#a lot of tiny things i sorta wanna fiddle with on this but also

[saddlepunk]

apo(n)theosis

[lollytea]

Hi, I was wondering since it was valentines that you can write a little fluff/romance of louie x ty

If you want to, you don't have to

(It is no longer valentines day. v sorry about that. but anyways I found this in my docs and finished it.)

Louie could appreciate the white noise of rain pelting an overhead surface. It overcame him with an understated peace, brought upon by ten-hour YouTube videos trilling a gentle ambiance as he lay awake in pitch darkness, his shakes beginning to subside.

Fortunately, the bus stop was built with a roof. He had a feeling he would like the rain a lot less if he were to be standing directly under the shower.

He was slouched forward on the bench, numbly mesmerized by relentless droplets that kept puddles rippling. One hand fiddled with the handle of his rucksack, the other being a fidget toy in itself, courtesy of the boy seated next to him.

Messing with Louie’s fingers to keep himself somewhat alert, Ty was clearly still in the process of early morning activation. He had a sharpie haphazardly tucked behind his ear, his eyes were bleary and he didn’t have much to say. The irony of the situation was that they both could have slept in an extra hour if Ty hadn’t read the bus schedule wrong.

Louie figured he should get Ty talking to kick his brain into action.

“So, lemme ask, so I know what I’m getting myself into. Is Cape Suzette crazier than Duckburg?”

“Define crazy.” Ty yawned.

“Is this week with your grandparents gonna be normal or are we gonna get ourselves into some life threatening shenanigans?”

Ty didn’t answer immediately. He scrubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

“I mean...” He began, uncertain. “If we’re gonna be hangin’ out with grandpa, who knows. I guess the city isn’t that weird, compared to here. ‘Course, there’s air pirates. But y’know the thing about those guys?”

“They’ve got “Air” in the title.”

“On the money there,” Said Ty, shooting him a finger gun. “Me and you are gonna be stayin’ on the ground. Y’know, where stuff is at least sorta normal. So, we should be fine. Why? Ya scared?”

“Ehhh, ‘Scared’ is usually my default feeling about this stuff. But I was thinking more along the lines of just wanting to take it easy. Imagine a boring, uneventful week with lots of naps. For me, that’ll be a treat.”

Ty was nodding along, lacing and unlacing his fingers through Louie’s, as if amazed that they continued to slip so seamlessly into place every time

It was when he made to scratch his ear, that the sharpie dropped into his lap. Ty blinked.

“When did that get there?”

“You put it there while you were still half asleep, genius.”

“Huh.”

Ty picked up the pen, looking to be marveling its very existence, and twirled it between his fingers. He turned his newly awoken enthusiasm on Louie. “Wanna tattoo?”

Louie didn’t think twice. “Nope.”

Ty's grin faltered. It was astonishing how a big, hulking slab of a bear could still pull off such an impressive 'wounded cub' expression.

Louie fully blamed whatever God or mysterious maker decided “Hey, here's my brilliant idea for the final touch on this already sly, sneaky, completely diabolical piece of work. Big, soft brown eyes.  I don't think we've given him enough unfair advantages in life. Hey, remember a few months back when I gave that Duck kid a heart melting weakness for brown eyes? Wouldn't it be funny if  he ever met this bear kid I'm working on?”

Ty's head tilted to the side, a tiny wrinkle forming between his brows. He hadn't released Louie from under his gaze and Louie was having a difficult time averting his eyes.

“Please...” He murmured and Louie's resistance crumbled.

A few minutes later, Louie had an entire inked sleeve, courtesy of the dorkiest temporary tattoo artist in Duckburg.

The nerve of this guy too....

“Can ya take your hoodie off?” He had asked a moment ago, once Louie's entire forearm was adorned with doodles.

“Oh, I see the angle here. You want me to catch my death?”

“Pssh. Don't be dramatic, Duck.”

“I get cold easily, Cloudkicker.”

Louie had lost both the little squabble and his hoodie and was exposed in just a t-shirt in no time. Ty had promised to warm him up if he caught a chill.

Apparently a body of snowy white feathers was the ideal canvas, Ty had informed him. Louie would be flattered if being a canvas wasn't just a job for entertaining his boyfriend as they waited for the bus.

“Stop moving!”

“It itches!” Louie griped.

“Canvases don't move, y'know.”

“Canvases--”

“Canvases don't talk either.”

Ty emphasized his point by lightly bumping the end of the sharpie against Louie's beak, smile annoyingly bright as ever. Nobody should be this sunshiny when the weather was so bleak.

Louie made a face at him, features wound up in mock disgust. Ty mirrored him.

They fell into a game, back and forth, each making an expression uglier and thus funnier than the next. At some point, weird noises accompanied the faces. Louie didn't quite know when the objective was no longer to spite Ty but to make him laugh.

He also hadn’t realized that he himself was having fun until he heard his own laughter in his ears and begrudgingly accepted that he was no longer under the influence of early morning grumpiness.

Ty was shaking with giggles too, looking at Louie as though he were silver and gold breaking through rain clouds. He glanced down and stared at their linked fingers. His sunny grin faded until all that was left was the shadow of a quiet smile.

Louie was about to break the silence when Ty readjusted his hold, flipping the small, feathery hand palm up and pressed the felt tip of the pen against it.

When he withdrew the sharpie, Louie was blinking down at his hand, his sleepy brain attempting to process the simple, tiny heart in the center of his palm.

Speaking of tiny hearts, he felt like his chest just utterly exploded with them.

This boy....

This goddamn boy with his cute little doodles and his big bright grin on rainy days.

“Canvases don't blush either.” Ty quipped, the corners of his mouth stretched so wide they were twitching.

“You're annoying.” Said Louie, accepting that his lazy smirk had long since broken into a glow. He knew he was probably looking at Ty like the bear pieced his entire universe together and managed every stitch with adoration for the craft.

He might have considered this an affront to his dignity if there had been witnesses. But the world was still asleep and their moment was muted to outsiders by a song of lashing rain.

Remnants of their moment were curtained by the sleeves of his green hoodie, as the bus arrived and he hastily pulled it on.

All that was left was the heart on Louie's palm. But then he curled up his fingers into a loose fist and it was gone.

Well, no. It wasn't gone. Just hidden.

Louie held on to his secret heart for the entire ride to Cape Suzette.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Mike Damone

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Mikes pretty infamous at your school. Pretty much the entire student body knows who he is; mainly because they’ve bought tickets off of him at one point or another.

- Everyone knows Mike and Mike knows everyone so it’s no surprise that you’d encounter him at some point; even if your initial meeting was a memorable half a second of him checking you out while you both walked to your separate classes.

- When Mike first sees you, he honestly doesn’t think twice about you. He sees you, he processes that you’re decent looking, and then he moves on. He only starts to take real notice of you when you seem completely disinterested in his existence.

- That sounds pretty harsh but it’s the truth. Later that day, he sees you at your locker and he approaches you, introducing himself and making his usual charming conversation. And while you’re arguably incredibly polite, you’re just not into him.

- And for some reason that bothers the hell out of him.

- If it were anyone else, it would have never mattered, and he sincerely does not understand why you’re any different. But the more he thinks about it, the more it bothers him and the more he wants you. Which leads to his pursuit of you.

- Mike likes to act like he doesn’t care; he really does, and he’s gotten pretty good at playing the part, so he always seems pretty nonchalant whenever he approaches you and tries to start a conversation; no matter how little time of day you’ll give him.

- But inside, he is losing his mind. His smile always drops whenever you aren’t looking at him and he lays in bed at night thinking about every tiny amount of attention you give him. He wants to hate you, and maybe he does, but more than that …he thinks he loves you.

- Your usual “avoidance” of him leads to him feeling like a kid on Christmas when you finally talk to him on your own accord; though it’s definitely just to try and purchase tickets. He gives you a ridiculously good deal and is on his best behavior the entire time, trying to charm you as much as he can while you’re actually paying attention to him.

- And to an extent, it does work. He was really sweet and did you a big favor so you felt a little more obligated to play nice. So instead of completely blowing him off, you made an effort to greet him in the halls, sometimes willingly talking with him for a few minutes or giving him a compliment every now and again.

- He’ll talk a big game around other people; mainly Mark, telling him that he’s got you in the bag or somewhat jokingly saying that you’re all over him, but it’s just to save face and keep up his overly confident façade.

- Regardless, you finally agree to let him take you out around a year or so after the two of you first meet. He’d probably asked you out or tried to hint at the two of you potentially hanging out dozens of times but this was the only one you actually accepted which made him do an internal double take.

- There was nothing different about his approach, he played suave, he told you what he was planning on doing that Friday night and then he invited you to join him. But this time you actually agreed, as though it were totally normal, he was compelled to ask if you were feeling all right.

- For your first date, he takes you to the mall and you spend the afternoon/evening going into different stores, grabbing a bite to eat at the food court and so on and so forth.

- You didn’t expect it but the two of you actually hit it off pretty well once you gave him a chance and kept an open mind. He was frustratingly smooth most of the time but he was also sweet and made you laugh.

- And he was on cloud nine; especially when you absentmindedly grabbed his hand while leading him somewhere or walking through a crowd. He enjoyed your company so much that trying to kiss you completely slipped his mind until after you were already back inside your house later that night.

- You share your first kiss after he walks you home from school one day; maybe after the two of you go on a few more dates. You’re standing at your front door and you’re trying to say goodbye when you sort of just look at each other and begin to lean in.

- After a minute or so, you pull away and when you do, you invite him in for a drink; an offer he eagerly takes. So he comes in, you get him his drink and the two of you spend the next half hour making out on your bed; but that’s besides the point.

- You kissed him and now you’re gonna see if you’ll regret it.

- There’s a lot of Pda in your relationship but a good amount of it is sexually charged or the sort of affection that fits his cool guy attitude. He’s proud of you and wants to be touching you at all times but he doesn’t want to look like a wuss while he does it.

- He puts his arm around your shoulders a lot. He’d probably try to do it even before the two of you started dating so it barely even phases you at this point.

- Neck and jaw kisses.

-  Soft, sometimes sort of clumsy kisses. Mike acts like a ladies man but he’s been with very few girls so he doesn’t have a whole lot of kissing experience under his belt.

- You definitely have the capability to make him drunk with your kisses. You put him in a daze and get him wrapped around your little finger the minute your lips touch his.

- Making out a lot. It’s pretty much his favorite thing to do; though he secretly really likes all your innocent and doting affection.

- Sitting in his lap.

- He doesn’t use a ton of pet names but he does throw a couple of them at you from time to time, namely babe, sweetheart or princess.

- He likes to pretend that he doesn’t care for cuddling but he isn’t convincing anybody with his halfhearted complaining and nonexistent resistance while you pull him in. When you do cuddle, you’ll usually lay facing each other with your head tucked under his chin; or occasionally with his tucked under yours.

- He’s definitely a lot sweeter and softer with you when the two of you are alone together. He feels the need to keep up a reputation while you’re out in public so you only get to see his real, loving personality when you’re by yourselves.

- Su casa es mi casa. After his first visit to your home, you might as well consider him a roommate because he sure as shit acts like it’s his house.

- He’s usually too shy or embarrassed to tell you that he legitimately missed you and just wanted to see you so whenever he drops by, he’ll make up some excuse for him to be there; even though it would be perfectly in his right to answer “what are you doing here” with “I just wanted to see you”.

- He knows how to appear cool; whether it’s a conscious effort for him or not, so he usually has little trouble when trying to impress you. Either way, you’re pretty proud to have him for a boyfriend and your praise consistently makes him wanna to act up.

- He definitely tries to act like people he think you’d find impressive are his friends; even though you probably already know he’s bullshitting you. You just halfheartedly let him believe he’s fooled you.

- Sitting around sorta bored while he tries to swindle people. You get interrupted by his business quite a lot.

- Getting walked home from school.

- If you’ve got a car then you’ll usually pick him up and drive him to or from school; or wherever else, because fun fact: that wasn’t his car that Linda spray painted, it was his moms!

- He has a habit of “fixing you”. He’s always plucking things from your hair or clothes, adjusting your shirt, smoothing out your jacket, etc. Sometimes he pretends like he’s doing something just to annoy you or have an excuse to touch you.

- Consistently looking at your ass.

- Whenever you ask him for a favor, he’ll always tell you that you owe him before begrudgingly doing whatever it is. That being said, after he does it, he’ll usually “forget” that you owe him or tell you to forget about it; or settle for a kiss as payment.

- No ones allowed to know but he’s legitimately whipped for you. It might not seem like it but behind the scenes, he’s bending over backwards to make sure that you’re happy.

- Mall dates. It’s your #1 hangout spot. He’s the boyfriend who shamefully holds your hand as you drag him from one girly shop to the next.

- Concert dates.

- Renting vhs tapes and watching them together.

- Mike has a full on bar area in his room so if you’re down to drink, he has the liquor. Although, to be honest, I think he’d secretly be one of those guys who wouldn’t let you get drunk because you’re his girlfriend and he cares about you. He’d teasingly refuse to give you any before allowing you to have a tiny glass.

- I feel like his parents aren’t home a lot during weekdays; because of work or what have you, so you’ll probably hang out more at his house than yours; unless your parents also usually aren’t home.

- He usually ends up eating dinner by himself and spending most days at home alone so he’ll oftentimes call you up and have you come over. You mostly just end up hanging out and eating in his bedroom while watching television together.

- He lowkey likes stupid old tv shows so the two of you marathon them whenever they’re on tv.

- Going to his house to listen to your favorite music because it’s the 80s and he’s got a whole fucking music station set up in his room. He’s also got more albums than anyone you know.

- Occasionally, he’ll fiddle around with his keyboard while you’re at his place and you’ll convince him to teach you a few little jingles while he’s at it.

- I think that every now and again he’d surprise you with a little gift, oftentimes nonchalantly telling you not to mention it or not to worry about it. He’d probably say something like “how did that get there” and teasingly pretending like it wasn’t him, secretly reveling in the smile on your face and the way you kiss his cheek.

- Him stealing your food.

- Trying to hold back your laughter as he jokingly serenades you.

- Stealing and wearing his sunglasses.

- Ratner third wheeling. The boy gets to see a whole new side of his friend; a side that makes him seem much more down to earth, because even though Mike will pretend like he’s the same playboy, it’s easy to see that he really loves you.

- Giving Ratner advice when he needs a different approach to girls or anything else in life.

- Motivational talks. He might not be the most eloquent but he’s definitely the most supportive when it comes to people he cares about.

- Lots of teasing. It’s his favorite thing to do besides make money.

- He loves messing with you so expect to be annoyed with him quite a lot: whether it be because he threw you in the pool, shocked you, or pretended like you had something on you.

- Defending him when people insult him. Quite a few people don’t understand why you’re with him so expect a few comments from your friends, family, or just random people you know.

- He tries to act nonchalant whenever he’s jealous but it rarely ever works. He usually ends up either having a smug look on his face; because he knows you have no interest in them, or he’ll try to get information out of you about them, maybe making fun of them a little while he’s at it.

- Mike isn’t incredibly protective, he’ll usually leave you to solve things on your own, but if the problem is serious enough, he’ll get involved. He’ll try to walk away with you, maybe say something snide to the other person or about the situation, but he isn’t scared to throw hands if need be.

- Mike is pretty good at keeping his composure but certain situations just make him lose it so sometimes he’ll say something he doesn’t mean in the heat of the moment and regret it later.

- He tends to avoid his problems rather than try and fix them which might lead to him avoiding you after a fight. That being said, he isn’t above apologizing and will always do so is he knows he did something wrong or made you upset.

- He’s a bit embarrassed to tell you that he loves you so he’ll usually only say it after you say it to him.

- Mike certainly isn’t the best boyfriend, he definitely has some maturing to do, so it’s up to you to decide if you want to stick around and wait for it to happen. Just know that he likes you a lot; even if he doesn’t always act the greatest.

[mythykl]

Akaashi’s x Reader *s/o being too self conscious*

I messed up w an Inbox request again tf. Well, this girl had asked me to write an imagine in which Akaashi’s s/o is is sorta shy, lacks self confidence, is extremely body conscious buttttt,,, our boi gives her a reason to cease doubting herself!

I hope you enjoy anon;))

ps. not my art

...

“Y/n.. y/n; are you even listening?” These words are enough to snap me out. In realization, my eyes dart across the road. We had already reached to my apartment. I look at Akaashi as we cross the road; it’s almost unbelievable to see someone so calm and composed while I’ve millions of thoughts running in my head.  

We hadn’t even held hands during the 20 minutes whole walk. I see him fiddling with his fingers in my peripheral view, yet bearing his expressions as poised as ever. In reflex, I quickly let go of my stiff posture and go for his hand while he’s taken aback.

It was already past 10pm when Akaashi and Bokuto at last decided to stop the practice, while everyone else had left 3 hours prior. Not that it matters; after what had happened today- I didn’t want to leave my boyfriend’s side. He makes me feel safe and accepted, thus, with no willingness to breakdown, I ended up bunking the remaining school hours and crashing at the gym; watching the team play. At my sight, Akaashi immediately came to inquire what was I doing in the gym; without giving any specifics or bothering him much, I just said that I wanted to be around him- for some reason and he should continue his practice. Again, no specifics.

Once in the building, our trip in the elevator was pretty awkward, Akaashi didn’t once glance away from his phone, furiously tapping his fingers on the screen, while I just stood there silently. A part of me told me that I should approach to him but I didn’t. What if he shouts at me, or just leaves me and walks away? Moreover, plans for tonight were decided since weeks, I have no intentions to butcher this. My parents are away, thus it won’t be much of an issue, as it was the last time when they had met my boy the first time. I chuckle at my thoughts, grabbing Keiji’s full attention now.

“I asked you for the keys.” He says blandly. Did he just repeat himself since I was zoned out? I fumble for my bag, take out the keys and hand over to him. Upon opening, I walk ahead, switching on the lights as he closes the door behind me.

“I was plannin’ on coming home early and cook your fav’ boiled rapeseed plants with karashi mustard dressing, but now we-” abruptly a hand placed on my waist turns me around and a kiss is planted on my forehead. Akaashi holds me tight to his chest as he hugs me. Drowned in oblivion, I couldn’t comprehend a thing. 

“You’re precious to me and I’ll do anything to.. Keep you happy. Or even protect you. Or help you. But you- you need to open up more. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? And you are acting unusual. I’ve waited for two days for you to pour it out, but don’t mistake my silence for my ignorance baby.”

Wait. what. 

That’s when I notice how much he had to lean to hug my petit self. Why do I have to be so tiny? My hair aren’t perfect, I don’t get the best of the grades, he never saw me more than a good friend until last Christmas, I’m not popular, I don’t have the sexiest figure and- 

And everything that those girls, his classmates, blabbered about me in the washroom is true. Even when I stood up for myself, for the first time since the last week when the nasty rumours started, I was just shoved off after being called a ‘skank’ and a ‘liar’ by the whole gang.

How pathetic.

“Why do you love me?” I manage to speak in the midst of getting choked on my tears.

I feel him smile slightly against my frizzy hair, “Well, to be honest, I’m not quite sure why. But maybe, it did start when you were talking with trees in my backyard after a stormy night a few years back, or when you experimented with some dumb egg mask which left an obnoxious sting along with some shine I guess. And-”

“Akaashi. I’m not joking. I’m feeling-”

“Miserable. Worthless. Sad. Lost?” Pause. “Bokuto told me, I know what my classmates bullshitted outside the girl’s washroom. Them cornering you and everything while I wasn’t around; that’s when Bokuto stepped in, didn’t he?”

Why the hell did Bokuto- this is not how I- 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” I reply. He lets go of the hug and strides towards the couch to sit. I shrug off, about to sneak away in my room or something when he says, “We are having a talk young lady.”

“Stop acting like my dad.”

“Oh, am I not?” The fuck- I start blushing like crazy all of the sudden, when he sighs. 

“I’m not even fully aware of these stupid rumours those girls have come up, probably with to pass their time. All I know from Bokuto is that one of them isn’t pleased by your presence in my life. Simply speaking, it pisses her off. It’s not like her opinion really matters to any of us, we both know that her calling you names and saying stuff-”

I interrupt him. “AKAASHI. YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHATEVER YOU ARE EXPLAINING TO ME? I know her verbal diarrhea won’t mess up your feelings, or-or what we have, but- but it triggers immense self-doubt in me. Those bitches told me to ‘get a life’ while those jerks can’t even get a decent wardrobe for themselves. Something like- I never saw you more than a friend until you gained popularity and- They made me feel worthless, that you don’t deserve some spindle-shank like me-”

“Pfftt~ spindle-shank? Vocab of the day hun’; but where did that come from? Do you think I’m not aware of your anxiety and nervousness. I see it all, your long stares at the ground while you are uncomfortable, or spacing out; even those silent conversations you have with yourself a lot, which the team thinks are creepy. But- when I asked you out, I’d already accepted you with all of your traits, good and bad, from the most weird to the coolest.”

He walks to me, holds my hands and continues, “If you didn’t notice, you just burned the shit out of those chicks while yelping about their nonsense. So you even pass the ‘funny’ category I suppose. Your body and mind, I’ve accepted everything and I want you to love and understand yourself the same way. You aren’t a bother to me, you’re the only one whose crap I love the most to handle.” That’s when you start laughing hysterically.

“What!?? Oh my-”

“No wait you wanna know more?” He suddenly lifts me in bridal style, “See I can lift you, your thinness has its own perks!” I slap him on his shoulder while he continues, “You bring the best in me. Your parents do the best, because of you. Your best friends are surviving, basically- because of you. Bokuto has started getting serious about his studies- because- I guess you told him that you’ll help him talk with his crush or something? Wait-”

This makes me laugh even harder and I just nod in response. He swirls me around the living room and at last places me on the couch, “The point is you’re fucking precious. Start acknowledging the fact that you keep people going- you keep me going. You’re not just something that happened to me but also a part of me. So fuck those unnecesary commentary. They are the ones who need to get a life- and - probably.. A wardrobe too.”

The speech was definitely touching, or more like ENCOURAGING. How does this fool knows me so well? While I brush my fingers on his neck, he kneels down and marches in for a kiss, which lasts extremely long.

Once it breaks off,  I say, “We can continue this after dinner; I’m hungry right now!”

“So- Ramen for milady?”

“Hai!!”

...

we love him. don’t we TwT;

[echoes-of-realities]

but I can hear my heart pound (and it's reaching out to you)

*  *  *

Summary: “Writing your number on a piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”

Brittany’s lips curl into that mischievous, enticing smile. “I think it’s romantic,” she says easily, the blue of her eyes only slivers of colour through her eyelashes as she glances up at Santana, and Santana’s breath catches against her teeth. “Don’t you?”

It’s not until Brittany’s left the cafe that she realizes that the paper in her hand isn’t paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement. Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that reads Find me.

Notes: The kinda-sorta-Amélie — A New Musical AU No One asked for but that kicked my writer’s block in the butt so I’m posting it anyways (basically I just took the premise of “Thin Air” from the musical because I’ve had this tiny idea for it for months).

Also I know Almost Nothing about NYC and Tisch and I didn’t feel like researching That much into either just for the sake of a fic that cured my writer’s block so ignore that.

Title from “Thin Air” from Amélie — A New Musical.

[Read on ao3]

[Read on Fanfiction]

//

Santana shows up to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early. Not— Not because she’s nervous or anything, but because it’s Sugar who set her up on this date and Sugar is often in her own little world and forgets the little things like the time (the fact that Santana’s stomach churns just a little as the minutes change on her phone and creep closer to ten o’clock means nothing). Santana loves the girl, she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have made it through orientation at the record company without her, but it’s because of that she knows Sugar and she knows to show up early.

The only problem with showing up fifteen minutes early is that she ends up awkwardly hovering in the doorway until an impatient man in a too nice suit coughs rudely behind her and brushes past. Santana tries not to get irritated because she was blocking the door, but men in suits have always irritated her starting all the way back in elementary school when her father would hole himself up in his office all throughout dinner, his suit just as pressed and clean as it was when he left that morning.

Santana takes a deep breath and follows the impatient man into the cafe, surveying the shop until her eyes land on a small table tucked in the corner with two bar height stools on it. She heads immediately for the spot and hopes the stools are more comfortable than they look. She fiddles with her backpack once she gets there, trying to look busier than she is so no one questions her for not getting a coffee yet (and to do something with her hands because they’re jittery and trembling even though she’s so not nervous). She hangs her bag over the back of the stool and watches the impatient man from earlier reach the front of the line; the barista at the cash register subtly rolls her eyes at the man and Santana has to assume he’s one of the belligerent regular types.

She doesn’t actually know anything about the girl she’s supposed to be on a date with beyond Sugar being certain they’ll fall in love and telling Santana that this girl is beautiful and one-hundred percent her type; Santana wasn’t even aware she had a type, but sometimes Sugar can be surprisingly intuitive about these things. She doesn’t even know what the girl looks like though, despite her nagging Sugar about it for a week; Sugar liked the mystery and the romance of it all, Santana would much rather like to at least know who to look for but Sugar was insistent.

She studies the cafe from her corner, it’s Sugar’s favourite cafe and Santana’s been here often with her; despite it being midterm season at the universities, it’s not even ten yet so the cafe is pretty sparse. There’s a couple businessmen at the end of the counter waiting for their coffees, a group of moms sits at the longer table bouncing infants and wrangling toddlers and expressing their loud gratitude at their older children being back in school, there’s some university students scattered around the cafe (Santana can tell from the dullness to their eyes) either standing zombielike in line with rumpled clothes and tangled hair from the night before or huddled with their laptops pressed together to make room for the notebooks and textbooks on their table.

The scent of coffee fills the air and Santana can feel her nerve-endings come alive just from the smell; she isn’t sure if it’s rude to get a coffee before her date gets here, but she waits and scrolls aimlessly around on her phone just in case. She’s been on dates before, but she’s never been set up on one before, and despite the fact that she trusts Sugar (more or less) she feels just a little bit unbalanced. It’s not really her style to wait around for her friends to set her up on dates when they think she’s been single too long (it’s not like she goes on a lot of dates, because, as she’s known about herself for a very long time, she’s actually kind of hopeless when it comes to girls, but she’s been on her fair share of them, and it’s really lame when her friends think she needs to be set up, and also just the tiniest bit sweet).

She’s just opening and immediately closing her solitaire app for the third time when a voice interrupts her. Santana starts, banging her knees against the bottom of the table and hissing out a quiet curse as pain throbs along her legs.

“Santana?” the voice asks and Santana looks up into the brightest pair of blue eyes she’s ever seen, crinkled a little at the corners with a hint of amusement but mostly widened with concern. Soft blonde bangs fall across her forehead, the longer strands swept carelessly behind her ears. Her sweater looks warm and soft, the dark teal sleeves falling down past her wrists. She’s smiling politely at Santana, her lips twitch and start to waver down into a slight frown the longer Santana remains silent. “You are Santana, right?”

Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating. (Goddamnit Sugar is right, Santana definitely has a type.)

“Brittany?” she manages when she’s sure she’s not going to swallow her tongue.

The girl — Brittany — brightens and relaxes and her smile eases and Santana’s heart starts beating again, but at about twice the speed as before. Her lips are pulled thin and up by a genuine smile as she looks at Santana. Her gaze is warm and it makes Santana’s stomach swoop and her skin prickle. Brittany holds out her hand and Santana quickly shakes it, feeling the subtle strength in Brittany’s clever fingers as muscle shifts bone.

“I’m really glad I guessed you on my first try,” Brittany says, fiddling with her book-bag, “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you besides your name and that you were my typ—” Brittany cuts herself off and her eyes go wide, pink blooming in splotches like crawling ivy across her cheeks. “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you,” she repeats.

Santana’s smile softens and she elects to ignore Brittany’s slip up in the hopes that it will ease her embarrassment. “You wanna go order?” she says instead.

Brittany nods quickly and continues to to avoid Santana’s eyes as she plops her book-bag down on the seat angled beside Santana’s, quickly digging through it until she produces her wallet, slipping it into her back pocket. She shoves the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and gives Santana a small smile as she leads the way to the counter. Brittany wears slightly faded jeans with splotches of dark ink speckled across them and rips that look more from wear than fashion, her sneakers are well worn and scuffed along the white edge lining the bottom, bright flowers patterned across the fabric. Santana inwardly smiles as she follows Brittany to the line up; Brittany is put together and attractive and graceful and has a smile that could make flowers grow and is, supposedly, completely her type.

They make small chat while they wait in the short line; how much it sucks that it’s getting so cold these days, how awful midterms are, how that one homeless guy who’s always outside of the Wendy’s across the street from this cafe deserves a new winter hat, how much they’re going to miss that tiny Japanese noodle restaurant on fourth avenue when it shuts down, and before they know it they’re at the front of the line.

Brittany orders and when the barista asks is that all? Santana steps up beside Brittany and places her order, quickly handing a ten dollar bill over despite Brittany’s protests. Santana just grins up at Brittany and shoos her to the pickup section of the cafe, collecting her change from the barista before joining Brittany at the other counter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Brittany scolds once Santana gets there, but there’s a brightness in her eyes that negates the tone to her voice.

Santana just lets her grin widen and Brittany’s eyes drop to her cheeks and Santana knows that her damn dimples are probably peaking out; she’s always had a vague dislike for them because it completely ruins her whole tough persona, but with something bright and warm in Brittany’s gaze she doesn’t immediately try to bite down on her smile and hide them. The barista calls her name and she quickly steps up to take the two coffees, turning and passing one to Brittany. She takes her coffee from Santana with a murmured thanks, her fingers stained with dark ink right at the tips, and a smile warm enough to send heat flaring under the skin of her cheeks.

//

It takes a little bit to get comfortable with each other, but before Santana realizes it she’s laughing and talking with Brittany as if they’ve been friends forever.

They both know Sugar from the weird electives they’ve had to take over the years with Sugar switching schools and everything, and they both laugh at how they arrived fifteen minutes early to the different times Sugar told them. Santana finds out that Brittany came here on a math scholarship but dropped out of the program in her second year to pursue photography so she’s technically in her first year despite being a third year student; she find out Brittany is funny and witty and silly and smart. She tells Brittany about being a music major and how there’s only really been two people in her life who believed she could make it; and she’s never felt as funny or witty or silly or smart as when she manages to coax a smile out of Brittany.

Brittany tells her about the math program that barely let her eat or sleep and laughs when Santana tells her she’s glad that Brittany’s not a math monkey anymore, and Santana tells her about the band she was in for a first year class with people she thought were her friends but who really weren’t. She finds out that Brittany isn’t a morning person, and Santana tells her about the first time she got up on stage and how she just knew what she was supposed to spend the rest of her life doing. Brittany tells her about how her step-dad raised her as if the step part wasn’t even there in the first place and how she’s always preferred kimchi and rice over green beans and potatoes, and Santana tells her about the dumb group project she has coming up. Brittany tells her about her best friend since she was five and how they sometimes find buskers in the park and start dancing along to the music to draw a crowd, and Santana tells her about her best friend from first year and how she probably would have dropped out long ago if it wasn’t for her. Brittany tells her about her little sister, and Santana tells her about being raised by a single mom. Santana finds out that Brittany scrubs at the ink staining her fingers when she doesn’t know what to say next in the same way Santana fiddles with her hands when she’s nervous, and every time Santana’s eyes are drawn to those clever fingers as they start rubbing at the dark blotches.

“Do you have some of your photographs?” Santana asks the next time Brittany starts scrubbing her fingertips. Brittany hesitates and Santana offers her a small smile, feeling her lips tug up higher on one side than the other. “C’mon,” she coaxes, “You gotta have at least one album on you at a time. You said you take polaroids mostly, right?” Brittany’s eyes dart to hers and search Santana’s face for something before her expression eases into something awed and sweet and Santana can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips when Brittany nods slowly. “Well you gotta have an album on you then, right? Where else would you put them so they don’t get wrecked in your bag?”

Brittany giggles and shakes her head a little. “You’re right, you’re right,” she concedes, twisting slightly in her chair to swing her book-bag up onto her lap. Brittany rummages through her bag and Santana catches a glimpse of a polaroid camera; not one of those new ones, but one of those old black and white ones with the overlarge flash unit at the top and the picture slot at the bottom. Brittany pulls out a decent sized album and scoots her chair over; Santana moves closer too until her elbow brushes Brittany’s where it rests on the table. Their eyes shoot to each other and meet before they smile and quickly glance down at the album, Santana can feel her cheeks burn and when she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eye she can see that pretty pink colouring the peaks of her cheeks.

Santana forces herself to focus on the photography album but she can’t help sneaking glances at Brittany every time she goes quiet with thought or launches into a story or explains some of the techniques she’s used or just, you know, breathes. Santana finds it fascinating to study Brittany’s profile, the slope of her nose and the curve of her lip, the way her cheeks scrunch up her eyes and the way her mouth curls around her words; more than all that, Santana is captivated by the brightness on Brittany’s face and the passion in her voice as she talks about her work and Santana can’t help but admire how much more beautiful Brittany becomes when she’s lit up with her love for what she does.

Santana spends as much time studying Brittany’s face as she does the polaroids (okay, probably more time staring at Brittany, if she’s being truthful), but the polaroids are just as interesting as Brittany’s face, and show just as much of her personality too. Most of them are in shades of blue or orange, and all of them are carefully careless in their composition. There’s ones of emotionless skyscrapers stretching for a sky that’s always just out of reach and ones of houses falling apart that remind Santana of her childhood home; there’s ones of people sprawled out and laughing on a boat and ones of stoic businessmen with the crinkle of amusement in the laugh-lines creasing their eyes; there’s ones of a fat cat that Brittany laughingly says is Lord Tubbington and there’s ones of a songbird caught mid-hop; there’s ones underwater of a young girl with a dark halo of hair around her that Brittany explains is her little sister and there’s ones taken of an man in the reflection of a magazine that Brittany explains is her best friend Mike; there’s ones of tiny toys made to look like a real scene and there’s ones of Brittany in a dark room hanging pictures up and silhouetted in red light.

“Which one is your favourite?” Santana asks quietly, studying the way Brittany’s face is open and just a little bit longing as they flip through the album.

Brittany doesn’t even hesitate like Santana expects her, she flips to a picture in the first half of the album and points to it. She glances up at Santana and her face is a little guarded for the first time as she searches Santana’s eyes; she must see whatever she’s looking for because her eyes soften and she looks so young for a moment. “It’s this one,” she says and Santana holds Brittany’s gaze for a moment that’s just a little too long for her to play it off before she follows Brittany’s finger.

It’s a picture of the city painted in the gold and pink of sunset, the buildings cold and dark against the life of the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the hint of a spruce tree in the top corner and the river in flashes of pink and violet and blue. Thin clouds converge on the city in white and yellow, the faintest dusking of indigo where the skyline meets the farthest edges of the city. There’s also a smudge of beige in the bottom left corner that must be the edge of Brittany’s finger and a long, thin strand of blonde hair cutting through the picture across the top half. Compared to some of Brittany’s other pictures, it’s amateur and careless, but there’s something beautifully truthful about the flaws in the picture.

“Why’s it your favourite?” Santana murmurs.

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head a little. “When I was going through all that stuff with my math scholarship and whatever, I used to walk around the city a lot and— And think. It was easier to pretend I wasn’t just a— A math monkey,” she says and gives Santana a quick smile, and Santana’s lips curl up in return before she even realizes it. “Anyways. Um, long story short, but my grandpa had given me his polaroid camera when I was in high school and I always took it everywhere even though I didn’t really use it.” Brittany’s gaze drops from Santana’s and she looks at the photograph, studying it with critical eyes, a faint hint of pink blooming across her cheeks and obscuring her freckles. “There’s this bench in this park on East End Avenue overlooking the city and I just— Something about that sunset over the city I was growing to hate made me just stop, I guess, and for some reason I remembered the polaroid I had and I just. I took my first picture and everything settled in me. I backed out on my scholarship, much to my parent’s horror, and applied to Tisch the next day and I haven’t looked back.”

Brittany suddenly bites down on her lip and her eyes widen. She resolutely avoids Santana’s gaze even when Santana ducks her head to try and catch it. “I— It was— It was kind of where I found myself, I guess,” she finally admits sheepishly, her eyes averted to where she digs the edge of her thumb nail under the laminate edging of the table.

“It’s beautiful,” Santana whispers, her eyes on Brittany’s face.

Brittany’s eyes dart up to Santana’s and she seems surprised to find Santana’s dark eyes already on hers. “Yeah?” she breathes.

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

//

Neither of them notice that over three hours have passed until Santana’s stomach starts growling and she feels her cheeks heat up. They finished their coffees ages ago, and after looking through Brittany’s photography album neither of them had moved from their spots, their elbows still mostly pressed together and their shoulders sometimes brushing with laughter. Brittany stops scrubbing at the ink on her fingertips and Santana doesn’t feel the urge to fiddle with her hands anymore.

They’re both reluctant to leave, but Santana still has a paper to work on and a midterm to study for, and Brittany has some film she needs to develop and they stand to part ways. Santana feels her stomach churn and she asks Brittany to watch her stuff so she can run to the bathroom before she leaves for the subway, and Brittany easily agrees.

Santana crosses the cafe and slips into the single stall bathroom and moves in front of the mirror to stare at herself. She doesn’t actually need to use the bathroom, and besides her apartment is maybe ten minutes away, but she needs a few moments to herself to work up her courage. It shouldn’t be so hard to ask a girl for her phone number, especially when that girl is Brittany with her bright blue eyes and her adorable smile and her ink stained fingers on Santana’s arm when she laughs, but somehow the thought paralyzes Santana’s insides.

She breathes deeply for a couple moments and critically studies her reflection in the mirror before she washes her hands and exits the bathroom, heading back to the table in the corner. Brittany stands with her book-bag slung over her shoulder, scrubbing at her fingertips and Santana takes a deep breath before she greets her.

Brittany smiles and Santana can feel her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers again as she swings her backpack up onto her shoulder. She fiddles with the strap for a moment before gathering her courage in a deep breath and looking up; she finds Brittany’s gaze already on her and when she meets those blue eyes something sharp and aching shoots through her chest. “I had a really good time,” Santana says and her voice feels shyer than she’s ever known it to be.

Brittany’s smile spreads slowly across her face, starting at her eyes and spreading to her lips. “So did I,” she murmurs, “Sugar has good taste in blind dates.”

Santana lets out a surprised laugh and watches as Brittany lights up even more. “So, uh, maybe,” Santana stutters and she curses herself for tripping over her words so much, even as Brittany’s face softens and looks more wonderstruck than before, “Maybe we could do this again?”

Santana watches as Brittany swallows thickly before she takes a tiny step forward. “I’d really like that,” Brittany whispers and something blooms under Santana’s sternum until she worries she might float away.

“Yeah?”

Brittany catches her bottom lip between her teeth but it does nothing to contain her smile. “Yeah.”

Santana finally lets the smile she feels aching in her cheeks spread across her face and nods quickly, not caring how foolish or overeager she looks. “Cool,” Santana says, and with the way Brittany’s eyes slip catlike and teasing she knows it’s more than cool, “Do you— Can I have your number then?”

Brittany’s smile widens and she twists slightly and goes digging through her bag, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, turning to the table and quickly writing on it.

“A piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”

Brittany’s lips curl into that mischievous, enticing smile. “I think it’s romantic,” she says easily, the blue of her eyes only slivers of colour through her eyelashes as she glances up at Santana, and Santana’s breath catches against her teeth. “Don’t you?” Brittany teases, and her tongue pokes out just a little bit as she bites down a smile and Santana feels off kilter and dizzy in the best way possible.

“I mean, I guess,” she manages, and Brittany’s smile escapes her attempts to hide it until Santana can see amusement in her eyes and in the tiny dimples at the very corners of her lips.

Brittany straightens and hands Santana the paper with her adoring smile still lighting up her face, and Santana just knows her own dimples are showing and she doesn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about it. “Thank you, for the coffee,” Brittany murmurs, “And for a perfect first date.”

Santana wants to say something charming like the first of many but instead all she manages to do is gasp a little when Brittany leans close and brushes soft, soft lips over Santana’s cheek right where a dimple creases the skin, pulling back with an even softer bye before she crosses the cafe and leaves, Santana stuck staring dumbly after her, the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine still lingering in the charged air around her.

Santana only then realizes that the paper feels thicker and glossier than a scrap of paper should. She runs her thumb over the centre of the paper before bringing it up to her face and belatedly realizing it’s not a piece of paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement.

Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that reads Find me.

Santana blinks blankly and stares at the letters, flipping the picture back over to find those blue eyes again, still as bright and amused as they were the first time she caught them.

She stands there dumbly until a college student hustles her over and Santana realizes that she’s just standing at an empty table. She shuffles over with a sarcastic sorry as the college student punks his stuff down on Santana’s table. She weaves through the crowd, the picture clutched protectively in her hand, as she stumbles out the door. She huddles by the front window and restudies the picture thoughtfully, shivering in the autumn air.

There’s darker violet rimming the outside of Brittany’s irises, and the tiniest flecks of gold like splattered wet paint surrounding her pupils, cobalt blue streaking through the cerulean like forks of lightning. The corner of a blonde eyebrow is caught in the middle of the top edge of the photo, right where her forehead smooths into her nose. Her cheeks scrunch her eyes up, catlike and amused, a small collection of freckles gathered at the inside corner of her right eye and spreading out like constellations, mapping faintly across her nose to gather again at the opposite corner of her other eye.

The picture gives Santana no real hints other than to prove what Santana already knew from the first moment she met Brittany’s eyes, which is that Brittany is really, really, really pretty. She flips the picture back over and rereads the words that should have been a phone number and feels even more stumped than she did in her calc midterm last week (the fact that a liberal arts degree requires math is absurd and ridiculous and Santana hates it).

Santana probably shouldn’t be laughing, but her face breaks out into a wide smile anyways. She’s always liked puzzles, ever since her mom used to get her those dungeon crawler games when she was really young, and the polaroid in her hand sparks the same flare of curiosity and determination. She should probably just write Brittany off for this. She should assume this is Brittany’s creative way of turning her down. She should be pissed that Brittany’s probably just leading her on or something. She should be irritated because she’s busy and doesn’t really have time to go on a wild goose chase around the entire goddamn city with nothing more than a polaroid picture and knowledge she’s learned in the past couple hours.

There’s all these things Santana should be, but instead, Santana’s pretty sure she just found the most interesting girl in the entire city.

//

She picks a direction and starts walking. The city is huge, but Santana’s pretty sure Brittany wouldn’t be in a different borough simply because she can’t have gotten that far yet (or, Santana hopes Brittany’s not in a different borough). She hopes she’s walking the right way, but she’s always had a pretty shoddy sense of direction, and she doesn’t have a clue what direction Brittany lives in or what direction she might have started walking in or even if Brittany wants her to find her.

She opens Facebook as she walks and has Brittany typed in before she realizes she has no clue what Brittany’s last name is. She narrows the search results down the city and the school, but there’s still hundreds of Brittanys of various spellings, none of them with that soft blonde hair or electric blue eyes or beautiful smile, and Santana doesn’t even know if Brittany has her school or city on her Facebook, or even if she has a Facebook. Santana grumbles and shoves her phone back in her pocket, shivering a little in the autumn air. The sunlight is weak but still glints off the front windows of shops and Santana gets whiffs of coffee and soap shops and Korean food as she dodges people on the sidewalk. She thinks back on what she’s learned about Brittany in the past couple hours, but nothing comes to mind about where she would go after a coffee date, and then Santana is rounding a corner and seeing the purple flag of Tisch flapping in the wind. Santana grins and feels the slight bounce to her step as she heads for the building but does nothing to try and contain the sudden wave of hope that fills her.

There’s students hurrying back and forth across the side walk and Santana searches the crowd before setting her sights on someone. “Hey,” Santana calls to the woman approaching her from the front doors, “Excuse me. I was wondering if you can tell me where the photo—”

“No I’m not coming to your little punk rock, hip hop, pop concert or whatever it is you kids are into these days,” the woman snaps and Santana blinks quickly.

“What?” Santana says blankly, “No. What? No. I’m not asking you to come watch my band play. I’m not even in a band. What the hell gives you that idea?”

The woman’s eyes trail down Santana’s body, taking in the leather jacket and ripped jeans and leather boots and, okay, maybe Santana sometimes dresses like she’s about to catch a concert but still. That doesn’t mean she’s in a lame-ass band or something.

The woman turns away walks down the street, her gaze answer enough, and Santana curses under her breath. “You make the mistake of joining a shitty college band once and suddenly you’re pegged for life,” she mutters.

She eventually manages to manoeuvre her way inside the school and then manages to find someone to point her in the direction of the photography department. Santana wanders the halls of the school, eyeing grey lockers and exposed brick walls as she finds her way to where the photography department is located, somehow managing to get lost a couple times and cursing as she sees a couple people dressed more or less exactly like her, toting bass guitars and drum sets around and she tugs self-consciously on her leather jacket, thankful for the beanie she threw on this morning both for the cold and for the fact that it means she’s not dressed exactly like other music majors.

Santana can tell when she reaches the photography department because there’s framed photographs lining the hallways now and Santana wanders around, studying abstract pictures and lifelike stills equally, searching for something without really knowing what.

She’s not quite sure what tips her off, whether it’s the use of blue and orange or if it’s the life embed into the photo despite its still subject or how it feels like if Santana studies the photo long enough it will come to life, but she slows to a halt in front of one of the photos near the middle of the hallway. There, in the corner of the blown up photo, is a scribble of a loopy signature that looks like the beginning of Brittany.

“She’s good isn’t she?” a voice says over her shoulder. Santana glances to the side and finds a shorter Asian woman standing behind her, arms full of art supplies and a wide smile on her face.

“Brittany?” Santana asks, and her suspicion is confirmed when the woman nods her head. “How do you know her?”

The woman laughs. “I took a couple years off before university and she switched programs halfway through her first so we were both a little older than the first years. We had, like, all of our first year preqers together and we got a long really well. Plus, I’m sorta dating her best friend so there’s that too. I’m Tina, by the way.”

“Santana,” Santana answers absently. “Does she have classes today?”

Tina shakes her head and shifts the art supplies in her arms. “Nah, she made her schedule so she had one day off, the lucky jerk.”

“Do you know where I could find her then?” Santana asks eagerly, and Tina seems to waver a bit and Santana tries to clamp down on her enthusiasm. “I’m not— I’m not like some crazy person,” Santana promises.

“That’s exactly what a crazy person would say,” Tina quips.

Santana shakes her head quickly even though Tina’s right. “It’s not— I went on a date with her but I didn’t get her number and now I don’t know how to get a hold of her.”

Tina’s eyes brighten and start to glow with amusement. “You must be Sugar’s mystery friend,” Tina says around a smile, “She refused to tell us anything about you except that you were apparently Britt’s type.”

Santana ignores the heat that flares in her cheeks. “So you have Brittany’s number then?”

Tina looks at her calculatingly for a long moment and Santana can’t help it when she starts to play with her fingers. “Why didn’t Brittany give you her number?”

Santana shakes her head and reaches into her pocket, pulling out the polaroid she placed along the back of her phone; she glances at those blue eyes again and can’t help the smile that threatens to spread. “She gave me this instead,” she says and offers it to Tina.

Tina is studying Santana’s goofy smile with a curious, unreadable expression and Santana fights to bite down on that floating feeling inside that’s making her a little giddy. Tina’s eyes only drop from Santana’s as she juggles her art supplies around a little to free one hand and take the photo. She glances over the blue eyes before flipping it over and reading the words with a fond shake of her head. “She’s always had a little bit of a flair for the dramatic,” Tina says, handing the photo back. Santana takes one last look at it before she carefully places it against the back of her phone and slides the phone back into her pocket. “I don’t know where she would be though,” Tina says, “And unfortunately I left my phone at my apartment this morning and I don’t have her number memorized.”

Santana sighs and tries to ignore the ebb of disappointment in her stomach. “Thanks anyways,” she says.

Tina continues to study Santana with that curious, unreadable look before something in her eyes clear. “Maybe try the Alumni Sandwich Shop,” she suggests kindly, “It’s Brittany’s favourite place for lunch. It’s like a ten minute subway ride south and then a fifteen minute walk.”

Santana lets her smile spread unabashedly as she thanks Tina and turns back down the way she came. She gets lost another couple times on the way out of the university but takes the time to search up the sandwich shop on her maps app, eventually managing to make it back out onto the street. She weaves through tired university students and manages to stumble her way to the nearest subway station, filing down the stairs to the train station. It doesn’t take long before she’s squished between a screaming baby and a homeless man’s backpack on the train, and she braces herself with an arm around one of the poles as the train lurches forward. The sound of the train travelling the tracks booms through Santana until it echoes in her ears and she carefully slips her phone out to study the polaroid until her stop comes up; the booming doesn’t stop even when Santana exits the train and emerges back into the chilly autumn air and that’s when Santana realizes it’s her heartbeat echoing throughout her body. She slips her phone out of her pocket and studies the picture one more time before she slips that back into her pocket and follows the blue line on her maps app.

//

It’s past four by the time Santana’s stomach grumbles even louder than it did two hours ago when she was still with Brittany as she scans the storefronts and searches for the sandwich shop she’s looking for. With a start she realizes she’s been wandering around the city for over three hours, looking for a single pair of elusive blue eyes, and she doesn’t even feel frustrated by it. She’s eager to find Brittany again, and she’s a little nervous about what will happen when she does, and she’s more than a little hungry as she finally finds the sandwich shop Tina suggested.

The warm air blasts her face when she opens the door and she takes a moment just inside the entryway to stomp some feeling back into her toes and huffs hot breath into her palms, wiggling her fingers until it feels less like her joints are aching with cold. There’s hope leaping under her sternum that she can’t squash even when she doesn’t catch sight of any heads of golden hair. She heads to the counter and places her order, and spices and fresh bread fills her nose and makes her even hungrier. Belatedly she realizes that, aside from a hastily eaten granola bar from this morning and her coffee, she hasn’t actually ate anything all day, and her stomach grumbles loudly at the thought. Thankfully it’s loud enough in the shop that she’s sure there’s no way anyone heard, but her cheeks heat up anyways. She waits at the other counter, watching three people get up to retrieve their late lunch or early supper, impatiently listening to the numbers count up towards hers.

She calls Sugar a couple times while she eats but only gets her voicemail, and her text messages stay on read, and she wants to be frustrated but it’s just so like Sugar to be sitting somewhere laughing at Santana, so, she can’t really stay mad for too long. She tries Facebook again but realizes she forgot to figure out Brittany’s name from her signature because Tina interrupted her, and she mutters a curse under her breath but keeps scrolling through the hundreds of Brittanys on Facebook. After half an hour of finally filling her grumbling stomach and downing a bottle of water, she detours to the bathroom and then exits the shop, feeling refreshed again. She picks a direction and starts wandering, because it worked out well last time.

The sun is starting its descent and it feels almost like winter in the shade of the buildings around her. She shivers and cuddles closer into her jacket, fingering the picture pressed against her phone as she wanders the streets and desperately tries to figure out where to find Brittany.

She comes across a small park and she smiles briefly, crossing the street to enter it. Almost all of Brittany’s photographs were taken outside, and based on what Brittany told her of her habit of walking to clear her mind Santana figures the park is as good a bet as any. The paths are paved and winding, sprinkled with the gold and orange leaves of autumn. Fake cobwebs hang from some trees and sport sloppily carved pumpkins under them; children shriek as they chase each other through the leaves while parents watch on and call out exasperated warnings that are never fully followed. Dogs bark and stretch their leashes to the limit to sniff at strangers and the hint of an acoustic guitar fills the air from the other side of the park.

Santana wanders through the park slowly, chewing on her lip before pulling out her phone, carefully tucking the polaroid back into her pocket.

“This is a fucking long shot,” Santana mutters darkly as she scrolls through her contacts.

Mercedes picks up after the second ring and there’s a bright laugh in her voice. “Santana, who knew the blind date you were dreading would go on for hours and—”

“It’s not— I’m not with her right now,” Santana interrupts.

Mercedes grows quiet and sombre. “Geez, Santana, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“The date went perfectly,” Santana interrupts again.

Mercedes hesitates. “So,” she trails off and Santana can hear her confusion over the phone.

“It’s— It’s a long story. She— I’m trying to find her but I don’t have her phone number,” Santana explains, running her thumb over the polaroid in her pocket. “Her name’s Brittany and since you and Sam know, like, everyone I was wondering if you, you know, know her?”

Mercedes hums and Santana knows she’s still confused but she answers with a “Hold on a sec,” anyways. Santana waits impatiently as Mercedes’ voice grows distant and muffled. “Sam knows of a Brittany Pierce,” she says within a couple moments. “Is that her?”

Santana’s heart makes the leap from her chest to her throat and she stumbles over an invisible crack in the sidewalk as she tries to force it down. She shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she does anyway. “Blonde hair, blue eyes? Freckles and dancer’s body? She’s taking photography at Tisch?” she prompts frantically, “She has smile that could make flowers grow?” Santana bites down on her lip hard enough to ache as that the last descriptor makes it through, and she can practically hear Mercedes’ smug smile through her phone. “Please forget I said that,” she begs, “You can make fun of me later but I need a lead on this girl ‘Cedes.”

“Aww, Satan,” Mercedes coos, “you sound like you’re blushing.”

“Oh fuck off, Wheezy.”

Mercedes laughs and her voice gets muffled again for a moment, the rustling of cloth against the speaker filling Santana’s steps as she crosses the park, waiting for Mercedes to come back. She takes the polaroid out of her pocket and her heart leaps again as she looks at those blue eyes; she doesn’t know if it’s Brittany’s photography skill or if it’s just Brittany herself, but somehow Santana thinks if she keeps staring at the picture those eyes will start blinking and moving with life. “Yeah,” says suddenly, “Sam says he thinks Brittany Pierce definitely is your girl.”

“Does Sam know anything else about her? Like were she might be right now?”

There’s another muffled pause as Mercedes talks to Sam and Santana doesn’t even realize how fast she’s walking until she almost trips over the back of someone’s shoes. She forces herself to slow down and presses her phone more firmly to her ear. “Sam says he doesn’t have a clue,” Mercedes continues suddenly. “He knows there’s someplace out of the way that she goes when she needs to think but he has no clue where it is. Or where the heck you’d find her in general.”

Something deep in Santana wakes up at that and she suddenly stops walking, people grumbling as they dodge her frozen body in the middle of the pathway but she can’t find it in herself to care. She glances down at the photograph in her hand and catches on those blue eyes again as her mind races and her heart pounds.

Find me.

“Santana? Girl, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Santana says absently, “I— I gotta go. I think I know where she is.”

//

The place looks exactly as Santana remembers from the polaroid: a city painted in gold and pink, the buildings dark against the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the river flashes in pink and violet and blue, thin clouds converging across the sky. There’s a spruce tree beside the bench overlooking the city and Santana smiles as she crosses the stretch of grass, red and orange leaves crunching under her boots, completely ignoring the breathtaking cityscape in favour of watching the way the wind plays with the golden strands of hair of the lone occupant of the bench.

“You, Brittany Pierce,” Santana greets once she’s close enough, and the figure quickly turns with a gasp, “Are one hard woman to find.”

“Santana!” Brittany says, and the blue eyes Santana has been chasing down all day land on hers and Santana feels warm and bright on the inside. Her lips curl into a smile that makes Santana’s breath catch, but it’s the pure, unfiltered joy in Brittany’s eyes that makes her heart pound throughout her body until her fingertips start tingling again; Brittany’s smiles always start at her eyes, and the knowledge that Brittany’s happiness is currently directed at her makes something tremble deep in Santana’s being.

Santana rounds the bench and sits down beside Brittany, far enough to be respectful but a little too close to be completely friendly. Brittany takes a long moment and searches Santana’s face, her smile never wavering as her eyes dart all over, lingering on Santana’s own dark eyes and Santana’s lips and those damned dimples.

“How’d you end up finding me?” Brittany finally breathes.

Santana smiles wider even as she feels her cheeks flame under Brittany’s warm gaze. “You told me to find you,” she says and she runs her thumb over the picture in her pocket. “So after running around the city all day without a clue I thought back to what you told me.” Santana glances away quickly and gestures at the view in front of them. “You told me to find you,” she repeats, “And so I went to where you found you.”

Brittany’s smile softens and sweetens and the heat continues to creep under Santana’s cheeks. “Why the wild goose chase?” Santana finally asks.

“I wouldn’t call it a goose chase, unless you found some geese today. Then, maybe.”

Santana’s lips curl up without her permission and she leans over and bumps her shoulder against Brittany’s. “You know what I meant, you goofball,” she teases. “Why the set up? Why all this?”

Brittany gestures to the cityscape with her chin. “It’s a romantic view,” she answers without really answering at all. Pink splotches her cheeks as Santana remains silent, studying Brittany steadily and, for the first time, she looks a little nervous. Her teeth bite down into a pink lip and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the worrying movement. “You don’t hate me or something, do you?” she whispers.

Santana can’t help the giggle that escapes her. She shuffles a little closer, shifting her hand along the bench until it bumps against Brittany’s, pinky to pinky. “It was an unconventional day, yes. But no, I definitely don’t hate you for it.”

Brittany relaxes and lets her pinky press more fully against Santana’s; it sets off something fluttering and warm in Santana’s chest. “I saw it in a movie once,” Brittany explains. “Kind of.”

“Why?” Santana prompts softly again when Brittany trails off.

“I thought it was— Like it was fate, or something, I guess. Or a series of coincidences, maybe. But it seemed like the thrill to the chase or something and it,” Brittany trails off again and a small frown line creases the skin of her brow. “I know I’m rambling but I don’t really know why I did it,” she eventually continues, voice quiet and small. “I really, really like you, I think,” she admits and that fluttering thing erupts in Santana’s chest again, she thinks it might be butterflies. “I think I wanted to know if, if it were left up to chance instead of Sugar if you would still— If we would still— If chance would put us together still.”

“I get that,” Santana says softly, and there’s a long charged moment where blue eyes catch on brown.

“Why’d you go looking for me?” Brittany eventually murmurs.

Santana can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips again as she glances away before catching Brittany’s eyes again and something swoops deep in her stomach. “I thought you might be worth the chase.”

Santana can see Brittany’s breath catch in a small gasp and blue eyes dart down to Santana’s lips for a moment before meeting dark eyes again. “And was I? Worth the chase, I mean.”

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

“Okay,” Brittany says, and nods quickly as her smile starts in her eyes and creeps across her lips. “Okay,” she says again, and if Santana didn’t know any better she would think Brittany’s face was getting closer to hers.

It’s not until warm breath tickles her face, alighting her nerves and faintly stinging her cold skin, that she realizes Brittany’s face is getting closer to hers, blue eyes darting down to Santana’s lips before catching back on brown eyes and Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating all together.

She should be worried that she doesn’t really know Brittany all that well. She should be pissed that she wasted an entire day scrambling around the city trying to find a single pair of elusive blue eyes. She should be wary that Brittany’s some kind of serial killer and just lured Santana to this bench overlooking the city and the sunset so she had a private spot to murder her. She should be concerned at how fast her heart is pounding and her her hands are sweating like she’s stepping up on stage for the first time all over again.

There’s all of these things that Santana should be, but instead, she tilts her chin up slightly and lets Brittany press soft, pink lips to hers. It’s only a brief press of their mouths, a chaste brush of lips, and still Santana’s soul trembles at the feeling, immediately yearning for more in a way Santana’s never felt before.

Brittany’s eyes flutter open and she searches Santana’s eyes for something, something she seems to find with ease as she slowly pulls away. Santana immediately misses her warmth, and she knows there’s no hiding her dimples as a smile starts to spread across her face, mirroring the one spreading across Brittany’s face too. They settle into the bench again and look out across the river, shoulder to shoulder and pinky to pinky, and Santana soaks in the serenity of the sunset for a moment before she turns her face to Brittany’s, waiting until Brittany’s looking at her. She grins cheekily and haltingly takes Brittany’s hand, sinking into the warmth blooming in her chest when Brittany immediately twists her wrist and tangles their fingers together. “So,” Santana drawls, lolling her head towards Brittany and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice, “do I get your phone number now?”

Brittany’s laugh carries across the cold autumn air and settles warmly in Santana’s chest as she shifts and sinks into Brittany’s shoulder, ink stained fingers squeezing teasingly around hers as she soaks in Brittany’s warmth and the orange sunset.

[themcfuckups]

ok, below is an rp i and @monty-enzo​ did, it sorta peters off when i guess i left the rp mood, which is why it switched from first person? to just us talking about them. (also my end started out not rp-like bcuz idk i do that sometimes when i dont feel like typing real rp responses) warnings: some nsfw at the end, otherwise its fairly safe word count: 2069(nice)

Monty was a mess, he said he would be home in a while. But his 'while' had dragged on to longer then he wanted. When he got home he just collapsed on the couch, too tired to move too upset to clean up. To much pain for anything else. He takes out his phone and looks at it bleary eyed, then deletes the messages then texts Oscar. Sorry I'm late. -M Are you still home? -M I hope you made yourself some dinner. -M Please don't wait up for me. -M He drops the phone onto the ground and lays with his face in the couch.

oscar was prob crying bcuz he was lonely and sal prob hung out with him till it got late then went home, and the lonely part isnt montys fault, oscars just really extroverted and has a need to be around ppl a lot. but when he hears montys back he'd immediately go greet him. sit on the floor next to the couch and be like hi im glad ur home bby

Monty felt sick, and the expectant look on Oscar's face made his stomach turn. What was he supposed to say? He didn't say anything he just started crying and clung on to Oscar. "S-stupid, h-hormones." he sniffed. "S-sorry I hic took s-so long t-to  sob come ho-home.."

Oscar wasn't expecting the burst of emotion from monty. he hugged him from the floor, rubbing his back "aw hey, what's wrong baby? who's ass do i needta kick?" he said the last part with a hint of aggression, always ready to throw down if someone hurt monty in any way.

Monty sniffed trying to get his words out without sounding to blubbery, "Atlas invited me over.. to introduce me to someone I never met." he wipes his face. "It was my dad..." he mumbles "Then Atlas got mad when I said he couldn't come to the wedding..."

Oscar wasnt sure how to respond to that. he'd always assumed monty's parents were dead, since he'd never heard mention of them. but of course, the main thing that rung in oscars head was that atlas was the one who'd upset him. he leaned back to cup his face and kiss his forehead, with sincerity and a small smile "do ya want me to punch him? i can punch him for ya."

Monty actually let out a weak giggle at that "No his face has to be pretty for the wedding you know..." he wipes his face and snuggles with Oscar. "I just dont know how he expects me to suddenly allow someone like that, back into my life..." Monty choked up again "He didn't want me."

oscar nuzzled him, happy he'd gotten a smile out of him."well, he made tha mistake of his life, clearly. look at what a wonderful person he missed out on knowin."  he wasnt fond of thinking about family that didnt want him, but he could relate a lot to it, and he didnt want monty to feel alone in it  "if it helps any.. my dad didnt want me either. i was told he seen me after i was born in the hospital and jus left then and there.. but ya know, fuck em. theyre just shitty people who dont give a fuck about their own kids.. id bet money their ribcages are empty." he said the last sentence with a sneer.

Monty didn't want to dwell on the subject any longer, so he just smothered Oscar in kisses. In his mind he claimed they would be the better dads and not leave their kids and never look back. He slides off the couch and carefully sits in Oscar's lap "Were you able to get yourself some dinner?" he asked finally, "Also you smell like Sal," he leans close and sniffs him. Sure he didnt have the smelling power Oscar's moms did but he could still smell that.

oscars tail thumped the floor a little before he controlled it to stop, happily kissing back and cuddling him close "wasnt hungry, and sal hung out with me for a bit.  they got some dinner for me before they left, think its chinese.. ya wanna eat it?"

"No, I'm not really hungry... I don't think the baby was to happy I got upset.. and kind of hurt me a little." Monty rubs his stomach slightly then rubs Oscar's. "And how are you my little turtle dove, did you get lonely too?" he coos and smooches Oscar's stomach.

oscar grins lopsided and does his best not to wag his tail again at the cute display. he was really getting tired of this tail business. the small fetus responded by giving a weak little kick, "heh, i think they missed ya too. looks like ya got two number one fans now, huh?"  it takes him a moment to backtrack to the first sentence, grin dropping in worry "do ya feel ok? should we go to tha doctor? are you bleeding? are they moving?" barage of questions as his hands moved under montys clothes to gently feel his stomach.

Monty slightly tensed under Oscar's hands and his face colored "Yes I feel fine, no we dont need a doctor, no I am not bleeding, and yes they are moving." and just as he said that Shiloh turned over, the movement felt against Oscar's hands. Monty shuddered a little knowing that Oscar's fingers would reach where the strap would be if he had a bra on. Which he promptly removed as soon as he got home.

oscar grinned at the movement, feeling his soul flutter in response. that was his baby in there, a tiny little thing he made with monty. he completly ignored his tail thumping the floor now, too concentrated on monty to care "youll tell me if ya dont feel good, right? and you should eat, what if it's hungry?"

He smiles softly "Of course babe, I'll eat for them, and I will tell you if something is wrong." Monty gets up with a little effort and waddles into the kitchen for some cinnamon oatmeal and milk. Something warm and yummy and filling for the baby. 

Oscar didnt have nearly as much trouble as Monty did with getting up, following behind him and being what some would consider an absolute annoyance, hovering, rubbing his shoulders , ect. Though at least he helped assist monty on getting items. He got a text, fishing his phone out to glance at it before shoving it back in his pocket without giving the words of the text a second thought. 

Monty honestly didn't mind Oscar hovering him, he had been used to it for a long time, and knew how to do things without tripping over him. Monty made dinner and while he was working on it watched as Oscar got a text "Who was it?" he asked seeing him shove it back into his pocket, concerned. "You okay babe?" he frowns stopping what he was doing and turning around to give Oscar his undivided attention.

Oscar looked at him a little confused, almost already forgetting the text. "Oh, it was jus ma." They had left for a few days to go deal with something else, but both texted him several times a day to make sure he wasn't slacking on taking care of his baby. Monty turning his attention towards him though, he crouched to nuzzle him again, being his ever affectionate self and ignoring whatever his mother had told him. 

Monty had finished making the oatmeal, since he wasnt entirely hungry, though it was for Shiloh's sake. He kissed Oscar for a moment then turns to get his bowl and starts eating, "Was it something important? You shouldn't ignore her texts." 

Oscar sits down, frowning a little "I'm not ignoring her, I seen it, it was just about-" he glanced at the bowl and frowned more, looking guilty "oh.. hm.." he fiddled with his sleeve a bit "I guess I should eat too. Heh.." its not that he was trying to not take care of himself, it just didnt really click as important to him unless he actually thought about it. 

"So, you didn't eat when Sal brought food over?" he asked as he spooned another mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth, he felt the baby shift inside of him. Rubbing his stomach "There there little one you'll get some food it will just take a little bit." Monty sits on Oscar's lap "Aahh." he holds a spoonful of oatmeal to Oscar. 

Oscar shrugged "put it in the fridge, that's why I asked if you wanted it.." he felt bad now for neglecting his baby. And stupid that he needed to be reminded of something so simple. He still smiled a little at the cute offer, eating the spoonful before kissing montys neck "if only eating you out counted as a square meal, I'd never forget to eat." He sat monty in his place, going to grab the food hed put in the fridge since he didnt want monty having to share his meal with him. 

Monty blushed, though looked down when he got moved "Oh," he frowns he didnt really want take out "It was very nice of Sal to bring you some food while I was away." he stated eating more of the oatmeal, even though he wasn't exactly gone very long. Though again just thinking about it had his mind full of thoughts. His dad, suddenly coming back into his life which he had no idea he still was alive. Why had Atlas not said anything until just now? Monty stopped eating. -------

m- I guess Monty would of just told Oscar hes not sure what to think about inviting his dad to his wedding, and hes not happy Atlas didn't tell him his dad was still alive until now and hes not even sure he wants Atlas to go. Like 'you cant just forget about that and not tell me.'

o-Oscar wouldnt know what to suggest, just be like 'follow ur heart'

m-I think Monty would be mad for like a while and fuckin extreme clean the house. which .. Oscar should stop him since hes pregnant -v- dishes, scrub the floors, counters, wipe the walls, dust. vacuum

0-Be like bitch stop that and sit down

m-babe lift the couch for me >:V

0-Massages his feet and kisses his toes

m- Monty just dsklhsdf and blushes hes ticklish slightly

0-Oscar's like if u want a workout, just bend over and I'll help you with a much better one. That doesnt include possible bad cleaning supply smells or toxins. Just nice organic stuff

m- fklshd Oscar is like "Welp time for baby yoga lets go." Monty gets down on the floor on all fours and sticks his butt up in the air. "Yeah I guess this helps." fksldhf

0- Well he meant his dick, but that works too

m- summon the dicco :V and I know you did I think Monty might end up crying during sex though cause hes super emotional lmao "Babe can we just snuggle.. Im sorry" sniffle

0- hed kiss him a lot and hold his hands "We can absolutely snuggle" Rub his tummy His dick can wait Like shhh it's ok, I can get off later, I just wanna smooch u and make u feel loved

m-hlkfhg Monty keeps pushing his plump lil ass against Oscar's hips like "plz fuck my thighs"

0-WELL ITS HARD TO REFUSE IF U DO THAT MONTY

m-dslkfh do it oscar stick your dick between those plump thighs meng give him a good ol squeeze.

o-Fine but hope montys prepared to have him panting and groaning curses against his neck

m-klshdf Monty is super blushy and still got tears from crying before but now hes fucking aroused and shit might fucking nut just from the rubbing

o-Hell yeah, dick rubbing over his puss Nuts all over his thighs and tummy

m-Monty is all panting and just gives him sloppy kisses clinging onto him "Thanks babe I feel a lot better now." nuzzles his face. - theeeen starts crying again "I love you so much." -sobs

o-Hfgdgdxvhfhg oscar just peppers kisses all over him and tells him how sweet and perfect he is

m-Monty turns and snuggles into Oscar touching him all over and cuddling up to him. Then probably just falls asleep against him afterwords tuckered out from stress -------end

[sansfangirl4life-blog]

Souls of Glass Chapter 9

Everything eventually comes to a head, no?

Lost is my baby, and Undervirus belongs to @jeyawue

Chapter 9                        

"Lost doesn't look too good."

"Mmmh..."

"Xans?"

"Mm."

"Xans!" Xans turned to Sans, looking tired himself. "You've been using too much of your magic again."

"So?"

"Xans, you're a fucking moron." Sans shook his head. "And on top of that Lost looks....really bad. Like...I dunno. It's not really possible for you both to get paler." He shrugged and turned. Lost was napping on the couch with Frisk sleeping next to him, Valphys fiddling on a screen while Vapyrus and Vundyne arm wrestled. "He just....doesn't look right."

"So what?"

"Xans for stars's sakes quit being such a jackass!" Sans flinched when Xans narrowed his eyes at him, but he stayed in his spot. "He's been here two months. The least you can do is try to be normal for once."

"Really? Two months?"

"Yes two months. Good grief Xans." Sans sighed and looked at him again, frowning. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm' fine..." Xans mumbled.

"Tsk, ok...whatever." Sans walked away and Xans sighed, turning and watching everyone. His gaze turned to Lost, asleep on the couch and Sans's words echoed in his head.

Something's wrong....that's what he said. But.....is there really? I mean, he seems fine. He thought. And yet.....what's this feeling I have? Uneasiness? He walked over and glanced down at Lost's face, frowning. He seems fine...yeah.

"Xans, staring like that can either make you a creeper, or you may actually appear concerned." Valphys said, not once looking up from her screen.

"Shut the fuck up..." He grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. His large, baggy black cargo pants shifted slightly, the chains clanking against one another as he leaned against the wall next to the lizard monster. "What do you know?"

"Considering how long I've know you? A lot." Valphys huffed. "I also no you keep pictures of him in your screens. Especially ones of his rather nice as-" Xans covered her mouth and she scowled, shoving him off. "The point is....you care."

"Tsk, about what? About him?" He glanced at Lost, having shifted in his sleep and now holding Frisk. "Whatever."

"Denying the truth will only make it worse....for the both of you." Valphys pointed out. "So as Sans was saying....quit being a douchebag."

"That's all any of ya ever say!" Xans snapped, tapping his foot angrily. "And I'm not-"

"You are. But if you don't see it, I'm not pointing it out to you." She shrugged and continued looking at her screen.  "I can't clear the corruption for the data about his world....I don't like this."

"Tsk." Xans watched as Lost's sleeping face scrunched up slightly, his fingers twitching in his sleep. What is yer story Lost.....and why aren't ya telling anyone?

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

Lost flinched as the blade sliced his skin open, the flesh still raw from the night before. I....I can't be....doing this.... He thought weakly, gripping the sink to steady himself. But...but how else can I...atone? Vasriel's presence behind him was almost comforting as he finished, wrapping the gauze around his arms tightly, wincing as the material stung his fresh cuts.

"You're taking this seriously I see...." Vasriel spoke quietly, placing a hand on Lost's shoulder. Vlowey curled a vine around his left arm, squeezing it just enough to make Lost wince.

"I...I know this isn't right....it isn't..." Lost whispered, his limbs trembling from the pain. "But....but I...I have no other way....what else can I possibly do?" He flinched as Vasriel held him close, Vlowey's vines snaking around his neck. The thorns pricked his skin slightly, tiny droplets of blood dripping down the pale skin. "Ngh...st...stop..."

"If you wanted usssssssss to ssssssssstop....you would have made ussssssss by now." Vlowey chuckled. "After all, you have the ssssssssstrenght....the magic. Sssssssssso why let usssssssssss do thissssssss to you?"

"Hmm, perhaps he takes slight pleasure in the pain?" Vasriel smirked. Vlowey grinned and squeezed tighter, Vasriel covering his mouth as Lost attempted to scream. "Shh, hush now. Don't wish to wake anyone, do you?"

"Mmmph! Mmmngh...." Lost struggled, but vines spread over his limbs and through his clothes, preventing him from doing more than wriggling. "Mmm!"

"Look at him writhe." Vlowey cackled softly. "Ssssssssssssso good......yer flessssssssssh is rather sssssssssoft for ssssssssomeone sssssssso filthy." Vasriel leaned in close, licking the blood trickling from Lost's neck. Lost winced and panted from the touches, his body trembling where it stood.

"Mmm....tastes rather sweet....not befitting of you at all." Vasriel whispered. His hand reached up to cover Lost's eyes as the young man panted, trying to escape Vlowey's thorny grasp. "No wonder Xans craves your body....you fit well against him...." Vasriel grinned as Lost shook his head, his wrists bleeding more as Vlowey's grip grew even tighter, thorns piercing gauze and flesh. Vasriel released Lost as Vlowey retreated from his form, leaving the young albino gasping and trembling.

"W...what....what is your problem?" Lost panted, red and blue eyes glaring at the two. "What....what do you want from me?!" Vasriel moved in closer, leaning down so his face was close to Lost's and he grinned.

"What do I want?" A vine gently brushed Lost's bangs from his eyes, the orbs filled with fear. "I want to see this.....a sinner, paying for his sins." He vanished as soon as he finished speaking, leaving Lost alone in the dark bathroom. He collapsed to the floor, shaking and holding himself. He sat there for a long time, until he was finally able to stand up slowly and rewrap his injuries. His neck had been healed by Vasriel, but the feeling of his tongue on his skin lingered, making Lost squirm and rub his neck.

He's....he's....right.... Lost thought, looking down at his hands. I am filthy....tainted by my own actions.... He shivered and slid his sweater back over his body. This....I know it's bad...I know....but.... He looked at himself in the mirror, sighing. Dark circles were under his eyes from lack of sleep, his forehead coated in sweat and hair slightly disheveled. If I tell them...what then? I can't....they can't know what I've done. He sighed and rubbed at his stinging wrists. They wouldn't understand....

He left the bathroom and slid on his sandals, heading outside into the cool, autumn air. He shivered in the cool breeze, looking around only to hear arguing. Xans....at it again, hmm? He walked over as he watched a woman dressed in leather and high heel boots stomp off, Xans scowling after her. "Another rough night?"

"Tsk, why ya always gotta come out here?" Xans huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had a fake lip ring on the corner of his bottom lip, along with two piercings on his right ear. He was in a black, long sleeved shirt with a blue skull on it, the eyes filled with screaming faces and his usual black jacket. He was wearing tight black jeans and simple, black boots with a slight heel on them. "Ya know I always come back home. I don't need a fucking escort."

"So I'm not allowed to be concerned for you?" Lost asked, shrugging. "For all the people you've been pissing off lately, it's going to come back and bite you." "Tsk, whatever. Yer just a fucking motherhen."

"Someone needs to actually show concern for your habits."

"What, mad that I like ta sleep around?" Lost flinched a bit and shook his head.

"Sleeping around is all you do. Ever think about actually finding someone?"

"Ya mean get all feely and heartfelt? No fucking thank ya." Xans crossed his arms and brushed past Lost. "What's the goddamned point? It won't matter once I regain my real form again."

"....What if you never do?" Lost asked quietly and Xans stopped. "What if you and I are stuck as humans forever? What then, hmm?"

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

Xans scowled as he pulled his hood up. "Then nothin'. I'll get my real form back...no matter what."

"Why? Is it really that much better?" Lost asked. Xans glanced at the young man behind him, scowling. Lost was wearing a long, dark blue sweater with a picture of two pieces of toast, one with jelly and the other with peanut butter that said 'We fit together', a gift from Frisk. He had baggy, gray sweatpants on and his slide on sandals. Xans looked over his form and frowned a little.

Why the baggy shit? He thought idly. Not like it matters...but.... "Course it is. I can do literally whatever the fuck I want."

"Like what you're doing now?" Lost countered. "Doing what you please....not thinking of others..."

"Oh like yer one ta fuckin' talk!" Xans huffed, still keeping his back to Lost. "What's yer story then, hmm? Got some sorta dark past ya don't wanna share?" He turned to see Lost shift anxiously in his spot, rubbing his arms. "Tsk, what, am I right?"

"My past doesn't concern you...know that I just want to forget it...." Lost whispered quietly.

'But you can't forget the past...' Vasriel's words echoed in his head and he gripped his hair slightly from the headache. 'And those you have killed are still dead....you cannot be absolved so easily Lost...'

"I...I just want to let it go. Is that so bad?" He asked. Xans didn't reply and Lost shook his head. "Whatever. Let's just get home..." Xans glared at Lost and stepped in his path. "What now?"

"Yer actin' weird." Lost scoffed and crossed his arms, looking away. "What?"

"Since when have you given a rat's ass about how I act or what I do?" Lost grumbled. "Never bothered to care before, so why now?"

"I don't care. Just wanted ta tell ya that ya look like shit." Lost flinched and backed up a bit, making Xans's chest hurt slightly. Shit....wrong thing ta say. Oh well... "Ya look like shit and ya smell off."

"I smell off? What are you, some fucking dog?" Lost glared at the sidewalk.

"Tsk, if anyone here's a dog, it's ya fer acting like a bitch." Stop...stop! His thoughts were at war with his words as Lost seemed to shrink a little more. "Yer constantly nagging me and won't leave me the fuck alone. Why, want my dick again that badly?"

"As if! I never asked for it in the first place!" Lost snapped, his red and blue eyes flaring slightly. "You practically forced yourself on me!"

"Ya were beggin' fer it!"

"I was not! Why the hell would I beg for anything like that from you?!" Lost got into his face, their foreheads pressed to one another harshly. "I didn't want it at all! You took advantage of me!"

"Tsk, cause it was that easy! Besides, it's the only shit yer ever gonna get!" Xans growled, his Soul screaming at him to be silent. "Because no one else out there is gonna want a goddamned fucking, whiny ass freak like ya!" Lost's eyes widened and Xans frowned. "W-Wait a sec, I-" Lost punched him hard in the face, sending him toppling to the ground. Shit...fucker's strong...

"Fuck. You." Lost hissed angrily, holding his hand close to his chest. "FUCK YOU XANS!" Lost's body was trembling as Xans stood up slowly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "What the fuck do you know?! You don't know that....you don't-" Xans walked up and punched Lost in retaliation, sending him hard to the ground.

"I don't fucking care!" Xans snapped. "Yer right, and ya know what? Ya can go screw yerself! Everythin' was fine until you showed up 'ere! Go back to whatever fucking hole ya came from, Lost!" Lost stood on shaky legs and tried to punch again, but Xans caught his wrist, gripping it tightly. "And ya can go rot there! I don't want ya....no one else here needs ya!"

"L-Let go!" Lost tugged against the grip, his breathing coming out in harsh pants as the grip tightened. "Xans...Xans please...let go!"

"Why, just so ya can hit me again?!" His grip grew even tighter and Lost let out a pain filled scream. Xans let go as Lost yanked his arm close to himself. "What the fuck's yer problem anyways?" Lost staggered slightly where he stood, looking up at Xans. Xans frowned when he noticed the sweat dripping from Lost's head, and his heavy breathing sounded off to him. "Oi...Lost, ya-" Lost took one more step when his knees buckled from under him. Xans rushed forward, feeling Lost lean heavily against him. He pulled him close as Lost's full weight leaned on him, and he moved Lost to a nearby bench. "Lost....hey Lost!"

Lost didn't budge as Xans looked at his chalky face. He placed a hand to his forehead and flinched. "Shit...he's burning up...." He grabbed Lost and closed his eyes to teleport, but a sudden wave of nausea made him stop. Shit...I....I can't...teleport..... He tried to summon one of his screens, but just as he started to call Valphys, the screen shattered. "Wh....what?" He tried again only for it to happen once more. "Shit...shit shit no.....no...." Panic slowly filled his Soul as he looked down at Lost, his breathing growing heavier. "Fuck...fuck what do I do?!" He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. "Wait....Lost never leaves without...." He dug into Lost's pockets and found his cellphone. Yes! He flipped through the numbers and found Valphys. He clicked the button and listened to the dial tone. "C'mon....c'mon!"

"Lost? Is that you? Where the hell are you?" Valphys replied. "You didn't go out after Xans again, did y-"

"Valphys!"

"Xans? What the fuck are you doing with Lost's cell? No, better, why are you on a cellphone?"

"My magic's on the fritz and Lost...Lost passed out! He's burning up and I can't carry him all the way there! Get Sans out here now!" Valphys hung up and Xans waited, picking Lost up and holding him. Shit....fuck, hang on Lost....

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

Xans sat next to Frisk's bed as he watched her place a wet cloth to Lost's forehead. "He's really sick..." She whimpered. Xans gritted his teeth and turned away. "Is he going to be ok Valphys?"

"Yes. He'll be just fine." Valphys had Sans take Frisk to the living room and she glared at Xans. "Explain. NOW."

"There ain't much ta say. We argued and he just collapsed." Xans shrugged, feeling his own Soul pang painfully.

"It's more than that." Valphys pulled Lost's sleeves down and showed the virus his bandaged arms. The wrist Xans had grabbed was stained dark red and he winced.  "The cuts here are deep....and some are healing. He's been doing this for awhile." Xans felt guilt and anger roil in his chest and he gripped the sheets angrily.

"Now why the fuck is he doin' shit like that?"

"Because no one else out there is gonna want a goddamned fucking, whiny ass freak like ya!"  Xans's eyes widened as his own words echoed in his mind, and Lost's expression seemed to come into sharper focus. "I don't fucking care!"  His eyes were in pain, flickering between anger and agony. "Yer right, and ya know what? Ya can go screw yerself! Everythin' was fine until you showed up 'ere! Go back to whatever fucking hole ya came from, Lost!" The pain increased and his red and blue eyes were shining with unfallen tears.  "And ya can go rot there! I don't want ya....no one else here needs ya!"

Fuck....I fucked up.....why the hell did I say that shit? He thought, gripping his head and shaking it. "I'm such a goddamned moron..."

"We've been telling you that for the past month." Valphys huffed, scanning Lost with her screens. "He's got an infection, but it isn't too bad. He just needs rest, fluids and some warm food." She turned to Xans as he stared at Lost, his eyes scanning over Lost's prone, thin form. "Xans?"

Fuck, just look at him. He's lost weight.....it seems like 10 pounds....maybe more... His thoughts rambled on, his Soul twinging with regret. His skin's all chalky....almost gray.....he's got dark circles under his eyes.....fuck....fuck! How did I not see this sh-

"Xans!" Xans jolted and turned to Valphys, the lizard monster sighing. "Frisk has school in the morning....I need you to stay with Lost tonight."

"Why me?"

"Because I said so." Valphys said. "Plus, he'll need your body heat. Stay close." Valphys shut the bedroom door and Xans was left alone with the young albino. He watched as Lost's breathing grew ragged and he grabbed his hand tenderly.

"Fuck...Lost I....I'm sorry..." He whispered. "Yer right....I was being stupid." He admitted and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm just....not used ta this human feeling bullshit....ya know?" He frowns and grips his hand tighter. "I am sorry....so sorry....."

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

Vasriel watched from outside as rain fell hard against the house. "Tsk, well that's interesting.....he actually does care for him."

"What do we do now?" Vlowey asked. Vasriel smirked and held his hand out, showing a small, strand of purple code.

"Nothing for now....we sit and wait..." He chuckled. "I got what I wanted, after all..."

[pixelgrotto]

Three free games on Steam, part two

Two months ago I decided to take a dive into the free section of Steam in search of weird, experimental and under-the-radar stuff that could be played without spending a cent, and now I’m back with three more games. And wowzers, we’ve got some unusual stuff this time. 

Marie’s Room - This is the most mainstream game on here, since it was released just a few weeks ago to a reasonable amount of fanfare. It’s a one hour “explore the room and figure out the story it holds” game that’s drawing a lot of comparisons with Gone Home and Life is Strange, which are both titles that I haven’t actually played but want to at some point (Life is Strange moreso than Gone Home). Anyhow, in Marie’s Room you play as a girl named Kelsey who’s gone back to the childhood room of Marie, a high school friend from 20 years ago. She finds Marie’s journal, and as you investigate objects in the room, journal entries will appear, outlining the story of these two young women from very different backgrounds. Kelsey was a “cool” chick with a boyfriend, Marie was a kinda nerdy and socially awkward introvert, but despite this they managed to bond with each other until a dramatic incident occurred. And naturally, piecing together that incident is what the game’s all about.  It’s a quick and interesting enough storytelling experience, though if you’re not a fan of what are increasingly being called “walking simulators” it’s doubtful that you’ll like it. Marie’s Room also carries a lot of the same tropes that Gone Home and Life is Strange apparently possess, and one of the complaints I saw on Steam is that experimental slice-of-life storytelling games like this predominantly seem to be falling into a routine, where they usually focus on showcasing the friendships of American white girls (who usually turn out to be lesbians, though not so in Marie’s Room, sorry) living in suburbia. On one level, this is fine, because lord knows we could use more games from the viewpoint of women. On another level, though, this is quickly becoming a trope, almost like how the grizzly, generic male action hero is in AAA mainstream titles. I saw a Steam review stating that gamers who love interactive storytelling should begin demanding more diverse tales, and I’m inclined to agree. A game like Marie’s Room set somewhere besides suburbia and starring a protagonist of color - like an Asian American boy or an African American woman, for instance - would be a good start. 

Path Out - Not to be confused with A Way Out, which is something else entirely, Path Out is a tiny game based on a wonderful idea: under the guise of a cartoony and nostalgic JRPG, tell players the tale of one young Syrian’s escape from the country after the 2014 civil war. It’s based on the true story of Abdullah Karam, who pops up in the upper left corner of the screen as you examine various objects or end up in a sticky situation that leads to death, and I love the way he comments on his homeland and your decisions. For instance, at one point in the game you’re wandering around a Syrian household and see an intentionally placed and stereotypical looking camel, and Abdullah’s face emerges and is like, “Yah, to be honest this is sorta racist since we don’t have camels like that in Syria aside from in the super touristy areas.” And then the camel disappears. There are little asides like this throughout the game, and Abdullah’s stories can get quite serious and touching, especially when he has to leave his family and sneak past ISIS troops in the woods.

I enjoy it when I feel like I’m learning something from a game, and if Path Out does anything, it manages to communicate how difficult it was for average Syrians during the war. It also fosters a sense of camaraderie via Abdullah - after all, here’s a normal dude who enjoys playing video games and fiddling around on the computer just like any other kid across the globe. The only problem is that it’s way too short and ends on an extremely abrupt note, though other episodes are planned for release in the future if Path Out does well. Hopefully they’ll be made, because I wanna see the rest of Abdullah’s journey. (I wouldn’t mind buying the dude a beer someday too.) Everlasting Summer - If you want to know more about Everlasting Summer, then you should go read my Steam review, which I rattled off a few evenings ago and am actually quite proud of, lol. It’s a fairly negative review, which is rare for me, and it’s also divergent from the mainstream, since the game currently has an “Overwhelmingly Positive” score on Steam. But you might feel differently, and Everlasting Summer is certainly a novel concept at the very least, because how many other communist visual novels with a Japanese flair rise from the depths of the Russian web? Yep, Everlasting Summer is an erotic game (or eroge) about Soviet Union waifus, though the erotic scenes are frankly, few and far between. The story centers on an annoying guy named Semyon who finds himself transported from his mundane existence in a northern city to a strange pioneer camp where all of the girls are busty and cute, and mysterious time loops may be going on, trapping everyone in place. Or is it alternate dimensions? Or ALIENS? Honestly, I’m not really sure, and I don’t think the makers of the game are either. This was a project that was in the works since 2008, frequently approached vaporware status, and was constructed by a variety of different individuals who frequented Russian image boards and VK groups. It certainly feels messy, like something put together by too many cooks in the kitchen, but the setting is interesting, and just like in Path Out, I occasionally felt like I was learning things about USSR history. The girls are also okay, though I’m a tad salty that the purple-haired one I fell for ended up being the unstable choice who has a mindfuck of a bad ending but a disappointingly mundane good one. But at the end of the day, Everlasting Summer’s writing wasn’t good enough for me to recommend it, especially when there are stronger free visual novels out there like Doki Doki Literature Club that also offer more than enough weird twists and turns in their narratives. I will admit that there’s a certain appeal to playing something that formerly only existed as a mysterious urban legend on websites ending in .ru, though.

Screenshots all taken from each game’s respective Steam and Facebook pages.

[the-suriel-deserved-better]

Thoughts while reading Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Lani Taylor

-ooohhhh Prague - Dare I believe it, a YA novel where the female protagonist isn't a virgin.... I'm sold. - Also Kaz? Nah the only Kaz I know should be over with Inej. - Kaz cheated on my smol, peacock blue hair coloured, Karou. - "No tiny violent one," reminds me of tiny ancient one and there Zuzana is Amren or fight me. - Karou has tattoos. Oh dear lord I'm in love. - Dear Karou, marry me. - Too early to tell Kaz to Fuck off? - "... was a new tattoo. It was an elaborate., cursive K." Yeah, it's not too early to tell Kaz to Fuck off. - Karou I beg you to stay this savage. - You know, it's refreshing to read someone who has this whole secret life thing, and doesn't speak about it in riddles to the reader. Like Karou could be like my family is full of snakes and I'm their slave but instead she's just like, yo, whatup this is me ma, sorta, she's got a snake kink. -Please make him scratch his ass. - "no inessential penises," well now I know the answer to any question asked in sex ed. - Bitch I want full knowledge of any language. How much easier French and Irish could be. - The thing is, "nice fiddling handsome man," would probably get you a date in Ireland, so Zuzana, you know where to visit. - KAROU WAS THE ONE WHO BROUGHT UP WINGSPAN, NOT ME. However would remove feet be bigger than Rhys'? -Zuzana babe can I have some struddle. - Oh, Elsewhere, with a capitol E. Fancy. - "you scribbled out the best part" "Trust me it's not that great" *pew* *pew* shots fired. -Okay Brimstone literally everyone would wish to turn off their lights without leaving the bed. - A lot of euros? Excuse me, I need that. - "musicians who asked questions." Okay, there has to be a little bit of Irish in Karou. -hand prints!? Dun dun dunnnnnn. - Soooooooo, can I like Akiva? -I kinda wanna like him -Hey, Akiva, wanna hug to help you smile. - So Akiva, you and Karou relate with the whole, feeling something missing thing. - I'M SORRY UNCAGE THOSE KITTENS OR GOD HELP ME I WILL SLAP YOU. WITH THIS BOOK. REPEATEDLY. - Wiktor in a feather boa is not a thought I needed but one that will never leave. - Zuzana don't get mad, then Karou will be sad, and if my ships to sail, sad ain't gonna work when she meets Akiva. She needs sarcasm for him. -"I swear I hate more people everyday," yeah, Zuzana, trying being five foot ten and behind slow walkers. -"she craved a presence beside her," I was gonna say something but what Karou is feeling is hitting too close to home and I need to go and think back to that offer to see a therapist. -What is up with butterflies? -Akiva, I wanna like you. -Ugh I'll google it it's safe to like you. - Googled you Akiva and the wiki says some very good stuff. - I read too much on the wiki and now nothing makes sense. - Akiva is staring after Karou, lord help me IT'S SAILING. -"and she was staring back," AGH IT'S HAPPENING. -So, Karou, would you say Akiva has an impressive wingspan? -"she was not, in fact, human," well yeah, figured that out myself Akiva. -So Brimstone got angry. - NO, KISHMISH. -Well Fuck. -Well Fuck again but with wings. - Razgut can Fuck off. - Karou and Zuzana's friendship tho. -"Waking as she drew him against her, and then, silkily into her," I do love my smut references. - Aww, Akiva, my little angsty child. - Mik is too precious. -"Is it weird that I'm turned on by a marionette," Mik is hereby known as guy with puppet kink. - Karou don't hit your future husband. - Of course he's not okay Karou. -You need to stop bringing up wingspan because this is no longer an everyday word for me. - C'mon Akiva, just a little smile. -Well Karou may not have laughed at his humour but I did. -I live Zuzana. -okay I'm glad you're going with Akiva but please bring Zuzana, I'll miss her. - Now the wiki makes sense. - I don't even know what to write. -Akiva is about to give us a lil story. -Bitch if you drop that wishbone I will disown you as ever having been one of my smol. -"we're going to break the wishbones," a stunning new novel by Lani Taylor. - So did they kiss. - Nvm now they're kissing, the world is at peace. - Oh, so we're back to wishbone breaking. - Wait they actually broke it. -So no more kissing? Can't she just wish away the tattoos? - Why in God's fucking name are people always so afraid of love simply because they don't understand it. -So these Chimaera can be reborn? Greeeeeeaaaattttttt. -Well the whole sugar thing is interesting. -It's a pitty this cuteness won't last. - So Chiro = bad - Well dick again. - NO WE CANNOT BE AT THE EPILOGUE ALREADY. -That ending.... why am I broke I need the next book now.

[thecatnamedgandalf-blog]

The Man With The Dragon Tattoo

Chapter 2

Chapter Rating: T [Warning again for bad language]

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9321221/chapters/21467801

Exhausted and feeling as though he had been hit by a train, Jesse dragged himself through the deserted corridors of the hotel. Incredibly grateful that Morrison had by some miracle managed to book out the entire place. It meant that Reyes had been able to house the eight Blackwatch agents on the same floor. Not that he didn’t like the Overwatch agents. No. Wait. That was a lie. He hated most of those bastards. Just because the public adored them it didn’t make them any better than him. He wasn’t the only one that hated their pompous attitudes. The other Blackwatch agents held the same opinions. Well, except for Reyes, but you couldn’t really count him considering he was married to Morrison.

Finally reaching the door to his room he paused, debating if he should report to Gabriel immediately. Usually he would be expected to inform his Commander about something like this as soon as it happened. On the other hand, however, he knew Gabe and Jack were sharing a room and probably wouldn’t appreciate being woken up at 2am. And not to mention the ass-whooping he would get for not going to Gabe three hours ago. With a soft sigh, Jesse dropped his head against the door. It would be better to just get it over with. He forced himself to stand up straight, absently running a hand over the cut on his cheek. If Reyes was going to get angry there was a chance Morrison would at least be able to calm him down. Not to mention he’d rather not get screamed at in front of the other agents. Despite feeling exhausted, Jesse forced himself to make the trek up the other end of the corridor to Reyes’ room. Although, the second he was there staring at the room number, 528, all his confidence drained out of him. Maybe it would be best to just wait until the morning meeting. That was only four hours from now, wasn’t like it would make much of a difference…would it? God damn it. The boss and Morrison would be so pissed with him if he woke them up now.

Jesse growled softly and shook his head. No. He’d let the boss sleep. Maybe someone else was up. McCree forced himself to walk away from the room towards the elevator. At some point before Overwatch had arrived, one of the reception rooms on the 20th floor had been converted to a temporary Blackwatch operations room. Terminals had been set up along the walls, giving the room an earie vibe. Swiping his ID card on the temporary lock that had also been installed, god damn it must have taken a lot of persuasion to get the hotel to agree to all the changes, Jesse strolled into the room. To his surprise and relief there were three other agents in the room.

The senior agent in the room was a 6ft 4 Scotsman called Michael Kane. His physical build almost identical to Reyes’ own, despite Kane never having gone through the SEP. He stood at the back of the temporary operations room, looking between a tablet and one of the monitors. About three feet to his left stood Natham Geras, a short slender man from Athens, and one of the quickest men alive. Next to him sat the steely-eyed English agent, Johnathan Pope. He was perhaps Jesse’s favourite agent next to Reyes, the man having helped him set up numerous pranks around the base. Being the youngest and least experienced man in the room, Jesse suddenly felt no bigger than an ant. Yes, the men were decent people and wouldn’t beat him for no reason, but that didn’t mean they would give him a verbal beating. Jesse took a deep breath and walked further into the room, the door automatically shutting behind him.

“Mornin’” He said softly, not quite comfortable with the silence of the room.

Geras looked up from the terminal he was observing. “Kaliméra Jesse” He greeted “It is not like you to be up this early” Jesse shifted from one foot to another, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Somethin’ happened earlier ‘nd I didn’t wanna wake the boss.”

“Does it have something to do with the cut on your face?” This time it was Kane who had spoken. Jesse blinked and brought a hand up to touch the cut on his face, not quite sure how Kane knew. The man hadn’t even looked up his tablet.

“Uh…yeah” By now he had the attention of all three men and was feeling even more uncomfortable.

“Sit your arse down” Kane ordered. He placed the tablet on top of one of the terminals and walked towards the other men. Jesse cleared his throat and sat down in the chair closest to him.

“Was it one of the Overwatch twats?” Pope asked propping his feet up on a spare chair. “Not like you to get into a fight McCree”

“Nah” Jesse replied “I’m more than capable of knocking them out if they touch me. Was havin’ a smoke out in the garden a few hours ago, mindin’ my own business when Hanzo fucking Shimada snuck up on me” Immediately the other three men stiffened, Pope leant forward resting his chin in his hands.

“He attacked you?”

“Sorta?” A raised eyebrow from Kane and Jesse continued “Told me he knew that we were investigatin’ them and if we get doin it he’d kill me ‘n the Commanders” When the men didn’t say anything Jesse couldn’t help himself, he started rambling. “I’m worried I fucked up, but I was so sure no one caught me doin’ anything. Hell, Reyes said it was a good clean job. Dunno how Shimada knows anythin’ but I swear on my hat I did everythin’ by the book” Geras chuckled and moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

“Irémise McCree.” Jesse blinked “I said calm down.” Jesse’s mouth made an ‘O’ shape.

“Shimada was probably playing mind games kid” Kane said though he sounded unconvinced by his own words “If Reyes thinks you did a good job, then you did. He was probably trying to unnerve you, size you up and work out if you’re a credible threat or someone who can be easily disposed of.” Ah. That raised some problems. If Shimada truly knew nothing and had been fishing for information, Jesse had just confirmed his suspicions and made the rest of the investigations incredibly difficult for Blackwatch. Retreating into his own mind Jesse questioned whether he should inform Kane of his slip up. “McCree!” The shout of his name immediately brought him back to reality. “You’re looking guilty, what did you do?” Now he felt even more pathetic than before, he couldn’t even keep a straight face for God’s sake.

“I definitely fucked up” Jesse confirmed, dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “I’ve really fucked up”

Pope raised an eyebrow and shared a brief look with Kane “What did you do Jesse?”

“When Shimada was up in my face I…” He sighed “I snapped at ‘im. Told ‘im that it ain’t right to go around killin people like they did in Hong Kong.” The blank looks they gave him convinced him to continue “Also said that I’d find anythin’ he was hidin’” The three men groaned in unison, as though they had practiced it beforehand.

“Pope go and get Reyes.” The man nodded and left the operations room. “God damn it McCree. How many times have we told you to watch what you say?!” Kane demanded, standing up and looming over him. ���If the Shimada knew nothing then you just confirmed his suspicions! And if he did, you’ve just shown him you’re a fucking weak link!” Jesse had begun to sink in on himself during the Scotsman’s tirade. Kane continued to rant at him, his Glaswegian accent thickening to the point where Jesse struggled to understand some of the things being roared in his face. A jab about his mama being ashamed of him struck deep, and his eyes began to burn with tears. The abuse was nothing new. He had heard it all during his time with Deadlock, but coming from one of the men Jesse admired it stung.

“Arketá, arketá!” Geras shouted as he forced himself between Kane and McCree, one hand on the bigger man’s chest. “So far nothing has been compromised. If Shimada already knew we were investigating his family then Jesse has done nothing wrong. Silence would have confirmed his suspicions, and lies would have resulted in more investigations and possible torture.” It was rare to see Geras angry with one of their own, but the man’s voice had risen several decibels as he ranted. “There is no point shouting at McCree when the deed has been done. Nothing can be done now and we must work around it. If he is to be published it is the Commander’s decision, not ours.” Geras bristled as he continued speaking “Insulting the boy and using his mother against him is low. You should be ashamed.”

“He isn’t a boy Geras. He’s twenty-two for fuck sake”

Geras snorted “He is the youngest of all of us, and shall be a boy in my eyes until he surpasses me in height.” If he didn’t feel so utterly shitty Jesse would have chuckled. No way was he ever going to hit 6ft. His mama and pa had both been tiny as well as grandparents, Jesse came from a long line of short people. Jesse risked a glance up at Kane and relaxed ever so slightly when he saw the other man was still focused on arguing with Geras. He took the time to wipe away the tears, hoping that no one would notice them. Of course, it was that exact moment when Reyes walked in. The Blackwatch Commander stiffening as soon as he caught the distraught look on McCree’s face.

“Jefe” Jesse croaked and Reyes saw red. He’d been woken up at 2.30 in the morning, pulled away from his peaceful dreams and Jack curled up in his arms, and told he was needed in operations control. Now his mijo looked petrified and had been crying. Someone was getting punched. Hard.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demanded. Immediately Geras and Kane went silent, standing to attention when their Commander stalked over to stand in front of them both. “Answer me!”

“I fucked up jefe” Reyes looked in Jesse’s direction. The young man had lowered his head and was fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “I told Hanzo Shimada we were investigatin’ em.” That had not been the answer he was expecting. Reyes stared at him for a few moments.

“How and why?” Jesse shifted in his seat and repeated the story once more. When he was done, Reyes sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Mierda” He cursed, taking a seat beside McCree. “This is an issue, yes. But it does not mean you can scream at the kid, Kane.” The man in question frowned and folded his arms over his chest. “I remember you fucking up several times when you were still new. Give him a break, not everyone can be an emotionless fuck.” Kane bristled but otherwise remained silent. “We just need to up our game. From now on only Matthews and Zhou will be doing any form of infiltrating, at least until we are certain the Shimada’s are not following our every move. In the mean time, we carry on as we’ve been doing.” Reyes turned his attention back to Jesse “And if Shimada’s taken an interest in you, the last thing we need is you vanishing for hours on end” Jesse blinked, his brain taking a few seconds to catch up on what Reyes was hinting it.

“But jefe-“Reyes raised a hand, instantly silencing Jesse.

“Don’t argue with me McCree” Reyes said, digging into his back pocket and pulling a cigarette out. “Until this calms down, if it does, I’m putting you under Morrison’s command.” He lit the cigarette with a lighter produced from another pocket. Jesse was stunned. Yeah, he’d been expecting to be pulled off a few operations, but to be put under Morrison’s command? That was a punch to the gut. “Get yourself to bed McCree” Reyes ordered taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’ll inform Morrison about the changes once he’s up.”

Jesse forced himself to his feet, snapping out a salute to Gabriel and scampered from the room. The walk back to his room was hazy, whether that was a result of his exhaustion or shock he wasn’t sure. Either way, when he finally managed to get back to his room it took a lot of effort to take his clothes off before collapsing onto his bed. He glanced at the digital clock at the side of his bed, 3.05 am. He’d be lucky to get any sleep. Jesse sighed heavily and stared up at the ceiling, running his hands over his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be awful.

--

“Guten Morgen meine Freunde!” It was far too early for Reinhardt’s boisterous voice Jesse lamented, why he had chosen to see beside the massive man was a mystery. By the time he had finally fallen asleep it had been past 4 am, which meant he’d had about 3 hours sleep at most. The lack of sleep combined with the knowledge he would no longer be working with Reyes, had Jesse feeling like he’d just been hit by a truck. No. Being hit by a truck would be preferable. He finally managed to pull his eyes away from his food and watched as Morrison and Reyes sat themselves down at the table.

“Morning Reinhardt, McCree” Morrison said, carefully setting his plate and coffee down. Beside him Reyes grunted a greeting and buried his face in his own mug of coffee. The man looked as though he’d been awake since Pope had woken him up. His exhaustion only served to make Jesse feel even worse. Not only had he disappointed the man who’d saved his life, he’d caused him to get even less sleep than he normally had. God. He really needed to stop screwing up. Jail really wasn’t an appealing idea.

“You look tired Gabriel” Reinhardt began, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs. “Is everything ok?” Reyes muttered something unintelligible. Whatever he said wasn’t suitable for polite company as Morrison rolled his eyes, and slapped the back of his head. Huffing Gabriel straightened up and put his half empty mug down.

“Long night” He grunted, stealing a rasher of bacon from Morrison’s plate. “The Shimada’s keep causing more problems.”

“Speaking of the Shimada’s” Oh Lord. Jesse practically curled in on himself as Morrison spoke “You’re not in trouble Jesse” Jack said softly, setting his fork down. Uncomfortable with the attention from the three veteran soldiers, Jesse forced himself to sit up straight and look Morrison in the eyes. He and Morrison had never really seen eye-to-eye. The Strike-Commander having been one of those against Jesse’s recruitment. Over the last three years however, that had changed. Mainly since Jesse accidentally walked in on some private time between his Commanders, oh how he had wished for brain bleach that day. “I hear you’re being put under my command, temporarily” He added the last word almost as an afterthought.

“Yes sir”

Jack nodded and took a quick swig of his coffee. “I can’t assign you to one of my squads, the sub-commanders don’t know how you work.” Oh great. “That being said, Reinhardt your squad are going to patrol the old factory district this morning yes?”

“Ja” Reinhardt confirmed.

“I’m assigning Jesse to your patrols for now.” Jesse paused in his eating, fork hovering a few centimetres from his mouth.

“Das ist gut” The second Reinhardt started chuckling Jesse set the fork down and braced himself. If he’d still been holding his fork the food would have gone everywhere, as seconds later Reinhardt was pulling him against his side. “Jesse is most welcome to join us!” Jesse risked looking at Reyes and wished he hadn’t. The man was smirking, which only deepened the wound. He was glad to not have Jesse under his command. And here Jesse thought he’d made Reyes proud. Obviously not. “What do you think Jesse?” Jesse snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Reinhardt.

“Huh?” Well done Jesse, that was intelligent. Reinhardt laughed and squeezed him a little tighter, not that Jesse had thought such a thing was possible.

-- He never did find out what it was Reinhardt had asked him, Jesse thought sullenly as he walked through the streets of Hanamura. Visibility was limited as a thick fog had rolled in during the first hour of their patrol. Light rain only added to the dreary and unsettling atmosphere. The sounds of Reinhardt’s loud footsteps and those of himself and the other agents echoed through the empty streets. Jesse glanced up at the rooftops, blinking multiple times when a few rain drops landed in his left eye. He pulled the edge of his hat down to protect his eyes. Movement on a roof three buildings away caught his attention. So not to bring attention to himself he slowly dropped back until he was walking beside Reinhardt.

“I have seen him” The older man rumbled softly, startling him. Jesse had to give it to Reinhardt. The man might be boisterous and large in stature, but he missed nothing.

“This normal?” Jesse asked

“Ja. They have been following us since we first arrived.” Reinhardt cleared his throat, swinging his hammer up to rest it on his right shoulder.

“Jefe and Morrison know?” A nod.

“The Strike-Commander informed me of your…altercation last night.” Reinhardt began. “Do not think of your reassignment as a punishment Jesse.” His voice was softer than Jesse had ever heard before, though that did not stop Jesse from making sure the other agents weren’t listening in on their conversation. “Having you in the public eye is important. The Shimadas cannot- Brown! Woodley!” Up ahead two of the agents had started brawling pushing one another, but it was Brown throwing the first punch that caused Reinhardt to intervene. Reinhardt cleared his throat and continued “Pardon. As I was saying, if the Shimadas are aware you were involved in Blackwatch operations, your presence on my patrols prevents them from making claims against you. You cannot be investigating them if you are seen by my side.”

Jesse was silent. What could he say to that? He’d spent the better part of the last twelve hours thinking Reyes was disappointed and ashamed of him. It made sense. It was possible that Jesse was the only agent the Shimadas knew to be involved. If it that was indeed true, then ensuring he was constantly in the public eye would limit any damage should the Shimadas make public claims against Overwatch.

He was snapped from his thoughts when one of the agents shouted. “Sir!” Followed by the sound of guns being pulled from their holsters. Jesse and Reinhardt promptly sped up, marching to the front of the patrol. It was Woodley who had shouted, his pulse rifle now aimed at three Shimada scouts who had walked out of a side street and now blocked their path. The three scouts parted and Hanzo fucking Shimada walked towards them, his younger brother (Genji was it?) by his side.

“Shimada-san” Reinhardt greeted, lowering his hammer and signalling for his men to lower their weapons. Though reluctant each man did as he bid. “I apologise. We were startled by the sudden presence of your men.” The Hanzo that stood before them now was different to the one Jesse had encountered the night before. Gone was the smirk, replaced by pure stoicism. Instead it was Genji who bore the grin.

Even knowing how foolish he was being Jesse was unable to stop himself from admiring Hanzo. He knew Hanzo was a violent man, one who would kill to gain what he wants, but there was something about him. Perhaps it was the hair, a curtain of black silk falling over his shoulders and down his back. Perhaps it was those eyes, darker and warmer than any he had ever seen before. Or perhaps it was that voice, a warm and rich baritone that pierced his heart. And those lips. When he finally came back to himself Jesse noticed Genji was sending a predatory grin in his direction. God damn. Unable to stop himself Jesse tipped his hat to the green-haired Shimada, along with a flirtatious grin. Probably not the smartest thing he had ever done in his life, but god damn if the look Hanzo sent him wasn’t worth it. Reinhardt took a partial step back, ensuring his left leg collided with Jesse, a subtle warning.

“It is of no concern” Hanzo assured him, his attention moving from Jesse back to Reinhardt. “I admit that we did not come across you by accident alone.”

“We could not pass up the opportunity to see the legendary Wilhelm Reinhardt and his armour.” Genji laughed. Oh, the look Hanzo shot his brother would certainly have killed a lesser man. “I must say, you certainly live up to the legends.” Reinhardt chuckled and bowed at the compliment.

“I thank you Shimada-san, but I sense there is something more than a simple desire to see my armour.” Hanzo turned to one of his men and held a hand out, accepting a tablet passed to him by one of his men.

“In the early hours of this morning several our scouts encountered an entourage of rogue Omnics. They had been hiding one of the derelict factories. Unfortunately, during this encounter one of our own, an Omnic named Kanato, who has served our clan for many years, turned on those he would call ‘brother’. It would appear he was no longer in control of himself.” That didn’t bode well. “My men eliminated the rogue Omnics and were able to subdue Kanato. Upon returning to our home he seemed to come back to himself. We believe this is because of the sonic EMP disruptors we have erected along the walls as security measures.” Reinhardt frowned, his hands coming to settle on his hips.

“This is most concerning” He began “I am required to report this immediately to Strike-Commander Morrison”

“I would expect nothing less” Hanzo took a step forward and offered the tablet he still held “You will find a full report on the encounter, and a recording of Kanato’s statement.” When Reinhardt made no move to accept the tablet, Jesse did so on his behalf. If the thing was rigged to blow it would be better for Jesse to lose an arm instead of Reinhardt. Jesse inhaled sharply when his fingers brushed against Hanzo’s. Immediately he retreated and moved to the side, placing a safe distance between himself and the other agents. He had never been a genius when it came to technology, but he was experienced and talented enough to know how to check for anything out of the ordinary. Coming across nothing unusual Jesse gave Reinhardt a single nod.

The German man turned back to Hanzo “Thank you. I am sure we shall meet once more.”

“Indeed. We are of course, fighting a common enemy.” Hanzo inclined his head. “Reinhardt-san”

“Shimada-san” With that the two Shimada’s left with their men, disappearing into the alley from which they had initially appeared. The moment they were gone from view Reinhardt turned to the men under his command.

“We must return at once.”

“No way that was a fucking coincidence” Woodley muttered under his breath.

“Of course not” Reinhardt replied, slapping him on the back “We are in a den of wolves, it would be most unwise to underestimate them.”

Translations:

[Apologies if anything is incorrect. I am relying on limited knowledge and the help of friends, because I sure as heck don’t trust Google Translate haha!]

Greek: Kaliméra: Good morning Irémise: Calm down Arketá: Enough

Spanish: Jefe: Boss Mijo: Son Mierda: Fuck

German: Guten morgen meine freunde: Good morning my friends Das ist gut: That is fine Gut: Good