packed the bus was as an excuse - so that he took up less space).

It progressed to him shyly holding your hand as you waiting for the act to start (he didn’t want to lose you!)

You keep smiling at one another, letting them know that the little physical progressions were okay. More than okay.

The beat drops. Confetti fills the air and streams down over you. 

He’s pulling you in. His hands are on you. He’s moving slow, making sure you want it. He steals your breath with his lips and your heart with his touch, all while smiling like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You hurtled into space together.

Everything happened so intensely. It didn’t matter if you were or weren’t sharing firsts, it was different because it was the two of you. 

Furniture wasn’t just furniture, they were tools that helped you comfortably be in love. Dates or outings weren’t just dates or outings, they were chances to learn the other person better. Nothing was simple in the sweetest way.

Restaurants would turn into lessons, let’s try as many different things as we can to learn about what the other doesn’t like. Clubs turned into which songs do you like. It was a competition of who could know and love the other person the most.

When people saw the little ways you took care of each other they were jealous… but that jealousy would soon turn into pity.

You had gone through yearly anniversaries, moving in together, graduating together, spending every waking hour possible wrapped up in each other’s arms (as well as every possible sleeping hour), but that dream was soon to come to an end. 

He’d soon tell you that he’s leaving for Korea. He wants to pursue music and there’s a way for him to do that there.

Come with me, he pleads.

But your family is here. You’ve already started a career here. You don’t know the language. Your life isn’t there.

“I don’t wanna hold you back,” you tell him, “maybe I just have to let you go.”

So this is where it ends.

After he leaves you try to remain friends, he updates you and you update him. You frequently talk about missing each other. You video call and even though you’re not in a relationship you stare in awe at the screen. Your heart just can’t imagine belonging to anyone else.

Eventually, it all dies. He doesn’t reply to your messages anymore and you don’t get any updates from him. It’s okay, though, you knew he was busy, and the time zone difference was really no joke. It gives you a chance to move on. 

Move on?... You were kidding yourself. You compared every relationship to that one. You compared everyone you met to Sammy. You compared every emotion to the ones you felt when he was by your side. Life didn’t compare. You could survive with enough joy to be content, but your heart had long forgotten peace.

You hadn’t just lost your boyfriend. You had lost your best friend. You really hated how alone you felt.

Years have gone by, and a simple YouTube ad was ready to destroy your contentedness. You’re ready to press skip when you see someone who looks familiar on a YouTube ad, you’re still skeptical when the video starts but then when you hear that beautiful, distinct, electrifying voice you know it’s him. It’s your Sammy.

You do your research - he goes more by Woosung now. You learn about his bandmates. You spend the next week discovering everything that’s happened to him since you stopped speaking. How long has it been? Four years? Why is your heart pounding like this after four years?

During your search you find a website promoting their most recent album with the chance of being entered for a fansign draw. You don’t really know what that means but it doesn’t bother you. You order the album without really thinking about it.

When it arrives you’re surprised by all the bits and pieces that come with it, the photocards, the pictures. It was like an endless experience. You stared at the most gorgeous picture of… Woosung with a heavy heart. But then a text comes through.

Congratulations. You’re going to meet The Rose.

It took a lot of convincing yourself. Forcing yourself. You were kind of hoping that you’d get some comfort from this. You hoped that this would help you close the chapter which had been abruptly cut short.

You were stood in the queue still debating whether or not you should go through with this. You were nervously toying with your clothing. What if he doesn’t recognise you? .... What if he does? 

This is stupid. It’s been years. All because you saw some clips of him you’re suddenly a fan? You suddenly miss him? And what if he doesn’t want to see you? He’s just trying to have a good time with his fans and you’re here ruining it. 

Okay. Forget it. Go home.

You’re about to turn around and leave when the queue starts to move forward. The crowd pushes you.

You can’t change your mind now.

Your nerves have tripled by the time you get to the front of the queue to meet them. Nothing that has happened up until that point has really mattered, it’s all just been about staring at him and remembering your life together. True love is so hard to find. It’s so painful to think it didn’t last.

You can see them all. You’ve learnt their names by now - first it’s Dojoon, then Woosung, Hajoon, Jaehyeong. That’s good. It gives you a second to - you’re being brought forward.

Dojoon greets you with a smile and you’re so dazzled by it for a moment that you forget why you’re here. Curiosity. Heartbreak. Longing. Woosung. Sammy. He asks you your name and you say it, hesitant that Sammy will hear you. He’s within arms reach. He’s holding hands with a fan. Dojoon signs your name and you thank him. You tell him you liked seeing his Haka dance, you thought it was nice that he was so aware of other cultures. You give him a little present you thought he might like based on the research you’ve done. 

It goes by too quickly.

Sammy is looking down at his pen and fixing the cap as you stand in front of him. When you finally make eye contact, his smile fades into confusion.

He says your name.

He recognised you.

Your heart is pounding.

“Hi.” you manage.

“I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“I am. I know all of your songs, and everything about all of you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah… I’m proud of you, Sam- Woosung.”

“You can call me Sammy.”

“It’s fine…” 

“... What should I write for you? We don’t get much time.”

You’re nervously biting your lip. “Whatever you want.”

Sammy taps the pen against the table. He started to write your name, and then he writes ‘Never stop smiling.’

You hand him his present. It’s the ring of his he once gave you which you had never gotten rid of. You had been watching fireworks. It had been a promise that you’d always be in love like you were.

He stares at it like he remembers. You wonder if he actually does.

How could he, with the way his life has gone?

“Wait by the backstage door two hours after this finishes.”

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t for Woosung to tell you he wants to talk to you. It wasn’t for him to touch your hands. It wasn’t for him to look so painfully beautiful.

“I don’t know…”

“Please? There are too many cameras here, too many people. We can’t talk like this, I can’t…”

“Okay. Yeah. I understand.” 

“If you leave… I just want to let you know that this ring is still yours.” Sammy gently fixes your hair before taking the ring and putting it onto your index finger.

You’re being encouraged to move on.

He gently releases your hands. His sad eyes follow you and you move on to Hajoon. You try to not look back at him.

As soon as you’re done you run off to find the bathroom. The tears came quickly and they came hard. You hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult to see him again. You had come here for some form of closure, but all it did was make the hole deeper. You missed him. You missed being a part of his life. You missed his touch.

You can still feel his hands on you after hours of hiding in the bathroom.

You can still feel the tug to run home as you walk around to find the backstage door. The night air is cruel to you. The warmth you generate as you hug yourself matches how certain you are about all of this.

There’s a security guard there and a bit of rope cornering it off. Sammy must’ve not thought this through. You sigh and go to turn around but the guard calls after you and asks your name.

When you tell him, he releases the latch and steps aside to let you past. Although you’re hesitant, you go forward. Security must have been escorting everyone away for quite some time, because there’s really nobody around.

Figuring it would be creepy to just stand there staring at the door, you bring your phone out and pretend there’s something really interesting being shown on your screen. You shift from foot to foot, huffing warm air onto your hand in an attempt to not freeze to death. It was in this state of obliviousness that you feel arms wrap around you.

You quickly turn and see Sammy. He has a hood up, a mask covering his mouth, and a cap on low, but you’d recognise his eyes anymore. 

You’ve turned into his chest.

“I’ll keep you warm.” he quietly says.

“Sammy…” you feel yourself on the brink of tears. Your phone is put away so that you can free your hands, palms long to feel if this is real.

“It’s been a long time.”

You nod, sniffling. “I… wasn’t sure if I should come.”

“I’m really fucking glad you came.”

You laugh a little, though it’s full of sadness. “You still swear like that?”

“Why? What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

He brings you closer. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah. I think so.” you cling onto his clothing. “I’ve missed you so much. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. I didn’t know if I should come. I’ve just-”

Suddenly you’re being hugged so tightly. You feel his cold nose brush against your neck. You so easily mould together that it feels like an enormous weight and a gorgeous epiphany at the same time.

“I had my phone stolen while I was travelling and I couldn’t get in touch with you any other way. You didn’t think I stopped messaging you, did you?” Well now you felt guilty for thinking it, but how were you meant to know his phone got stolen?....

“Well… yeah…”

“I didn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in so many of our songs.”

“I am?”

He pulls back enough to look and you and nods, lowering the mask so you can see his face properly. “You said you knew them all. Listen to Baby again.”

“Oh… okay.” with him right here, you can’t really think about lyrics at the moment. He places both of his hands on your face.

“Were you thinking about me, too?” he asks as if it isn’t obvious.

“Yeah. You’re so different. You look really different. Your hair and everything. I almost didn’t recognise you.”

“Is the way I am now bad?”

“No, you’re… you’re beautiful. Just like all your Black Roses tell you.”

“Are you a Black Rose?”

“I guess I am, yeah. A really lucky one.”

“I want to do something with you I can’t do with a Black Rose. Can you stop being a fan for a minute?”

You’re breathless. “What do you want to do?”

As if you don’t know.

As if you can’t anticipate him coming in closer.

You’re ready for more than the kind kiss on the cheek he gives you, but it still feels so wonderful and perfect.

“Don’t disappear again.” you plead with him. Sammy or Woosung, your ex-boyfriend or lead singer of The Rose, American citizen or Korean citizen, whatever he wanted to be you were fine with it. You knew life with him and you knew life without him. Now that you’ve been reminded of the perfection of his presence you never wanted to lose him again.

“I won’t. I’m yours forever.”

[artificialqueens]

Daybreak over Manhattan (Scyvie) - Phryne

A/N: Long time, no see AQ! I’m finally back after putting DOPS on a slight hiatus to work on Ficmas and this fic right here. It’s a coffee shop au with some cute fluffy bits, a little angst, and that classic DOPS humor (I hope) we all love. 

Also thank you to @scarletenvynyc for being incredible throughout the whole writing process and encouraging me to see this fic through, and to @artificialmeggie for being the most incredible beta. 

Enjoy!

Word Count: 13K

***

Yvonne Bridges tugged at the collar of her tan trench coat in vain, trying to shield her neck from the mounting October wind. It was cooler in the mornings, though she didn’t mind it. In fact she quite enjoyed it. It was the time of year when the sun was just peeking over the horizon as she flew down the steps of the subway stop a few blocks from her apartment, and was fully bright, making her reflection golden and stretching in the skyscraper windows she passed, when she arrived at her first stop before work: the Starbucks. 

It was part of her morning routine, which she followed religiously. She arrived at the same time nearly every morning, buttoned the bottom two buttons of her pantsuit jacket while waiting at the register, placed the same order, checked her emails in silence while standing at the counter, waiting about about the same amount of time—it was a fairly empty store around six a.m.—and then left, heading on her way to work, fully prepared to handle her caseload, no matter what her boss would throw at her. 

It was comforting to see her usual barista Brooke and follow through the same thoughtless exchange. She only learned her name when she broke away from routine a couple months ago to study the barista. Brooke wore her hair wound up in a tight bun near the nape of her neck, her hair perpetually shiny and well placed. She wrote her name on her tag in all capital letters. It was severe. It was pointed. So was she. 

Brooke began each conversation with ‘hello’ and a nod. Yvonne replied ‘tall triple latte, blueberry muffin’ and pulled up the Starbucks app, her phone raising to a blinding brightness as she brought up her card. Brooke pressed a few buttons and said ‘seven seventy-four.’ Yvonne scanned her phone. Brooke nodded and therefore Yvonne moved to the side. They said a total of nine words to one another, each day the same nine words. It had been long enough that she shouldn’t have to explain her daily order to Brooke, but they weren’t feigning the closeness of friendship over ordering coffee, so they continued on with their nine word exchange, over and over until Brooke wasn’t there anymore. 

And on that October day, when Yvonne came in from the whipping wind, smoothing down her collar and adjusting her grip on her well-worn leather briefcase, the sunlight pouring in from the windows behind her, brushing against the back of her exposed neck, warming her so deliciously, so palpably, she was taken aback. 

“Welcome to Starbucks! What can I do you for this mornin’?” 

The voice was warm, like a well blended whisky settling in her belly, though it felt grating after what had to be years of Brooke’s cool, monotone voice. This voice belonged to a woman with brunette hair clipped back haphazardly, shorter strands escaping to graze across her sharp cheekbones, full from the smile she spoke with. 

The first thing Yvonne thought was that she couldn’t be from here, that was for sure. If the voice didn’t give it away, the exasperated joy at six a.m. did, the way she went about beaming at strangers like she had no good reason to save a grin that wide for a more special occasion did. She had to be new to the city—new enough to believe in the magic of Manhattan and all the people in it. 

Yvonne would scoff, but it would be quite difficult to scoff at the sun itself, and she thought that assumption applied here. She didn’t think she was bitter enough to scoff at joy incarnate appearing in front of her, wearing a leopard print cardigan and a soft pink t-shirt under her apron. 

“Where’s Brooke?” she asked, diverting the new barista’s question. “She’s always here in the morning.”

The barista finally broke from her incessant grinning, looking almost softer, more real, though Yvonne could now see the harshness of her jaw, the delicate point of her nose. She looked like a sculpture. She let out a weighted sigh. 

“Brooke got cast in some dance thing.” The barista drummed her fingers on the counter, pondering. “Like a group thing. I think she’s got some kind of team?” 

Yvonne put her phone down, the words still sounding off. More off than the prospect of Brooke not taking her order anymore. “A team?” 

“No, I guess that makes it sound like sports, huh?” The barista exhaled a light laugh, nothing more than an airy, thin laugh. “Like a ballet team. A posse? A gang?” She rambled on, somehow still holding Yvonne’s attention with each iteration of team, as though her words had a grip on Yvonne. 

“I don’t know,” she ended decisively. “But she got cast.” A little snort. Definitely a little miffed, which seemed understandable. 

The barista blew some hair out of her face before snapping back into her original sunny disposition. “Brooke quit yesterday, so now I have the opening shift,” she said. “I’m Scarlet.” And then she pointed to her name tag, her index finger highlighting how she wrote Scarlet in cursive, wide, looping letters, with little stars drawn around them. Yvonne couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between Scarlet and Brooke’s tags. And the difference seemed quite fitting. 

So Yvonne nodded, hoping to let that information pass, maybe even establish the same routine with this Scarlet, though it seemed unlikely with all the talking they had done already, which had to have passed her and Brooke’s nine word conversations. 

“Okay. Tall triple latte, blueberry muffin.” Yvonne said, watching her rapidly input on the register, tacking on “please,” as though it were necessary to be more polite to her—she didn’t know Yvonne’s routine yet. 

“Oh that sounds so good,” Scarlet replied. “I would kill to have a triple tall latte right now.” 

Yvonne couldn’t let what had to be Scarlet’s standard reply to an order hang limply between them. It all happened without her knowledge, the words firing from her brain and out her mouth, landing between them before she even knew it. 

“You’re telling me you haven’t had any coffee yet? And you’re like this?” Yvonne gestured lightly, now gripping her phone. “I’ve had no coffee and I’m like this.” She gestured down herself. Her exhausted self really — though exhaustion was a constant enough state that she learned how to look like it wasn’t. 

Scarlet laughed. And yes, it was a laugh directed at Yvonne’s thoughtless reply. It wasn’t even a joke. But nonetheless the laugh registered as authentic for a barista laugh. There was an appropriate lightness to it, enough to note it as actually funny but too much. Not enough to let Yvie know she was so unfunny that she warranted fake laughter from this poor barista. 

“You’re funny, even for this early,” Scarlet reassured. She uncapped her Sharpie and took up the cup. “What’s the name for the order, funny lady?” 

Her throat was tight. “Yvonne.” 

Scarlet nodded and wrote on the cup, setting it aside, ringing Yvonne up, and holding up the scanner for her phone. She stepped to the side, expecting the transaction to be finished. She didn’t expect Scarlet to tell her to “have a good morning” after the fact, and the elongated pleasantries left her floundering. She checked her emails, hoping to bring about a sense of normalcy. 

“Yvie. Latte and blueberry muffin for Yvie,” another barista called out. He glanced around, noting only Yvonne and an older man in a windbreaker and running tights in the store. 

Yvonne continued sorting through emails, adding Silky’s ‘daily meme’ email to her spam folder.

“Order for Yvie.” The barista pointed at the muffin in the bag. The older man shook his head. 

“Yvonne,” Scarlet called over to her, now standing where the other barista stood, holding the same latte and muffin. “It’s your order, Yvie.” 

She should have been irritated by the nickname. Never in her adult life had she been called by a nickname — really, she didn’t think something as cutesy as Yvie could suit her. It sounded like a name for a well groomed Pomeranian, not a grown woman. 

But she nonetheless accepted her latte and muffin, finding herself glancing down at the way Scarlet wrote ‘Yvie’ in sprawling handwriting, the dot of the ‘i’ trailing off in her haste. It was endearing. 

Scarlet was quite endearing, and something she could get used to every day, she decided, walking past the window on her way to work, stealing another glance at Scarlet, only to find her waving goodbye, her fingers fluttering away. 

***

“Tall triple latte, blueberry muffin,” Yvie said, still buried in her phone. “Please.” 

Please had quickly become a part of her routine with Scarlet, as much as Yvie didn’t enjoy setting new routines. Through it didn’t feel correct to carry over the same practices with Brooke to Scarlet, especially when Scarlet always beamed back at her, especially when the October sunrise seemed to chase through the front windows to meet up with Scarlet, making her perpetual flush look warmer and the little frizzy hairs along her hairline look nearly blonde. It made the please deeply necessary, and therefore routine.

Scarlet pulled out a cup and wrote out Yvie’s name, chirping back, “the usual, got it,” before getting Yvie’s muffin from the case. 

Yvie continued typing away at her phone, feeling her face tighten and her brows thread together with no way of easing them. She scanned over the email from Silky, her coworker, with whom she was handling the Davenport case—a complex web of familial relations, undissolvable trusts, and heaps of old money. It was nearly all wrapped up, but Silky was now flip-flopping on their analysis for their client, A’keria. 

“What the fuck does this mean?” Yvie exhaled steam, rapidly typing back to Silky. 

Scarlet returned with the muffin, sliding it across the counter. “It’ll be $7.74.” 

Yvie groaned, swiping through Silky’s attachments from her last email. The message only said “please advise.” Yvie did not want to advise on what she’d already advised on for the past three months. 

“Capitalism, right?” Scarlet threw her hands up with a shrug. “But you still gotta pay, Yvie.” 

“Oh sorry.” Yvie pulled away, glancing up at Scarlet, looking more and more like a court jester with her puffy-sleeved shirt and exaggerated expression, as though she were on the set of I Love Lucy rather than behind the counter at Starbucks. She pulled up her app and Scarlet scanned her card. 

“What’s going on?” Scarlet printed the receipt, tore it off, and immediately threw it away. “You seem all tense today.” 

Today. Scarlet really did joke. “I’m a lawyer,” Yvie replied dryly, her voice gritting. Just thinking about Silky’s email made her grimace. “I’m always tense, Scarlet.” 

“Nuh uh,” Scarlet tutted back, clearly waging her bets and pressing further. She was a woman of nerve, that’s for sure, pressing at Yvie when she was in one of her moods. “You look more stressed than usual. I can see it in your face.” She held up her thumbs and index fingers perpendicular in front of her, making a frame for Yvie’s face, as though she were capturing a shot of the stress. 

Yvie gave in easily, turning her phone over on the counter, ignoring the email. She sighed. “Well, I have to go argue a big case. Like a big money case today. And my partner’s reconsidering our arguments like we haven’t been preparing our arguments for fucking months.” She let out a long exhale, meeting Scarlet’s intent gaze. “But whatever. I don’t want to just bitch to you about it.” 

Scarlet laughed, brushing her off with a flick of her hand. “Please. No one else is here.” She looked around at the nearly barren store, the lack of line behind Yvie, prompting Yvie to notice the same. “Bitch away, honey.” 

She walked on over to the espresso machine, released a hot spurt of steam from the wand, and grabbed a jug of milk from under the counter, then pointed at the stools that lined the counter opposite her. “Sit down and spill it.” 

And for no godly reason, by no logical means, Yvie felt compelled to do exactly that.  

“Also, Silky keeps this shit on her desk that I hate.” Yvie brushed her hair back. “Like she’s got this calendar of these hot firemen and their dalmations. And like, not to be gay, but I don’t get men and their dogs.” 

Scarlet peered up at Yvie while pouring the steamed milk over the espresso. Yvie broke her gaze, suddenly much more interested in flipping her phone over in her hands. 

“I’m more of a cat lady myself,” Scarlet replied easily, returning her attention to putting a lid on Yvie’s drink, scribbling something else on the side of it and sliding it over to her. Scarlet placed her elbows on the counter, leaning in on her hands, coming in closer. 

“Same.” Yvie took her drink, sticking a latte saver in it. “And she’s got a picture of Mr. Fuzznut on her desk—” 

“Who’s Mr. Fuzznut?” Scarlet could barely get it out without laughing. 

“Her dog. He’s a weiner dog. In the picture he’s wearing a wizard’s hat.” Yvie pulled up the picture and slid her phone over.

“Ugh.” Scarlet pushed it right back. She let her index finger rest against her cheek. “Why is she that way?”

“Beats me. I just listen to her talk about that dog and her men all—”

“Excuse me, miss?” A man in a suit called over from the register, the vein in his neck clearly throbbing from having to wait more than five minutes. He shouldn’t have even bothered with excuse me. “Can you take my order?” 

Scarlet tilted her head, staring blankly before snapping back into her usual cheer. 

“I gotta go anyway.” Yvie hitched her purse up her shoulder, readjusting the tuck of her silk button down into her gray trousers. “Big case and all,” she said, trailing off. 

“Of course. I’m sure it’ll—” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Yvie patted the counter before taking off, leaving Scarlet to tend to this customer, who did not care for waiting now six minutes to order his coffee and told Scarlet just as much as Yvie left, in what had to be a demeaningly measured tone. 

Yvie noticed a touch of feathering Sharpie poking out from under the coffee sleeve, which was peculiar, as Scarlet wrote ‘Yvie’ on the cup and checked all the proper boxes like usual, but this marking seemed new. Maybe she did something different to her coffee and had to check a different box, like adding or replacing something would help Yvie’s constant state of exhaustion and stress, like Scarlet the barista knew best. Usually knowing best referred to her ability to select muffins, as she picked through the muffins with her tongs to find Yvie what she assured was the ‘best muffin.’ ”It’s the one with the most blueberries, of course,” Scarlet once explained with a cartoonish wink as she stuck it into a bakery bag. 

Yvie took a swig of the now cooled coffee. Perfect, as always. 

She slid the sleeve down and her lips tugged into a smile. It said good luck!! In her same loopy handwriting. And she connected the exclamation points to make a smiley face. Under the sleeve just for her. 

Yvie took pause, considering that Scarlet really thought to put it under the sleeve instead of out in the open where she could easily see it. Maybe she did that because she knew Yvie would see it anyway. But then she would have just said something, no? Maybe it was under the sleeve so it wouldn’t look weird in court, this coffee cup with messages. She knew if Silky saw it, she’d have a field day — even though Yvie’s girlfriend literally worked feet away from them — spinning some story about Yvie’s secret barista admirer. Maybe Scarlet was just smart. 

It was possible that Scarlet the barista knew best. 

***

It was the morning of Halloween and Yvie’s thoughts were rampant and ecstatic. Namely, she was contemplating whether or not she should waste her good witch costume on Silky’s party and how rude it would be if she claimed food poisoning at the last minute, just to stay in and gobble fun-sized Snickers while watching Carrie. 

As she approached the counter, she saw Scarlet all giddy, her little clip-on witch’s hat flopping its pom-pom tip, her cream sweater adorned with sequined black cats catching the light as she shimmied around. 

“Happy Halloween, Yvie,” Scarlet said with a little clap before pressing down on the counter, sharing as though it were a well worn secret. “It’s my favorite holiday. I love it.” 

It surprised her a bit, hearing that Scarlet loved Halloween, though she seemed just as adamant as she did about the holiday, and looked far more festive than Yvie, who could only muster the festivity of an all black pantsuit. She didn’t look like one to enjoy the spooky season — Yvie could more easily picture her in a soft, pale pink sweater and jeans, stomping her boots around in leaves and enjoying spiced cider from an earthenware mug than reveling in the blood and gore of a slasher flick. 

Though it was a good surprise, a new image of Scarlet in the fall time for her to comb over at her leisure. 

“It’s mine too,” Yvie replied. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?” 

Scarlet broke into a smirk, hand over her heart, laying in the slight twang of her accent. “Oh Yvie, what are you asking me?”

Yvie stopped dead, blood lying still in her body. She fiddled with her jacket. “I… I wasn’t…” 

“I’m just teasing, silly.” She brushed it off. “I gotta get my costume together and then my roommate, Pearl and I, we throw this big party. So we’ll have people over. I’m going as a devil.” She stuck two pointed fingers behind her head and giggled. 

Yvie laughed right back. It was a little absurd, thinking of Scarlet, with all her gentleness and joy, posing as the devil, in some sleek red thing, probably trying her absolute hardest to look cold and mean, though couldn’t possibly have a cold, mean bone in her body. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scarlet startled her out of her thoughts, leaning in closer, Yvie following her lead. “Don’t tell my manager, but I invented a new Halloween drink.” 

“Oh?” Yvie didn’t know if she was more taken aback by the proposition of a new drink order, her willingness to accept it, or Scarlet’s closeness and how the fine hairs of her body stood at attention with every word. 

“Do you want to try it? It’s super cute.”

Of course it was super cute.

“It’s also a little unauthorized.” She quoted with her fingers. “Not as unauthorized as the first drink I tried to make, but still.”

Yvie pulled away slightly, her face willing itself to twist, but finding that she couldn’t, not with Scarlet already reaching for a cold cup from the stack next to her. And Yvie was not a fan of cold coffee, no not really, especially in late October, especially when it was barely over 30 degrees outside and she was in the same jacket she’d been wearing since the much warmer beginning of fall. Not with Scarlet already uncapping her Sharpie, preemptively doodling a pumpkin on the side of the cup, finishing it off with a curly stem sprouting from the top, just waiting to write ‘Yvie’ and seal the deal. 

So Yvie nodded and Scarlet rang her up for $5.04 and Yvie scanned her app and stepped off to the side, watching Scarlet take off, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at the back room before pumping some liquid into the cup and adding a bit of milk, pouring the mixture into the blender pitcher, and adding thick orange sauce to it. 

Yvie did not know or particularly like the idea of the blender. Or the thick orange sauce. She didn’t know how she was supposed to walk into the office with some kind of blended drink and be respected as an orator and a woman of law. Nonetheless, she trusted the decision, gaze trained on Scarlet, who added some more liquid and a scoop of ice and maybe something else into the blender, allowing it to pulverize the ice while she coated the side of the cup in a dripping, deep brown sauce, which pooled at the bottom. 

She was concentrated and swift, almost holding her breath as she poured the orange slush into the cup, careful not to mess up her design, smile tense as she topped it with whipped cream and a smattering of chocolate shavings that she found under the counter. 

“Here it is!” Scarlet placed the drink in front of her, using her elegant fingers to highlight each component, as though she were selling the drink to her on a home shopping network. “It’s a pumpkin spice frap with mocha sauce on the sides of the cup, whip, and chocolate shavings.” 

Yvie studied it for a moment. It was a very cute drink. 

Scarlet must have noticed Yvie’s quizzical look. “It’s Halloween because it’s orange and black and also it has pumpkin.” 

Yvie nodded, as though that answered some questions she had yet to form about the drink. 

“Try it.” Scarlet inched the drink forward. “I wanna see if you love it.” 

So she took a sip, the thick slurry like lead paint on her tongue. The pumpkin was combative with the chocolate, if she were putting it nicely. She swallowed, still finding the aftertaste of spice in the corners of her mouth, between her teeth. It was horrific—definitely a Halloween drink. 

But Scarlet was leaning on the counter, looking at her expectantly with her head resting in her balled fists, little witch hat flopping as she stirred while waiting for Yvie’s response. Usually, Yvie would have no problem bursting someone’s bubble; really, she did it for a living, and humility aside, she was quite good at it. But Scarlet looked so proud of herself and was so clearly excited over the drink, as much of a monstrosity it was. 

“It’s the cutest drink.” Yvie settled on, immediately rewarded by Scarlet bouncing around the prep area behind her, doing some kind of little dance that looked partially like a shimmy and partially like a medical emergency before coming back to the counter. 

“See? Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get it?” It wasn’t a question, it was just Scarlet excited to receive the compliment, and Yvie was happy to give it. 

“I am,” Yvie reassured her, slipping a sleeve over the drink to keep her hands warm from the frozen drink. And she was. She couldn’t bring herself to miss her latte, not when Scarlet was so pleased like this. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to remember her daily muffin, now absent from her hands.

And with that she left the store, absently taking another sip, immediately regretting the all-out assault she brought upon her taste buds for the second time that morning. She passed countless trash cans on the way into work, but on principle, couldn’t throw out Scarlet’s unauthorized special Halloween drink, even if it definitely qualified as a war crime, in her legal opinion. It would be far worse to throw out this piece of Scarlet’s joy. 

***

“Good morning, Yvie.” Scarlet began putting in her usual order—now that Halloween was over and Scarlet hadn’t had the time to come up with a comparably cute Thanksgiving drink—upon seeing Yvie enter the store.

However cheery Scarlet was, which was very, as per usual, she was incorrect in her assessment. It was not a good morning, and it likely would not be for a while, no matter how convincing Scarlet’s wholesome, toothy smile and strawberry red sweater were. She was not going to have a good morning and that was final.

“Actually, no muffin today.”

 Scarlet stood stiff as a board, grasping a muffin between her tongs, looking Yvie up and down. She was probably scanning over her to see if she was hurt, dying, hit her head — anything that would account for this sudden change in routine. All Scarlet could find would be a sad, brokenhearted lawyer requesting only a triple tall latte.

Scarlet finally stuck the muffin back into the case, her face still all screwed up like a lemon in a juicer, probably deep in contemplation.

 “Why don’t you want the muffin?” She returned to the register, making no moves to take it off the tab. “You’ve wanted a muffin every day for like a month and a half.”

 It was likely closer to two months, if Yvie really thought it through, thought back to when she started seeing Scarlet in the morning, when she thought back to the shock of her honeyed voice and her leopard print cardigan. It was exactly nine months and four days if she thought back to when she started getting a muffin every day.

“Well, I don’t want it anymore.” She could feel herself growing tighter, unable to fathom her stomach becoming any more tightly wound, any smaller than it had been since last night. 

Scarlet frowned. Fair. Yvie knew she was being harsh. “I’ll give it to you for free if you’d like.”

“No.” Yvie sighed, and allowed her thoughts to form sentences, gifting them to Scarlet, hoping to ease her tension.

“The muffin was for my girlfriend.”  Yvie shuffled her feet, back and forth over either side of the grout between the tiles. She stared at her hands. “And now I don’t have one of those, so I’m not going to get a muffin.”

She finally looked up again, only to find Scarlet’s flat lipped smile contrasting with her classic red lipstick. Only to find Scarlet’s downcast eyes, all blue and murky. Only to find Scarlet’s outstretched hand, laying on the counter, palm upwards, waiting for Yvie’s to join it, which she so thoughtlessly did.

Her palm was warm, so obviously softened by some kind of lotion, punctuated only by a few thin, plain stacked rings on her fourth finger. She curled her fingers around Yvie’s half smoothly, abruptly, and they just crested over the edge, Scarlet’s pale fingers with their short, blunt nails. And her thumb. How it rubbed the back of her hand. How it washed over her knuckles as though it could pull tension out of her. It could. Scarlet could. 

They stood this way for a moment, maybe more, with Yvie transfixed on their joined hands. And though she did not look up at Scarlet, though she could not tear herself away from the gentle palm under her own, she was sure Scarlet was looking at her the whole time, hoping against hope that she’d look up to meet her gaze. Yvie slipped her hand away.

 Scarlet nodded, the slightest dip of her sharp chin, and rang her up again.

 “I’m sorry.” It was weighted. It lay between them. Yvie didn’t want to pick it up. “That has to really hurt.”

 It did. And it was the best way Scarlet could have said it really. It did hurt. It was a dull ache between her ribs, something wet and scalding in her throat. It hurt. So, she nodded.

 “Would you like something from the bakery case? No extra charge.” Her voice was much lower now, as though they were words that needed to be spoken in the dark rather than a proposition about scheming her workplace out of one baked good.

 “Just the coffee.”

 But Scarlet was adamant. She already stood in front of the case with tongs in her hand again.

 “No really. On the house. Pick whatever you want,” she reassured, waving the tongs about to highlight the selection of pastries.

“Scar—”

“—And on God, you are not going to get a blueberry muffin.” She now pointed at Yvie, clamping her tongs a couple times, like a lobster snapping its claws. “That’s like the sad, drunk texting your ex of baked good selection and I can’t let you do that.”

Yvie laughed. She felt it warming her throat as Scarlet’s silly assertiveness made way for a return to her usual joy. That little smile, the crinkling of her eyes; she had to be pleased with herself. 

“No, really, I’ll pay for it.” She ceded all too easily, and upon further thought, far more willfully than she typically would, and for no apparent reason. She could analyze over and over, trying to figure out what did her in, if it was something about the joke Scarlet made, the tongs, the soft lights above both of them, breaking through the continual darkness outside, or maybe it was about Scarlet’s hand in hers and how her fingers ached for that touch again.

“Nope,” Scarlet said with a pop. “Just pick something.”

“Okay, a slice of that lemon cake.” Scarlet had the makings of a smirk spreading across her lips as she reached for a bag. “But Scarlet, please let me pay for it. I want to pay for it.” 

Scarlet placed the bag on the counter, quickly uncapping her Sharpie and writing “Yvie” on the bag, making a smiley face out of the curve of the “Y”

“Yvonne,” Scarlet admonished, setting her Sharpie down, catching her attention, refusing to allow her to draw away. “I’m not taking your sad, just dumped money. You’re just gonna take this free lemon cake.” She slid the bag over, practically pushing it against her hand.

So Yvie paid for her coffee, and as Scarlet turned away to place her cup on the line, Yvie reached into her purse, pulled out a fist full of crumpled ones and stuffed them in the tip jar. And as Scarlet caught her red-handed, Yvie pointed down at the jar and then at Scarlet, with a chuckle, and Scarlet rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t just going to accept a completely free slice of lemon cake without Scarlet getting something out of it. She didn’t need lemon cake charity, though she’d be lying if she said Scarlet’s insistence on cheering her up with the free lemon cake wasn’t highly endearing and somewhat helpful.

Yvie stepped to the side with her bag, watching as Scarlet made a little drawing on the side of her cup before sliding a sleeve over her Sharpie work and making the drink as usual, which intrigued her. 

Upon receiving her drink, the typical “Yvie” with the smiley face, all the proper boxes checked, she slid the sleeve down only to find a little drawing of two crocodiles standing upright with their splayed out feet and dragging tails. The first had a little speech bubble, complementing the other’s purse, while the other held up its purse and said “Thanks, it’s my ex!” It was stupid, a stupid joke with the cute little drawings, all crosshatched to show scales. But today, Yvie laughed at those dumb little crocodiles in such a hearty way, it almost felt as though she was clearing out her throat, finally unclenching her jaw. 

“Wow.” She drew Scarlet’s attention, even as she was making another customer’s drink. “That’s actually really good.” 

“Thanks,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe if I can’t catch my big break in acting, I’ll try to make it in latte jokes.”

Of course that’s what Scarlet was after in life. Surely she could feign cheeriness at any sight, could have known that reaching out to her and taking her hand this morning was the right thing to do. And yet none of it seemed artificial of her. There was nothing method about it, surely. 

Yvie stopped herself from thinking about Scarlet becoming a star, accepting a Golden Globe in some shimmering, heavenly draped gown. 

She shrugged. “I think you could.” 

“Well, if my audition for corpse on SVU falls through, I’ll really consider it.”

The chuckle chased Yvie as she left the store, enjoying the little cartoon on her cup. Scarlet would continue with the jokes and drawings for weeks, until Yvie found herself struck with a new joy, walking the last couple blocks to work, watching the day break over Manhattan, sure this was exactly what Scarlet saw in this place.

***

Yvie now ordered “the usual,” as Scarlet had begun referring to her triple tall latte without blueberry muffin she purchased every day for $5.08 as “the usual.” And Scarlet paired this phrase, and Yvie’s growing affinity for this phrase, her affinity for having someone who consistently knew what she wanted, with her usual, all encompassing grin, from the moment she spotted Yvie entering the store, her head shooting up at the opening of the door at six a.m. This grin, which had a brightness rivaling only the sunlight bouncing off the reflective skyline and filtering through the storefront windows—which she deeply missed and would trade the late November haze for any day, continued as Scarlet picked through the bagels, rearranging them with her tongs.

Yvie was quite enjoying this new routine with Scarlet. 

Today, Yvie sat off to the side of the counter, perched on a metal stool, phone abandoned due to the miraculous sight of Scarlet’s concentrated face as she made Yvie’s latte. The bridge of her nose formed a couple wrinkles, three little canyons on its pointed form. Her eyebrows, unruly as ever, were tightly pulled together as her eyes became slivers. And her lips. Her bottom lip, bare and pink, chapped from the cold, crushed between her teeth. All this was shadowed by the little pieces of hair that fell free from her ponytail and now hung limply in front of her face. She held the cup up, inches from the counter while her left hand worked up and down, wavering the pitcher in slight, rapid movements, pouring out the milk with care. 

“Here, look Yvie.” Scarlet pushed the cup forward. “Isn’t it beautiful.”

Scarlet marveled at her own work and Yvie felt prompted to pull away and do the same. It was quite beautiful, this rounded thing that almost looked ribbed with the precise movements Scarlet made to produce it. It also almost looked like a vagina, though she wasn’t going to say that. She only nodded because it did look beautiful. 

“It’s a tulip,” Scarlet explained. “Or at least that’s what it’s called.” 

Okay, so same difference.

Scarlet scrubbed a hand through her piecey hair, letting the strands fall back in front of her face, not bothering to secure them in her gold scrunchie. 

But before those hairs fell forward again, Yvie noticed a teasing smear of brown across Scarlet’s forehead, glistening and decadent, far darker than the golden brown of her hair, especially in this light.

“Yvie?” Scarlet tried again, her look puzzled, and rightfully so—Yvie knew she was staring, though for how long, she wasn’t sure. 

“Oh, uh…” Her voice staggered before she straightened up, regaining composure. “You have a bit of… a little something on your face.” She pointed up at Scarlet’s forehead, circling her finger around the general area as Scarlet’s eyes went wide.

“Oops, thanks.” She swiped her arm across her forehead, only smearing it further. She raised her brows, peering up at Yvie. “Did I get it?” 

It was now only a thin film, it’s edge beading over her right eyebrow. She shook her head adamantly, endeared by Scarlet’s pout in response, and pulled a napkin from the dispenser. 

“Here.” She edged closer to Scarlet, motioning with her hand for Scarlet to follow her lead, drawing her closer. “Let me get it.” 

She didn’t know what made her say it, but whatever it was, it made her feel like her veins were filled with champagne, popping feverishly at every movement, circulating evenly within her. She glanced down at the napkin, looking up only to find Scarlet closer than before, held up by her left hand splayed on the counter, her arm straight, locked, and her eyes soft, unquestioning. And now that she said it and she was this close and she had the napkin in her hand, she willed herself not to tremble as she brushed Scarlet’s stray hairs from her forehead, holding them back with her overextended pinky, swiping the napkin across the liquid—what looked like chocolate sauce—resting her wrist against the curve of her full, perpetually pink cheek. 

She patted the napkin gently, though she knew it wasn’t clearing off more of the syrup, if for nothing but an arguably weak justification for why she was studying Scarlet like this. She dabbed and noticed the smattering of freckles across Scarlet’s nose, lingering, wandering off across her cheeks. The stray hairs under the arch of her brow, just dark at their tips, not visible at any further distance. 

She’d been staring too long. She knew this, though Scarlet made no move to indicate this. In fact, her eyes were closed and she somehow forced herself forward, as though she needed to be closer than before. So, she folded the napkin to a clean edge and gave it one last pull across her forehead before setting it on the counter. 

“It’s all gone,” Yvie whispered. She couldn’t muster anything louder. Especially not with how Scarlet’s eyes finally opened again at Yvie’s voice. 

Scarlet glanced down at her hands for a moment, her giggle like pennies splashing into a wishing-well breaking the cozy silence, before looking back up at Yvie. 

“Thanks.” It was warm and sincere, broken only by Scarlet noticing Yvie’s coffee, still without a lid, the tulip wilting into mere spirals of faint white. 

“That’s a hazard,” she muttered, pressing a lid over her creation and pushing it back to Yvie.

She was close enough that Yvie could smell a faint floral perfume on Scarlet’s neck and wrists, close enough that Yvie couldn’t bear to think about how fitting it was, how it all made sense with the green wrap shirt she wore, all sage and vital, dotted with splays of white flowers, without the burgeoning warmth in her core showing itself across her cheeks. 

Scarlet frowned a bit before pushing back against the counter. “Well, there you go, Yvie.”

Yvie nodded, slipping a sleeve on the coffee and heading out, gripping the cup tightly as she left the store and headed toward the office. Today, she was thankful for the chilling morning air, ensuring she’d be free of this excessive warmth by the time she arrived at work.

***

The store was crowded for the first time Yvie could remember. As she stood in line, she tried to figure out how there could possibly be a crowd, just today, when at six a.m., it was usually only her and Scarlet, occasionally some other business person or man who just finished an early morning run. She could count on one hand the times there were more than five people in the store when she was there.

But today there were far more than five. Yvie tried not to let this bother her, though if she had to rationalize two people in front of her in line, she also had to rationalize that while she could see Scarlet at the register, her hair held back by a red bandana, her voice strident, bringing forth a mounting warmth in Yvie’s core from a what felt like mile away, she wouldn’t really get time to talk to Scarlet. But it was silly to ponder such things, especially when her only real goal was to get her latte. 

Maybe there was a convention or some larger company was having a conference. She fidgeted with the belt on her black wool coat before stuffing her hands into its pockets, trying to warm them. It had to be something the store was planning for, as Scarlet was only taking orders while two other baristas filled those orders behind the counter. 

It didn’t matter. She was here to get her latte and head to work. 

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d miss by not having time with Scarlet this morning, if Scarlet would have to save some new wild story or additional details about shopping for the perfect Christmas present for her roommate, Pearl, who was the type of person who went on about how she didn’t need anything, though Scarlet knew she’d be upset if she didn’t receive a nice gift, so Scarlet took to prodding her over what she wanted, which wasn’t terribly fruitful, ending with the realization that the best gift she could get Pearl was tickets to Atlanta to visit her girlfriend, Violet, though she knew she couldn’t afford them. And then she added that she knew Pearl got her this beautiful, buttery soft red leather wallet she’d been eyeing from Coach for months, which she only knew about because she was ‘a bit of a rascal’ and ‘spotted the bag under Pearl’s bed while looking for her other winter boot because Pearl never returns shoes when she borrows them.’ 

Which is to say that Yvie would be very disappointed not having something like flights from JFK to ATL to look up during her lunch break. 

Not that it mattered or she had to be particularly concerned about Scarlet’s musings about maybe getting Pearl a pair of her own snow boots or possibly just some money stuffed into a festive card if she really couldn’t figure out something good. 

“You didn’t mark that right,” the man in front of her said bitingly,  pressed up against the counter, pointing directly at Scarlet, finger inches away from her chest. 

Scarlet stood paralyzed before spinning the cup around, gripping it a tad too tightly. She read it off, though she waivered, her voice staggered as she looked over her markings. “Grande three pumps vanilla, three pumps caramel soy latte?”

“Two,” he gritted out fiercely. “Two pumps of caramel.” 

“Okay.” Scarlet nodded and rang him up. “$6.05 please.” She stared down at the register, drawing in open-mouthed breaths. 

“Write it down because you’re not going to remember it.” His voice was scorching. Highly unnecessary. Yvie found her fists tight in her coat pockets. Attentive. Vigilant. 

“I’ll remember, sir,” Scarlet muttered, voice small. Body small. She still held the cup and her Sharpie in her hand, frozen. 

“I’ll write it myself. Fucking incompetent,” he fumed, a furious whisper he thought could only be heard by him and Scarlet, reaching over the counter to grab the cup. 

Yvie saw the mounting fury building behind her eyes, scorching her chest. And before properly surveying the man lunging forward, the line growing impatient over this man’s fit, she saw Scarlet flinch, swore she heard her breath hitch, cutting through the din of the store, and roughly drew the man’s arm back, grasping at a fist full of his jacket. 

“How dare you believe you have the right to insult her, let alone touch her” Yvie spoke fiercely, pulling the man roughly to face her, to meet her gaze as she looked down on him, at least an inch taller than the man in her heels. “Do you believe it’s in your right to attempt assault upon her?” 

The man looked shaken, making no moves to free his arm from Yvie’s grasp. “Well, I was—” 

“That’s not an answer,” she whipped back, feeling the store fall silent, save for the click of Scarlet’s Sharpie hitting the tiled floor. 

“I was just going to write it. It’s not assault to—” 

“You were going to grab something from her hands after an escalating exchange of language on your part. Assault is defined as an intentional act by one person that creates an apprehension in another of an imminent harmful or offensive contact. That is what you attempted.” She saw the smirk wash from his face as she recited the textbook definition of attempted assault. Practiced. Authoritative. Highly believable, and really she should be, having used it nearly daily. “Now, you are going to apologize to her for your attempted assault and hope she’s kind enough to make your ridiculous coffee. Do you understand me?” 

The man nodded, still making no move to face Scarlet, his eyes blank, still wide. 

“Use your words.” 

“Yes.” 

She came up close, lowered her voice to just above a breath, ghost quiet. “You’re just a little bitch yelling at a barista over a little bitch drink. Do you understand me?”

He nodded and Yvie released him and gave him a shove to face forward, allowing him to deliver his apology.

Scarlet still stood still, staring off past the man, mechanically accepting his cash and sliding his cup off to the side, surely still terrified. She preened over her piecey hair, tucking it and letting it fall, tucking it again as she waited for him to move away from the register to wait for his drink.  What she wouldn’t do to comfort her, to bring her in close, to wrap herself around Scarlet. 

As Yvie came up to the counter, she noticed Scarlet’s flush deepened as she stole glances at Yvie before pulling her focus back to tugging a tall cup from the stack. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or something,” Yvie said, pulling up her app to pay. “It just wasn’t right how he was treating you.” Yvie took a deep breath, willing her blood to quit its boiling at the thought of that man in his suit and gray coat. 

“No it’s…” Scarlet trailed off, rubbing her fingers with her thumb, steadying her breaths, trailing her eyes upward, over Yvie. “Fine.” 

Yvie let it go, not wanting to press her further. Scarlet rang Yvie up for her usual order, chewing at her lip, accidentally knocking the empty cup over with her frantic movements. And whenever she caught Yvie’s gaze for a split second, she drew away like a wounded animal, looking down at her hands. 

Yvie could take one, hold it in hers as Scarlet had done for her weeks ago, though she might be far too stimulated for touch. Instead she simply paid and added a hefty tip for Scarlet, if for nothing but to make up for that man’s behaviors. 

As she moved off to the side to wait for her drink, she caught Scarlet following her moments, having to snap back into focus to help her next customer. 

Yvie stood next to that man, who stood shuffling his feet, stiffening at her presence. Good, Yvie thought. If he makes one more move, I’ll have his balls rolling around in my Michael Kors. On Scarlet’s behalf, of course. 

***

“Yvie Yvie Yvie Yvie Yvie.” Scarlet bounced a bit in her spot, calling out her name incessantly from the moment Yvie exited the slowly falling flurries outside and entered the warmth of the store. She repeated her name, pulling her ever closer with only words before Yvie could bother to shed her scarf, so that the warmth of the store wouldn’t overwhelm her senses.

“Well, good morning, Scarlet.” Yvie chuckled at the woman’s excitement, placing her phone on the counter, unbuttoning her coat and unwinding her scarf. Somehow it was always a good morning for Scarlet, and though Yvie knew correlation did not necessitate causation, it generally meant she had a better morning as well.

“We got the holiday cups. Look.” She gestured toward them exaggeratedly, throwing her whole body into the movement, nearly knocking herself over. And Yvie was going to look, of course, though she wasn’t typically one to get excited over holiday Starbucks cups. 

Silky usually got excited over the cups and would get angry when she got a repeat within the first week or so. She ranted on and on for almost an hour in 2015 when they only had the plain red cups, as they ‘removed all festivity from Christmas, which could be considered culturally unsafe as defined within human rights law,’ which was not even the slightest bit true and made Yvie spend a bit of every day that December combing through all the choices that brought her to this desk in this law firm in New York. 

“I always like to rank the cups when we get them in,” Scarlet explained. “That way when people are rude or have children who are rude and shout about the amount of whipped cream they get, as though a cup can fit infinite amounts of whipped cream, I can give them the bad cup.”  

Yvie tilted her head at Scarlet cloyingly. 

“Yes, I have been yelled at by children. And, no, I do not like it.” 

“Right…” Yvie drew out as Scarlet’s frustration washed from her face, replaced with that same smile Yvie saw nearly every day, consistently took comfort in. The comfort of the toothy smile and the way her lips pulled back and her high, full cheeks, all pillowy over her sharpened cheek bones. She could run through the litany of Scarlet’s features by memory by now and she was sure they would never cease to bring her comfort. 

She held up the one with thin green and white stripes, pulling it close to try to make out the letters between the stripes before holding it out for Yvie to analyze. She gave it a passing glance. 

“It’s fine.” Yvie shrugged. She wasn’t one for games. But she was one for judging things, which made her a fan of Scarlet’s idea of a game. 

Scarlet put it at the end of the counter. “You’re right, like okay, still artful but not explicitly holiday-y.” 

She pulled another green and white striped cup out before retrieving a new design. This one was red and white striped, like a candy cane with ‘Starbucks’ written all over it. Again, she concentrated on the print, squeezing the cup a bit, as though to test the give of the coated paper, as though all the cups weren’t the same material. 

“6.5” 

“Okay, but how holiday-y is it?” Yvie retorted. “Is that not a pivotal measure of holiday cup goodness?” 

Scarlet lowered herself to a whisper, inching the cup closer to Yvie’s face, right until it was nearly touching her still frosty nose, a hair’s width from its tip. She leaned over the counter. “I don’t want to say this Yvie, but…” She poked Yvie with the rim of the cup, sparking something warm and electric inside her. “Is it possibly too festive? And therefore too festive to be holiday-y?” 

Yvie drew back with a gasp, clutching her chest. “Miss Scarlet!” 

“I know.” She pouted, playing into the idea that her language was vile, septically disgusting. 

“The blasphemy!” 

“I know!” 

It was silly, a silly game. And Yvie couldn’t remember the last time she played a purposeless game like this. Maybe when the M train was all backed up from god only knows what a month ago and she passed the time playing sudoku on her phone. But even that was numbers and patterns and some kind of mental gymnastics. Here, it was just saying whether the two liked the colors and patterns. It almost felt like playing as children. 

And as much as she could rationalize Scarlet needing this kind of fun in her menial job, especially with how she explained to Yvie that it was ‘so typical New York of her to make coffee until she got cast’ and how she likes to pass the time behind the counter making up characters to go with the people she waited on. Yvie probably needed this kind of fun too. 

“I see we’re doing this Merry Coffee thing, which is fun…” Scarlet trailed off, squinting at it. “Not that I’ve got important say here but I remember Brooke telling me about the time when they had just the plain red cups and oof.” Scarlet let out grunt with a quirk to her lips.

“It was apparently a hell shift. It was my first day and we were unpacking the holiday cups and she was on edge about them being Christmas enough for ‘Mothers of two-point-five kids and their husbands to not throw hot coffee at her’ like they did the year before. And then I was like ‘are they gonna throw coffee at me?’ and she looked me up and down and said absolutely.” 

Scarlet threw her hair over her shoulder. “And they have.” 

Yvie nodded, running through the math in her head, the idea of Scarlet covered in scalding coffee occupying only a second. If Scarlet started after that whole red cup, war on Christmas thing, then she had been here for years. Literal years. Yvie couldn’t figure what she had to be doing all these years to have never seen her, never taken note of her. She was sure if Scarlet was there the whole time, for years, Yvie would have noticed, no? 

Especially with how notable Yvie found her. Yes, that was what she would stick with. Her little cropped fuzzy sweater and her high waisted jeans, the ponytail and pink speckled acrylic hoop earrings. Notable. 

“I used to work nights only,” Scarlet added, turning the coffee cup about, as though she could read Yvie’s mind. “Actually, nights and weekends.”

“Oh.” Yvie felt completely slack, heat prickling at her cheeks though Scarlet was still studying the cup. Like she’d been found out. Like Scarlet had some kind of intuition for when she was on someone’s mind. Like Yvie had to be careful of something. “I’m always just here at six.”

“I’ve noticed.” A lilting exhale. 

“I’m not sure how to make coffee merry…” She trailed off, placing the cup to the side and deciding that she’d “try her damndest to make all coffee merry.”

She paused as the spotted the last one, with green polka dots on the red background, mouth open in a little O as she held it up to Yvie, the side of her hand brushed against the collar of her silk blouse, the touch perfect and chaste and yet Yvie found herself dumbfounded by the closeness of Scarlet’s to her chest, even with so many degrees between them. “Oh this one is perfect. It’s the exact same color.” 

Yvie glanced down, fully unaware of what she was wearing. She usually just got up and threw something together from her closet, sure she didn’t indulge in enough variation for anything to clash with anything else. 

But it was a perfect match between the red of her blouse and the red of the cup. 

“Huh.” Yvie couldn’t pull enough words together, especially with how Scarlet lingered, though they already matched up the reds.

But she didn’t move and Scarlet didn’t move, so they lingered on like this for a moment, up until Scarlet tore herself away to dig through tall cups to find this exact design. 

“I just think it’d be perfect for you to have everything all matchy.” Scarlet finally retrieved it and rang her up. “Like, it’ll be a fashion moment, for sure.” 

Yvie didn’t bother fighting against Scarlet’s excitement anymore. Instead she watched on as she marked up the cup and got to making the latte, pressing her hip against the counter, feeling the padding of her winter coat sink inward, finding herself staring at Scarlet and her meticulous movements, but not bothering to correct her gaze.

“You know, usually I hate when people order extra shots in their lattes.” 

“Oh, really.” Yvie’s lips curled at their ends. “You hate it?” 

“Well…” Scarlet pondered. “I surely don’t like it.” 

“Scarlet, is this your way of trying to get me to try some new Christmas drink you’ve come up with?” 

“No.” She steamed the milk before ceding to Yvie’s suspicions. “That’s still in its prototype stages. It’s just so hard to make things really green, you know?” 

Yvie could only imagine what kind of flavor combination was giving Scarlet such difficulty with making it green, shuttering at the returning thought of Scarlet’s Halloween drink, the thought alone turning her stomach. 

“Yes, I do know.” 

“See, Pearl told me that it needs more food coloring and less peppermint and caramel, but I’m just starting to think ‘making things green is hard’ might just be a fact of life.” 

“Well, when it’s here and green, I’ll try it.” Yvie said, somewhat hoping it would never become green enough for her to try, somewhat hoping it would, just so she could see Scarlet that excited again. It was cute how much someone loved the holidays, enough to make a drink for their own workplace. “You know, to save you from making all those extra shots.” 

Scarlet waved her off before pouring the milk, wavering just so, espresso rippling to create a leaf. 

“Wow,” Scarlet whispered to herself, setting the pitcher down. “God, I’m good.” 

Yvie came in closer to look at it. And it was exquisite. It looked effortless. Scarlet covered it with a lid. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but this is my favorite latte leaf in my favorite cup and you’re my favorite customer.” Scarlet pushed the coffee across the counter before tending to another customer, now waiting at the register. 

She took the latte into her hands, relishing the warmth still so apparent through the cardboard sleeve, so cozy in her hands as she prepared to face the elements one more, though as she glanced back out the window, the snow seemed to have slowed down in the time she was talking with Scarlet. 

She turned over the conversation once more, staring off, half interestedly watching some city workers wrap the scraggly little trees that lined the sidewalk, shooting up from their gravel filled grates, in Christmas lights. 

Scarlet had been here a long time. At least three years. Three years of her menial coffee job. Three years of children yelling about whipped cream and making extra shots and business men with no manners and watching coworkers like Brooke finally get their big break, a break she’d been waiting her whole life for, hoping endlessly that she’d get called back for some minor role and that she could spin it into a career. 

Yvie craned her head back toward Scarlet, who counted change at her register, handing the man a few loose bills and a handful of coins.

It had been years, and that woman still had the nerve to get excited about cups and holidays. She had the nerve to have favorite latte leafs and customers, and tell them about it. The nerve to believe they cared as much about her as she did about them. 

And Yvie did. She was sure of it now. There was no way not to care about a woman with such a divine combination of grit and tenderness.

As Yvie left the store, she caught Scarlet mouthing to her “not my favorite” while giving a snappy tilt of the head to the man who just paid for his coffee, her grin snarky.

Yvie was sure Scarlet was her favorite barista. 

***

“Did you know that the mermaid on the latte stick is called Melusina. Well, it’s the mermaid that’s everywhere, but it’s also on the latte stick, you know?”

Yvie, now sat on the edge of the counter—after Scarlet assured her over and over that it was fine, no one was going to see her, and if her manager did see and yelled about it, Scarlet would wipe off exactly where her butt was, should her butt not be clean enough for Starbucks standards—stopped fiddling with the Christmas mug filled with those little green sticks. 

“No, I…” Yvie pulled one out and studied it, rubbing her thumb over the plastic embossing. “How do you know that?” 

Scarlet shrugged, pouring an espresso shot into Yvie’s cup, which this time was a green one, as Yvie insisted she didn’t need Scarlet wasting cups looking for one that matched Yvie’s ‘vibe,’ before Scarlet reasoned the green one did in fact match her vibe if she closed one eye and looked at her at a forty-five degree angle. Yvie supposed this was how vibes were checked nowadays. 

“I don’t. I was totally just lying to you.” Scarlet glanced up at Yvie, flashing that mischievous look at her before adding another shot. “If you say anything with enough confidence, you can make anyone believe you. Even a lawyer extraordinaire like yourself.” 

Yvie chuckled, shifting around on the counter, accidentally kicking her briefcase resting on the ground over on its side. “Gosh, I must be losing my touch.” 

“I sure hope not, or else you’re never gonna be a woman of the law in this here town again.” Scarlet leaned forward across the counter, slipping into a thick southern accent with ease, words dripping like molasses. Yvie played with the splash stick, staring down at her lap to hide how the heat prickled in her chest. Scarlet was very talented. 

“Nope, I must be losing it. If one little Lettie can lie to me and get away with it, imagine how many bad guys can?” Yvie faked a sniffle and a quivering lip. “If my firm finds out, I’m surely done for. They’d fire me on the spot, surely.” 

Scarlet scoffed. “I hope not. I got a feeling I’d like you less when you’re not in that whole lawyer-pantsuit-heels getup you got going on.” 

Yvie then felt very conscious of her clothing, of every pinstripe on her charcoal gray pants, of the white, silky blouse, of Scarlet’s eyes clearly scanning her clothing at the same time she was. She wrung her hands together. 

“I’m kidding. Gosh.” Scarlet shoved at her shoulder. “I’d like you in anything, nothing, all the inbetween.” 

Before Yvie could process, Scarlet ran into her next sentence. “Besides, not that I know how to make it as an actress, but I wouldn’t give up my lawyer job to follow that spastic lip quiver, wherever you think it’s going.” 

She slapped a lid on the cup and haphazardly pushed it across the way to Yvie, then moving to fix her hair. “Here’s your latte, Yvie, Ms. Lawyer Extraordinaire.” 

“Please, I’m sure you know enough about how to make it as an actress.” Yvie accepted the drink, fiddling with the sleeve on her cup. She made no move to lift herself from the counter, pick up her briefcase, and go about her day. “I know you have it in you. I’m so sure everyone’s gonna see it soon enough. I believe it.” 

And she did. Yvie didn’t expend energy lying, gassing people up, stumbling around fragile feelings. She never had the time for it and knew she probably never would. They were new words to her, assuring someone that their superficially outlandish dreams weren’t actually outlandish, but they felt correct to say. They felt like the most honest sentence she could say to Scarlet as the barista fiddled with her hair, trying to fit it into a suitable bun with a pout struck across her lips. 

Scarlet huffed. “You believed me when I said the mermaid was called Melusina and then you believed me when I said I was lying.”

“What does that have to do with anything, Scarlet?” 

Scarlet took the splash stick from her hands as Yvie looked up, following her touch, only to find Scarlet with her hair down and draped over her shoulders, those brown curls haloed by a golden friz, resting against the deep plum of her knit sweater. She cursed her body for acting as though she never saw a woman’s hair before, for picturing how it would feel as she grazed it, how Scarlet could just melt at Yvie’s fingers against her scalp. 

She would curse her mouth later for how it opened, how her lips parted at the thought. 

“I’m just saying, you’ll believe anything I say, even if it’s just me being delusional and really thinking I’m going to make it.” Scarlet gave the splash stick back. “Also it really is called Melusina and you should actually believe that.” 

She placed her latte back down on the counter. “Scarlet, I really do think—” 

But she was cut off by her fumbling hands as she tried to stick the splash stick into her latte without holding the cup firmly, tipping it over with her course movements, scrambling to stand it upright as the latte spilled out. 

“Fuck,” Yvie groaned, trying to pull a fistful of napkins out of the dispenser. 

“Hey, it’s fine” Scarlet reached over to steady her hand. She took a cloth to the mess. “I’ll just make you another.” 

“No really, you don’t have to. I spilled it and there’s probably still a lot left and I don’t want to trouble you.”

Yvie tried to take the cup but Scarlet was quicker.

“No really. I want to.” Scarlet walked back over to the register and pulled out another cup. “And besides, if I don’t remake it, I’m gonna spend all day thinking about you how you don’t have your latte and I’m gonna be sad over it.” 

Yvie couldn’t argue for Scarlet being sad all day, especially if what could prevent that sadness was her getting to remake the latte. So she nodded, though she considered if Scarlet did think about her before deciding not to bother herself any longer with following such a silly train of thought. 

Scarlet handed her the new latte after sticking a splash stick in herself. “Because now I know you can’t handle the Melusina splash stick,” she teased. 

“I’m gonna handle the Melusina splash stick tomorrow.” 

“Yeah you sure are. And I’m gonna get cast.” Scarlet rolled her eyes and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder. 

Yvie picked up her briefcase and turned to leave, tossing “You’ll see. It’ll happen.” over her shoulder as she walked out, surely not referring to the silly little splash stick. 

Upon taking a good look at Melusina, she now saw Scarlet wrote Yvie’s name with what had to be a heart. She could spend all day convincing herself otherwise, but that was a heart and the end of her name, small and filled in with black Sharpie. And she was very sure she was going to spend all day thinking about that. 

***

It was all wet. The clouds broke ever more, leaving the street slick and oily under lamps and strung up lights outside little bistros, against the roving reds and purples filtering through the window of the nightclub Yvie passed before crossing the street, shouldering people aside, hoping to get inside somewhere, hoping to charge her phone, call a cab, and forget this whole night had even happened. 

She pulled her trench coat tighter, cursing the flimsy fabric in the January chill. She hadn’t thought to dress warmer, walking down a now well worn path in her unsensible heels and smart black dress, feeling her feet soaking through as she dodged sidewalk grates. 

She was only thankful for the crowds and the downpour to hide her tears, to smear her makeup further, to allow her night—or what should have been her night of getting dinner with that girl from finance, maybe a few drinks afterward — blur into the collective night of Manhattan, filtering out of anyone’s care or consciousness but her own. 

She came past those same mirrored windows, tearing her gaze away when she saw her hair stuck to her forehead, how she shivered and looked so small in her coat. She kept walking until she landed on the Starbucks, the one she knew so thoroughly, knowing that it was a tad past closing time, but, God, she hoped the doors would open at her needy tug. 

They didn’t. It was locked. Barely past 10 p.m. and it was already locked.

Fuck. God fuck. She just wanted to charge her phone a bit, hail a cab, and maybe get in from the cold for a moment. But she shouldn’t have bothered in the first place. Or at the very least, she shouldn’t have waited for hours for her to show up, sipping water from a sweating tulip glass, obsessively checking her phone for a text, a call, anything, deleting old emails to pass the time between unanswered, frantic calls, until she was asked to give up her table, battery hovering around five percent, swallowing to keep her lip from quivering, unable to swallow back her hot tears the minute she left the restaurant. Fucking stupid.

“Yvie?” 

She looked up, meeting Scarlet’s concerned face, head tilted as she fiddled with the key to the door, unlocking it, pushing it open, and pulling Yvie inside by the arm. 

“What happened? You—” Scarlet looked her up and down from an arm’s length. Yes, it had to be bad.

“I just gotta charge… Can I charge my phone here?” Yvie paused. “Since when do you work nights?”

Scarlet didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped an arm around her waist and lead Yvie over to the couch — this well worn cognac leather thing with a couple rips down the side, sat in front of the window — and lowered her down, resting her hands on Yvie’s shoulders, fiddling with the lapel of her coat before smoothing her shoulders. 

“You stay here and I’ll be right back, okay?” She waited for Yvie to nod before she scurried off behind the counter. 

“Can I charge my phone?” Yvie called back, feeling her voice waiver. It was even more apparent in the empty store, nothing more than two people and the sound of hot liquid hitting a paper cup, lifting her head to see Scarlet tearing open a tea bag and shoving it down into the water with a wooden stick.

Scarlet jogged on back to the sofa, swearing every time the water sloshed over the edge of the cup, and placed it down on the table before sitting next to Yvie on the couch. “Sorry, yeah I work closing on Saturdays and yeah of course you can. I have a charger somewhere, I just thought you’d like something to warm you up first. I didn’t know how you took your tea though so I—. 

As Scarlet rambled, Yvie found herself growing all the more worked up, as though her throat were swelling and her chest had this raging, prickling burn until she spilled over again, until she felt fat, hot tears running down her face, until she heard Scarlet mutter “oh no, Yves,” until she felt the soft, warm, faded cotton of Scarlet’s striped long sleeve shirt against her cheek and Scarlet’s arms wrapped around her waist, fingers interwoven and resting on her back, anchoring her down. 

She let out a heaving sob, but tried to pull away. It was pathetic. She was acting pathetic. But Scarlet wouldn’t let her go, just pulled her in again, shushing her as she cried. 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Scarlet’s voice was smooth, soft, with the texture of a cello’s vibrato. “What’s wrong, Yvie?” 

“She didn’t show up.” Yvie mumbled against Scarlet’s shirt, sniffling. She was probably staining Scarlet’s shirt with her damn mascara. “She was supposed to show up and she didn’t.” 

“What happened?” Scarlet pressed her cheek against Yvie’s wet face, nearly speaking into her hair. “Who didn’t show up?”

“My date. She worked in finance. She was a friend of Silky’s friend. She just…” Yvie pulled herself back, tearing the heels of her hands across her eyes. “I waited hours and she never showed up and she never said why and I…” Yvie felt smaller now, sinking into her coat. She felt like a smashed porcelain doll, all shards where her body should have been. 

“Why didn’t she show up?” Yvie asked, much quieter now, like the words were cursed. They did haunt her though. Why didn’t she show up? “I just want to know why.” 

“Hey,” Scarlet soothed and took Yvie’s hands, now clenched, and smoothed them out, holding them in her own, resting their clasped hands in her lap. 

“Well, Yvie,” Scarlet began as Yvie looked down at her lap. “It could have been traffic. Or maybe a rogue taxi driver took her to Long Island by what had to have been a mistake or maybe some evil plot because, like, it’s Long Island. Or maybe her cat died? Does she even have a cat? Maybe she got stuck at work late? Does she work Saturdays? Or maybe her phone died too.” Scarlet gave her hands a squeeze. “You know, two people can have a dead phone at the same time. My phone’s probably dead right now.” 

Yvie giggled lowly. 

“But probably she got stuck in Long Island and she’s suffering double right now because she missed a date with you, and you know…it’s Long Island.” She laughed to herself and Yvie couldn’t help but join in, falling forward, shoulders shaking. 

“It’s the Florida of New York,” Yvie added meekly. 

“Please, it’s the Tampa, Florida of New York.” Scarlet laughed again at her own joke. “I don’t know if that’s worse. I don’t know a lot about Florida, but it sounds worse. I feel like shit happens in Tampa.”

Yvie couldn’t help but join her, couldn’t help but look up to capture the image of Scarlet’s joy in her mind’s eye, let it wash over her, let it wash over her thoughts, only allowing the pressing, increasingly present thought of Scarlet and how she wouldn’t have wanted to be here with anyone else, how thankful she was that she answered the door, how she couldn’t picture enjoying her date more than she enjoyed Scarlet.

And she was staring at her lips, Scarlet’s lips, with their ChapSticked sheen, as she spoke. And her hands were in Scarlet’s. Oh, how she did that thing with her thumb, as though she could ease all of Yvie’s pain with a gentle massage to the knuckle, as though that was where the hurt was, just like she did when she’d just been dumped, months ago. She couldn’t have remembered how it calmed her, that metronomic, even touch, how it eased her hurt with its ceaselessness. And yet, if anyone would remember, it was Scarlet. 

It was always Scarlet, wasn’t it? Why was she fucking around with some other date, some woman who worked in finance, when the best part of her day was sitting right in front of her, holding her hands, rambling on about how Florida alligators probably got to Long Island via underground sewer channels that spanned the entire east coast.

“Scarlet?” Yvie pulled a hand out of Scarlet’s grasp to rest it on her leg, taking Scarlet out of her speech. 

She snapped down to stare at her hand before meeting Yvie’s gaze again, failing miserably to hide the blush that had spread across her cheeks, right up to the tip of her sculpted nose, illuminated by the string lighted trees and their honeyed light filtering through the window and the flush of the lamps flanking the couch. 

“Yeah?” 

Yvie swallowed. “May I…” She shook her head a tad. “Fuck, I—” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” Scarlet said, rubbing Yvie’s shoulder, water still beading on the sleeve of her jacket. She rested her hand on her forearm. “We don’t have to talk about tonight anymore. It’s all fine, Yvie.” 

“No, it’s just.” Yvie pushed her hair away, leaving her fingers caught in her still dripping hair, heavy sigh escaping her parted lips. She locked eyes with Scarlet. “You make every day better. You make all my days better. Every morning I start with you is better and every day after is better. Even rotten, horrible days are better. And just… I just want more of that. I want more of you.” 

“Scarlet.” She pulled her hand out of her hair and placed it over her and Scarlet’s interlocked hands, wrapping herself around them. “Can I kiss you?” 

Scarlet pressed her lips together, closing her eyes and exhaling into a smile. She nodded eagerly, so Yvie brought her hand to cradle Scarlet’s face, fingers grazing her jaw, thumb swiping across her cheek. Scarlet’s eyes roamed, first to their hands, still connected, still in Scarlet’s lap, then around the store and through the window, then back to Yvie. Yvie was sure she was looking directly at her now. 

“What are you looking at?” Yvie ended with a hum, leaning in closer. Their legs brushed together. 

Scarlet’s free hand shifted from Yvie’s arm to rest on her hip, teasing at the knit fabric of her dress. “I’m just taking it all in, is all.” She halted her movement, tilting her head back down to look at her lap. “Just… I’ve been here before, wanting you to kiss me for a while. And now it’s real.” 

Yvie now rubbed over Scarlet’s knuckles with her thumb, watching her chin tilt up to release a breathy giggle, like rings of smoke floating into the air. “It’s real, Scar.” 

With that, she captured Scaret’s open lips with hers, feeling Scarlet’s hand inch upward to rest on her waist as she deepened the kiss, feeling Scarlet’s hair brush against her neck, feeling her nose against her own, feeling Scarlet’s fingers stretch in their interlocked hands before gripping tighter in an attempt to pull her closer, like she was hers. And she was. 

They parted, foreheads still touching, fingers still intertwined. Yvie pressed her lips against Scarlet’s once more. 

“I—” Scarlet began, eyes still closed for a moment, breathing still deep and calm, fingers pressed so ardently into Yvie’s waist. 

“I want to be with you,” Yvie cut her off, letting her hand fall from Scarlet’s cheek to play with a tendril of Scarlet’s hair, fitting it between her thumb and index finger. 

Scarlet mashed her lips together before responding softly, her voice plush and full. “I want that too. I want to be with you too.” 

Upon hearing that, upon processing that Scarlet wanted her as well, that she was wanted, the severe elation of being wanted after being so aggressively unwanted moments ago, how her slick coat and soaked hair reminded her as much, she broke their hands apart and grabbed Scarlet roughly by her hips, pulling her into her lap and kissed her again and again and again, kissed until it all felt well-worn and new in the same breath, until all Yvie wanted to do was fit her chin on Scarlet’s shoulder and revel in the closeness she’d wanted for so long in the exact spot she’d wanted it. 

They sat together, the hours passing, thin as gossamer, fractured only by their words and the smattering of rainfall outside, far too intimate in the empty room to be anything but whispered, if for nothing but the reassurance that they were theirs and only theirs, openly, finally, and ceaselessly.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are weird “Commander”

Alright guys, you have all been encouraging me that it’s ok to write more, and so I am trying it out. This story has to do with Captain Vir being promoted to Commander, and it’s written completely in my preferred style and length . If you are one of those people that doesn’t follow the plot-line but is just here for weird humans, you can ignore. I hope you all enjoy. I’d love to do more writing like this later on if anyone is interested :)

Captain Vir stared out the window of UNSC headquarters watching as a mass crowd of people trickled onto the staging ground. His ship sat over the horizon, large, dark, and imposing, Christened the U.S.S Harbinger for all military purposes, though it would always have a different name in his heart. He had made it a point to paint over the U.S.S Stabby BEFORE landing back on Earth, and he was glad that he did. He wasn’t sure how the president of the UN would have felt about the moniker dubbing a military vessel after a two thousand year old meme. When he came back for the ranking ceremony, he had assumed it would be a small affair in front of UNSC, GA, and military representatives. But it looked like most of North America had shown up to watch. The entire staging ground had been surrounded by towering stadiums.

He was already beginning to feel nauseous.

“Forgot to mention that we invited a few other people.” Captain Vir turned around to find Vice Admiral Kelly standing behind him hands resting lightly behind her back in her ramrod straight uniform. Behind her stood another woman, tall, dark skinned, and grey with age but with hard steely eyes. He quickly snapped to attention, for the Fleet admiral. In recent years it had become necessary to fuse air-force and navy into one body. Sure they were flying, but they were using ships to do it, but Vir understood the meaning of Fleet Admiral as much as he knew the meaning of those five stars on her uniform.

“At ease.” She commanded, and he feel into an at-ease position as easily as he would have during his days at the flight academy. They waved him down, and he turned back to the window, “A few people?”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked up  to find the Fleet Admiral standing next to him staring out the window, surveying the seen like a hawk or an eagle, “Captain, you are a folk hero at the forefront of a new age, ushering in changes that we have no experienced in thousands of years. At this moment in time you belong to the people weather you like the idea or not. Your success or failure may well be an indicator of the success or failure of humanity.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. He was having sudden and aggressive doubts, “That’s flattering, but I….. I’m not some folk hero. I’m not exceptionally brave, or smart, or… or anything else. I’m just lucky, and sometimes I’m….”

She held up a hand, “Captain, I said you were a folk hero not infallible. That Luck of yours may have ushered you here in a golden carriage, but now you have to prove to these people that you are worth something beyond that, so buck up and stop being modest…..” She stepped in front of him and looked him in the eye. He reckoned she was actually a little taller than he was, and her personality was quite imposing, “Tell me captain, can you handle this assignment?”

He took a deep breath standing a little taller, “Yes, Admiral.”

“And why?”

He paused, “Because I am the most experienced man on the fleet.” She seemed to be waiting for something else. He took a shot in the dark, “And…. I am an excellent Captain.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, “There it is. Now, down to the staging area with you. The ceremony is ready to commence.” He did as told executing an immediate about face and almost crashing into a doorframe before scuttling, flustered out of the room. The warm flush on his face and the ringing in his ears was enough that he had trouble distinguishing if he heard a chuckle or not

It turned out he did, and behind him, the Fleet admiral was shaking her head in mild amusement as was the Vice Admiral. Captain Vir was a strange man. A good man, but a strange man.

***

Sunny was standing by the door when captain Vir came down with her clan of warriors. In one of her hands she held her mother’s massive war staff, and she had clad herself in Drev ceremonial armor like her other counterparts. Captain Vir had to admit she looked very impressive, regal even, better than her mother had. Other members of his crew were there as well, but they would be reading themselves for the staging grounds. No one really knew where to put Sunny and her clan, so he had suggested a course of action.

He gave her a weak smile as he stood by the door, and she watched and listened as the crowd outside swelled. Sunny worried about him, he looked almost ill. Then the crowd began to still, she could hear the call of brass instruments somewhere as thousands of people stood. More trumpet blasts, and they could all heart the thundering of marching feet on the ground. Glancing out the window, they watched as fifteen crews of men and women displayed themselves on the staging grounds in perfect rows. Drums rattled as they marched forming into their lines and ranks. They were hundreds of them all together as each ship could contain a sizable crew. The captains followed after splaying themselves in triple rows of five. There were seven women and eight men in those lines, and ALL of them were older than captain Vir some of them by a good ten years or more. All of them had the faces of combat veterans who had seen too much and were ready for more.

Captain Vir took a deep breath closing his eyes and then opening them again as he continued to watch the display. The flags were brought in down the center of the crews. With the size of the staging field, it took a good few minutes for the flag to make its way up the center, the flag of the UN right next to the newly sewn flag of the GA. Aliens didn’t tend to understand human customs, but they had adopted the idea of a flag. Both flags were slotted next to each other, and a command was given. The soldiers saluted in unison the clapping of their heels rattling the windowpanes. Humans sure did like to make it a point to demonstrate their perfect synchronization. Above them, the civilians took to their feet, adopting the ancient custom of the Americas placing their hands over their hearts.

A line of men and women exited form a different door taking their positions. Not a one of them had anything lower than a star on his or her shoulder, accept for a single man. He was older with greying blond hair and stern steel eyes, he wore the patch of a sergeant with all the pride of any of the admirals unintimidated by his presence within them. Vir quickly struck the back of his hand across his eyes in a quick gesture seeing his father out there. The man had served during the last PanAsian war when he was only Vir’s age or younger. He had always been proud to support the unification of Earth.

A cue was signaled somewhere, and the Drev marched out in their rank and file. They had been practicing their marching in the way that humans had, and found that it was particularly intimidating. They enjoyed the practice. With Sunny at their head, they marched in two double columns stopping and splitting apart with a clatter of weaponry. The crowd grew quiet, a few gasps echoed through the staging area. Sunny called a command in her native tongue powerful voice echoing easily towards the furthest reaches of the staging ground. Camera crews zoomed in on them as the Drev lifted their weapons in a sign of respect ramming them on the ground three times before drawing very still.

The man that stepped from the building was definitely the Captain, accept wiped of all nerves. The man that walked from that building held his head high marching with the strict and precise movements of a machine. The look on his face made him look almost five years older than he truly was. His squared shoulders gave the idea of height and power as he walked down the gauntlet of Drev soldiers. As he moved past, they raised their weapons to him, a salute to their clan chief.

Their Captain was here.

As he exited the line of Drev, he turned sharply right heels pressing together at a perfect 45 degree angle. The crew of the U.S.S Harbinger saluted at the call of their Lieutenant Commander. The captain returned the gesture hand snapping up to the brim of his cap, crisp and sharp. He returned the hand to his side and the crew was ordered to an at-ease.

Still with precision, he turned again and moved his way over to stand in front of the line of high ranking officers. His father snapped to attention first, Vir second, and the admirals third. Vir’s father broke from the line on some unknown command stepped a few feet out and made the gesture to the line of admirals. He turned to face his son, and the two looked each other in the eye for a long moment. Vir stood still as the man stepped forward and removed the captain’s bars from his uniform front turning towards the admirals, one of which now held a small, open black box with a set of finely polished silver wings spread wide. He took them and replaced them with the Captain’s bars before turning and with great ceremony, gave his son wings.

Once attached, the man stepped back into line eyes glittering with moisture as the entire group made the exchange again.

Fleet Commander Vir turned to the staging ground, and another call came out. The captains snapped to attention with a clatter that heralded the same response from the rest of the open field. Even the Drev again raised their weapons in salute.

…And then they had to sit through another hour of speeches. It was dry and boring and ho. At least two soldiers collapsed on the ground having made the mistake of locking their knees at attention. They were quickly escorted from the field. Commander Vir kept his stance steady the entire time staring out at his new fleet of men and women sizing up the captains even as they did the same to him.

Eventually the podium was handed over, and he took a step up. He paused there, hands on either side of the lectern gloves hiding just how clammy his hands were, “Less than ten years ago there were many who thought that aliens didn’t exist, that humanity was alone on this plane of existence. Now, a little over five years since my commissioning in the United Nations Space Corpse, and we are members of the Galactic Assembly, by ways of a more seamless integration than we could have imagined.

During my life I have lived through the times were we didn’t believe, I flew as a crewman of the enterprise on her maiden voyage, I fought in the Drev war, I lost my leg, battled Post Traumatic Stress, recovered, and returned to be commissioned as a captain on the first vessel to fly on behalf of the Galactic assembly and the UNSC. Since then, it has been my mission to make peaceful contact with as many sentient lifeforms as I can. I have…… made mistakes and nearly died more times that I can count. Space is the Wild West, the final frontier. Humanity has always attempted to conquer the unknown, but instead of turning to the sea, we turned to the sky. I don’t know if it’s some form of Manifest Destiny, or something else, but I know that it was an inevitability.” Commander Vir paused to look at the crowd.

“When Vice Admiral Kelly told me they were organizing he first true Fleet for the UNSC and that my name was on top of the list to lead those men, I admittedly questioned the decision. Why would they pick me when I am young, inexperienced in life, and known to have made mistakes in the past...? I have come to discover since that conversation that that is precisely why they have given me the job. There is not a mistake, an erroneous conclusion, or a foul up that I haven’t made, but that means despite less life experience, I have the most out of any man who has experience traveling the galaxy.” He turned to address the captains now, “Perhaps you may be already questioning my leadership, either because of my age or my reputation, but I can tell you now… You are not ready for this assignment. You will never be ready. Things will happen to you that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t make sense and that will make you question whether you really want this job or not. I bet some of you are only a few months away from quitting, and you haven’t even started yet. I have been given this job because if anyone can help you survive, thrive, and maybe even enjoy this assignment, it’s me.” His voice rose a little, “Despite hesitation on my part, I must leave you with a warning. We represent humanity, you are the first humans some out there will meet, and it is your example that will mold how others see is. IF you compromise our good faith with the Galactic assembly, if you behave in a way that is contrary to the values of the UNSC or to the TRUE virtue of humanity, I will be personally obligated to remove you, permanently from my fleet. I may be younger than some of you but I will not compromise on poor behavior.”

He nodded to the admirals and stepped down. The entire crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief and began to clap. It was time to go find some air conditioning.

***

Commander Vir had retreated into the air conditioned building as soon as was prudent. It really was hot as hell out there, and inside the formalwear of his uniform he was hot, irritable and dehydrated, but despite these feelings, he was still forced to shake a thousand hands as other passed into the building. If this continued, he was sure his hand would go numb and just fall off.

Another part of him, the less cynical and more mid-twenties- average guy was sort of just freaking out. He was the Commander of an entire fleet of ships, and an entire fleet that had an average of AT LEAST five years on him in areas of command if not far more. Did he really have any idea what he was doing? How the hell did a person like him end up with so much responsibility? He still wore an eyepatch because he thought it was “cool” did he really have any place leading an entire fleet of battle-ready space aircraft carriers.

The thought was making him nauseous.  A nausea that got a little better when his family stopped by. His father was still wearing his old army uniform and was beaming with his face fit to split in half. It seemed that the older he got, the more he realized his father was a real person with real emotions. He had been a great father when he was a kid, but he hadn’t exactly been emotionally forthcoming. His mother was how she always was throwing her arms around him and hugging him close. She was so proud, he was going to do great, and she had always known he would make something of himself. She was even in a good enough mood to grace Sunny with a stiff smile.

All of his siblings were there, his sister with Kimber and their growing baby boy, David with his partner Jordan and their son, adopted at two years old, who looked at captain Vir with wide brown eyes, sure the two of them could have commissioned one of those designer babies based on their own DNA instead of adopting, but David had always been opposed to that idea. As long as there were still orphans in the world he was determined to give them a good home. Jordan didn’t seem to mind, and Vir was glad to see the two of them were happy. Jeremy was with his girlfriend, the newest one in a long line of girlfriends, and Vir wondered how long he would manage to hold onto this one, she seemed like a sweet girl, she would be good for Jeremy if he didn’t manage to screw it up. Tomas…… well Tomas was Thomas and that was another can of worms.

He was forced to cut their little reunion short as a group of fifteen people marched their way up the corridor. The bars on their uniforms glittered in the light, and he had to step away from his mother to face them. The captains stopped in a group and gave him a rather unnecessary salute. A quick look over their faces wasn’t enough to tell him what he needed to know, but it was enough to tell him some things. There was no open hostility towards him, but some of them moved more sharply than others, covering what seemed to be resentful attitudes. There were about five of those, the next five were rather wary of him and the last five went from ambivalent to downright welcoming. Surprisingly, the oldest captain seemed to be the most pleased to see him. He had silver hair, bright blue eyes and a charming smile. He would probably have been a real ladies man back in his day and could probably still manage now. Aging had been remarkably kind to him. Vir would have estimated him to be in his sixties, but he had the body of a man half that age, so his age was rather indeterminate. When the salute was over the man walked over, and rather than shaking his hand he clapped him on the back, “Commander.”

“Vir will be fine,” He said in response,

“Vir than, A pleasure to be working under you. Always good to see younger people taking initiative.” He glanced over at Vir’s parents, “I can already tell he comes from good stock.” Damn, the guy was just as charming as his face suggested. He had that sort of old cowboy feel about him, perhaps it was the hint of a southern drawl. Vir couldn’t help but being a little jealous, he wished he was that good with people. The other captains were a little more reserved.  The next person to walk up was a rather petite Asian woman with a serious face, but after greeting, he found her to be rather affable and with a descent sense of humor.

The others were a bit harder to read, they had the strong silent captain, with the patch on his shoulder indicating that he hailed form one of their units out of Africa. The guy was a flipping mountain. What vir wouldn’t have given to have his physique?  There were others of course, and they hailed from all over. At least one other from somewhere in Asia, he wasn’t able to read the patch, one from Russia, one from India, and one from Brazil. There were others whose tags he was unable to read.

It had been years since anyone identified themselves based on national ideals. The last war had brought China into the UN once and for all uniting planet earth as one cohesive body of humanity with a single governing body, but the old love still remained. It was hard to take Russia out of a Russian or America an American. Thousands of years later, and they still couldn’t give up their old selves, but that was alright with Vir as long as they made sure to put earth first.

He still wasn’t totally sure about them, and he wasn’t sure about their crews. You never truly understood someone until you gave them a chance to do something stupid and or aggressive, and he had some plans in the works. He wanted to know who he was hiring on before he put the fleet to work.

As the Captain’s walked away, Commander Vir motioned Sunny over and leaned in, “Tell the crew to start setup.”

“What did the admiral say?”

“She thought it was weird, but she agreed when I gave my reasoning.”

***

What was this plan that captain Vir had in mind? Well It was sort of crafty but rather genius is sunny did say so herself. The man wanted to know who was on his crew, and he wanted to know who was on the other crews, so he had designed to set up a little bit of a party. His reasoning, people get dumb at parties, and if I can see them at their dumbest, I can weed out the troublemakers early on. Plus he also wanted to have a little fun, but that was only collateral.

In essence, His plan was threefold have fun, examine the men, and see how the crew would accept him when he wasn’t wearing the uniform. The commander didn’t lead in his military greys, and there were some people who had a problem with that. If he could catch the captains true feelings about him early on, than he could deal with them early on.  So he invited all available crew members from the fleets, they had music set up, and drinks and gambling tables. There was something for everyone, and Vir intended to use it. He intended to put these men and women into a great place to do something stupid. Additionally, he had ordered the Drev members of his crew to mingle with the crowd. If these men could not handle contact with the Drev than they would have to go. Commander Vir was both a clan chief, and the main human ambassador to the Drev world, so he would not tolerate any sort of alien hostility. If they couldn’t handle the drev he couldn’t be sure that they would be proper to a more delicate, less indestructible alien race. The rest of his crew would be doing the same noting down any major problems they saw and making sure that everyone stayed in line. Not everyone was going to make it out of this night and still have a job.

***

By the time the crewmen started filtering in, Sunny already had the music up and running. Vir had to admit that she was one damn good DJ. The crewman of the other fifteen ships seemed surprised when they saw the bright blue Drev and her green headphones running the systems with some pretty good classic rock, a genre that could never really die. There was hardly any hesitation from most of them, there was drinks, descent music and the uniforms of earlier had been replace with casual ware often intended to attract other humans. This was the night before their first deployment and they intended to make the most of it.

With fifteen crews to accommodate, it didn’t take long for the place to fill up. Of course there would be men and women skipping to stay with their families, but Vir wasn’t particularly worried about them. He was worried about the kind of people that are attracted to trouble. And while, parties are fun and not everyone who goes to them is a troublemaker, they did tend to foster very specific enviornment for behavior the Commander could not abide. The Drev were deployed once the human entries had gone down to a slow trickle, they entered the room in pairs to keep eyes on each other. Some of these men had been involved with the Drev war, so they couldn’t be sure if those men would still harbor anger towards this other species.

Watching from a discreet upper window, Commander Vir saw the hesitation in the humans as the Drev entered, but there was nothing overtly hostile towards his crew members. He would have to wait though, it was early in the night, and no one was drunk just yet.

***

Krill stared out the little observation window next to the Commander, thankful the walls were thick enough to block the thundering human music. He could still feel the beat through the floor and past the pain of glass, the thudding beat made him dizzy, the Vrul’s cortical pathways were’t known to tolerate and complex patterns like the humans specifically auditory ones. His brain always desperately tried to keep up with the beats, and it took most of his concentration not to go into a passed-out trance as he tried to follow the music. He would argue though, that the humans were not that much better. Down on the floor they rolled and churned in a single mass hands in the air writhing and spinning in disjointed jerks and sways. Their eyes were closed, they pressed close to each other as if unaware how strange their behavior seemed to an outsider. The way their bodies moved with the music was something he had only seen from humans and the Drev. Matching their movements to a background beat as they did. It wasn’t as pretty as actual dancing, but it was an impossible feat for anyone not human or Drev.

Krill was very much under the impression that enviornment like this were specifically designed to increase the human’s desire for mating. The Commander hadn’t argued with him when he pointed this out. Clubs and bars were the sort of places that humans went for that kind of thing. In an entirely new mass of people, it was easy to lose your identity and inhibition making your actions more obvious and more reckless.  But it was also a perfect time to root out the people Vir did not care for, bullies, sexual predators, violent drunks, etc. The crews had no idea what was waiting for them.

***

Captain Vir walked into the room with all the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t far from the truth, he was comfortable in enviornment like this loud, exciting, and with lots of people, but he wasn’t totally here for the fun. With Cannon at his side, he walked into the maze of tables set up with decks of cards and sets of gambling chips.

He was dressed down as casual as he could manage jeans, a boot, shoes didn’t fit on his prosthetic anymore, and a brown leather bomber jacket over a white T-shirt. He had removed the uncomfortable fake eye and replaced it with his preferred eye-patch. The thundering beat drifted in from the other room, a constant background of chaos just under the rise of voices through the room. He scanned the crowd finding what he was looking for and walked over pulling up a chair at one of the tables and taking a seat.

The Captain’s, at least six of them, looked up with surprise at their intruders, one of them being aver nine feet tall at the least. The next table over seated one or two of the captains giving him nine out of the fifteen in total. He could see by the looks on their faces, that they didn’t recognize him at first. He pulled aside the lapel of his jacket so they could see a replica of one of the wings pinned onto the inside, “Mind if we join?” He asked casually.

They sat back in surprise, “Commander.”

“Adam or Vir would be fine, none of us are working.” He eyed them, singular, as they looked at him. There was surprise, ambivalence, welcoming and…. Ah ha, some narrowed eyes. He casually reached for the deck, cut it and shuffled it speedily, “Thought I might as well come to get and know the men and women I in my fleet. Seems as good a time as any.”

One of the captains stood up and went to walk away. The Commander could tell by his actions that he was not interested in hanging around. He shuffled the cards back into a pile, “SIT down, Captain.” He allowed the smile to fall from his face, and his voice to deepen copping his father, a man who could be very intimidating when his four boys got out of hand.

The Captain stopped, turned around, but did not take his seat.

Commander Vir turned to his cards examining them with a critical eye, “I assume you know what the word sit means?” Cannon shifted in his seat next to the Commander, and the captain sat mouth twitching a little. Commander Vir tapped the table with two fingers and then looked up as his turn passed, “You don’t like me very much, and I find that a bit odd seeing as we haven’t even formally introduced ourselves.”

“I never said that, Commander.” The man said icily. The entire table shifted rather nervously.

“I may be young, but I’m not stupid. Standing up and walking away angrily immediately after someone sits down is the universal sign for not liking someone. If you were trying to be discrete about it you may need to brush up on the rules of human body language, and if you did it on purpose, you wanted me to know, but you didn’t plan on getting called out for it, so either you tell me what it is that’s bothering you right here and now, or you can stop behaving like a petulant child.” That comment seemed to have stung coming from a younger man and going to an older man.

“Permission to speak freely then?” The man asked after a few moments. The commander folded and cut his losses tossing his stack of cards to the side as he looked at the other man, “Of course, that’s why we’re here isn’t it.”

The man paused then, “I think you’re a joke.”

The commander tilted his head, “A Funny one I hope?”

Teeth ground against teeth, “That’s the root of the problem. You’re too young to take anything seriously. That position should have gone to someone with more experience. You were only promoted to captain a few years ago, and now they have you commanding a fleet. Something seems wrong to me, favoritism or bribery.”

The Commander tilted his head thoughtfully in the other direction, “Who do you think should have taken the position….. someone like…… you?”

The man floundered for a moment in response, and Captain Vir leaned a little forward resting his elbow on the table, “No honestly, I’m listening. Suppose you were promoted to Commander, I assume you have studied alien culture extensively, or you have personal experience. You know what NOT to do to be thrown in a Rundi prison, or that a Tesraki doesn’t consider it morally wrong to lie during a business deal, or the proper rituals for greeting another Drev commander?”

Around the table, the captains shifted uncomfortably. The instigator remained silent.

“I also assume that you know a Starborn’s Telekinetic waves will disrupt the warp systems of a space vessel, and that you need to change the frequency on the signals.” He glanced at his cards again, “You may have more experience in war, and commanding men, Captain, but I’ve already made the mistakes necessary to know what I am doing when it comes to space travel.” He threw a chip into the center of the table, “If you can’t let go of your pride and admit that I might have more experience in this area than you, than we aren’t likely to get along, and I enjoy getting along with people.” They threw down their cards, and one of the other captains won, she pulled them towards her.

He looked up, “Well, keep going, I want to get it all out in the air BEFORE I have to work with you. I need you to trust my command and respect me if this is going to work out, and that’s not going to happen if you are harboring thoughts like this.”

Another pause, and the Commander refused to look away until another concern was raised, “It’s hard to see you as a proper commander, when you dress like a space pirate and act like an eccentric movie character. It very much seems like you are trying to ‘be cool’ to impress other people, but you aren’t doing it in an adult way you are doing it in a way that makes it seem you are trying to look like some edgy movie character who is supposed to be the ‘cool guy’. It makes you seem weak and desperate for other people to see you as something you aren’t.”

The commander smiled, “A stunning psychoanalysis of my motives.” He paused tapping one of the poker chips on the table, “You’re right.” The entire table seemed a little surprised, “I love old movies, I love cool movie characters. I think the eyepatch makes me look dashing and roguish, but you do have one thing wrong.” They waited, “I don’t where this eyepatch to impress you, I wear it because I think it’s fun and I’ll be damned if I have to remove it to impress you. If I truly was so desperate for people to see me as cool, I would go change into my uniform right now in order to demonstrate to everyone at this table with how serious and task oriented I am.”

He leaned back in his chair waiting again, “Well, go on, I am sure we can come up with some worthwhile concern.”

A soft, but stern voice raised from the other table, “I think, Commander that you try too hard to be friends with your crew, and in turn you lose some credibility as a leader. It’s fine to be someone’s friend, but you have to let some of that go in order to lead properly.”

He turned in his chair and took a deep breath as if he was going to say something paused and then, “Alright, that one hurt, so it must be true. Go on.”

That hour was when the commander learned he wasn’t totally ok with taking criticism. He thought he was, and it was fine when what the captains were saying wasn’t true, or they had something wrong about his intentions, but it was an entirely different matter when he sensed some truth in what they were saying. He tried to listen, tried to learn, but after a while he just couldn’t anymore and excused himself from the table with a nod, and a, “I will think about what you all said, but I have a few other matters to attend to before the night is over.” He tried not to look stiff as he walked away ruminating silently on what they had said to him. He may have at least gained their respect, but at what cost.

He glanced over at cannon, “Do you think I’m insecure?”

Cannon looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, “Is that supposed to be a question?”

“F**k Cannon, yes it was a question.”

Cannon Shrugged his large shoulders, “What, do you want me to do, lie to you?”

The captain stepped in front of the Drev and stalked onto the lit dance floor, suddenly feeling very stupid in his eye patch and jacket. This night wasn’t supposed to have ended up like this. He scanned the crowd and found Sunny at her DJ position seeming quite pleased with herself. He pushed through the crowd leaving Cannon behind and walked up to her.

She gave him one good look and paused, “What’s wrong!” She yelled over the thundering beat

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, “I just got all of my insecurities, issues, and flaws dissected by people I barely know, and now I feel like shit.”

She laughed at him.

“Well thanks, Sunny, So glad I came to you for help. Such a supportive friend.”

She grinned again then grabbed him by the hand, “Come on grumpy; let’s dance.”

***

He had recovered reasonably by the end of the night, and there were other issues to deal with anyway. At least seven of their new men had attempted to gang up on one of the Drev who had gone out to get some air. They had their asses handed to them in swift fashion as the Drev had almost as many limbs to fight them with as there were people attacking. There were at least three cases of sexual harassment, not an issue humanity had managed to get over, yeah they had managed to shatter the glass ceiling and equalize the sexes, but now EVERYONE participated in equal measure, so that had to be dealt with. Regarding other issues such as fighting, aggressive behavior and excessive drug use, they ended up kicking out nearly twenty people and putting at least forty others on probation. Sure there were people that argued, but the Commander refused to budge on these areas, and told them exactly where to stick their complaints.

The Captain’s weren’t exactly happy with some of the people getting kicked off their crews, but now they were at least willing to listen to him, as he had managed to listen to them.

The problem now would be managing to put his ego back together enough that he could rationally take a look at himself and decide if what they said was true.

That was going to take a while.

[rawiswhore]

Triple H/Shawn Michaels x Fem Reader- “Put A Ring On It”

The reason I say “Triple H/Shawn Michaels” in this fanfic is because you could have either Triple H or Shawn Michaels in this fanfic when you read it.

You can imagine Triple H doing this to you or Shawn.

________________________________________________________________

The year is 2003.

And the most famous professional wrestling company in the world, the WWF, has now changed its name, to the WWE, during the previous year, which is what the company would be called and known as from now on.

Shawn Michaels, after having a lengthy, incredible career throughout the 1990's, has now made a comeback the previous year, where he'd wrestle all throughout the 2000's until his retirement in 2009.

But this time, Shawn has slightly shorter hair, he's sober, and he's even now a born again Christian!

Shawn Michaels isn't the only WWF star to make a comeback.

You have also made a comeback to the company, after taking a hiatus from 2000 to 2002 due to suffering from a real life sex addiction and depression.

Speaking of which...

You have dated Shawn/Triple H for several years, since 1996.

In the summer of 1995, you were sitting at home at night, getting ready to go to work, but to kill off some time before you left, you were flipping through the channels, trying to find something to watch on TV, like maybe a movie you enjoy or a rerun of "The Simpsons", "In Living Color" or even "Ren and Stimpy".

Until you came across a WWF show, where you saw Hunter Hearst Helmsley for the first time.

He immediately caught your eye. You had never heard of him before or ever seen him before.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him when you saw him.

He didn't look like a stereotypical wrestler like Hulk Hogan or Macho Man Randy Savage.

And unlike those 2, he was actually *gasp!* good looking?

You soon started watching the WWF just to see Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

You heard about how rock stars, rappers, athletes, and yes, pro wrestlers, have groupies; wrestling groupies are known as "ring rats".

When the WWF rolled into a town close to yours or even to your town, you went to a show not just to see Hunter Hearst Helmsley, but even have sex with him.

Once you met Hunter back stage, even he thought you were absolutely beautiful.

So beautiful, he wanted to turn you into one of his valets.

You had doubts about this at first, but you decided to go for it.

Soon, you'd become more popular than he is, getting cheers and pops from the male audience while the male audience booed Hunter.

Anyway, enough about that.

Despite dating Triple H/Shawn for several years, they had never quite popped a certain iconic question and request for you...until tonight.

Although, Triple H did say that if you got clean and sober from drugs and alcohol, he'd do something special to you.

And this special is what this fanfic will be about.

On a show in 2003, Triple H is on a roll this year, and he's gone through quite a number of gimmick changes over the years.

However, what's about to happen to you tonight in this particular WWE show, with bookoos of people in the audience watching, some of them holding up signs and posters, is not rehearsed or scripted.

Even you don't know what will happen to you tonight, but Triple H/Shawn Michaels does.

You were in the ring with Triple H/Shawn, Triple H dressed in his typical JC Penney's pantsuit he's been wearing this year, Shawn dressed usually how he dresses in 2003.

During this year, you were in a story line involving being in a love triangle with Triple H and Shawn.

However, tonight...

"Y/n" Triple H/Shawn stated, holding the microphone up to his mouth. "I've been dating you for several years, and despite some of the ups and downs we've had for several years, you fulfill my life..."

"Oh my God, is he gonna pop the big question?!" Jerry Lawler exclaimed.

The audience was expecting him to propose to you in marriage.

And that's exactly what Triple H/Shawn was about to do.

"Will you do me the honor and make me the happiest man on Earth?" Triple H/Shawn asked and pleaded to you, his face looking at you, and while they said this, he got down on one bended knee, laying their calf on the ring's trampoline.

He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a little ring box, where he opened the velvet ring box and revealed a beautiful white diamond ring.

When he got down on bended knee and pulled a ring box, your eyes grew wider and wider, your mouth dropping and agape in shock.

Your face was freaking out and stunned seeing that diamond ring, you were trying to keep your balance by holding onto the ropes against the ring, your arms laying across the top of the ropes.

Your face could easily now be an Internet meme or a "reaction meme".

The audience was also going nuts about this too.

The people in the audience, even the people watching this on television, didn't know whether or not if this was scripted or if this was for real.

Now that's what you call kayfabe.

"Will you marry me?" Triple H/Shawn asked you.

Tears of happiness started to form in your eyes, your hands covered up your wide smile spreading across your face.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, holding the microphone up to your mouth.

You then stuck your hand out, beautiful and well manicured, where Triple H/Shawn took the ring out of the box and walked up to you with that ring, where he slid it all the way down your ring finger.

Those tears of happiness you were trying to hold back now started falling down your cheeks.

You didn't know he was going to propose to you in marriage, this wasn't rehearsed, but the people watching this, either in the arena or on television didn't know whether or not if this is all scripted for television or if this is for real.

Once that ring was now on your finger, you wrapped your arms around and behind Triple H/Shawn's shoulders in an embrace, burying your face in his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging and embracing you.

While he embraced you, he kissed the top of your head, tasting your hair.

Not the best taste, especially since you hairsprayed it so much.

Surprisingly, Triple H/Shawn didn't enter the arena, disgusted at you cheating on him.

But that's not important.

What's important is whether or not if this was all rehearsed or was this real?

A few months later, in early 2004, people would find out this proposal was not scripted but for real. Why?

You and Triple H/Shawn did get married in real life.

You had thought of marrying him inside the WWE ring, not with several wrestling fans (at least wrestling fans that aren't related to you and Triple H/Shawn) in the audience, but with your family members, his family members as well as your friends from your childhood and some WWE wrestlers in the audience.

Although this isn't really the most romantic place to get married in...

Triple H really is the epitome of someone who can turn a ho into a housewife.

Why?

You were once sexually promiscuous, even before you worked as Hunter Hearst Helmsley's valet he'd enter the arena with, you also worked as a stripper before becoming Hunter's valet, and after you were Hunter's valet, not only did you sleep with Hunter and Shawn, but other male pro wrestlers you thought were hot.

You also used to party with Shawn Michaels; doing all sorts of drugs and alcohol.

Triple H, or Hunter as he was known back then, was worried about you both.

Hunter promised you if you didn't do drugs and abuse alcohol again, he'd marry you.

You did eventually get off of drugs and alcohol just for him, even though you had doubts of marrying him and even being his valet.

You wanted to get clean off of drugs and alcohol since you wanted to remember and have great memories of the 1990's.

Although after you got clean and sober from drugs and alcohol, Triple H didn't propose to you, which made you think twice of dating him and marrying him.

Which is a shame he didn't propose to you after you had gotten clean and sober, because Triple H looked absolutely gorgeous after you had gotten sober and clean.

You would've loved to have gotten married to him and maybe even have his children.

Though you struggled with another addiction, and that's sex addiction.

Not only did you have sex with Triple H and Shawn, but other pro wrestlers as well. They were so hot!

You also worked as a Pussycat Doll at their burlesque club and your gimmick in the WWE basically was being a slut or a nymphomaniac.

After you got married to Triple H, you no longer did drugs, partied, cheated on him, even had any threesomes with him.

The only slutty things you did was guest star on "Californication" with David Duchovny and have a sex scene with him as well as have a stripper pole in your special dancing room, and that pole is for fitness and exercise.

You now are a mother of 2 kids who never talks about anything inappropriate on social media due to being a mom now and trying to be a good role model for your children.

When you made a special guest appearance on the WWE during their PG era, your gimmick when the company was TV-14 was being a slut, and you couldn't do that because the WWE is now rated PG.

You would've loved to have flashed your breasts or have done something inappropriate in a PG rated show, but you're a mom with 2 kids now, you can't do that on television.

Even if you had gotten married to Shawn Michaels, Shawn would've turned you from a ho into a housewife, who no longer does drugs, sleeps around, or even posts or says anything inappropriate on social media due to your children.

As well as the whole "not doing something inappropriate on a show rated TV PG" thing.

________________________________________________________________

I wonder if I should write these fanfics that aren’t so raunchy, I have these ideas for fanfics I want to write that aren’t so pornographic involving Triple H and Shawn...

[heesgf]

basketball player! byounggon

in honour of my baby’s birthday, here’s a cute + lighthearted basketball player! gon fic that i’ve been dreaming abt for eternity :’)) as per usual, the beginning is a little slow, but it’s worth ur patience, i promise💞😚

warnings: vvvv sweet (might give u cavities), BASKETBALL PLAYER GON BEING THE HOTTEST MF ALIVE, hyunsuk bff tomfoolery (what’s new lmao) 

in which Lee Byounggon is basketball team captain, and you’re suddenly a sports fanatic. 

             Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself in a crowded gymnasium, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the shrieks of devoted sport fanatics.

      This morning, like any other, had started quite mundanely. You were perched against the headboard of your dorm’s single bed, doodling carelessly onto sheets of chemistry homework, while Hyunsuk mused a brightly coloured fedora in front of your full length mirror.

“Listen,” You shouted across the room, in between bites of your buttered croissant. “I invited you over to study, not to commit fashion atrocities in my dorm room.”

      Hyunsuk, still balancing the horrendous garment over his head, shot you a pained expression, and rolled his eyes in distaste. He waves his hand vaguely in your direction and grimaces.

“Says the girl wearing a shirt that says ‘caffeine queen’.”

“Hey, you asshole, my mom got me this! I think it’s cute.” You cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes, while Hyunsuk shakes his head deliriously. He eyes you up and down once more, and then scrunches his nose.

“Sure, Jan.” He says slowly, and you contemplate throwing the pillow wedged behind your back toward his head. You opt against it, but the look on your face might be just as scary.

You stick your tongue out. “No one says memes out loud like that, you doofus!” 

He spares you a lopsided shrug and giggles, then he breaks out into a smile and looks toward you once more.

“You’re coming to the game later, right?” He starts suddenly, and you bite your lip.

“I don’t know, Suk. I’m trying to stay focused on chem and stuff.”

      Hyunsuk launches toward your spot on the bed, and reaches his hand out toward one of your stray sheets of paper, filled to the brim with miscellaneous stick figures and, in Hyunsuk’s opinion, the worst cartoon images of a corgi he’s ever seen.

“Yeah.” He baits, swinging the paper in front your wandering eyes. “You really look like you’re invested in learning.”

“Shut up!” You mumble out in a laugh, and then you roll your eyes. Hyunsuk still waits for an answer, and you purse your lips.

“I’ll think about it. Maybe, okay?”

      Hyunsuk’s nod seems uncharacteristically tame, but there’s something about the devious look in his eyes that makes you think this conversation is far from over. When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and his iron grips closes itself around your wrist, you find yourself yanked out of your room, into the hall, and most likely toward the gymnasium. In that moment, you think Choi Hyunsuk might be the worst person you’ve ever met, and the next couple hours, spent watching a college basketball game, were going to be completely unbearable.

***

      Two minutes into sitting on painfully cold bleachers, having popcorn spilled over your lap, and your cheek elbowed by the rowdy couple next to you, you think you might be having a basketball induced aneurysm.

      Hyunsuk is seated calmly next to you, and staring serenely into the crowd; every once in a while, he waves to someone you can’t recognize, most likely one of his teammates, and he looks back at you with a reassuring smile.

“Why are we here if you’re not even playing?” You groan, sliding your head onto his shoulder, and shutting your eyes tightly in discomfort.

“I told you, [Y/N].” He sighs into the crown of your head. “I have dance practice later. I gotta keep my calves limber. We’re here for the sportsmanship.”

      You playfully roll your eyes and feign a barfing motion. Hyunsuk pushes your head away from his shoulder and pouts.

“I don’t even know what that means and I’m still disgusted.” You retort. “Besides... what do you know about sportsmanship? Literally every time we play Mario Kart I catch you cheating.”

      Hyunsuk starts talking about how ‘you’re in great need of a chill pill’, and though you fight the urge to slap him silly, you instead find yourself staring intently at the court, eyes glazing over the lines of male athletes running drills across the gymnasium floor. As you watch, you notice the beads of sweat, the graceful strides, the cohesive movement, and as you watch, your eyes seem to close in on a particular someone—and suddenly, Hyunsuk’s words feel like they are worlds away.

      The boy is standing in the centre of the court with his hands pressed against his knees, and his eyes trailing sporadically across the room.

      His jersey, like all his teammates, is a blinding crimson, and against his honey sodden skin, a seemingly perfect contrast. His hair, slightly damp, is a disarrayed and glossy black, but something about the way it presses against his forehead, frays upward on the sides, sways lucidly when he runs, is wildly cinematic, and you think it just might consume you, like your favourite movie. On his back, there is the stark white outline of the number nine, and on the bottom, in between crinkled fabric, you think you can make out the name ‘Lee’. He’s waving his arms at a teammate, shouting something incoherent, and when the ball makes contact with his hands, his lips break out into the purest of smiles; it radiates an energy that is lively, almost impossible to miss, and completely intoxicating, even at your distance in the stands.

      When that smile transforms into the shell of laughter, there’s something about the crowd’s cheering that suddenly feels rhythmic.

“Hey.” You whisper, poking into Hyunsuk’s rib cage. “Who’s that guy over there?”

      Hyunsuk squints at your bewildered expression, and then looks onto the crowd, following the path of your eyes.

“Who? The guy in the hat? That’s coach Yang. God, I hate that guy. He’s always on my ass about making it to practice. And if you think my fashion is bad, Jesus Christ, you should see him at Sunday morning practice; crocs and socks all da-,”

“No, not him, you idiot.” You shake your head erratically. “T-the guy in the middle, look, he has the ball right now.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Well that’s Byounggon.”

“Byounggon.” You repeat. And then your bottom lips find it’s way between your teeth. Hyunsuk sits back against his seat, and focuses in on the game once more. And you, well you’re enamored by the rapid movements of a lanky boy with a smile that’s strikingly tender.

Byounggon.

You think maybe basketball isn’t so bad after all.

***

      When Byounggon’s team wins the game, Hyunsuk tackles you in a tight side hug that feels almost violent. He is jumping up in his seat, screaming toward his teammates, and coincidentally, dragging your body with him. When he finally pulls away, and you can catch a string of fresh air, you ponder the appropriate time to start asking questions. You’re trailing down the bleacher steps when your voice finally breaks out, and your eyes are glued to the floor.

“So... when is your next game?” You ask nonchalantly.

      Hyunsuk looks at you once in confusion. Then he makes a double take. And then a triple.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” Then he waves his hands in front of his eyes and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I must be dreaming.”

“I’m serious!” You laugh. “I wanna watch your next game. I genuinely had fun!”

      Hyunsuk still looks weary, but he nods his head halfheartedly. When you think he’s stopped looking at you, you turn your attention back to Byounggon, who is currently standing in a crowd of his teammates, and giving high fives all around. You’re distracted by the way his eyes crinkle when you hear Hyunsuk emit an amused ‘huh’, and when he points a sly finger in your direction, you know he’s put two and two together.

“I see what’s going on here.” He whispers excitedly. “You have a thing for Byounggon!”

“What? No I don’t! I don’t even know him!”

“Oh really?” He teases. “Then stop drooling over him like an animal.”

“Suk, y-you’re being ridiculous right now.”

“And would you look at that!” He whistles. The mischievous glint in his eyes makes you nauseous. “Looks like he’s coming over here, right now.”

“Hyunsuk, don’t you fucking dare. I’m serious.”

“Hey Byounggon!”

“Ohmygod.” You whine, smacking a palm to your forehead as your heart overcomes itself with panic. “I hate you. I genuinely hate you.”

      Hyunsuk rolls his eyes, and then erupts in a laugh that makes the pits of your stomach twist.

“Trust me, [Y/N]. You’re gonna love me after this.”

You think that’s highly improbable.

***

Byounggon is more illusive when he stands in front of you.

      Now, jogging toward Hyunsuk, tufts of raven coloured frame the cusp of his forehead, and the slight peak of his neck; his eyes narrow, but it’s far from hostile, and rather, a tinge of warm familiarity.

“Hey, you came!” Byounggon remarks, pulling Hyunsuk into a tight hug, and you realize his voice is gruffer than you would've thought.

“You guys were awesome, dude!” Hyunsuk gushes with a smile, and then he looks towards you, and gestures a hand in your direction. “This is my friend, [Y/N].”

      Byounggon’s eyes shift to meet yours. He lifts his head in your direction, and waves his hand with a shy smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You respond awkwardly, raising a hand to match his stance.

He raises a brow and grins. “Did you like the game?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you guys were all really good. I loved it!”

“Really?” He breathes out in a giggle. “Because when I was sitting on the bench I could’ve sworn I saw you sleeping?”

      Hyunsuk breaks into a hysteric fit of laughs, and you shake your head rampantly, hoping the scarlet tinge of your cheeks doesn’t give you away. There was some truth to what he said; of course, when Byounggon wasn’t playing, the court seemed a little less compelling...

“Me?” You exasperate, face still flushed. “N-no, I would never!”

“Oh yeah, dude, she totally was. In the third quarter, she was knocked out! Almost drooled.”

      You shoot Hyunsuk a glare, but he’s too caught up in his own laughter to notice; Byounggon throws his head back in a soft chuckle, then he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you.” He smooths over. “I’m glad you guys liked the game.”

      His smile, like that smile on the court, is wide and contagious. And though you’re immersed in the plans of Hyunsuk’s murder, you can feel the corners of your lips drift upward, and the soft glimmer of a smile take over. When you hear someone shout Byounggon’s name across the gymnasium floor, you’re not sure if it’s the voice of one of his teammates, or the soft call of your heart.

Byounggon looks back at the sound and smiles apologetically. “That’s me. I’ll see you guys later?”

      Before he leaves, Hyunsuk pulls Byounggon in for another hug, and you offer an awkward wave. You watch as he drifts away from you, and toward Yang Hyunsuk, who you know knew was his coach.

Damn. His style really was awful.

“See, now that wasn’t so bad, right?” Hyunsuk’s voice breaks you away from your train of thought, and on instinct, you smack him across the chest.

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” He groans, running his hand over the tender spot; you roll your eyes and trot forward, Hyunsuk trails behind you.

“That,” You shout. “—is for being the world’s WORST wing-man!”

“[Y/N]... You don’t mean that.”

You meant that.

***

      A few days later, and you’re sitting in the campus library, buried in Calculus homework. If you were being completely honest, the past few days had consisted a little too much of ‘finding Lee Byounggon’s Instagram and Facebook’ and not enough ‘finding the derivative of f’(a)’. You may not have been prepared for your upcoming midterm, but you were, however, well informed on the kind of memes Lee Byounggon liked to use on Facebook circa 2011; knowing that Byounggon was an avid watcher of Naruto made him somewhat less intimidating in real life.

      You’re still working through your Calculus workbook when the silhouette of a particular someone looms over the table, and when you look up, he’s flashing that smile that gives stars a run for their money; you think maybe his shadow made the room a little brighter.

“Hey! Whatcha’ doing?” His voice rings, and you remove a headphone from your ear.

      Byounggon is wearing a sleek black crewneck and light grey sweatpants that hang low on his waist. His hair, unlike at the game, is neatly tussled, but it still has that vibrant sheen. He’s standing at the end of the table, and looking at you curiously; at his side, he holds a black drawstring bag.

“Calculus.” You groan, and his face twists to match yours. “What about you?”

He shrugs. “On my way to practice.” 

“Through the library?”

He laughs. “It’s a shortcut.” Then he pauses, and continues. “By the way, if you like watching us play, you should come to our game this weekend.”

“Yeah, I might! I like watching you guys play, it’s kinda... surprising?”

      Byounggon scrunches his eyebrows together and tilts his head inquisitively. His gaze, at the moment, is soft and gentle; and you wonder just how much that gaze would change if you told him basketball was anything but stimulating, and it was instead the smooth curve of his lips that had kept you on the edge of your seat. But of course, you knew you couldn’t tell him that.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Your face twists into a sideways smirk, and you think you should have a little fun. “I guess I just thought basketball players had to be tall?”

“Wow, wow, wow. I’m tall.” He argues. “Very tall.”

     Now, you lean back in your chair, and size him up and down; then you shake your head and grimace.

“Mmmm...I don’t know about that.”

Byounggon straightens his back, and at the same time, puffs out his chest. He gestures up and down, and stares at you wide eyed.

“I’m 180cm tall.” He reassures. “I measure myself everyday!”

You tilt your head. “A little obsessive, don’t you think?”

His face, while tight, breaks out into a wholesome laugh, and he bites his lower lip.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“Aren’t you gonna be late for practice?”

       For a moment, Byounggon sticks his tongue of his mouth and smiles. Then he bites the inside of cheek and shakes his head at you, wagging his finger disapprovingly.

“This isn’t over.” He ventures, flashing you that smile once more. And when he walks away from your table, looking over his shoulder every so often to make eye contact, you find yourself overwhelmed with fluttering emotion.

“I’m tall!” Byounggon shouts one last time into the silent library, and various heads, all buried in books, lift to stare at the both of you. You glare at him, but the smirk that tinges on your lips tells a different story.

       You’re still staring at the library’s double door entry when Lee Byounggon leaves.

***

       Somehow, it’s a Thursday evening and you find yourself sitting in the bleachers of Byounggon’s basketball practice, rather than going to the gym like you had promised yourself.

       Byounggon is jogging across the gymnasium floor and running drills; he is clad in a large grey hoodie and fitted black track pants. At the end of practice, he talks with his coach, and his eyes twinge in confusion when he sees you in the stands. He grabs his bag, and while everyone trails out of the gym, he jogs toward you.

“Hey! Have you been here the whole time?” He breathes, running a hand through his dampened hair.

“No, no, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Hyunsuk kept asking me to watch him practice so... here I am!”

Byounggon bites his lips, and his eyes narrow, like he’s had a realization. His lips stretch into a smirk.

“But.” He ponders. “Hyunsuk wasn’t at practice today.” 

Your throat grows tight. “Oh.”

His smile widens, and your face flushes a deep and transparent red.

“That is... so weird!” You exclaim dramatically, but Byounggon can hear the panic in your voice, and he’s giggling. You hope he can’t see the red of your cheeks underneath the gymnasium’s orange lighting, too.

“I-I should probably get going.”

You turn your body toward the gym’s exit, and as your footsteps get heavier and heavier, you feel Byounggon’s fingers clasp onto your shoulder.

“Wait, [Y/N]! I wanted to ask you... do you wanna maybe, uh, get some ice cream?”

“Yeah.” You beam. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

***

       With some persuasion, Byounggon leads you into the boy’s change room. He sits on one of the wooden benches, in front of the row of lockers, and he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Just give me a second, I’m gonna change out of this, and then we can get going.”

Then suddenly, without warning, he takes his sweatshirt off, and you, are left winded at the sight of a shirtless Lee Byounggon.

Before you can marvel at the way his muscles tightly outline his abdomen, you slap the palms of your hand over your eyes, and scream.

“Jesus, can you give me a warning before you take your shirt off like that?” You groan, eyes still shut tightly through the protection of your fingers. Byounggon, now shrugging a fresh black t-shirt over his shoulders, chuckles deeply into the empty locker room, and the heavenly sound bounces off the walls. You know he’s coming closer because you can hear the sound of his footsteps, and your warm cheeks seem to fire up again. He outstretches a hand onto the crown of your head and ruffles your hair.

“You’re cute.” He says affectionately, and you suddenly think your hands would be better suited if they covered your cheeks, and not your eyes.

***

“I am not letting you buy butter pecan that’s disgusting.”

“What’s wrong with butter pecan? It’s like... sweet and savory.”

“Ohmygod, I’m gonna barf.”

       Byounggon sits back onto his chair and shoves another spoonful of butter pecan ice cream into his mouth, and you playfully gag in response. He’s laughing and rolling his eyes, but in the sparkling daylight, he still looks like something out of a spring catalogue. The sky’s vivid blue is complementary to the golden hue of his skin, and against the rosy pink of his lips, you think butter pecan might not be so bad.

      The two of you are sitting on the patio of an ice cream shop just off of campus, and maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but the scenery seems to amplify every emotion you feel. The pots of summer flowers at the shop’s entryway makes your anticipation grow tenfold, but the winding music of passing shop vendors soothes your beating heart with every note.

“Wait, hold on sec.” Byounggon mumbles.

      He leans forward into the patio table and his face, only centimeters from yours, makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat. His eyes are focused on something you can’t quite capture, and he outstretches a tentative hand to the side of your face. His fingers brush against the expanse of your jaw, and instinctively, you nuzzle into his touch. You think he might kiss you, because there are twinkling hearts where his eyes should be, and you feel your lips part in preparation. Byounggon’s fingers latch onto a single strand of your hair, and he twiddles with the bottom in between the pads of this thumb and index finger.

“You had ice cream in your hair.” He explains quickly, and then he moves back to his original position, and you hope you don’t look too disappointed.

“O-Oh.” You laugh. “Thanks.”

“So are you gonna come to the game tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“I hope you do.”

      The smoothness in Byounggon’s reply makes chills run up and down your spine, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. He notices the rashness of his words and before you can respond, the words rush out of his mouth.

“B-because Hyunsuk!” He interjects. “I uhhh... know he’d be really bummed if you didn’t come.”

        Maybe it’s the vibrancy of the sun, or the sugar high, but you suddenly feel a rush of confidence spring through your body. Lee Byounggon may have been illusive, but he was always so candid, too; you could hear it in the airy quality of his laugh, like he’s gasping for oxygen, like he’s searching for answers, like he’s uncertain; uncertain about you.

You grin at him, and he licks his lips expectantly.

“Nice save, Gon.”

He looks down at his fingers.

“I’ll be there,” You bite your lip. “For sure.”

He looks up again.

      As you walk away from Byounggon with lips perched in a shameless smile, the giddy feeling in the pits of your stomach just might consume you. He’s still staring when you look over your shoulder, and if you listen close enough, you think you can hear him whispering to himself in complete elation;

Gon.

***

      ( Later that evening, you are home in your dorm and deconstructing the events that occurred only minutes prior, and your heart palpitates in your chest. It isn’t until you change into your pajamas when you notice it; a crumpled frock of red fabric shoved into your backpack.

      Your mind races when you guess what it might be, but the feelings don’t set in until you unfold the red fabric, and the stark white outline of the number nine greets you with a blinding sheen. Blinding like those eyes, Ike that smile.

His jersey.

      You don’t know when he’d put it there, or how, but those questions seem irrelevant when you push the material against your nose and breathe his soft scent; like spearmint and timber. You throw yourself against your bed and grin wholeheartedly.

That night you dream of Byounggon.

And now you think he might be dreaming of you, too. )

***

       You decide to wear Byounggon’s jersey underneath a sweatshirt because it all feels a little too cliche. Well, that, and because you don’t think you’ll be able to take Hyunsuk’s incessant teasing when your heart is beating out of your chest.  

      The gymnasium, like usual, is filled to the brim with amped-up sports fanatics, and if you squint your eyes, you think you can make out the face of Coach Yang standing across the court. (Although, you really wish you hadn’t; his sense of fashion seemingly degrades by the day.) This time, Hyunsuk is warming up with the rest of his teammates, with Byounggon, and you are sitting alone on the bleachers with a tight smile.

      You watch as Byounggon looks into the crowd, once, twice over, and when he finally makes contact with you, you watch as his eyebrows push together in subtle concentration. He beams a sideways grin, but it’s not quite as full as you’re used to. That’s when you push down the collar of your sweatshirt, reveal the patch of scarlet fabric beneath, and you think Lee Byounggon might look happier than he would have if he won this game.

      Moments later, Hyunsuk pushes himself next to Byounggon, catches your eye, and begins to wave erratically. Then he takes in your expression, and then Byounggon’s, and he nods slyly at you, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s worlds away, and yet, you give in, laughing with full vigor.

***

      You know Byounggon’s team has won the game when Hyunsuk removes his jersey off his body and flings it into the air, and then he screams like a madman across the court (somehow, over the crowds’ cheering). Byounggon, on the other hand, hugs his teammates, and once the chaos settles, he turns to look at you.

      You are standing in the bleachers, your sweatshirt now long gone, and the bright red of his jersey, on you, gives him butterflies. Since his victory, you’ve been jumping in the stands with the rowdy onlookers beside you, and for the first time ever, you think you might’ve actually enjoyed a basketball game. When Byounggon waves a hand at you, you take it as a sign, and run down countless steps, all the way to court-side where he stands waiting eagerly.

“Congratulations!” You shout, and he’s surprised when you fling yourself into his outstretched arms. His fingers intertwine in your hair, and he laughs onto the top of your head, placing a small kiss at it’s crown.

“Thank you.” He mumbles into your hair; a gesture with such tenderness, you feel yourself overridden with energy.

      Byounggon pulls away after a few moments, and his hands are still clasped tightly at the small of your back, yours around his neck. He doesn’t let go. Now, you’re staring intently into his eyes, remarking the scarlet hue of his cheeks—from the game, or this moment, you’re not sure—Byounggon doesn’t close the space between your lips because he’s too busy immersing himself in the gentle sparkle of your eyes; so you take it upon yourself, and kiss him amorously.

      His lips, thought slightly chapped, are fervent against yours, and part with a tenacity you’ve never quite encountered. You sigh into his mouth, and he softens his lips, brushing gently over yours; it’s chaste and sweet. You pull away when you feel your body grow weak, and you realize when you’re kissing Byounggon, breathing feels like a second priority.

       He is gasping into the hot air of the gymnasium, and you are biting your lips, hands still loosely clasped around his neck. His hands slide from the base of your jaw and toward your cheek, pinching softly.

“I hope that was okay.” You whisper. He moves his lips to your ear.

“It was perfect.”

       Before you can sigh in relief, hug him tighter, kiss him more, you can see Hyunsuk approaching through the corner of your eyes. He runs toward you with his lips outstretched into a wide grin, and as he comes closer, he opens his arms and envelops the two of you in a group hug.

“I take credit for every part of this.” Hyunsuk states with glee, and you smack him upside the head.

He flicks you against the forehead. “I’m way too happy to complain about your abuse right now.”

       And though the three of you erupt in boisterous laughter, and you shake your head fiercely into their embrace, you think there might be a layer of truth to Hyunsuk’s words. Had Choi Hyunsuk seemed a little less desperate, perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself at that first game, pressed against rampant bodies, and subject to the boy who you now swore had your heart.

       You may not have been the sports fanatic you envisioned, and now, after all this time, maybe you still weren’t; but you did like Lee Byounggon. And now, every time you count to ten, the number nine feels a little bit warmer.

***

a/n: if u made it this far, thank u so much for reading!! im sorry this is mostly plot driven and not necessarily beautiful writing, but i just wanted to post smth cute for gon’s bday!! as always, feedback is appreciated, and ilu all!!! 😚😚💞

[mas-ai]

Not necessarily related to the ask meme but what do you like abt eiichi? I'm glad u do like him, he's a very special and good boy, but he's polarizing and I'm always curious as to why people like him

Okay, I just want to get one thing out of the way before we get into this because this is going to be a bit of a rollercoaster. (It's me, isn't it always? but i mean hey ho unfollow if u want because your dash is your own and i want you to be happy with who you're following. it's your account, you have the right to unfollow who you like. c:)

Disclaimer: (I know you won’t take this out of context, this is just in case someone comes across this post and only this post of mine and doesn’t read through my endless devotion to all charas and takes this all wrong ;;)  I haven't seen Legend Star in the mindset of being an Eiichi stan and I haven't listened to HEAVENS radio. I fully believe that Legend Star does not give us enough of an insight into HEAVENS nor does them justice as characters being introduced into the "main" Prince roster. Personally, I consider them as still flat characters despite their developments, that are still in the process of being fleshed out. That said, I haven't seen LS in some time and I don't remember every single detail. Anything I say here is based on my awful memory, headcanons and current mindset with the knowledge I have that will absolutely shift, change and grow in the future - just like Eiichi. I will also say, some mentions of character hate are below and some things are going to be worded a little harshly based on -past- opinions and first reactions (way back when Revolutions was released). I do not support character hate. All boys are best boys and all of the characters are fantastic, even if some of them are not among my personal favourites.

OKAY! LET'S GO, FRIEND.

 ...... I know you asked something extremely simple but I'm not a simple person and I kind of just want to vent write this in hopes a lot of good hcs and stuff come out of it. My short answer to you is:The thing I like the most about Eiichi is how he is written to be a negative foil to STARISH as a whole in the manner that Quartet Night attempted to be. QN did not succeed in this role, but Eiichi remains the powerhouse that introduces new problems into the narrative without being a complete asshole. He retains a personality that is complex, narrow-minded and realistic; he's that piece of the puzzle that brings this fantastic fantasy life into real life because we all know 'that guy'. But sometimes we fail to see two things: 'that guy' has a life and reasons for why the way he is -- and more often than not, sometimes, we ourselves our 'that guy' in some situations. His flaws.

When Eiichi, Nagi and Kira were introduced it seemed at first to me like they were nothing more than a complete money-grab an attempt to re-invest in an anime that perhaps was beginning to meet its end in terms of where it could go with a plotline. It was obvious that Nanami was going to remain impartial and oblivious to the advances of those around her and while we were going to continue to get singular episodes as "routes" no real romance was going to occur. Moving STARISH forward as a whole, something heavily built upon in the first season, was entirely dropped. There was starting to be a major lack of overarching plot for the series. Yes, every specific episode had a main plotpoint - but the anime was starting to lack an overall goal. Nanami herself seemed to slowly start to disappear from the series and ghost into the background and the characters already know each other for the most part; they weren't tossed into too many new situations to continue developing. 

We see so many "bits" of things just sort of.. very lightly ghosted over in the anime and then left to be forgotten. Examples through the seasons include Natsuki's backstory, Ai's story, Reiji/Aine, Ranmaru's history (is it even canon to the anime he was friends with Masato and Ren when they were younger?) - and of course, Camus, who hasn't had a lick of development. (I love you Camus. Anime does not do you justice.)  

Before this too is taken out of context, I want to state the anime is my favourite media of the series and I'm not hating on it at ALL. It's what got me into UtaPri and kept me in UtaPri for as many years as I've loved it and is very near and dear to my heart - I'm just saying, it's not delving into plotlines that it could. It's remained the light-hearted, airy, soft anime where all problems tied off at the end of each episode and that was that. Short and sweet. Yes, the story does move toward Triple S: but let's be real, we all know the outcome from the second the concept is introduced. STARISH will win. Of course they will. It's about STARISH. 

Heck, Revolutions' plotline is about their change and becoming on par with Quartet Night. Quartet Night wasn't done justice in the anime at all. I'm so thankful we got more of them in Revolutions,  but they seemed to have this strange "friendly but rival but friends but also lol maybe we'll take Nanami from you but none of us are actually going to propose that to Shining ever". It was just this weird loop. Again, all good boys, love the anime, great dynamics between them - but the plot as a whole was just... it was starting to get stale and repetitive with the sole focus on being this one tiny part of the world.

Enter HE☆VENS. Or, more specifically -- enter Eiichi.

☆ They expand upon the world of UtaPri quite significantly and open so many doors. (Gates? lolol.) Not only is another group brought into the mix without an established relationship that will dominate dynamics (senpai/kouhai, where STARISH must lean on Quartet Night and QN must mentor which kind of takes away from the "rivalry" potential.) They're starting from absolute scratch and bringing in an entirely new agency. From the way it's translated, it also sounds like HE☆VENS may have been around before STARISH but been established after Quartet Night. We're also introduced to Raging, who provides a lot more backstory for Shining.

☆ HE☆VENS poses a legitimate threat to taking away Nanami AND have made attempts to do so. They tried to force her to join them in 2000%, then tried to steal her in Revolutions and eventually asked her to join them in Legend Star. Eiichi made most of these attempts himself.

☆ Eiichi is extremely sly and smart. When his group was not disbanded, he instigated efforts to better everyone and they spent a year filling the group and practicing to storm in at the end of Revolutions. He knows full well that the winner wouldn't take their victory against HE☆VENS and would want a decisive concert. Which, potentially could have meant Quartet Night or STARISH being disbanded should HE☆VENS win. 

☆ While the rest of the group does soften considerably through Legend Star, EIICHI DOES NOT. He retains every fiber of the personality we first meet him with, at all times. To better explain the point here, I'll make an example of Nagi who originally came off as extremely bratty and high-handed who didn't really treat his bandmates that well. Later on, he's softened and instead of being high-handed, he adopts an annoyance similar to Syo's in most situation and loses that more brash side of him that we see when he slaps Natsuki's hand away - like with Shion. He has a clear affection for them and becomes a little more kind around them and not just in private with them. Eiichi, on the other hand, is developed in a different way, where he continues to be that strong-minded individual who acts out of lack of self-confidence. Fake it until you make it. Even when in private with his bandmates, he continues to keep up all the attitude we first meet him with. He continues to try to keep control of every situation and be a reliable leader, even to the point of emotionally manipulating even his bandmates (we see this even more with Otoya, too.) He grows, yes. Does he /change/? .. I don't really think so. Do we still get to see more sides of him? Yes. Do we see how he displays his love for others? Yes. But this is all done without 'losing' that edge he was first introduced to have. He is extremely, extremely responsible - but even when the time comes for consequences, he remains true to himself by manipulating the situation. He takes the fall for others, he uses his words to change perspectives, he takes control, he remains a leader.

☆ He doesn't change his views. When he's trying to bring out what he sees as the best in Otoya, he does it in a manipulative way that is in line with his personality and is an echo of how he was treated as he was growing up. He doesn't try to "inspire and move Otoya's heart through the power of music" like he might've if he fell head over heels in love with Nanami and had those feelings change who he was as a character. (Some just seem to swap personalities completely after falling for her, to me?) We see the flaws in him as this happens and how some people's minds are sometimes slightly skewed by their perspectives as Otoya goes 'darker' and Eiichi is pleased with how things are progressing. It's not being done to intentionally destroy him, but rather bring out another side of Otoya - and honestly, it looked to me like he was ready to offer a position in HE☆VENS to him. Which, again, is an active act against STARISH.

☆ this boy puts up with legitimately zero shit and if someone is not treating one of his boys right, he doesn't stand for it. i'm a bit concerned about potential discourse so i'm not going to name characters or exact situations out of respect for the characters & their fans, but there are some points in the series where certain characters treat others like. absolute. garbage. nothing is done about it. nobody has enough of a backbone to stand up and call the behaviour out, save maybe one. it's written off and dismissed. eiichi doesn't put up with it for a second. if you fuck him over, or upset someone in his group, or make a mistake -- just like how he has known ALL HIS LIFE -- there is a consequence. if he has to be the one to give it to you, he damn well will.

☆ eiichi has a backbone and is probably one of the most incredibly written characters in the anime yet despite being a flat character.

☆  ALSO HE IS INCREDIBLY PASSIONATE. LIKE SO, SO INCREDIBLY PASSIONATE IN A WAY THAT PUTS EVEN MASATO TO SHAME. Or rather, not to shame, but he has this... aggressive, confrontational, go-getter passion. An ambitious passion. For everything he does, for everyone who takes more than twelve seconds to give him the time of day and get to know him for who he is. He’s where he is because of those people and he just... he shows it by trying to be this rock that everyone around him can rely on all the time but really he is suffering so much on the inside. But he’s so selfless and not in a “look at how selfless i am!! pity me!!” way. He just genuinely wants to support those who stand by him. this is one loyal baby boy.

I have five thousand more points I could drive on and on about, but I'm going to cut this here because I'm starting to get a little bit upset about how he (and his beloved HE☆VENS are treated.) Anyway, I have to admit that what started my love for Eiichi was extremely small. It was nothing more than an answer to an ask that I wasn't even the one to send in. If it wasn't for someone with one of the most beautiful shows of love for this series that I have ever seen and their simple but beautiful art, some of the cutest I've ever seen - if it wasn't for how deeply they care about their blog and followers and the detail and care put into their work... I probably wouldn't have even given Eiichi the time of day. This blog was one of the first I ever followed and absolutely one that makes my day with their content. So thank you, @uta-no-fakku-sama for being such a massive part of this fandom in my eyes. Thank you for all you do and thank you for introducing me to a new favourite boy and putting up with the ridiculous amount of asks I send in, especially for him - I think I'm literally every anon... most of them, for sure.

So there we go! Those are just some of the reasons why I like him so much, or maybe even just a massive and overblown explanation about one main reason I like him? I don’t know. I hope this was satisfactory!

[bitofthisandthat]

gamblealife said: 🌿 ( For Mark & Gabby :3 )

*♡ ˙ ˖ ✧･ﾟ —  holiday ask meme  !  —  ･ﾟ✧ ˖ ˙ ♡ *

send  🌿  for our muses to be caught under mistletoe 

Honestly, Gabby had never really been to a real holiday party that wasn’t just a cover for her sneaking in to receive ominous orders from someone there, or to nail a target she had been sent to...get. She watched idly from the back as employees and ‘friends’ drowned out their inhibitions with booze or made obnoxious fools of themselves on the floor. She crooked a brow, stably watching with her one drink in hand, silently judging them all, of course. She didn’t care to know any of them, they were employees, investors, and random ‘beautiful people’ he probably invited to generate buzz. An irritating holiday song came on, but everyone went nuts, especially as soon as the lights began to reverberate between red and green. That was her cue to step out. She gave an exasperated sigh, and rolled her eyes, taking her drink and pushing the nearest door open, getting her coveted fresh air at last, she was halfway through the doors, when she felt a hand come down on her forearm, and pull her back in. Of course it was him, of course he was acutely aware of where she was in the room at all times. She crooked a brow, wondering at this point, who was guarding who?

“Sorry, this isn’t something I can take for more than few moments at time...I mean, it’s different from going OUT, I’m fine with crowds and stupid people. Somewhat. But all this co-worker camaraderie is making me sick.” She took a LONG sip, waiting to hear his rebuttal, but instead, she got a trill of laughter.

“But I’m okay with you.” She squinted, feeling a little looser than usual. Obviously, due to the triple cocktail she had been nursing. “I don’t know why, because most of the day, you’re an unprincipled motormouth that drives me up a wall.” She cleared her throat, swishing her drink. “Sometimes, I’m looking over at you, and I think: GOD, I just want you to just. Shut. up. Shut it. Just shut it up and shut. UP. For at least 5 minutes.” She bent over slightly, gesturing with her hands, nearly spilling a few drops on him. She didn’t seem to notice how close she was, but she did notice his eyes widen a tick before his beak curled slightly into a sputtered cackle, then exploded into laughter. She pressed a finger across his mouth. “Shhhh. See. Again with the loud. I know you can be quieter, I’ve seen you do it. Your voice drops to a lower register, and you get soooo serious and focused, and then it does that thing where it vibrates in the back of your throat like velvety ice cream...” She visually shuddered, and took another gulp. "But...then...you do that stupid, loud squawking again.” She had gotten closer to him, one hand leaning on his shoulder for balance while the other gestured toward him, right in the splash zone.

She finally glanced over to his lapel, noticing that the second gesture DID get a bit of her drink on him. “I am SO sorry. Let me get that...” She set her nearly empty glass on a wandering waiter’s tray, and dragged Mark by the wrist to an alcove, where she spotted some napkins. She patted at the spill, but he didn’t say anything about her mishap, nor anything about what she had said. Her focus was awkwardly gentle, overly focused on the ‘clean up’ when she felt his hand go to the small of her back. She glanced up at him, and he nodded slyly to the top of the alcove, where there was something she hadn’t noticed in her slightly inebriated haze. Grey eyes scanned up to see a bough, and right center above them was the mistletoe. She straightened suddenly, her full height, a couple inches over his. She was a little drunk, but she was still aware, and she could feel a pit sink from her stomach down to her toes, weighing her down so she couldn’t move. Still, she cleared her throat. “I...don’t...think this tradition really matt--” she was jerked forward, the hand at her back lurching her close again, “---I mean...it could matter.” 

She nodded forward as if hypnotized, letting him drag her round so she was planted against the wall, he leaned into her hip, pulling her slightly downward so they were more eye-level. Painted lids hooded, as her lashes blinked slowly, against the warmth of his breath. She willingly sunk down against him so he could cup her cheek and bring her into a kiss. She crooked her head with his, letting him slowly taste her; her fists curled up in midair in slight protest, but loosened and clasped at his shoulders instead. Finally, he withdrew slowly, backing away with a smirk. Her eyes blinked open, wide with a rushing in her brain. She straightened again, eyes still wide and locked to his, her beak in a surprised ‘O.’

“Hm...” She blinked at him again, getting a cocky, brow raise from the parrot. “I need air...cold...cold....ohhhhh so cold, freezing air. Excuse me..”

@gamblealife​

[popatochisssp]

Fur a Good Time, Call... 3/15

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus & Reader Chapter Warnings: none

You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies and can’t imagine a better job for yourself than looking after cats and dogs all day, even when the work is hard and often gross. What can you say? You’ve got a lot of love to give!

You’re just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who’s been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can’t resist investigating…

AO3 Link

Crushed

Sometimes, you kept weird hours at night.

You had a bad habit of coming home from work and immediately passing out, only to wake up around ten or eleven at night and have some space to fill until you could get back to sleep again.

Occasionally you made do with the slim pickings of nighttime TV or made yourself some food that you probably shouldn’t be eating so late, but mostly you resorted to screwing around on the internet with your phone.

That was how you found out that Sans kept weird hours, too.

You had stumbled across one of those unfortunate neon sign burnouts—one ‘Elmhurst Emergency & Trauma Center’ that became the ‘ Im hur t Emergency & Trauma Center’— and immediately thought of somebody who would appreciate it.

Before you could reason with yourself that it was after midnight and you had literally never sent Sans a text before and this was a hell of an opener with no context, you’d sent off the photo.

A response came not ten minutes later.

PUNbelievable: lol thanks for that, Pap just yelled at me to keep it down.

You: Sorry, not sorry!

And that was the humble beginning of your textual friendship with Sans.

You texted back and forth about a lot of things. Most of it was silly stuff you found online (you’d been right, Sans did appreciate memes) but you were surprised by how many topics could arise from that kind of thing.

You: No way you have that many.

PUNbelievable: you doubt my hoarding ability? [IMG-1]

You: Holy shit, so that’s what 86 rocks looks like. Congrats?

PUNbelievable: and those are just the pretty ones. i got some more in shoeboxes and stuff.

You: You have shoes?!

PUNbelievable: hey hey hey what do you take me for, some kind of fancypants? no shoes, just the boxes.

You’d even started to go a little out of your usual way to find things Sans might get a kick out of. You started following a couple geology-themed blogs just so you’d occasionally find something nerdy to share.

You: [IMG-24]

PUNbelievable: whoa, perfect cleavage, thanks. yours?

You: Not mine. Perfect, though? Really? I just thought it was gneiss.

PUNbelievable: calcite, actually.

You: LOL!

Completely by accident, you’d also discovered his love of cat photos. He sent them to you often as reaction images, some he probably just found online but a lot you recognized as cats from the shelter.

He admitted to you that pretty much whenever he got a free moment at work, he was in the cat room, picking up or poking or otherwise gently harassing somebody.

PUNbelievable: most of them are just chill little dudes, they’re great. i love it when they get happy and start vibrating, that’s the best.

You: You don’t have to convince me, I love every one of those fuzzbutts, especially when they purr! I think I just might be more of a dog-person.

PUNbelievable: really? i thought you were a human-person.

You: Hilarious, spoken like a true cat-person. I should’ve put you as Good@Cats in my phone.

PUNbelievable: what am i now?

You: PUNbelievable.

PUNbelievable: what that’s great!

PUNbelievable: keep it!

PUNbelievable: it’s perfect!

A triple-text and the first time you’d ever seen him use exclamation points: how could you say no to that?

It didn’t take long before you caught yourself thinking of Sans as a friend—not just a work-friend, an actual friend—and you weren’t positive, but you were pretty sure he thought of you the same way.

For one thing, when you talked to him at the shelter, he actually talked back. It was a little thing, but it was so unlike the clipped and stiff replies he gave when other people tried to make conversation that it was a noticeable difference.

Sans’ silence had seemed so antisocial and mysterious back before you knew him. Now that you did, it seemed infinitely obvious that the man was just an awkward dork who wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t want to bug anybody so he split the difference by saying as little as possible.

He smiled a little wider when he saw you, though, and mostly came to you now when he’d finished a task and wasn’t sure what else needed doing. He was always available when you were about ready to go to lunch and happily gushed to you over how well his brother’s schooling was going, and he listened attentively when you talked about your own life, even when it couldn’t have been very interesting to hear about.

Sans had to be a friend: you couldn’t think of anybody else you’d rather send videos at three in the morning, and that was the truest measure of friendship you could think of.

Speaking of which…

You: [LINK: Sad Cat Diary]

PUNbelievable: oh big mood.

You snicker a little at the mental image of Sans, huge and spooky-looking, trying to sneak up on a tiny thumbtack in the wall.

You’re glad you went for it that day when you asked Sans to lunch. It was impulsive and a little nerve-wracking to put yourself out there like that, but it netted you a really good friend.

You couldn’t regret that, not even a little bit.

-

Buddy was with you again, which seemed superfluous to say at this point, but there he was.

His clicker training had gone incredibly well—the food-motivated little gremlin that he was—and you’d gotten him to pick up all the basic commands that people expected out of their dogs and didn’t want to have to teach them.

He knew sit, stay, drop it (though he was stubborn and sometimes pretended he didn’t), and even shake! He’d also pretty quickly picked up when and where he was supposed to do his business, and after all the socialization you’d been doing with him he didn’t flinch or shy away from being touched by people anymore.

With all that and his clean bill of health from the vet, Buddy was almost ready to go up for adoption.

There was just one small formality left on the list to check off, and it was how Buddy interacted with other animals. Since he spent so much time in the dog room, around other dogs, you already had a pretty good idea of how he was with his own species, so you’d gotten your boy leashed up, asked Sans to snag a couple cats for you, and met in the playroom.

Based on Buddy’s walk awhile back, you had a feeling you knew how this would go, but better to get it all done according to the shelter’s protocols.

Sans was standing there waiting for you when you and Buddy walked in. At your advice, he’d grabbed Snickers and Button, two of the more easygoing cats you currently had with a history of not batting the shit out of curious dog noses.

You had to cover a laugh at the sight of Sans, though. Button was fully latched onto Sans’ arm, all four limbs wrapped around it while she chewed at the cuff of his sleeve, and Snickers had perched herself up on his shoulder to paw at his face while he ineffectively tried to lean away.

“You good over there?” you asked, just to cover your bases.

“yep. as you can see, i’m a ladies man.”

You bent down, undoing Buddy’s leash and giving him a quick pat. “Would you be offended if I made the obvious ‘drowning in pussy’ joke?”

“yes, i would,” Sans said. “that’s just vulgar. low-brow. have some class, wouldja?”

You laughed, which had clearly been Sans’ intention. He grinned proudly even as he knelt and tried to shoo the cats off his body, a little easier to do now that there was something else for them to focus on.

Buddy, for his part, was reacting pretty much exactly how you’d expected. He was alert and very obviously curious…but also extremely unsure about these small bendy-looking dogs that were fearlessly trotting up to him.

“you think he’ll be alright?”

You shrugged. “I think so,” you decided, “more or less. I wouldn’t put him down as a great choice for homes with other pets, but if they’re friendly like the girls here, I don’t think he’d be in trouble.”

Buddy had mustered enough courage to give Snickers a good sniff…only to recoil a little as she sniffed him, something that was obviously uncalled for and totally unpredictable.

“that’s what this is for, yeah?” Sans asked, and you turned to face him. “you’re seein’ what kinda place he’d be a good fit for?”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s pretty much what we’ve been doing the whole time he’s been here. Adoption’s the goal: we don’t have as many rules and procedures as a rescue, but we still want everybody to end up somewhere good.”

Sans’ red eye moved from you to the animals. Button was trying to loop around Buddy’s feet, which Buddy was not sure he was totally cool with.

“so…what’s ‘somewhere good’ for buddy?”

The question made you consider it. “Well… he’d probably need somebody a little patient. He’s still nervous around new stuff and needs awhile to get used to it.”

“sure.”

“Ideally an only-pet situation,” you added. You gestured to where Snickers was playfully trying to catch Buddy’s tail while Buddy hastily tucked it and scrambled around to keep her in his line of sight. “Can you imagine him having to deal with that all day? Or worse, a territorial cat?”

“nah, he’s a lover, not a fighter.”

“Exactly! Big ol’ marshmallow.” You smiled fondly. “Buddy just needs a place where somebody can be his best friend.”

“so…you, right?”

Cue the mental record-scratch.

“Huh?”

Sans clearly didn’t think he’d said anything unusual. “everything you just described is you. you’re patient, no pets, you’re already his best pal. why can’t you take ‘im?”

“I…” You frowned. “I can’t.”

Sans didn’t say anything, but you felt his eye on you so you turned to watch Buddy again. He’d laid down to keep his underside protected, and the cats were rubbing up against him on either side.

It was adorable.

“I can’t,” you said again. “I…work way too much. I’m always here, y’know? I’d feel awful leaving…a dog,” you pointedly don’t say Buddy’s name, “alone in the house all day long. And then half the time when I get home, I just go straight to bed, so I wouldn’t even be able to play with him or give him the attention he should get.”

You chanced a look at Sans. His expression…wasn’t judgmental. Maybe a little…sad? But he wasn’t judging you.

You sighed. “It just wouldn’t be fair to him,” you say finally. “I’ve always believed you shouldn’t get a pet if you can’t take care of it. Buddy’s a good boy, he’ll go to a good home real fast. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“……if you say so,” Sans replied eventually. “guess i just always wondered why ya didn’t have your own pet when ya take care of ‘em all day. i know i thought havin’ a pet was pretty cool.”

Was? Oh, no.

“Did you…did you lose a pet, Sans?”

You shouldn’t be so surprised. The monsters went through hell underground, it should follow that no one was exempt from it, not even pets… but the thought still hurt your heart.

“yeah,” Sans said, and you ached with sympathy. You reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm when he continued, “Pap and i used to have a pet rock.”

Your expression flattened. “What do you mean, ‘used to’?” you demanded. “You’ve got like a hundred pet rocks.”

“nah, those are just rocks, they’re not pets,” Sans insisted. “not like rocky was.”

“……His name was Rocky.” Sans nodded. “I am…ninety percent sure you’re fucking with me.”

Sans put a hand to his chest, like an affronted southern belle. “would i do that?”

“Yes.”

“i’m hurt,” Sans said. “really. cut deep. rocky was a very important part of our family, i mourn his loss every day.”

“Okay, so what happened to him?” you wondered, suspicion evident.

“ran away.”

“…………”

“Pap blamed me for it,” Sans continued, shaking his head. “he was probably right to. i never fed him his sprinkles on time. didn’t appreciate him the way i should’ve, he was my rock and i just wasn’t there for him…”

“I’m a hundred percent now,” you said. “You’re fucking with me.”

Sans laughed, loudly and unabashedly. It made you laugh a little too, even though you shoved him in the arm right after.

“You’re such a jerk!”

“seriously, though,” he said. “if you ever meet Papyrus, ask ‘im about rocky, he’ll tell ya’.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, tone dripping with sarcasm. You went over to rescue Buddy from his wannabe feline friends and added, “You better hope I don’t meet Papyrus because I’m gonna remember this and ask him and you’re gonna be exposed as a total liar!”

It wasn’t until you’d gotten Buddy’s leash back on and body-blocked your poor dog friend a little from Button and Snickers that you realized your designated cat-wrangler hadn’t answered you.

“Sans?”

He had his phone out and a serious expression on his skull as he penned something in. You’d learned only a week back that he kept a lot of reminders in his phone. He said it had been a major lifesaver to have something with him that could remember important dates and times for him, even when he couldn’t.

“Did you forget something?” you ask him gently.

Sans took a second to reply. “nah, just…remembered something i wanna do later. don’t wanna forget about it.”

“Okay.” You didn’t dwell on it. “Can you get Heckle and Jeckle here for me? I think Buddy’s had enough friendship for today.”

“yeah, sure.”

Sans scooped up the cats for you with only minimal mewing as protest, and you gave Buddy a scratch at his neck.

“Good boy,” you reassured him, leading him back to his kennel.

You were a little distracted, trying to decide how his adoption description should go.

You’d post it on the shelter website before you left work today.

-

The next day had you feeling…a little annoyed.

A new employee started today, somebody else’s young relative if his last name and obvious resemblance to your coworker were any indication, and no one had ever made you hate nepotism so much in your life.

You tried to rein it in: he was young and it was literally his first day, probably his first ever job and you knew there was always a learning curve. You wanted to respect that!

But… you might feel a little more forgiving if it seemed like he even sorta cared about the shelter and what you all did here.

You couldn’t speak to anyone else’s experience with him, but every time so far you’d tried to show him where something was or what the procedure is for such-and-such, he was looking off into the middle distance and nodding his head when he thought you were looking for an answer.

His phone buzzed once while you were talking and he broke direct eye-contact with you to respond to it.

You knew right then that he was somebody only in it for the paycheck. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, a job was a job, but he could at least have some decorum and try to look like he wasn’t bored of being there right in front of the person training him!

It was even worse because today was a day Sans wasn’t working. You couldn’t even complain to him about the new guy, or ask him to cover all the stuff he probably wasn’t doing that you’d have to go do yourself later.

Needless to say, you were already in a not-so-great mood when he came up to you in the middle of litterbox emptying around mid-afternoon asking for your attention—by the wrong name.

You didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I can take a minute. What’s up?”

“The front desk girl called back. She said a guy wants to see a dog?”

…helpful. “Did she say anything else?” you prompted. “We got a lot of dogs here.”

He squinted, seeming to think about it. “Uhhh… I think it was Buddy? Or something like that.”

You weren’t quite prepared for the way your stomach dropped when he said the name. To cover it you spoke quickly, “Okay, thank you, I’ll go handle that. Can you finish cleaning the litterboxes for me?”

He sighed deeply, muttering, “I guess,” but you were already shucking off your gloves and heading to the sink to wash your hands. You could comfort yourself later with the knowledge that this guy couldn’t possibly last long here with an attitude like that. For now…

Oh, god.

You knew this was coming. You’d written up a great description for the website, and Buddy sat for his picture like a professional model: one ear flopped and the other pointed up with his pretty blue eyes and his tongue lolling happily out of his mouth.

He was a good boy and a beautiful dog, you knew he’d get adopted quick.

You just…hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

It’s not like you hadn’t gotten attached to dogs before. It happened a lot, actually, and it hurt a little each time watching them walk out the shelter door, but it had always been a light sting, easily soothed by the knowledge that they were going to a good home with people who’d love them.

But you had a terrible feeling that Buddy was going to hurt a lot more.

“How come you’re different, you little stinker?” you asked him, opening up his kennel and stepping in.

Buddy seemed oblivious to your sudden distress. He all but hopped off his cot when he saw you and the leash in your hand, his tail wagging while he sniffed at your pant leg in greeting and oh stars, this was going to be the last time he ever did that.

You got down on your knees to put his leash on. “C’mon, you gotta be a good boy. We’re gonna go meet your new dad.”

Because really, there wasn’t a question of if. It was like you’d told Sans, there wasn’t really a screening process or applications needed to take home a pet from here.

If you liked a dog, filled out the single sheet of paperwork, and paid the fee, that was your dog—and who wouldn’t like a sweetheart like Buddy once they met him?

You took a deep breath and got back to your feet. “Alright,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Alright. Let’s go, Buddy.”

The walk over to the lobby seemed shorter than it had ever been. You had to force yourself not to stop right before the doorway for ‘just a minute,’ knowing damn well that it wouldn’t be just a minute.

When you got there, there was only one person waiting in the lobby…and the sight of him nearly made you drop the leash.

He was a skeleton.

If you’d thought Sans was a big guy, the sight of this man scrunched into the almost comically small waiting chairs had instantly disabused you of the notion. It was hard to get a bead on exactly how tall he must be, since he was seated so politely with folded hands, but you’d guess he might be actually double your height, if not taller. He at least wasn’t built as broadly as your friend, but his overall length of limb seemed to make up for it and if it weren’t for his obvious good manners the sheer size of him might’ve been enough to make you a little nervous.

Well…his manners, the cobalt-blue squares of his (really cute) braces, and his matching glasses frames that were actually taped to the sides of his skull.

He spotted you almost the moment you walked in and rose to greet you.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, offering one massive, spindly hand for you to shake. “I’m Papyrus! It’s A Pleasure To Meet You.”

It was…interesting trying to figure out how to shake his hand in return with the obvious size difference, but he took pity on you and helped you make it work. You introduced yourself right back.

“Ah, Of Course,” he said when you told him your name, “Sans’ Human. He’s Told Me A Lot About You, All Good Things, Naturally!”

You laughed a little, feeling just a tiny bit nervous all of a sudden at the thought of Sans talking about you—and at being called ‘Sans’ human.’ “Likewise. Uh, congratulations on acing that test last week!”

Papyrus scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the sudden hint of denim-blue on his cheekbones. “Thank You, But Really, I Have No Idea Why Sans Would Brag About That To Anyone! Did He Tell You The Exam Was On The Human Skeletal System?”

“Pfft… No, he left that part out, I think.”

“I Didn’t Even Study, For Obvious Reasons,” he told you, gesturing broadly to himself. You suddenly noticed the vibrant rainbow tie-dye crop-top he was wearing, and the black jacket he had over it with intricately embroidered flowers stitched into the leather.

Sans had been so right: Papyrus was insanely cool.

“We’re Getting Off-Topic,” he declared, bending further from his already hunched position to look at the dog beside you. “This Must Be Buddy. Hello!”

Buddy’s nose went straight into the hand Papyrus reached out to him, sniffing with vigor as always.

“Ah, You Smell My Bone Cologne! You Must Be A Dog Of Excellent Taste, A Connoisseur Of Fine Smells!”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Buddy certainly is that,” you agreed. The cold dread that had pooled in your gut at the thought of Buddy being adopted today had curiously disappeared and it left you feeling lighter than air. “Why don’t we all head to the playroom for a bit? You can interact with him a little better in there than in the lobby.”

“Excellent Suggestion!” Papyrus said. “I Would Be Delighted!”

The skeleton followed you further into the shelter, ducking under door frames blatantly not built with his height in mind. You were glad that the playroom had a high ceiling so everyone would be comfortable there.

As soon as you were all through the door, you unclipped Buddy’s leash and wrapped it up around your hand. “Papyrus, you can go ahead and ask Buddy to bring you a ‘t-o-y,’ he knows what that word means and he’s good at fetch.”

“Oh, So Am I!”

“Really?”

“Yes, Unrivaled At Fetch In All Of Snowdin,” he said proudly before pausing and looking a tad hesitant. You noticed he had the same nervous gesture Sans had, of looking down and to the left, and you found it unspeakably endearing. “Well, I Was, Anyway, For A Time. I, Erm…Worked Quite Closely With The Canine Unit And My Fetch Time Was Always The Best Out Of All Of Them! My Training Regimen Hasn’t Been…As Rigorous As It Was Back Then, Though, So I Suppose I Can’t Say With Certainty That It’s The Same. I’ve Been Busy Lately, Even By My Own Standards!”

“I know the feeling,” you empathized. “Adding Buddy into the mix won’t be too much, will it?”

Papyrus laughed, a bright and booming ‘NYEH-HEH-HEH’ that totally disarmed you.

“I Don’t See How It Could Be,” Papyrus assured you. “Buddy,” the dog focused on him instantly, “Can You Bring Me A Toy?”

Buddy perked right up when he heard the word of fun-times and happily bounced off to pick his favorite, a spiky rubber hedgehog that had seen better days, but its squeaker still worked so it was The Golden Toy to many of the dogs here.

Papyrus seemed pleased to have the slimy thing dropped into his hand and he gave it a gentle lob across the room. Buddy went after it like a shot. Almost as if he knew his performance was being judged, he even jumped a little to snatch it right out of the air.

Papyrus gave a suitably impressed noise and patted Buddy on the head when he returned the hedgehog. “Well,” he said, giving the toy another toss, “He’s Smart And Fast And A Very Handsome Dog—He’s Already Met All My Standards!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised, I’m pretty fond of Buddy myself. I, uh, I have to admit, though, I am curious why…” You frowned, wondering if the thing you were about to ask was presumptive. “Did…Sans tell you? About Buddy?”

“Yes, Of Course!” Buddy brought the hedgehog back again and Papyrus put it to the side, abandoning the play in favor of scratching through Buddy’s black and white fur. “We Don’t Really Keep Secrets. I’ve Known About Buddy For Quite Awhile!”

“Oh. Right.” You cleared your throat. “Then, I guess I don’t have to give you the disclaimer about his one unfortunate biting incident? Which hasn’t been repeated!” you quickly added.

Papyrus didn’t seem concerned. “The Only Thing Unfortunate About That Incident Is That Sans Still Wears That Old Hoodie!” Buddy had rolled over onto his back and if his windmill of a tail was any indication, his new skeleton friend was very good at belly rubs. “It Speaks To Buddy’s Tenacity! I Admire A Dog Who’ll Protect Himself When He’s In Trouble!”

Not many people saw it that way—an aggressive dog was just an aggressive dog, even with extenuating circumstances. Papyrus’ perspective was…refreshing.

“Well… he’s not exactly a guard dog, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you cautioned. “Mostly, he runs away if he’s in trouble, so…”

“That’s Even Better! Unnecessary Conflict Is So…Unnecessary!” Papyrus grinned broadly at you. Even with his braces, it was a totally winning smile. “I Think Buddy Will Fit Right In At Our House!”

“That’s…that’s great!” you said and you sincerely meant it. “If you’re ready to take him home today, we can go back to the front and get everything settled.”

Papyrus agreed immediately.

On the way there, he seemed compelled to assure you that he was well-prepared for Buddy’s arrival. He’d read through as much dog-ownership literature as he could find online last night and purchased all the essentials as soon as the stores had opened this morning: kibble, a bed, a leash and collar set with bones on them—and how fashion-forward was it of dog-accessories to include bones in their designs? Papyrus was very impressed!

“…And Of Course, He’ll Get Plenty Of Exercise, I’ve Been Looking For A Jogging Buddy And He Already Has The Right Name For It!”

You laughed. “Papyrus, I can’t tell you how great that is to hear. I love knowing my dogs are going somewhere good for them. You know half the people who adopt don’t even fill out the form all the way?”

Papyrus looked at the piece of paper you handed to him. He flipped it over to see the blank backside and frowned. “What, Seriously???”

“Seriously. It's not technically required, mostly for record-keeping, so people just don't do it or leave a bunch of blanks. You wouldn’t believe how many of those have no addresses because people couldn’t be bothered to remember what street they lived on.”

“………” Papyrus started snickering. “Oh My God, How Embarrassing… Nyeh-Heh-Heh, I Really Shouldn’t Laugh,” he said, grabbing a pen and jotting down his information. “That Sounds Like Exactly The Kind of Thing Sans Would Do.”

“Does it really?”

“Sadly, Yes. If I’d Left This Up To Him, It Would All Be Blank Except For Maybe His Name. And Then He Wouldn’t Turn It In. And I’d Find It Three Weeks Later Crumpled Up In His Trash-Tornado.”

“That sounds…exactly right, actually.” Sorry, Sans, can’t defend you against completely true accusations!

The lobby was quiet for a few moments, filled only by the sound of Buddy’s panting and the scratching of the pen.

Then Papyrus spoke up again. “Actually… Is…. Feel Free Not To Answer, If It’s Something You Don’t Feel Comfortable Discussing, But… Sans.”

You waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. “Yes?” you prompted.

“He’s Not… Is He Like That Here?” Papyrus asked you, looking concerned. “I Know He’s Not Technically ‘Employed,’ But… He Does Things Here, Right? He Doesn’t Just… I Don’t Know, Sit In The Break Room All Day And Look Busy When Someone Important Walks By?”

You blinked, startled by the thought. “No, he doesn’t do that. He’s a big help around here. Actually,” you added, sheepish and a little quiet in case your voice carried, “I was kind of upset he wasn’t in today, ‘cause I don’t think I’m gonna get as much done without him around to lend a hand.”

You may as well have told Papyrus it was his birthday and every other holiday combined into one.

“Really? Oh, That’s Great!” He pressed a hand to his chest and heaved out a relieved sigh. You weren’t quite sure how that worked with a skeleton, but there it was. “I’m So Glad He’s Being Productive. I Knew This Place Would Be Good For Him! He’s Even Made Two Wonderful Friends!”

Oh, that meant you and Buddy, didn’t it? You think you might be flushing a little, but try to play it cool.

You and Papyrus get the adoption fee and all the other logistical stuff taken care of and soon enough, “That’s it, Buddy’s all yours, free and clear!”

“Thank You So Much For Your Assistance! And Obviously, Call Me Anytime!”

You paused. “Call you?”

“Yes, Of Course! My Number Is On The Form.” Papyrus seemed to notice you were still confused. “Sans Mentioned You May Want To Come Visit Buddy From Time To Time. You Seem Almost As Busy As I Am, We’d Probably Need To Align Schedules At Some Point To Make It Work.”

Sans mentioned…?

You put a pin in your train of thought. Hesitantly, you got out your phone and pulled the piece of paper closer. “Are you sure that’s alright?” you asked, just to make sure. “I, uh… I can’t say I don’t want to see Buddy again sometime, but….”

“Nonsense, Any Friend Of Sans Is Welcome Over Whenever.” Papyrus gave another quick pat to Buddy’s head. “And Any Friend Of Buddy Is Doubly Welcome!”

Good enough for you! You put his number in your contacts, just under ‘Papyrus’ for now. “You know,” you said as you did so, “we could be friends, too. If you wanted.”

When you looked up from your phone, you found Papyrus staring at you like…well, like he didn’t know what to say.

“…Really?”

“Sure?” Offering to be friends with somebody shouldn’t have been able to put a look of such touched elation on their face, but there was Papyrus looking like you’d just offered him the moon in a few short words.

“Oh! Well, That’s! That’s Fantastic! I Accept!” He was blushing blue again even as he laughed that cute laugh of his. “A Friend, Wowie!” He seemed to remember Buddy at his feet. “Two Friends! What A Day! I’m Sorry To Leave So Suddenly, But I Think I Have Some Energy to Run Off Right Now, Do You Mind?”

“Not at all,” you promised. “Go bond with your new dog.”

“I Will, And Thank You Again! Come Along, Buddy!”

Buddy spared a glance at you, seeming to wonder why you weren’t coming with, but he wasn’t concerned enough to hesitate more than a second before trotting after Papyrus out the door.

Buddy didn’t need to worry about never seeing you again, after all. Neither did you, for that matter.

All thanks to a certain meddling skeleton.

A skeleton that you called the second you went off the clock for lunch.

“y’ello?” he answered after a couple rings, sounding a little like you’d just woken him up.

You didn’t waste time feeling guilty about it. “Hey, did you tell your brother to adopt Buddy?”

“heheh, what? no.”

“Really? Because he said—”

“look, i don’t tell Papyrus to do anything,” Sans said flatly. “…but maybe i did mention that the cool dog was up for adoption, the one who tried to eat my terrible jacket that Pap hates. and that my pal at the shelter might be a little, uh… sad if he went real far away and they couldn’t see ‘im anymore. if he decided to go pick buddy up after that, that’s just serendipity, y’know?”

You huffed out an incredulous breath. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“did what?”

“You adopted a dog for me!”

“he’s a good dog. Papyrus can tire ‘im out when he’s not at work or studying and i’m not at the shelter every day, so i got ‘im the rest of the time. that’s what you were worried about, right? buddy gettin’ left alone too much?”

“Well…yeah.”

“so, problem solved, right? plus you can have visitation an’ stuff. long as you pay child support.”

You snorted loudly. “Child support?”

“yeah, child support. he was your son first.”

“He’s not my— what even is ‘child support’ in this scenario?”

Sans sounded like he was thinking it over. “mmm…lunch for a month?”

“…you’re kidding.”

“you’re right, two months.”

“That’s not how haggling works!”

“drivin’ a hard bargain, huh? okay, a week.”

You finally broke down giggling. “Fine,” you laugh, “fine, a week.”

“oh, nice, i didn’t think that would actually work.”

What a goober.

“Oh my god. Okay, sorry to bug you on your day off, you can go back to bed now, I guess.”

“bold of you to assume i ever left it.”

“And Sans?”

“yeah?”

“Thanks.” It seemed weak. Not enough of a word to convey the warm gratitude you felt bubbling up in your chest when you thought about what he’d just done for you—him and his brother both.

It was weak, but it was all you could think to say.

“forget about it,” Sans said simply.

And that was that.

You got on with your day, going to lunch, coming back and dealing with your duties and that damn new guy, but the whole time, in the back of your mind, you were thinking, He adopted a dog for me. He sent Papyrus to adopt Buddy so I wouldn’t be sad.

You were starting to think that maybe you were in trouble here.

Your relationship with your ‘pretty good friend’ was starting to feel an awful lot like a crush.

-

Later that night, Sans texted you first.

PUNbelievable: hey, sounds like you made my bro real happy today. thanks, he deserves to have more good stuff in his life.

So do you, was your first thought, but something told you Sans might not see it your way.

You: Sure, he’s as cool as you said he was, but don’t think you’re off the hook about that Rocky thing because I forgot earlier. I’m gonna ask him next time and then you’re busted!

PUNbelievable: lol

You had almost mustered enough irritation to be playfully annoyed at him when he sent another message.

PUNbelievable: [IMG-13]

It was picture of Buddy curled up on a bare mattress in a dark room—Sans’ room—with a big bony hand settled on his withers mid-fur-ruffle.

PUNbelievable: somebody’s making himself right at home, guess life over here ain’t so ruff.

…Okay, yep. You were crushing.

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

[pockpop]

sunset,sunshine | lee felix

➵  summary: being the first black idol from one of the big three is already a challenge, but dealing with felix and feelings? it seems even harder.

➵  genre: fluffy, angsty, cutesy cringe ish

➵ request(s): (1) hello luv ❤ if requests are still open, may I ask for a Felix x y/n fic where y/n is part of the upcoming jyp girl group with survival group ( like stray kids) and she's the first biracial (black & korean) artist from the big 3 ?? oh and y/n is a fellow crackhead Aussie too lmao. thank you!

(2) hello! may i request a felix x australian!reader fic where y/n is the maknae, main dancer, main rapper, & vocalist of a unique girl group that like produces and writes songs, like skz! ( they also don't do basic concepts like cute and sexy). but the gag is... reader is the 1st black and korean idol! reader is a w a l k i n g meme and very 4d, which ppl rlly like!! lmao she's also a fellow 00 liner, and since her and felix have a lot in common, many international fans ship them together! thank u!

➵  a/n: ermm I got these requests a WHILEE back and I honestly just didn’t know how to go about it? but it is finally here and I’m so sorry for how late it is and a complete foolery mess but I hope you like it anons and I hope this at least makes you smile cause who doesn’t love them some felix okay?

sept.15.2018  | 3:06am

masterlist

••

you bopped your head to the music blasting through your headphones as you bounced down the brand new halls of the new jyp building. your sneakers squeaked against the floor as you bowed to the staff you passed and waved to a few friends you had made so far as a new part of jyp’s company.

but people recognized you everywhere you went and called you ‘jyp’s experiment’ because technically, that was what you were. the agents talent scouted you, more for your great musical abilities than your mixed race, and instantly you had become a trainee for jyp.

but that was over two years ago, and now you were officially a debuted idol in one of the newest girl groups,the first black and korean idol of the big three, so of course there was much talk in the kpop world of how much you were going to change it. you could produce, write your own songs, dance,sing, and act a bit, you were a triple hit and people called you trouble. not that you didn’t mind.

it was pretty early in the morning and so as you came to the dance practice rooms, some were still empty but a few had occupants. you were passing one of the rooms when a head of orange hair caught your eye. immediately backtracking, you glanced through the small window of the door to see felix of stray kids practicing alone.

you had only met him in passing a few times but he mostly kept your conversations short and brief,always smiling that gorgeous smile of his. he always practiced around the same time as you and you always wanted to have at least conversation but you just didn’t know how.

people always said you were a pretty open person and extremely a mess, a walking meme so to speak, but felix was different. he was australian just like you and you both struggled with korean coming to the country, so there was common topics,but he was always gone before you could start.

you watched him glide across the floor, his movements so effortless and sharp. he knew his balance and it was as if he connected to the music in a way you had never seen before.

you wanted to watch him for a little bit more,but you wanted to go over a few parts before your members got there. but right as you were about to leave, felix suddenly looked back directly at you,’catching your eye. embarrassed,you slowly backed away and quickly tried to walk away but instantly you heard the swift opening of the door.

“it’s rude to stare you know,” you heard his accent loud over your music. you were wondering if all the times he could’ve actually made conversation, why now when you looked like you just rolled out of bed and was staring at him hardcore. you turned around and scoffed, waving him off,”it wasn’t staring, it was admiring a fellow artist,”

felix smirked glancing down at his sneakers, then back up at you, sweat dripping down his forehead. “admiring? hmm I don’t think that’s the word for it,”

feeling how warm your cheeks were getting, you turned to leave,”g’day sunshine, mama’s gotta go!”

“see ya later peeper!”

you gasped turning back to him and the moment he began to laugh at you, you narrowed your eyes at him.” listen up sunset looking head ass boy, you trying me too early in the morning,” this insult only made him laugh harder and soon you broke into a smile just at seeing his face light up the way it did.

he finally calmed down to say,”you’re actually funny when you’re not rushing to get away from me. you know, as fellow aussie’s we should get to know each other.”

“hmm yeah no, i don’t become friends with boys that still use the word peeper,”

rolling his eyes, felix leaned against the door handle,”fine, admirer, let’s hang sometime later if you’re not busy.”

tilting your head at him as you backed away slowly, you hummed in thought,”I might take you up on that offer, I think you might be funny enough to roll with me.”

“I might be? oh girl you have no idea,”

and that’s truly how your friendship with felix grew. he hated being called sunset sunshine head by you but allowed you to do it because he thought you were cute. plus you spoke your mind, always tagged him in memes and did fortnite dances with him on the roof of the jyp building, without a care in the world.

even though your mini album was done, you were still working. you wrote lyrics, produced music, having the positions of maknae, a main dancer, rapper, and vocalist at times, you had a lot on your plate, but felix came in clutch with sending his memes of the day.

but international and korean fans eventually caught on to how close you two were.it truly wasn’t a secret that you both would make entire fools of yourselves backstage at music shows and the cameras caught it all. international fans truly went wild for it,some korean fans as well but not everyone was very happy about it and didn’t keep it secret.

»»

one late night, after a music show performance, you returned to the studio to work on a new song you had begun to write. but after getting stuck on a line, you ended up just reading some comments online because they truly were your guilty pleasure.

“y/n and felix are a whole ass mood,”

“she’s annoying,”

“omg what if felix and y/n are secretly dating and end up like edawn and hyuna?”

“I can’t stand how weird y/n is, sorry not sorry.”

“if felix is interested in someone like y/n, I feel sorry for him.”

“y/n is a happy virus and felix is our sunshine,can they just be together already?”

you were still scrolling, immersed in the comments that you hadn’t heard felix enter the room. it wasn’t until he approached you, his cologne catching your attention.

“creeping on me again, sunshine? you are still failing to scare me homie,” huffing, felix sat beside you and spun in his chair,”i wasn’t trying to scare you, I thought I told you I gave up on that after you punched me in the face the last time.” you pursed your lips before nodding,”you tried to get me while I was coming out of the bathroom, mama always said you gotta be cautious ya know?”

felix rolled his eyes and smiled at you,”aren’t you supposed to be working on something important?”

“aren’t you supposed to be resting before another show?” you counter question and he shrugs, shrugging back, you continue.”I’m just reading some comments about us,”

“they are by the thousands, don’t read them,”

“but some are so cute! people actually ship us together! funny thing is we barely text with words, our friendship is literally in memes,”

felix smirked, his eyes dancing in the dim light of the studio.”meme king and queen, we should be crowned.”

“you’re obviously the queen though because I definitely have more balls than you,”

“says the girl who can’t even look at sloths without crying,”

“but they are cuddle bugs! a animal made for cuddling! totally beats humans any day, fight me.” felix giggled, sitting up to lean forward on his knees.”i don’t know why I like you, you’re so weird.”

you tilt your head at him and he realizes what he said and his eyes widen,”wait-run that by me again?” a smile curling the corners of your mouth. but felix was panicking,”chan is calling me, gotta blast!” he was out of the studio before you could get another word out of him.

but he just confessed to liking you. was it like-like? or just as a friend? you weren’t sure but it made you feel happy inside.

»»

“wait- so how did he say it?”

groaning you out down your fork, less interested in your taco salad. “nina, I’m not repeating it again, it’ll be for the fourth time! he said he liked me.” nina, was a member of your girl group, half cuban and your best friend.

“but y/n,” she whined,”context is important! I mean he does talk about you a lot but you do the same about him too so- wait, do you like him?”

you shrugged and glanced around the small restaurant trying to avoid her sharp hazel eyes.

suddenly, she gasped, her hand smacking the table and making many people look over to you two.

“you do like him! damnit! I should’ve known after you made a literal moodboard of meme felix faces!”

“that doesn’t mean anything!”

nina narrowed her eyes at you and made a stank face,”the only time you ever did that was for pepe and kermit and claimed you only made meme moodboards for your current crushes.”

pouting, you crossed your arms,”dang it nina, stop paying attention to things I say! I was hoping you would forget about that.”

“yeah well I didn’t. so why don’t you just tell him? the boy probably is goin’ crazy thinking you don’t feel the same,”nina said going back to stuffing pieces of chicken into her mouth.

“you know you’ve got to chew it, right?”you ask as she inhaled the chicken, she held her hand up to you and ate even faster before she choked on a piece and cried because she had to spit it all out. you didn’t let her know that you had gotten it all on camera and already getting screenshots for meme pictures later.

»»

the next time you saw felix in person, he was leaving one of the dance studios just as you were leaving a producing room. it reminded you kind of when you guys first became friends.

you couldn’t help but feel a bit sad and reminiscint about the fact that you both went from talking all the time and walking to the building together to nothing. you knew he had been avoiding you by the lack of memes and strings of whiny texts.

you saw him before he saw you and thought it was now or never.”hey stranger danger,” his head shot up at the sound of your voice, his fading orange hair was wet from sweat, sticking to his forehead, reminding you of fading sunset light. his jacket was slung over his shoulder as he was mid-singing through his duffel for his headphones.

“oh hey, dude.”

“you really are going to dude-zone me? the disrespect I feel is abundant,” you say in mock hurt, touching your chest. he broke into a smile and glanced down at his shoes.

“like I really was out here about to tell you how I like you and all and how your freckles remind me of the stars and your hair the sunshine but no-“

“wait really?” his face lit up in shock, his eyes going wide. biting your lip, you rocked on your heels.”yeah, yeah you know but if you don’t feel the same anymore it’s cool.”

felix shook his head,” feelings don’t disappear that fast y/n, I just didn’t know what to do when I accidentally confessed.”

“you could’ve just waited like two more seconds and I would’ve been like yo dude, I like you two, let’s reign as the meme couple and slay these hoes.” felix began to laugh again and you smiled seeing his face brighten as he did. his smile and laugh was seriously your favorite and you shamelessly stared at him.

“well, if that offer is still on the table,”he started as he walked closer to you until you had to glance up to see him better. “then I would happily reign with you,” you giddily rocked back and forth and smiled at him.

“well yeah cool, I would give you a little peck and all but you is a sweaty mess and if you touch me we gonna fight so I suggest you back it up like ten feet.”

“what? you don’t like me like this?” he teased trying to sexily run his fingers through his hair but it only made you laugh at him.

“do that again and I’m leaving you for kermit,”

“right, what can that frog do for you that I can’t?” you both began walking side by side, hands brushing but no one making a move to hold hands.

“I’m sure he is limited in many ways but that frog be banking so,”

felix rolled his eyes at you and swiftly leaned down mid walk to peck your lips,leaving you shook for a moment.”he ain’t as cool as me though.”

shyly you smiled at him and continued to walk,”damnit sunshine, back at it again with the cheesiness.”

••

[solivar]

OWL Analysis Post #1

So...coming into the second week of play in the second season of Overwatch League, three teams stood undefeated atop the standings: the Philadelphia Fusion, the Hangzhou Spark, and the New York Excelsior.

Now there's only one: the New York Excelsior.

Philly dropped their first match to the Florida Mayhem, a team that underperformed so badly last year that, in the off season, they jettisoned three-quarters of their team and their entire coaching staff and rebuilt the organization from the ground up. They still got curbstomped by the Atlanta Reign in their new lineup's debut against the them but, uh, the Atlanta Reign are sort of terrifying, one of the most talked about of the new expansion teams and starring a genuine hitscan prodigy in the form of Dafran. Hilariously enough, the Philadelphia Fusion ALSO played and BEAT the Atlanta Reign, in a five-map nail-biter of two teams alike in grit and heart and ability, in fair Burbank where we lay our scene of digital carnage. The Mayhem went the distance, however, also in a brawly map five affair, so congratulations to them.

The Hangzhou Spark dropped their first match last night to...the Houston Outlaws, who likewise did not enjoy a particularly great start to the year, being beaten by both the Toronto Defiant (an expansion team) and the Boston Uprising. Hangzhou was the definite favorite coming but it wasn't even close in the end: the Outlaws almost swept the series, in some convincing style, in which they dropped playing triple tank triple support in favor of letting their DPS specialists actually, well, DPS for awhile. It surprised me a bit that Hangzhou didn't adapt to this more quickly since, from what I was seeing watching Contenders and Worlds, neither the Chinese nor Korean teams necessarily play GOATS preferentially and are generally more willing to experiment with team compositions.

The New York Excelsior looked good against the Valiant but the Valiant still made them earn their victory in a five-map match and, man, it was good to see Custa again.

And then there was the Shanghai Dragons. They were, to put it mildly, the joke of the League last year, the source of a million memes, the team that did not win a single match and finished the inaugural season with a 0 - 40 record. Like the Mayhem, they released a bunch of players in the off-season, keeping only two or three to build the new team around, including Geguri, the only woman currently playing for the League proper. Heading into Season Two they were looking to take a fresh start -- and then disaster struck in the form of their new main tank going home to recouperate following health issues, and with two weeks before the start of play, the Dragons had no replacement. Mocking 0 - 60 memes proliferated across the internet. One week before the start of play, the Boston Uprising unexpectedly traded one of their main tanks, Gamsu, to the Dragons -- but he had only a short period of time to scrim with the team and they dropped their first two matches, looking uncoordinated and nervous, understandably so.

Last night?

Last night they played the Boston Uprising and the 0 - 60 memes died. The team gelled as it's never gelled before around Gamsu and they damn near swept the Uprising, finally putting it to bed 3 - 1. They did it in an arena that didn't even pretend not to have their backs, chanting GO DRAGONS GO so loudly it actually drowned out the casters at several points. When they won, the enthusiastic hugs and happy tears were as real as they get and the congratulations rolling in from every corner of the League on the Dragons' #BreakThrough hashtag were sincere and wholesome and the energy was positive and buoyant and uplifting and I'm not gonna lie, I did in fact cry a little. I sincerely hope they enjoy more success going forward, because nothing hurts more than being the joke.

And, speaking of which: the Washington Justice, the scrappy underdog team of my heart, dead last in the pre-season power rankings, the relegation squad of the League, took two maps off the reigning champions (the London Spitfire, for those playing along at home) and were making a convincing case that they could take it all the way when, I assume, somebody in coaching took the Spitfire aside at halftime and had a nervous breakdown on them about PLAYING LIKE THE CHAMPIONS, GODDAMN IT. Then they came back and whupped the Justice but for a brief, shining moment it looked like it could go the other way.

So, at the middle of Week Two, everyone's preseason predictions lie in ruins, the universe is made of occasionally happy chaos, only one team remains undefeated and if the Houston Outlaws correct that on Sunday, I will simply die.

[spideycents]

The Look (Shawn Mendes) - teaser

-

DESCRIPTION: Callie Miller wants to be a famous musician, but she doesn't think she has the right look for it. Her lab partner, Shawn, does.

"So, are you in or are you out?"

WARNINGS: language, memes, cringe, a flaming dumpster of a mess really

-

The moment you accept that you're not a physically attractive person, the world becomes so much clearer. For me, that moment came a week after uploading my 14th video to YouTube. Which, in hindsight, is very ironic since I was 14 at the time.

I was taking a break from posting original songs because none of them were helping me reach the internet fame and viral view count I was so desperately craving. This particular video was Born to Die by Lana Del Rey because, like I said, I was desperate for attention and I sounded amazing singing that song.

My dumb hope thought that maybe I had some shot at getting seen and discovered among the thousands of other Born to Die covers. I played the piano, I tried to wear an outfit that would make me look somewhat appealing, I'd figured out how to light the video and record the sound in a way that wouldn't make people's ears bleed, I'd even looked up tutorials for my makeup so my eyebrows were on fleek. But, ultimately all of that effort was pointless.

One week after posting, dozens of tweets and Tumblr posts, and even one last-ditch Facebook update later and it still hadn't gotten into the triple digits. Viral fame seemed impossible.

For the sake of science, I took the audio and uploaded it onto SoundCloud. I shared it around on all my socials and the sun hadn't even risen before it had 100 plays and it was up to 500 by lunch the next day.

So, in conclusion: I may sing like an angel, but I am hideous.

Period.

No amount of concealer or contour or winged eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man could fix the mess that was my teenage self.

But, since I was on a research kick, I decided to run some more experiments. I looked for a lot of different covers on YouTube: Taylor Swift, Adele, Bruno, Beyonce, One Direction, Bieber, Maroon 5, Imagine Dragons, Demi, Macklemore, Timberlake, Drake, Gaga, Rihanna, Lorde, Miley, that stupid freaking cup song... I aimed for the most overdone ones and I came to the same conclusion for all of them: the guys had more views than the girls. And not just a few more. No, I'm talking thousands, occasionally millions more. What can I say? The internet does love its boyfriends.

I needed to get me one.

Not a boyfriend. Just a boy, in general. I needed a boy to perform my arrangements and sing my songs. But not just any boy. No, this boy had to be cute, but hot. And dorky. The internet really likes the adorable,  conventionally attractive gentlemen who still somehow grow up to look like models with jawlines so sharp, they could slice a pizza.

Today, we call these soft boys.

In 2013... I don't know, they were starved and looked half-dead. The rise of Dylan O'Brien, Sebastian Stan, and Benedict Cumberbatch was really helping the tall, dark, and vampire looking creatures that stalked the dark underbelly of the internet finally have their time in the sun. Sans sparkling thanks to the death of Twilight.

So I needed a skinny white boy with dark hair who had the potential of growing to at least 6 feet tall. And was also talented and adorkable.

I scoured through some old yearbooks for options, but everyone's awkward phases in middle school were very hard to judge. All these internet boyfriends had serious glo-ups so finding someone pre-transformation was... interesting.

I honestly shouldn't have looked so hard though because the answer was right in front of my face the entire time. Or well really more right across the room, sometimes behind a door, but his voice carried and could be heard anywhere in the choir room.

Soundproof practice rooms, my ass.

It was actually during weekly Wednesday small group that I really paid attention to Shawn Mendes. He wasn't very good at sight reading, but he was one of our few strong tenors. He was a little arrogant and also quite possibly the worst lab partner I have ever had, but he did tick the boxes. He was one of the taller guys in our grade, thin as a twig, dark hair, dimples, hopefully good teeth after he lost the braces, and he could carry a tune.

Okay, he could more than carry a tune, but I didn't really realize that until a few days later.

I didn't talk much for those few days during our biology class so I could listen to him. He only talked to me when he had to so I eavesdropped on a lot of conversations. They were very dumb and I have many regrets, but he ultimately seemed likable. We weren't exactly friends at the time, but he wasn't mean to me and we did talk about things that weren't school related, sometimes.

It was the next week though, in the morning before school started and I was at the piano in one of the three practice rooms, playing my way through Adele's 21 album when I stopped mid-belt during Someone Like You to sneeze a million and one times, then I paused to breathe and I heard it. It was faint, but it was unmistakably Shawn. And it was, without a doubt, one of the best covers of A Team by Ed Sheeran that I had ever heard. Let me tell you that the final talent box was ticked with a fucking gold star and fireworks.

I had found my boy.

---

First off, credit for the photo edit I used for my cover goes to @dayum-wallpaperstho .

Second, hello! Welcome! This is my new story, it's been bouncing around in my head for a little bit. I hope you guys are interested in it after this.

Third, I'm hoping to post at least two chapters every week. Once I figure out the days for the schedule, I'll update you guys.

Fourth, as usual, I will be double posting this on my Wattpad, littlewaterfall.

I think that’s everything for now. Like, reblog, let me know your thoughts, and stay tuned for more coming soon to an on fire garbage can near you.

See you soon!

- Katy :P

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

50 things to be thankful for in 2018

There's no denying 2018 has absolutely tested our patience, but it turns out the year hasn't been complete trash.

Beyond some of the most important aspects of life like your loved ones and your health, 2018 has truly given us a lot of good. From social justice initiatives like Time's Up and March for Our Lives, to pop culture masterpieces like Queer Eye, Mamma Mia 2: Here We Go Again, and "thank u, next," the year had its share of hopeful, joyous, entertaining, and positive moments.

So when times get tough and it feels like there's not much to be happy about in the world, here are 50 things to be thankful for.

SEE ALSO: The internet's best tips for how to be kind on World Kindness Day

1. Time's Up launched. 2018 started off strong with a group of more than 300 women in the entertainment industry coming together to form Time's Up — an initiative dedicated to standing up against sexual harassment.

I stand with women across every industry to say #TIMESUP on abuse, harassment, marginalization and underrepresentation. ⁰@TIMESUPNOW https://t.co/4zd5g2ByU0 pic.twitter.com/0h8ojLOq9U

— kerry washington (@kerrywashington) January 1, 2018

2. Laverne Cox made history on the cover of Cosmo. In January, actress and producer Laverne Cox also made history as the first ever trans covergirl for Cosmopolitan Magazine. Cox graced the cover of Cosmo South Africa's February issue.

3. The Fab Five came into our lives. It may feel like Jonathan Van Ness, Tan France, Karamo Brown, Bobby Berk, and Antoni Porowski have been inspiring us all to eat, dress, groom, self-love, and decorate to the best of our abilities for a lifetime, but Netflix's Queer Eye reboot only premiered in Feb. 2018.

4. Drake's "God's Plan" music video. Remember pre-Meek Mill beef when Drake gave away nearly one million dollars and filmed himself doing all those good deeds like paying for people's groceries? That was nice!

5. The Parkland teens. Though 2018 was full of an unfathomable amount of tragedy and gun violence,  the year also inspired a heartwarming amount of youth activism in America. After the deadly Parkland shooting in February, a group of teen survivors from the Florida high school shooting has consistently stood up to government officials and publicly advocated for gun control.

Parkland teens at March For Our lives rally.

Image: CHIP SOMODEVILLA/GETTY IMAGES

This year alone they've formed March for Our Lives, led school walkouts, inspired others (both young and old) to register to vote and protest gun violence, and even inspired the Obama's to write a heartfelt entry in the Time 100 issue.

6. Mirai Nagasu landed a triple axel. The Winter Olympics also took place this year! There were many standout moments but Mirai Nagasu absolutely slayed, making history by becoming the first U.S. woman to land a triple axel in the Winter Olympics. Thankful we got to witness this moment.

7. Black Panther came out. We were truly blessed this year by the arrival of the record-breaking Marvel's cinematic masterpiece, Black Panther, and the talented actors, fierce as hell soundtrack, and on-screen representation it brought to our world.

8. Jordan Peele's Oscar win. Speaking of movies, Peele's film Get Out won "Best Original Screenplay" this year, making him the first black screenwriter to receive the award.

9. The Super Smash Bros. Ultimate wait is almost over. The highly anticipated video game is set to come out for Nintendo Switch on Dec. 7.

10. Beto O'Rourke. 2018 was the year of Beto, burgers, and a Beyoncé midterms endorsement.

We just want to say thank you to everyone who made this possible. Everyone who made us feel hopeful, everyone who inspired us. Everyone who became the most amazing campaign we could have ever hoped to belong to. Grateful that we got to do this with you. We love you. Goodnight! pic.twitter.com/1j6JnhtP0f

— Beto O'Rourke (@BetoORourke) November 7, 2018

11. A Quiet Place. John Krasinski directed and starred in a horror film alongside his IRL wife that was so quiet and terrifying people were too nervous to eat snacks in theaters. What a time to be alive.

12. Kendrick Lamar won a Pulitzer. Remember when the rapper was awarded the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music for his fourth studio album, DAMN? Hell yeah!

13. Beyoncé at Coachella. Beychella was THIS YEAR. We knew she would slay but nothing prepared us for the sheer magnitude of her powerhouse performance, or Destiny's Child, or the movement she inspired.

14. The Royal Wedding. When the world needed a distraction from the bad and an escape from reality, Meghan Markle and Prince Harry were there for us. And for that we thank them.

15. Brooklyn Nine-Nine was saved. For several terrible, horrible, no good, very bad hours Brooklyn Nine-Nine was cancelled. But thankfully, after a whole lot of love from fans, NBC picked it up for a sixth season.

Image: fox

16. Won't You Be My Neighbor reminded us of Mr. Rogers' magic. We needed a heavy dose of Fred Rogers' pure and wholesome goodness to get us through the year and this film did just the trick.

17. Ava DuVernay made history. DuVernay's adaptation of A Wrinkle In Time led her to become the first black woman to direct a film that grossed more than $100 million at the box office.

18. The world is finally taking action against plastic pollution. Plastic straw bans are spreading across the U.S., Canada, and Europe. Businesses like McDonald's and Starbucks are even getting on board the movement. 

19. We still have dogs. No matter how bad things get we still have furry companions to turn to, and play with, and occasionally throw cheese on.

20. Eighth Grade filled us with middle school anxiety. Bo Burnham's Eighth Grade reminded adults how stressful growing up can be and gave teens an emotional look at middle school through a more relatable lens.

Image: a24

21. Crazy Rich Asians was a smashing success. The film dominated box office sales and served as an important milestone for Asian representation in American pop culture. And guess what? It's getting a sequel.

22. Mamma Mia 2: Here We Go Again! Love. Pregnancy. Death. Flashbacks. Dancing. Singing. Abba. Meryl. Cher. Andy García. Help!

23. Nick Jonas and Priyanka Chopra. 2018 has seen the rise (Justin Bieber and Hailey Baldwin) and fall (Ariana and Pete) of celebrity relationships. But through the ups and downs of the year Nick Jonas and Priyanka Chopra's love never seemed to waiver. We're thankful this nice, soon-to-be-wed couple is here to restore our faith in love.

24. LeBron James opened up a school. The NBA star opened his "I Promise" school in Akron, Ohio, to give 240 third and fourth grade students a life-changing educational opportunity.

25. To All The Boys I've Loved Before captured our hearts. Netflix introduced the world to the film adaptation of Jenny Han's young adult book and after Peter Kavinsky's "woah woah woah," our hearts will never be the same. Not to mention it inspired dozens of Lara Jean Halloween costumes.

Image: netflix

26. That quirky, super high-maintenance cat was adopted. Remember Bruno, the thicc, polydactyl cat that Wright Way Rescue Animal Shelter in Morton Grove, Illinois, was trying to find a home? He found one :').

27. A sixgill shark was discovered. This is cool because most sharks have five gills. It's also a reminder that we should be thankful for oceanographers, researchers, and all those who explore the our vast and mysterious oceans.

28. India strikes down gay sex ban. On Sept. 6, members of India's Supreme Court unanimously voted to make the landmark ruling that eliminates the ban on consensual gay sex.

29. Moth memes lit up our lives. The year was filled with good memes but those moth/lamp memes? Pure joy.

30. Amy Sherman-Palladino and all those Emmys. Amy Sherman-Palladino has always been genius. Gilmore Girls? Bun Heads? Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life? It's about time she's properly celebrated, so we're thankful The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel won four Emmys. We are also thankful for her husband, Dan Palladino.

Image: Rich Fury/Getty Images

31. Twitter did one good thing. We have no edit button and there's still bots and harassment a-plenty, but at the very least, Twitter brought back the chronological timeline.

32. Gritty came into our lives. Can anyone even remember a world without the Philadelphia Flyers' new hairy orange mascot?

33. The Office is back ... sort of. While fans of the NBC comedy are still holding out hope for a revival, 2018 treated those nostalgic for the days of Dunder Mifflin to a charming off-broadway musical.

34. Speaking of The Office — be thankful for Steve Carell. He stars with Timothée Chalamet and Amy Ryan (Holly Flax) in Beautiful Boy. He's got Welcome to Marwen coming out, which looks, uh interesting. He's on SNL. And he's making his triumphant return to television!

35. Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper gave us life. A Star Is Born came out this year, along with a kickass soundtrack and some perfect memes. We will never be the same.

36. Fat Bear Week ran our lives for 7 days. Much love to all the fat bears out there who distracted us for an entire week just by living their lives. 

37. This throwback baked potato costume. Halloween costumes are great but this throwback baked potato get-up really made us smile.

38. Thankful for the hot duck in Central Park. We thought we lost him, but he's back again. <3

39. We have a new anthem: "Party For One." How did Carly Rae Jepsen know we were in desperate need of a song to dance in our underwear and eat a large pizza alone to? And the music video! UGH!

40. And there's no musical praise without discussing Ariana Grande. The warrior of 2018, Ariana Grande, has given fans so much love, inspiration, and hope throughout the year. Not to mention, the ultimate independent BOP: "thank u, next."

i’m so ..... fuckin ..... grateful

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) November 11, 2018

41. BDE came to be. Speaking adjacently of Pete Davidson, for better or worse 2018 also gave us Big Dick Energy and that's something we'll never forget.

42. Netflix still delivers. Netflix has an entertaining social media presence and continues to create quality original shows and movies.

43. There was an increase in voter turnout. 2018 proved Americans are standing up for what they believe in and exercising their right to vote. Voter turnout for midterm elections reached a 50-year high, and young people voted at historic rates.

44. Midterm results showed a refreshing amount of diversity. It was a night of historic firsts — from over 100 women elected to Congress (the highest number ever) to wins for the LGBTQ community and more.

45. The Detective Pikachu trailer looks delightful. Another cute as hell movie to look forward to? Yes please.

46. Cher's Twitter is hilarious. Twitter is sometime awful but not Cher's account. That's always good.

47. All of the books. The world has so many books just waiting to be read — books for when you're mad at the patriarchy, books for hikers, books all about pride. And some great books written this year.

48. All of the great TV shows. Streaming aside, there are dozens of phenomenal shows airing on television this year, like Superstore, The Good Place, This Is Us, Killing Eve, and more.

49. Sports are still a thing! We've got football, we've got soccer, we've got basketball, baseball, hockey, and so many more. Sports bring people together!

50. All the people working to keep others safe, informed, and up-to-date with the news. It's been a tough year for news, mass shootings, and natural disasters, which is why we're thankful for all the hard working journalists, reporters, news anchors, first responders, weather forecasters, and hurricane scientists.

So remember: No matter how bad things may seem there are always some bright spots in the world.

WATCH: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez makes history as she becomes the youngest woman ever in Congress