#also staff be nice to pastel skins :(

[windowsfr]

actually, gonna show the lineless/shadowsless ones bc it's likely theyll get their ass scrungled up by that and i got the mental energy to open my art program dhfsdhjk

[thevikingwoman]

These are really great tips! The truth is you can do a lot with vanilla gpose. I think it's important to remember this!

Running 3rd party tools is always a risk and it is also very time-consuming - not to mention unavailable if you don't play on PC.

I'd like to add some tips of my own; and some comments on some of the above.

Take lots of shots. You can always take a lot of shots from different angles - I end up with a lot and go through them to find the best.

2. Get really creative with composition. No mods required to make find that angle that reveals something interesting.

3. Use combat animations. As mentioned above, the last emote will be retained unless you /sit, but it's more than that, it's the last animation. As mentioned above, you can combine this with toggling battle effect on and off and see what works for your shot. Do note it will be the last one and teleporting is also an animation. So you have to find a critter you can beat in an area you want the shot and then try to move to a safer place that still has the environment you want. You can get killed while gposing!

4. You can save your lightning spots and settings so they don't reset every time you enter gpose. You can use this - with A LOT of patience - to grab shots in combat that are stunning. This is the best use of this I've seen, this shot and process is mindblowing.

5. adjacent to point 7 above, really try playing with light placement. Backlight can make for interesting contrasts, depending on what you do. I have a dark green skinned character, and find a soft light on face really helps bring out her features, but it's not always what I want.

6. try using limb darkening. It can cut off artifacts and just frame the shot nicely.

For an example of my own, the second shot here uses a combo of 2+3 to encircle Eulmore with a SAM animation - the result is fun and unique!

Which brings me to another point - the first shot is very soft light but saturated, which is similar to a lot of re-shaded gposes. But you do not need that!

7. Use the color filters! I know it's mentioned above, but I really think it can change everything. Don't be afraid to play around! Using manual brightness + the bright or pastel filter can really change a gpose A LOT. example below under the cut

Lastly, last spring I ran a vanilla gpose event and it was SO much fun. I will run one again for sure. here's my whole archive for that event, look at the variety and creativity vanilla gpose affords.

Ex of filter use:

I wanted to grab some gposes of my new black mage glam, and our FC house has a nice little bridge and weeping willow. ALL of the following are taken used different light + filters.

here's a nice, well colored shot that I think works really well - I think I used a bright 1 or 4 filter here

what about a softer light? The weather is foggy and the pastel filter enhances that

or we can turn up the brightness for something a little more intense

Here I used the victory (or battle?) emote to focus on her glowing staff. Turning the brightness all the way down makes this a really different shot.

lastly here I played with adding some light directly to the trees and a balanced filter with moderate light intensity. I really like this, and it may be the one I keep for her glam collection

all in all it just depends on what you're trying to do and convey, and don't feel limited by running vanilla only.

yes, you can't create custom poses or pose npcs - but there's still a lot of creativity to explore!

Vanilla Gpose Tips

I get asked occasionally how I make my screenshots if I'm not using shaders or mods. The short answer: Patience. Gpose's suite of tools is a lot more robust than it used to be when it was first released. But if you want a screenshot to really shine without using third party add-ons, it's not something you can just go into gpose, take a printscreen and get back out. You might capture a moment with nice lighting that way, but it takes more than that. 1. Choosing a location and time of day is job one. What kind of mood are you trying to convey? Does your intended screenshot have a theme (or a prompt?) or are you just looking at your new glam and marveling at how fine your character looks in it? Does a lighter or darker setting suit the character better? Setting, time of day, and weather can affect this. 2. You can stop time and weather from changing. I keep this on by default because it can take upwards of 30 minutes IRL to fine tune a screenshot. The middle button below. Make sure it's highlighted.

3. Toggle battle effects on/off. It's the button right next to the time/weather stop, the icon of the guy holding the sword. If the icon is highlighted as it is in the screenshot, your battle effects are on. If you want to capture pure motion and not worry about battle effects, turn this off. 4. Wet effect. Use it, use it, use it. It doesn't just make clothes look wet and make skin glossy, it actually helps to bring out texture and detail on the character's outfit. Especially since the graphics updates in 7.1. I've found it also adds shine to hair and can help the eyes stand out more.

5. Sticker Mode. Yes, there are oodles of cute minion stickers, flags, and numbers, but there are also some great effects to be found in the Decorations category! Sparkles and twinkles, lens flare, among other things can help enhance metallic points on a glamour, AND they can be resized! So if you want a more subtle twinkle on the edge of your spectacles or earrings, you can tilt and downsize your desired sparkle. There are also cute flowers and hearts. 6. Quick Keys. If you're playing on a keyboard, the 1 on your top number row freezes the screenshot. This is extremely helpful if you're trying to catch a battle emote right at a specific moment. If you miss it, keep trying because emotes will continue to cycle until you change them. R and Scroll Lock will both hide/unhide the gpose controls. X will turn on lighting. Space Bar will toggle your character to stop them from facing the camera and vice versa. 7. Lighting Intensity is Dependent on Distance. The closer you're zoomed in on your character, the brighter the light is going to be when you turn it on. Try adjusting your zoom in or out and toggling the light to see if the illumination is to your liking. You can also adjust the RGB on the lights to fit the mood/environment. I also recommend turning on Manual Brightness. 8. Color Filter and Screen Effect. These two features, in my opinion, require the most patience. Not every color filter and screen effect will work well together in every scenario. Click through and preview all of them in your screenshots and see if some SE's work better with your preferred CF. You might find an unexpected combination that you love. Trailer and Echo color filters are great for flashbacks (no one uses Aetherometer, it's an eye bleeder). Use the Pencil or one of the monochrome CFs and Noise 2 SE to create a nice black and white film or photo effect. 9. Frames. Frames are one of the more limited features and not always needed in order to capture a great screenshot. Action poses benefit from the Cinema frames, however, while more lighthearted moments play well with the photo options.

10. Emotes. Before you enter Gpose, be sure to /groundsit to clear your most recent emotes. Summoning mounts and minions also count as emotes for the sake of Gpose. By the same token, you can use battle abilities before entering Gpose, and this is what it will cycle through. You can't activate a battle ability while IN Gpose. You will have access to all of your non-battle emotes and facial expressions, though. You can combine any emote with any facial expression by choosing the action first, and expression second, so you can /prettyplease and /awe at the same time to make your character look hilariously horrified. If you enter Gpose with an active battle ability, you can still apply a facial expression to it from within the tool. 11. Bits and Bobs. Enable Manual Focus and Depth of Field will help bring out the details of the background more, and will help to make a more cohesive screenshot. Manual Focus is great if you want your character in the frame, but you want to shift the focus elsewhere, to an object or another person in the background for example. In the same menu where you'll find emotes, click the second eye button to "Track Camera". Your character's eyes will follow the position of the camera. Lastly, again, have patience. Allow yourself time to play with all the tools Gpose has to offer. You're probably not going to get the winning screenshot after clicking Printscreen just one time, you should take multiple shots from different angles with different lighting and effects, then compare them all and pick the ones you like best. And remember, even if it's the true endgame, it's not a competition. Your screenshots are not "worse" or "boring" just because you're not using third party tools. I look forward to seeing what you create, and you should too.

[otptings]

Double Sided

→Idol; Hendery

→Genre; Possesive Smut

→Word Count; 3.1k+

→Warnings; degradation, thigh riding, possessive, corruption kink, jealous Hendery, dacryphilia, slight dumbification, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving) , daddy (not so much as a kink), calls you his doll, degradation, somnophilia, auditory exhibitionism, breeding kink,

→Synopsis; Who would've known that Hendery would've had such a different personality than the sweet, goofy man that you met a year ago?

→A/n ~ Hope you enjoy this, I had actually cycled through multiple idols from nct and svt before finally setting on my favorite crackhead, Hendrarrrry. If you liked my one shot please like, reblog, or donate to my Ko-Fi. Feedback is wanted, and requests are open for any idol from enhypen, nct, and svt.

Hendery leaned in close to your ear, lips brushing over it as he spoke.

"Such a good girl for me.” A whimper left your mouth, your skin feeling like it was on fire where his hands gripped your waist.

Hendery was full of surprises. Seemingly so innocent when you first met him, flirting with you shyly before you got gestured to the next member by the staff at the fan meet. Somehow convincing a manager to let him talk to you again, quickly sliding you his number before he got pulled back stage to prepare for the concert. It’s been a year since that fateful day and he was constantly surprising you. Whether it was constantly gifting you presents, or taking you on random dates you were definitely well endowed with his attention.

You knew that wasn’t the only side to Hendery, the side that was always joking around, making you laugh until you felt like your lungs were going to burst. You knew that Hendery had a different side, especially after witnessing his duality at concerts.

This was nothing like you had imagined.

Straddling his thigh while he watched you grind against him, only dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties. Hickeys already marking your throat where Hendery got impatient - read jealous - while watching you talk with your flirty coworker. A smirk on his lips as you watched your thighs shake, head thrown back while your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders.

“So pretty.” He cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him so that your chests were touching, placing a sloppy kiss over your jugular. “All mine.”

You could only whine at his possessiveness, loving the way he tightens around your neck before letting go. Your hips start to stutter as you feel your orgasm nearing, fire burning so bright you felt as if it was going to burn you alive.

“N-need c-cum please.” Hendery’s smirk only grew while he restrained your hips, forcing your orgasm to fade away into nothingness. A sob falling from your lips while you smacked at his hands, your fourth failed orgasm of the night.

Hendery tsked as he rubbed his thumb over your bare hip, feeling his cock hardening at the sound of your dry sobs.

“You know you’re not allowed to cum. Need to show you that no one would make you feel like me.” You nodded your head as Hendery tapped your hip, signaling for you to start up again.

God, your stupid fucking coworker. You don’t even know why you agreed to go to the company holiday party. Typically choosing to just go home and cuddle with Hendery, occasionally with Bella also when Xiao had you dog sitting. You shouldn’t have told Lula that you would definitely be attending, what even came over you? Maybe it was the fact that she was the nicest one in the office, constantly joining you for lunch and becoming a workplace friend. Either way you regret it now.

You definitely regretted bringing Hendery as your date, especially knowing his tendency to get jealous. Witnessing it after Lucas got too cuddling after a few drinks, appointing you and Ten as his items of affection for the night. Hendery had dragged you to his room after witnessing Lucas attempt to sloppily kiss your cheek. He handed you one of his t-shirts before pulling you onto the bed, keeping you in his room and out of the eyes of the other guys.

You saw how antsy he was while watching you get ready, eyeing your body con dress, attempting to subtly pull it further down your thighs. His hands roaming your thighs as he watched you apply makeup. You had only sighed before asking him if he wanted to come, hoping that him being with you would calm him, keeping his jealousy at bay.

He knew you didn’t know that your coworker Jaehyuk would get flirty while drunk. Easily sliding into the empty space beside you Hendery had left when he went to the bathroom. A strained smile on your lips as you awkwardly sipped your drink, eyes flitting around to see if you could find literally anybody else to talk to. Jaehyuk didn’t let you go that easily, unwanted compliments steadily flowing from his mouth. Hendery had actually witnessed the whole thing, not trusting an intoxicated man with you. Only gripping his cup tightly, laughing at his poor attempts to flirt. It wasn’t until Jaehyuk reached out to you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. Hendery hadn’t even heard the whimper that left your mouth, didn’t need to see the fear in your eyes before he was crossing the room and yanking you behind him. Saying a few choice words that left your coworker shaking as Hendery led you quickly out of the building.

Hendery didn’t want to risk you thinking about anyone else, leading to his plan to edge you until he was the only thing on your mind, the name on your tongue.

And so far? It was working exactly as planned.

“Aw look at my jeans baby, you're soaking through them.” Embarrassment flooded through you at his condescending tone. His hands squeezing your hips as he felt them start to stutter again, helping you get off.

“You wanna cum baby?” You eagerly nodded your head, hope in your mind that maybe he would go easy on you after all. You are his baby girl after all. That means he’ll be nice to you right? Right?

“Stand up.” Another sob left your mouth, feeling the pain of another lost orgasm. “Right now.” Hendery’s tone was biting, only wanting you to obey him. You stood up on shaky legs, feeling your panties uncomfortably sticking to your folds. He tsked again as he lifted your shirt, revealing the darkening pastel fabric of your underwear. Teasingly tracing around it, laughing at the way you stiffened when he pressed your clit, sensitive from riding his thigh for an hour.

“Bedroom.” The finality in Hendery’s letting you know that there wasn’t room for argument. Quickly heading to the bedroom you wasted time laying on his bed, waiting for his next instruction.

“Do you think you deserve my dick baby? You were awfully friendly with him today.” You shook your head hurriedly, as you tried to get on your knees only for him to push you back down.

“I need you, please Hendery. S’ wet for you. Need you to ruin me.” Hendery’s smirk only grew at your choice of words. Quickly removing his clothes before coming closer to the bed, running his hands over your thighs so he could watch the way that you squirm. Knowing just how much you’ll come to regret your words.

“Mm really? Want me to ruin you?”

“Please.” Hendery’s hand slid up your thighs, squeezing them intermediately before moving to the hem of your underwear, sliding his finger underneath the elastic. Pulling them to the side to admire your pussy that was glistening from your arousal.

“Aw you want me to fuck you like you’re a slut? Nothing more than my dumb little toy.”

You gasped as he blew on your clit, cold air causing you to twitch and grind your hips against the hair. Hendery only repeated the action before licking a line up your cunt, moaning as he tasted your arousal.

“My little slut tastes so good. No wonder Jaehyuk tried to get a taste.” Before you could even show your distaste at hearing that name in such an intimate time Hendery was attaching his lips to your clit. Hands flying down to tangle themselves in his dark hair, hips attempting to grind against his face when he placed a hand on your stomach, keeping your hips pinned to the bed so that you were at his mercy. Only able to pull on his hair and writhe uselessly at the onslaught of pleasure until Hendery got tired of it. And Hendery never got tired of eating pussy.

30 minutes of pure torture. Whenever he felt you clenching around his tongue too much, or a moan would get a little too loud he’d slow down. Blow on your clit, and wait for you to start to sob before going back in. Sucking on your clit even harder before repeating the process, ruining so many orgasms that you felt as if you were going insane. All of your thoughts were of Hendery and your absolute need to have him in you.

“Aw poor little baby. Look at you, trying to hump the air cause I’m not touching you.” Hendery’s condescending tone only added to his constant teasing, and belittling. Hendery loved making you like this, absolutely dick dumb. Your eyes were completely glazed over while your body shook from your dry sobs. Something so alluring knowing that you completely wanted him, hearing the constant begging leaving your swollen lips.

Leaning in he placed his lips on yours. It took a minute for your addled mind to realize what was happening. When the confusion cleared you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him down so that he was flush against your chest, his shirt rubbing almost uncomfortably over your sensitive nipples. His hands went to your waist, squeezing them gently before sliding his hands up under your shirt, cupping your breasts and enjoying the way that you moaned into his mouth. Quickly Hendery went to work, squeezing and flicking your nipples while his tongue slid into your work, licking into your mouth and sliding over the back of your teeth. Fingers dancing down your sides before slipping into your underwear, two fingers circling over your hole before shoving them inside of you, a high pitched moan leaving your mouth at the unexpected intrusion.

Pleads leaving your mouth when he attached his lips to your throat, sucking bruises higher up your throat. So many that you wouldn’t be able to hide them next time you say your ‘flirty’ coworker’. No way that any simple excuse would work for it, everyone would instantly know what happened and who did it. Practically branding his name into your throat, everyone being able to see that you’re his. All his to do whatever he wanted to. His little doll. His slut.

His finger’s steadily massaged over your sweet spot, thumb rubbing over your clit. Your hips were grinding against his hand, whining at the intense need to cum, scared that he was going to pull away at the last minute and cause actual tears.

“You're so close, baby. Cum for me. Cum for daddy.” Hendery drank in all of your moans as you orgasmed, still working his fingers inside of you while placing sloppy kisses along your neck, one kiss for each bruise. Pulling his fingers out and placing them in his mouth,  savoring the sweet taste of your cum that coated his fingers. Watching as your eyes slowly fluttered open to look at him, watching him clean his fingers with a content sigh. Fire already starting to burn again, knowing that the only way you would be satisfied is for him to fuck you.

“Kunhang please.” You rarely said his actual name during sex, so this was more than a pleasant surprise. His cock throbbed hearing it roll off your tongue, and he realized while he was teasing you he was also teasing himself the same exact way. Pulling his fingers from his mouth he quickly helped you take off your shirt, throwing it across the room before hastily taking his jeans off, almost falling off the bed in his haste. A quiet giggle left the both of you when he finally plopped back down, pulling you on top of him, swiftly kissing you again. Less dirty than earlier, but just as needy on both of your parts. Hands entangling in your hair before roughly forcing you to sit up, watching you arch back into nothing.

“Come on baby. You want me baby right?” Hendery smirked while watching you eagerly nod your head. “Then ride me baby. Fuck yourself on my dick.”

Hendery released your hair and watched how you quickly moved to sit on his cock, barely bothering to pull your panties to the side. Another loud moan leaving your mouth as you felt your tight cunt stretch around his dick, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself.

“Come on slut. You were begging for my dick right?” A hard slap to your ass punctuated his sentence, causing you to clench unconsciously around his dick. “Then move.”

You started to bounce on him, setting a frantic pace nervous that if you didn’t he wouldn’t let you cum again. You could not handle another lost orgasm. Hendery rewarded you with a deep groan, gripping your hips tightly as you rode him like you were on a mission. His dick sliding over all of your sweet spots, the fire in your stomach growing intensely. You tried so hard to get yourself there, not wanting to disappoint him but your thighs started to shake. Already weak from being edged for almost two hours, and they only started to burn at the intense pace you had set, spreading up your hips and down to your knees.

“Can’t.” You cried out, trying to keep your set pace. Hendery’s fingers dug into your waist. You were certainly going to have bruises of his hand prints all over you.

“Can’t wait. My dumb doll can’t ride dick?” Hendery set his heels into the bed, before fucking up into you as you continued to cry that you can’t.

“You wanted my dick. But can’t even ride my dick.” Hendery grunted as he resumed the pace you set, fucking up into you hard. Your mouth hanging open, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. “So fucking pathetic. My dumb fucking doll.” Hendery slid one of his hands to your clit, rubbing it roughly with his hand causing your second orgasm to hit you, cum squirting out of you and coating his thighs and stomach. At the feeling of you clenching around him he couldn’t himself and came, continuing to fuck his cum deeper into you, only stopping as you started to whine. Wrapping his arms around you, not bothering to pull out as he turned you both to the sides.

“I’m tired.” Hendery laughed at how childish you were speaking, cuddling your head further onto his chest.

“Take a nap doll. Just know we’re not done yet.” You sighed before taking his advice, the room slowly darkening and the sound of his soothing heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

God, you should’ve stayed awake. You knew he was planning something funny when he told you to sleep, but you hadn’t imagined he would wake you up with his slow thrusts, hands on either side of you while you bit the pillow below you, attempting to muffle your moans. The sounds of people stirring in the dorm caused slight fear to flow through you, panic at the thought of Ten coming into the room and seeing Hendery fucking you.

You tried to bury your face further into the pillow but Hendery had other plans, pulling your hips up so that you were on four and grabbing your hair. Yanking it causing your mouth to drop open and a loud moan to echo through the room. You already knew without seeing them that the boys had heard it, the sound of shuffling feet and forks hitting bowls stopping it briefly. You could already imagine Ten, and Lucas’ cocky smirks at the sound, Winwin’s face turning bright red from embarrassment, while Kun just tried to change the topic because of  Xiao and Yangyang asking too many questions. It wasn’t the first time that they had heard you, and knowing Hendery it wouldn’t be the last.

“You're thinking about them hearing us.” You tried to deny it but Hendery only slapped your ass, the smack resounding throughout the room and if you didn’t know better you could almost hear one of the boys saying ‘ouch’. “The way you’re clenching around me. Thinking about one of them walking in huh? See me fucking my kids deeper into your messy cunt, still dripping with my cum from earlier.” Another loud moan, and an awkward cough from the other room. White, hot shame flooded your veins, knowing you wouldn’t be able to face the boys afterwards.

Teeth digging into your lip, trying to protect the little bit of dignity you still had around the boys. Hendery didn’t like that one. Grabbing your hands and holding them against your back, forcing your arch to deepen. In this position every thrust hit your g spot directly, and you weren’t able to muffle your moans, only able to helplessly drool at the intense sensations. Your continuous lack of noise was only angering Hendery, wanting all of the boys to know how good he makes you feel. They would never be able to see you like this, dick dumb and drooling, only able to mumble as he fucked into you like this.

“Dumb fucking doll. Feel so good you can’t even moan huh?” Pulling your arms you groaned from the pain as he pulled you back into his chest, free hand sliding around to play with your poor, swollen clit. Abusing it once more as he rubbed sloppy circles over it, pressing his thumb against it harshly causing a scream to leave your mouth.

“My dumb doll. My little fucking slut. All mine.” You felt yourself clench around him, orgasm rapidly approaching along with some pain from overstimulation.

“Cum for me doll, all over my dick just like this.” With one last well placed bite from Hendery at the base of your throat you felt your orgasm wash over you. Warm, tears flowing down your face as he continued to fuck into you, squirting more of his thick, hot cum into your tired cunt. Hendery slowly pulled out, laying you onto the bed before tossing on some sweatpants and heading to the bathroom.

After very thorough aftercare, you were sitting in bed with Hendery, eating noodles while watching some random movie that he had put on, Bella sensing your slightly distressed state was curled up on your lap. Glancing over at Hendery you watched as he laughed before shoving noodles into his mouth, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

No matter how many sides he had to, you loved each one of them.

⇣Random Crack Dialogue⇣

“Should we go check on her? It’s been an hour since we’ve heard anything.”

“I don’t even want to sleep in my bed, they’ve contaminated the whole room.” Ten whined while throwing himself onto Lucas.

“Let them be, we all saw how Hendery grinned at us while getting the food. He’s doing all this on purpose.”

“It is weird to say I’m proud of him.” All of them turned to Yangyang, who only shrugged his shoulders as he went back to stealing Winwin’s chips. “I mean out of everybody I would’ve thought that Lucas would be the first one to do that.”

“Hey! Can you guys believe him?”

Silence ensued, as everybody believed it.

[coepiteamare]

you feel like a holiday

pairing: namjoon x female!reader genre: mostly fluff, a tinge of angst, a lot of mishaps, mall workers  warnings: language, mentions of mild burns, not using oven mitts, lapslock, a lot of mentions of falling because we’re clumsy word count: 5.8k

summary: floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. you can’t help but fall for the one temp worker who’s as clumsy as he is good looking. 

notes: merry belated holidays ellen @joontella​! it’s peppermint, finally delivering your present to you because i am an excellent procrastinator. this was inspired by my friend commenting on how the majority of holiday movie leads seem to be mall elves, so i present to you...a mall elf! in all seriousness, i hope you like it! i also wanted to add your answers to the character (about your favourite and least favourite part of the holidays) so i put those in here. 💕

the moment the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, the mall changes: it shifts from plain decorations and advertisements into a winter wonderland, with fake snow and garlands and tinsel wrapping every square inch of the mall. twinkling snowflakes hang from the ceiling, a cascade of light fragments spinning over the white, mall floor, and the railing are covered in boughs of holly and streams of glitter. it’s absolutely magical. or so every customer thinks. 

in reality, all the mall workers are contractually obligated to work after the mall closing hours, to file in through the glass doors and haul decoration after decoration out of the mall storage room, put in elbow grease to transform the mall into something vaguely resembling the north pole and distinctly looking like a christmas catalogue display, only with more glitter and more snowflakes and too much tinsel. 

you absolutely despise it. 

to be fair, working a graveyard shift to help “build the holiday magic and festive cheer” was written in the job description when you signed on for the job, in fine tiny print you skipped over as you signed your name on the bottom of the paper, forgotten and ignored in the thrill of having a job that pays more than minimum wage. of course there was a catch; there was always a catch. 

you kick a plastic reindeer, watch it clatter on to a pile of fake snow from your annoyance. jungkook, the head mall—santa’s elf, you correct yourself—snaps his head in your direction, before running over and propping up the reindeer. “oh no! are you okay, vixen?” he pats the reindeer gently, brushing off glittery cotton fluff from its body before frowning at you. “please be careful with the props! all of these are essential to the holiday magic we provide to the children and mall patrons! what would they think if they came into the mall and we only had 8 reindeers instead of all 9?” 

you blink twice, trying to bat away the sleep that’s weighing down your eyelashes and mingling with the glitter from all the ornaments. “that we have 8 reindeers.”

there’s another frown on his face, eyebrows pinching together as he opens his mouth when there’s a loud crash on your right. 

there’s a tall, broad man on the floor, tangled in tinsel and lights, next to a ladder, as another tall, broad man and a short, soft looking blonde come rushing out of the floral fantasy cafe doors. the blonde starts cackling immediately—peals of laughter slipping out of his lips as he props himself against the ladder, doubling over at the unfortunate christmas decoration accident—while the tall broad one (the one not tangled up on the floor), sighs and crouches down to try and untangle the other one. 

“i swear, i don’t even know how this happened,” you overhear tinsel boy explaining, “i was up on the ladder trying to unwrap the lights and i guess i pulled too hard? i fell over.” 

blondie cackles even louder as both of the boys give him a look: tinsel boy looks confused, a little apologetic like he’s done this before, while the other tall, broad one sends him an exasperated look. “yoongi, come help me, so we can all leave early.”

ah, to leave early. you’d like that. 

jungkook lets out a tsk and hands you a box of snowflakes to hang from the roof of santa’s workshop, deeming you high risk to the reindeers, and moves on to the next poor, tired santa’s elf who is—heaven forbid—letting the garland hang an extra inch longer than protocol. 

you shift your gaze back to your right and meet eyes with tinsel boy who’s looking right at you. a flicker of heat rushes up to your cheek, as he looks away, back to the tall broad one who’s trying to untangle him. 

“namjoon,” the broad one sighs in relief when his hands finally find the right loop, “maybe you should try the stickers.” 

“absolutely not,” blondie glares, points to the glass window of the cafe, and even from where you are, 2 stores down and 2 across, you can see the abysmal state of the stickers, air bubbles and stuck together where it’s not haphazardly slapped on to glass. “we are two stickers down and tae is going to have my head when he finds out.” his tone softens, eyes as gentle as his smile, when he sees that namjoon has deflated a little, spirit a little squashed like the tinsel around him. “maybe you can decorate the counter namjoon. i think you’d be good at that.”

namjoon brightens up, dimpled smile illuminated by the string lights dancing across his face, and hands yoongi the lights. he gives a mock salute. “yes, sir.”

you bite down your laughter as he skips into the store, nearly tripping over his shoes. at least you’re not alone in your lack of holiday decorating luck, you think as you reach your hand into the box of snowflakes and cough, a storm of dust and glitter puffing up into the air. 

god, you hate your job already. 

in all fairness, after a 5 hour shift and glitter congested lungs, the mall looks lovely, a christmas card come to life with enough lights to rival a hallmark christmas movie or those drive through holiday light tunnels. if you were a customer, you’d stand gaping at the front entrance too, breath caught in your throat at the festivities. but instead, you’re rubbing bleary eyes from the lack of sleep, back at the steps of the mall less than 6 hours after the nightmare of the graveyard shift. lethargy clings to the edges of your thoughts, smudging cohesion into a whirlpool of fatigue, so you collect what little of yourself you can and trudge your way to floral fantasy. 

floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. there’s a whisper where you live, small talks through the grapevines, about how the requirement to work there is to look like someone who’d make models cry. rumour has it every single worker has been recruited by a talent agency, only to all be turned down for reasons unknown. you believed it when you first stepped foot into the cafe, mouth agape and words lost at the sight of the pretty workers at the register, but the speculations hit you twice as hard right now, when you’re clutching on to the last bit of your sanity. 

tinsel boy is in front of you. you knew he was pretty yesterday, wrapped in twinkle and catching the light, but he’s even prettier up close, skin shimmering in soft pastels, and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually this pretty or if it’s just an optical illusion, a trick of your mind bending the light to create a pretty ringlet around his head. you almost run your mouth, almost let your mouth run without its filter. almost. 

instead, there’s a crash, an angry hiss of steam, and the distinct sound of someone yelping in pain that cuts through the fog of your wonder. blondie rushes out from the back (yoongi, you think his name was), door swinging behind him. “goddamnit namjoon, i leave you alone for thirty seconds! thirty seconds!” 

namjoon shrugs sheepishly. there’s a grimace on his face as he nurses a palm, red and angry. yoongi rushes over with a wet towel and wraps it around namjoon’s palm, another hiss seeping from namjoon’s lips. “i got-fuck-distracted by something,” he looks at you, cheeks tinged pink, and tries to put on a smile, though it resembles more of a grimace. “welcome to floral fantasy.”

yoongi follows his gaze to you too, blinks twice before a smile spreads on his mouth too. “we’re usually a lot more composed than this.”  

“i’ll take your word for it.” you laugh, remembering last night. “the place looks nice. it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job.”

the cafe, normally in theme to its name as an everblooming wonder, is decked with evergreen wreaths and red ribbons, a brilliant fantasy of lights. the wall filled with paper flowers is replaced with white and silver paper snowflakes, just as photo ready as the people inside. 

“thank you,” yoongi smirks, looking over at namjoon before pushing him towards the register. “we tried.”

“i’m sure you must be tired from last night,” you smile at namjoon. 

“you must be too. i know the mall elves had to stay even longer than we did.” he smiles, dimples blooming. “what can i get you?” 

you look at the menu over his head, the words blurring together the longer you look at them, mind too sleep deprived to focus. “i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure what’s good. what would you recommend?”

he opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck. your eyes follow the movement. “i’m actually new here. my friends own the cafe and i’m just here to help for the holiday rush.” he side eyes yoongi who’s running the coffee machine with precision and ease, grace in each movement as he fixes namjoon’s mistakes. “i feel like more of a nuisance than of help though.” 

“i understand that feeling,” you motion towards your attire, a bright splash of green, red, and white that’s as cheerful as you are tired. “i most definitely am not as perky as my job requires.” 

he laughs at your statement, a genuine bubbling laughter that tickles one out of you. there’s a sparkle in his eyes—a trick of the light, you tell yourself—as types something on to the screen. “i have just the thing for you.”

you start to fish around your bag, trying to find your card in the mess of old receipts and chewing gum, when he speaks again. “it’s on the house. my treat.” 

you furrow your brows, lips quirked. “are you allowed to do that?”

“i get free coffee everyday,” he shrugs, “and i do enough damage without caffeine in my system. consider it a gift from a fellow new mall worker, a comrades in agony.” 

you can’t help the worry that spreads across your face. “will you be making it as well?”

“god no.” “absolutely not.” namjoon and yoongi speak at once, twin looks of pain on their faces. 

namjoon holds up his palm as the printer makes a whirring noise. “i think it’s safer for all of us that yoongi makes your drink.” 

the coffee is good, coats your tongue in mint and just the right amount of bitterness. the caffeine sinks into your bloodstream, wipes the film of sleep from your eyes, and gets you through seven hours at the mall. by the end of it, your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, voice a little hoarse from the high pitch elf voice, but there’s a warmth from the coffee that lingers, settles into your bones and stays despite the frosty air that blasts a little too hard through the itchy material of your elf dress. 

you find yourself back at the doors of floral fantasy the next day, still in your bell hat and jingling shoes, less tired but sleepy nonetheless. it’s a little before the mall opens, but the doors are unlocked when you push, a little bell chime ringing through the empty store. the smell of baked goods fills the air, a cozy warmth juxtaposing the white winter wonderland theme, and you take in a deep breath, let it fill your lungs. 

“wow.” you whip around to see namjoon holding a tray of scones and muffins. “you look like you fit right into the store.”

you snort as you twirl, the pom poms twirling as your dress swirls with your turn. “i’m a christmas card come to life, the splitting image of cheer and festivities. though i can’t really say i’m quite into the look.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a ringing that permeates and breaks the moment. “oh shit,” he drops the tray down on the counter, “seokjin told me to watch the macarons. i’ll be right back” he races off, the back door swinging to the tune of his panic. 

you giggle and look at the menu properly this time, at the pretty penmanship curling across the black chalkboards. there’s candy canes and hollies drawn on the borders and tiny wreaths pinned to every corner, ribbon on the bottom, and you try to match the baked goods to the menu names when there’s a muted yelp and crash coming from behind the doors. 

“i swear to god, kim namjoon! the oven mitts are not decoration!” you hear, and you grimace, mind already picturing the damage his clumsiness has caused.  

namjoon and seokjin, you assume, come out of the backroom a few moments later, another wet towel on namjoon, on both hands instead of one this time. 

“oh,” seokjin says. “hello.” 

“hi,” you wave awkwardly. “i’m guessing this is bad timing?”

“no, it’s not,” he pulls out a medical kit and starts applying burn cream on namjoon’s hands, sending daggers every time namjoon inhales sharply in pain. “yoongi should be here in a couple of minutes if you want coffee.”

“did you like the coffee yesterday?” namjoon asks, hope sparkling in his eyes. 

“i did!” you beam back. “it was good, so i came back to see if you had any recs.” you look at the tray behind the two. “and to try a baked goods. a fellow elf told me they’re quite spectacular.”

seokjin brightens at that, perks up and puffs his chest as he finishes the final touches on the bandages on namjoon’s hands. “you heard correctly! just wait a moment!” he rushes off to the back, and it’s just the two of you again.

“you seem to be catching me at my worst, but i swear, i’m more put together than this,” namjoon chuckles, lifting his palms “how was your first shift?” 

you laugh, caressing your elbows to your body. “it was okay. a lot of happy kids, which was nice, but there were also a lot of crying ones. by the end, i was just ready to go home. i did, however, like the coffee from yesterday and figured i would come back to see if you had another recommendation, from a fellow second day-er to another. it was the one thing that got me through the shift.” 

he beams again, and it ignites a warmth in you, much like the coffee from yesterday, that spreads gently across your body, on your cheeks, on your mouth. his smile is pretty, like a warm breeze on a spring day, like cherry blossoms fluttering gently in the wind. the coffee is good, but you think the reason for the lines outside the cafe, the loyal customers, is partly due to the way the smiles here feel like love letters. 

“i have something in mind for you today,” he smiles at you as yoongi walks in, nodding at you in greeting. “just wait a moment.”

you walk out of the cafe, a coffee in one hand, box of baked goods in another, and a heart that feels a little like a snow globe, glitter and snow gently falling down after being shaken by a cute pair of dimples.

it becomes a routine of sorts: almost every shift begins with a visit to floral fantasy, even on the days namjoon isn’t working, and you build up a small friendship with everyone who works there, though it’s mostly seokjin and yoongi and namjoon you see. there always seems to be some mishap with namjoon when you walk into the store—it’s mostly limited to small things like jammed display doors, smooshed pastries as he reaches for another, and misshapen ice cream swirls—although seokjin and yoongi tell you he’s not as clumsy as he presents himself when you’re around.

“he’s actually quite brilliant,” seokjin tells you as he packs in an extra macaron in your gift box, smiling as you light up in glee. you really shouldn’t be spending your paycheck on pastries, but seokjin’s culinary training at le cordon bleu makes them a little too good, a little too addictive, and has you asking for one (or two) on the days when your shifts are a little too long to bear without coffee and sweets. “he’s double majoring in literature and philosophy, minoring in greek and latin to gain deeper understanding of the classical philosophers, and takes french in his free time. he wears himself a little too thin, if you ask me, but he likes what he does. he’s a sweetheart, even when he’s clinging to the last thread of his sanity, muttering on and on about paradoxes and something about beds.” 

“he just needs to get a better understanding of his strength,” yoongi tells you when you come in after your shift one day, over the hiss of the steamer as he makes you a cafe au lait. you don’t have the heart to tell him that you prefer your coffee sweet after remembering how his eyes lit up as he told you about his barista training, raved about coffee done correctly rather than frappes and awful starbucks beans. the resentment on his tongue made you promise yourself to never step foot in a starbucks, lest you find yourself the subject of his bitterness. “sometimes he gets a little too excited and forgets about things, like how fragile objects can be or safety concerns” he and seokjin exchange a knowing glance before he smiles down at the coffee, blank canvas coming to life as he pours in the steamed milk. in the matter of seconds, there’s a cute bear hanging on to the edge of the cup, and you gape in awe at his skills. “he means well though.” 

namjoon presents himself a little differently than his friends do when he catches you on your lunch break, keeping you company as you eat your sandwich in the cafeteria. “i don’t really know how these things keep happening, but they do. i’m a magnet for trouble like bella swan.”

you cackle out loud and, in the process, almost spit out your coffee, courtesy of namjoon. “i’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

“well, i don’t have a creepy, emotionally unhinged vampire that lusts after me, so yes, my situation is a bit better.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes all sad and tugging at heartstrings. you find yourself reaching a hand out, patting his arm. “there, there. i’m sure santa has you on the nice list despite it all. for not interacting with a god-forsaken, toxic vampire.” 

“good. i was awfully worried i was on the naughty list.” he tries to keep a straight face, hold his laughter in, but it seeps and bubbles out and his eyes crinkle into crescents. “do you not like the holidays?” you tilt your head at his question, a silent ask to elaborate. “you seem to not be in the holiday spirit when i ask you about it. unless, i’m reading incorrectly and it’s just your job you despise, which i totally understand. i love kids, but they can be hard to deal with.” 

you chew on your sandwich for a little longer than you have to, feel it go down your esophagus while the sorrow sticks in your throat. “i like christmas. it’s just a bit lonely on my own?” you put your sandwich down gingerly on to your tupperware. “i think the best part of christmas—the holidays in general, really—is spending time with family and loved ones, but i don’t get to see them very often. not since i moved for college and everyone is busy with their own lives. i love christmas dinner and celebrating together, watching the clock strike midnight on new year’s. i still send gifts to them, but it’s not the same as watching them open it, watching eyes light up and twinkle in delight as they see the stockings and rip the wrapping paper.” you stick a grin on your face, as cheerful as the one you put on for your job, but your laughter sounds weak, even to your ears, and you shift your gaze on to the sandwich in your tupperware, trying to hide your tears. there’s a comforting hand on top of yours, gently squeezing like he’s trying to pass his strength on to you. “i mean, it’s fine. post-holiday depression can’t really hit if you don’t feel the holiday cheer to begin with.”

he doesn’t say anything as you blink furiously, trying to clear out the fuzziness in your vision: he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand, a gentle reminder that he’s there and listening to what you’ve holed up and deemed too stupid to tell other people. 

“maybe this holiday season will be different,” he offers. 

there’s a flicker of hope that burns in your chest. “yeah, maybe it will be.” 

it’s a couple of days later when you step back into the cafe, having been too tired to come by after your shifts, and you’re nursing the desire to knock down every single reindeer and the stupid gingerbread house just to spite the kids. (and maybe see the look on jeon jungkook’s face, savour it slowly. god, his love for christmas cheer and order drives you mad, though you’re sure you do the same for him, every time you slip out of character when there’s a particularly nasty child in line.) you must look as exhausted as you feel because when namjoon turns around at the sound of the bell twinkling, thirty minutes before the cafe closes, he drops the tray and you watch as the pink coffee cups and pretty plates fall to the floor, shatter into pieces. 

“fuck,” namjoon looks at the floor in dismay, crouching down to collect the pieces. 

“be care-“ you start, but his voice cuts through before you can finish. 

“ow, fuck.” he staring at the rose blooming on his thumb, cut quickly filling with red. 

you grab a napkin from the counter and hand it to him, gently pulling him up and aside, out of harms way. “i don’t know if your hands will be okay by the time your stint here ends.”

he snorts at that, heading behind the counter and reaching for the medical kit again. “i’m quite resilient.”

“is it weird that i believe you and don’t at the same time?” you smile at his pout, wincing when it causes your cheeks to twinge in pain. “are you manning the store alone today?”

“i can be responsible! is that so hard to believe?” he laughs and motions to the store. “this is seokjin and yoongi’s baby. seokjin has always wanted to do something with food and yoongi’s always loved coffee, so this is their brainchild. i’m guessing they trust me enough to not burn the place down, or at least try not to.” 

he fumbles as puts a bandage on the cut and you can’t help but smile as you remember the stickers he tried to put on the cafe door. you take the broom from him when he makes his way over. “here, let me help.” he tries to protest but you move the broom out of his reach. “consider it my way of saying thank you for the great coffee recommendations.”  

namjoon’s dimples are back, shining in full force, and you start sweeping, telling yourself you’re focusing on the pieces of china and not averting the warmth of his smile because it does not feel like a sugar rush, like the warmth of the holidays you haven’t felt in a while. you feel something creep up in your throat—loneliness, sorrow, exhaustion—so you force it down and stare at the tiny pieces on the floor, watch the little fragments twinkle as you push them around with your broom. 

“are you okay?” there’s a hand on your arm and pair of warm brown eyes looking at you, concern brimming in the light. you let yourself get lost in them for a moment, let it wash over you before you respond.

“yeah,” you smile, “just tired.” 

he gently takes the broom and dustpan from your hands, and gives you his hand instead, leading you to the behind the counter and to the backroom. “i have just the thing for you.”

“am i allowed to be back here?” you quirk your head in amusement, letting him lead. “better yet, what are we doing?”

it’s strange—to the say the least—to be in a place you’re so accustomed to but have it looks so different than what you’re used to: steel and silver replacing marble and white, ovens and storage racks in place of glass displays case and chalkboards. but there’s still the same magic: the same kind of warmth and care you’re greeted with at the entrance lives in the backroom, with the ovens and fires, with the stand mixers and ingredients, with namjoon flitting around the stove. there’s a tick-tick-tick as the stove flares to life, a clang as it meets pan. 

“yoongi taught me how to make hot chocolate, back in high school, because he was so fed up with how much i loved it, how much i would ask for it.” you can feel the smile on his face, even as his back is to you as you lean against the counter. “it’s one of the few things i know how to make from scratch, albeit a little labour intensive. once you try it, there’s no going back to instant packets.” 

namjoon motions you over, handing you the whisk, and the two of you settle in to a comfortable silence as he scrapes in vanilla, sifts in some spices, adds in heavy cream and milk. it smells heavenly, lingers on the edges of his white shirt. the two of you are so close, you’re scared he can hear the vivace of your heartbeat over the whisking, so you whisk a little faster, let the cream splash on the edges until he gently takes the whisk from you. “wow, maybe you should work here. we could have you as back up if our stand mixers ever break down.” 

he pours the mixture into two orange mugs, topping it with something white and fluffy before handing one to you. “hot chocolate a la namjoon.” 

you close your eyes and let the mixture settle on your tongue, sweet and warm. it settles in your bones, distilling and coating the exhaustion and loneliness until all that’s left is the warmth of spending the moment with a loved one. the effort and time comes through. “colour me impressed.”

the smile on his face is as warm as the drink in your hands. 

the two of you bask in the silence, in the warmth, in the comfort of each other’s presence, as you sip the rest of your hot chocolates. 

there’s an unspoken rule: the closer it gets to your last day of work, the slower time moves, like it’s waiting to prolong your misery. the kids aren’t awful—they get nicer as it inches closer to christmas, too well aware their gifts depend on their behavior—but no matter how many kids you entertain, how many photos you snap, how many smiles you pinch out, nothing makes your shift go by today. you’re so close to throwing down your elf hat and walking out the door, freedom so close yet so far. 

it’s christmas eve and the mall is busier than usual, packed with folxs trying to get their last minute christmas shopping done. you can’t say the same for the santa’s workshop line: there’s a lull like no other, and while you would be grateful, jeon jungkook has been watching over everyone like a hawk, squawking at every elf to “keep up the magic!” just until 10 minutes ago when he left for lunch. you just want to go back to your apartment and settle under your covers and let yourself enjoy the measly number on your paycheck. 

“you look like you’re having the time of your life.” 

a voice comes up from behind you and you startle, relief only settling in when you see who it is. 

namjoon is holding a tray of cupcakes that looks like christmas trees, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with a fondant star, and you “ooh” over them as he laughs. “seokjin was experimenting with flavours and i figured i would bring some over to the north pole.”

you frown in mock anger as you pluck a cupcake off his tray. “it’s santa’s workshop, not the north pole. i don’t even want to think about how much more fake snow we would have to bring to call this the north pole.” you take a bite into the cupcake, moaning as the sugar hits your tongue. “these are so good.”

namjoon blinks at you, looks down at your lips and laughs with pink tinged cheeks. “you have frosting on your lips.”

“oh,” you lick your lips, “is it gone?”

 he brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, fingertip lingering a second too long as he drags it down. “all better.” 

there’s a long, awkward silence between the two of you, seconds dragging by as you fumble to string a cohesive sentence together. 

“do you-“

“it’s my-“

“you can go first,” namjoon offers. 

“it’s my last shift today, so i won’t be able to visit as often anymore.” you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, try to dampen the disappointment as you kick at the floor. “so i wanted to say thank you. for everything.”

“oh.” he doesn’t say anything else and anxiety pools in between every beat of the song that’s blasting through the mall speakers. you try to find something to fill in the conversation, anything but what you want to ask him, when you hear your coworker’s voice. 

“jeon’s making his way down!” 

“i have to go. thank you for the cupcake!” you wave the treat in your hand and start to get back into position.

“wait! y/n!” 

as soon as you turn around, there’s a giant weight on top of you, and both you and namjoon come tumbling down, back knocking against the floor. namjoon’s foot, caught on the wire, pulls out the string lights from the socket and brings a snowman to the floor. the poor snowman, in turn, knocks over the reindeers one by one, like a set of dominos, each one falling to the floor with a graceful “thump.”

you let out a groan, crushed by namjoon’s large frame. there’s something wet smudged against your cheek, and the tray that once was in his hands is now uncomfortably sandwiched between your stomachs, digging into your ribcage. 

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” namjoon scrambles to get off of you. “this keeps happening around you. are you okay?”

when you prop up your weight on your hands, you see that your elf costume is smeared with dark green frosting, the white trim matted together with pieces of the chocolate cupcake. you can’t help but laugh: it seems awfully fitting that namjoon’s fall, which marked your first shift, would laso be the highlight of your last one. 

“i’m alright. you?”

he nods, motioning towards your elf costume. “i don’t think your costume is though.”

“i kind of like it better this way,” you laugh as you start to pick up the reindeers, “it feels much more festive.” 

“i feel bad.”

he sends you an apologetic look, puppy eyes and pouty lips, and something in you says fuck it. “you were right about the hot chocolate. i tried to drink instant mix and it didn’t taste the same. you could make it up to me with another cup?”

something flashes in his eyes as he smiles. “i’ll do you one better. what are you doing tomorrow?”

you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “nothing?”

“i’m off too, if you wanted to go on a date? most of the city is going to be closed, so we could watch a movie, have dinner at my place? and i could make you hot chocolate?” he bites his lip at your silence, at the way your eyes go wide. “or not. i’m sorry; i just thou-” 

you press your lips against his and put your hands on his shoulder when he kisses you back. it’s a short kiss, sweet and gentle like he is, and it’s over all too soon (you are in public after all), but it leaves a trail of butterflies in your stomach and a dazed look in his eye. 

“a date sounds good.” you tell him as he stands up, tray in hand. 

“tomorrow then.”

you nod, the smile on your face as sweet as the frosting on your outfit, as he runs back towards floral fantasy. 

“looks like someone has holiday plans after all,” your coworker nudges you.

the smile on your face refuses to dissipate, even as your cheeks feel the tender ache. “i guess so.” 

“you know, the first time i saw you, you were wrapped in tinsel because you fell off the ladder trying to decorate the outside of floral fantasy.” you tell him on his couch, over hot chocolate. 

he chokes and sputters. “i was distracted.”

the statement sounds vaguely familiar, mind hazy from time. “by what?”

he looks at his mug of hot chocolate intently, like the surface is reflecting his answer to him. “You.”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. “I’m sorry?”

his ears and cheeks are dusted with pink, a sunset on his face. “You were so pretty that i forgot i was on a ladder, and i fell.” 

it takes all of your willpower to iron out the smile that threatens to slip through, but one look at his face--at his pretty, pouting face--and you burst out laughing, laughing even harder when he joins in.

“I’m clumsy when i get nervous,” he continues, when both your laughters simmer into giggles, “and everytime you came into the cafe, i was so nervous that i made silly mistakes like burning my hands and forgetting oven mitts. The one time you came in and i dropped the tray? The light was hitting you at the right angle and—god—it made you look like an angel.” 

you hide your grin behind your mug, take a sip before you let him know. “the coffee was good, but i mostly came in to see you.” 

his eyes light up at that, brighter than the christmas tree haphazardly wrapped behind him, and you kiss him, mouths moulding together. he tastes like goodness and hot chocolate and the warmth of the holiday season, like the thrill of opening a present that’s been under the tree for so long. 

maybe he was right. maybe this holiday season will be different. 

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #1

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Cleopatra’s Pearl

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I had a night shift in my part-time job at the TV station. I continued working there for just a little, to an extent that wouldn’t get in the way of my Saturday part-time at Jewelry Etranger.

Only the channel of the station I worked for was displayed in the muted TV of the night shift room. There was a history-type quiz show going on when I came in at six. It wasn’t a genre that I had any particular interest in, but…

“Hey, Richard, do pearls really dissolve in vinegar?”

“Cleopatra’s anecdote?”

“Whoa, as expected of a jeweler.”

“This is common knowledge.”

It was said that Cleopatra, once the queen of Ancient Egypt, had a battle with the Roman general Antonius as to which of them could arrange the richest dish. In a direct attack, Antonius showed her rows of delicacies from all over the world, but the queen used an unpredictable move. She dissolved one of the large pearls that she wore as earrings with vinegar that she had poured into a cup, drinking it up in front of Antonius. By the moment she smiled at a dumbfounded Antonius, saying that she could use the other side in case one had not been enough, their contest was already over.

As I talked about the anecdote of the unexpected trick, Richard nodded with a composed face. “That is Plinius’s description of it, right? If you look for a book called ‘Naturalis Historia’, you will find it written there.”

“So it’s true?! No, that’s impossible, isn’t it...? Vinegar can’t really dissolve pearls, right?”

“Depends on its density. If the acidity is strong enough to affect your body after you drink it, it can indeed dissolve pearls as well. But then I cannot conceive that the Queen of Egypt drank it.”

“Thought so...”

“I believe it is unreasonable to expect chemical accuracy from ancient Roman literature, but at the very least, it conveys the romance that he was attempting to tell. The worth of Cleopatra’s large pearls must be immeasurable.”

I had never seen pearls being used much in Etranger, but were there any requests from the clients, this magus-like jeweler would always stock up the necessary goods in rows. As I asked how much a pearl cost, Richard answered that it depended. When I formed a big circle with my fingers and asked, “What about this?”, the beautiful man sighed.

“A gem worn by a royal is a special good among special goods. There are no other comparable items for sale in this world. Therefore, the speculation of ‘how much this costs’ has next to no meaning.”

“So no matter how much money you pay, there’s no way you can get your hands on something that doesn’t exist.”

“Exactly.”

Antonius’s treat was food. It was not cheap, but one could manage acquiring it with money somehow or other. In contrast, Cleopatra all too abruptly dissolved something unique and drank it. I see.

“That’s Cleopatra’s value, huh. So moral of the story is that, even if it wasn’t true, Cleopatra was a step above in sagacity.”

“Right you are. Authenticity aside, it is possible to do a rough analysis from the nature of the anecdote.”

“Cleopatra loses in the end, though.”

Antonius and Cleopatra did join hands, but in the end, they lost to a different general who had come from Rome and both died. Apparently, the new general had no interest in Cleopatra’s beauty. It wasn’t like everything would go well for someone so long as they were good-looking. My break time had ended there, and right before the end credits, I received a task to guard the studio’s management counter.

I would take the night shift four days a week until I started working in this shop, and thinking back on it now, my body sure had endured it. My skin was three times bumpier than normal when I woke up after sleeping until eight o’clock in the nap room. I was by no means a peerless beauty type like Richard, so this was the kind of experience where I became self-aware that even the things we couldn’t see would wear down little by little. Speaking of which...

“Is something the matter, Seigi?”

“No... I was just thinking a bit about the relationship between beautiful people and gemstones.”

Gems lasted more than people. Richard had said before that stones nestled close to people’s lives.

“Gems are stones, so they don’t get damaged so easily and stay beautiful for about forever, right? The reason why rich people feel like collecting them might not be just for using up their fortunes.”

All human beings grew old. Someone had also told me in the past that “luxury is the same as dirt to the wind”. But I could understand why someone would want to think that, by some sort of exception, they would never age and things would always work out for them.

After all, stones – being stones – would retain their beautiful forms.

Richard exhaled curtly with a “hun”, sipping his royal milk tea. Today’s serving was a work I had confidence in.

“Seigi, do you know how pearls are made?”

“Eh? From oysters, right?”

“Precisely. In order to tell apart the way they are formed from the way that minerals form in the ground, they are called ‘carbonate minerals’. As oysters have soft bodies, they are weak to pollution and pain, and dealing with them normally requires meticulous care. It is exactly because they are sensible natural creatures that they have been loved as symbols of beautiful women since times of old. From the fact that the shellfish is nurtured for a long period and born out of the mother’s body, it is also popular as a protection charm for childbirth.”

“‘Carbonate mineral’... something like calculus?”

“You say such emotionless things. It can be considered a delicate gem, close to human flesh. If the owner can successfully manage to coexist with it, it can guarantee a graceful beauty.”

A sensible gem born from shellfish. Hence the “coexistence”. As expected of a jeweler. He said some smart things.

Had Cleopatra also tried to explain herself away to the enemy general like that? She probably had. But it’s useless when it doesn’t work.

“Would it have been useless to give the pearl that she had set aside to the attacking Roman general and say, ‘Please pardon us with this’? It wouldn’t work, huh...”

“You sure are obsessing over it. If Cleopatra had won against Rome’s Octavianus, history might have changed.”

“That’s a hindsight-based opinion, isn’t it? Beautiful people are also part of this world’s riches... Ah, just now! It’s not like I was saying this and that about you!”

“I get it, I understand. Do not shout so loudly,” Richard said, making a bitter face.

My apologies. Up until now, I had been complimenting the appearance of my beautiful boss over and over countless times, and would end up praising him too much, making his face get suspicious. Regardless of the day.

“Survival tactics sure are difficult, both now and in the past.”

“Gemstones cannot speak or hold grudges. They do not increase in numbers if left alone. While their owners change as the people in power are replaced, stones simply exist. The beauty of stones lies in their thoroughly passive charm. Even if there are interpretations for them, they cannot interpret people. That is exactly why people can accept them without any ado even if they belonged to an opponent. The same would not apply to a living person.”

“Speaking of which, it was said on TV that Cleopatra committed suicide in the end, I think.”

If she were truly an unmatched beauty, she might have had her life spared even if she had lost the war. But in that regard, I felt something like pride from a queen who had fought carrying a nation on her back. Like, “I am not the same as gemstones”. It wasn’t as if I knew what the actual course of events was, though.

“Gems also have it hard. Even if they’re cherished because they’re oh-so-pretty, they can’t pick their own fate.”

“So you say there are stones that complain about their own sorrows? How surprising. To think your knowledge of the spiritual side of things would be this deep.”

“That’s not what I’m saying...”

Richard asked, “Is that really so?” and I furrowed my brows. Eh?

“Stones also choose people.”

“You saying that for real?”

“For real. It is like a chance encounter. Just as people choose one another, stones choose people as well. It is precisely because fate ensues that they settle into a person’s hand, I believe.”

“Hearing you say ‘for real’ is kinda... nice.”

“Ha?”

“The gap is incredible, like seeing Cleopatra chug down beer from a tankard... Ah... Sorry about that.”

Richard cleared his throat in displeasure and stated, “Tea” with his usual tone. Whenever he was a bit embarrassed, he would chase me away into the small kitchen.

Today’s snack for the Etranger staff was ramune that we received from a client who had come from the Kansai region. The pastel-colored little spheres were tightly packed inside a lovely box that looked like those hat boxes from department stores. They dissolved in bubbles once we put them in our mouths. Though they were delicious and pretty, as one would expect, eating them in heaps with the clients while talking about stones could have a bit of a bad effect, and I felt like it would make me laugh, so we decided to finish them in private.

“I can even bet on it, but these are definitely tastier than a pearl dissolved in vinegar.”

“What do you intend to bet? How foolish.”

Richard and I absent-mindedly ate the sweets that most certainly neither generals from ancient Rome nor the Queen of Egypt ever got to tasting. We ate and ate but there was no end to them. While we were at it, it felt like we were binge eating pearls, which made me feel just a little sorry for Cleopatra.

As I grimaced a bit, the unrivaled beauty raised an eyebrow only slightly, looking puzzled, and then began wolfing down the ramune again.

[storm-driver]

ep 20 : AH YES, THE FREAKSHOW EPISODE. im fairly certain i only saw this episode once as a kid, because the plot beats of the episode took me by surprise on rewatch. but i do remember something about danny with the red eyes and almost getting himself in hot water constantly. maybe this episode left that kinda impact on me that i never wanted to watch it again, im unsure.

i know i saw reality trip a lot more bc i can just...remember the name of it off the top of my head. but i have to wonder why this guy was chosen as the season finale villain twice, considering he NEVER shows up in any other episodes besides these finales. or if he does, i just didnt pay attention oops

okay immediately i think i remember why i didnt like this episode that much, it was the designs of the ghosts that freakshow had enslaved. im not really sure, none of them are particularly bad. but they're really bland outside of the tattoo ghost girl. and even then, i was staring at her design thinking "wait, this is a kids show right"

i know showing skin isnt inherently sexual by nature, but she's literally wearing a corsette that barely covers her chest from the waist up, and she doesnt have ANY pants on. she still looks cool though, im just an adult and can now see things i did not see as a child.

sam's family gets properly introduced in this episode, and it's interesting to see them semi-respect her choices in lifestyle. like, yeah, they still want to pamper their daughter into being more pastel and happy vibes. but they let her darken her room and dress it however she'd like, which is nice. they only really question her choices bc danny looks really sus hanging out with her sometimes LMAO. which is funny cause danny is probably the most chill dude surface-wise to just have as a friend, if the ghost powers weren't involved. he's just unfortunately walking into the room at the worst time.

i appreciate that her grandmother is more open to sam's antics, it's nice to see an older portrayal of an adult not be senile and rude. she's a fun-having woman who only wants the best for her granddaughter, but also wants her granddaughter to just have fun. it's v cute and sweet.

so yknow those comics that people make about how danny just transforms blatantly in the open sometimes bc the animators are tryna show off of a little. this is probably one of the most show-off-my-powers one yet. he literally jumps on top of a truck while STILL HUMAN, leaps off the back of it and transforms midair, and then launches himself up. which is BEYOND extra when you consider there's police literally coming down the road as he does this.

the goth dude walking up to danny and spray-painting his shirt black, then proudly saying "you're one of us now" was so fucking real, that was GENUINE. this episode has so many fucking one-liners that got me laughing so hard. the fentons getting antsy over being mocked for wearing jumpsuits, which are admittedly cool af (thank you evangelion for teaching me that). the smash cut from sam saying "lancer let us out" to lancer trapped in the closet screaming "LET ME OUT."

i really would like to know if the staff freakshow uses has some sorta of ties to the ghost zone, or if it was just the episode macguffin. bc lorewise, what if pariah dark used this shit or something in the past? or idk, it links back to the origins of the ghost zone? any they introduce artifacts that can interact with ghosts, i just wanna know WHERE it came from. what's THE LORE.

THEY LITERALLY GOT A RESTRAINING ORDER IN PLACE FOR A 14-YEAR OLD TO STAY AWAY FROM THEIR DAUGHTER, WHAT THE FUCK DUDE, thanks danny phantom for making me google if that's even a thing (yes it is, but there's gotta be legitimate reasons)

this episode ends up diminishing phantom's reputation with the town since he gets forced into committing crimes against both vendors and literal police in broad daylight (or moonlight). i suppose that's supposed to explain away why people backtrack on trusting him, but even so, i find it odd that previous alliances dont get brought up again.

sam's grandmother calls sam 'bubeleh,' which iirc is a Jewish term of endearment for someone you cherish? it's nice to see a subtle nod towards Jewish family and beliefs, it's a really cute lil detail that i love.

i really wish this show had been preserved in something higher than 360p, because there's shots and sequences in here that look fantastic, and im sure would be GORGEOUS in 480p or higher. the shot of sam falling off the train while danny dives to save her, despite still being under the influence of the crystal, it'd be nice to see that in any higher resolution. because this is what it looks like at 360p.

maybe my source just doesnt have the DVD uploads and this was recorded from somewhere else? i dunno

this episode almost feels like it could be a season finale if it had been given a 1 hour block treatment maybe? like the makings are all there, and danny ruining his reputation for the forseeable future has potential in the episode itself. there's literally a line where danny says "hey what if we stayed behind to explain to authority what happened to us" and the other ghosts just run bc they dont wanna. so danny has to just forgo apologizing to the public for his actions and leave the broken glass where it lies. i could imagine a sequence of danny walking out of the train and trying to explain what happened to overbearing and hateful figures, with a good chunk of people believing him and others dont. but this is once again me writing a fanfic in my own rewatch, so dont mind my rambles

freakshow is a fine villain, far from a favourite. it's weird how he's almost like a ghost despite being human. his family was supposedly controlling ghosts for centuries using the crystal artifact, which just leads to more questions as to where they got it, how long has it existed, did his family know about ghosts and for how long, etc. more lore for the graphic novel to exploit im sure teehee

fun episode, banger jokes, good sequence at the end of danny redeeming himself by saving sam, her grandmother kicks ass.

yknow what I'm cataloging my feelings as i rewatch every danny phantom episode, here we go

[jeogiyall]

𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞; 𝒍.𝒕𝒚

❥ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟾.𝟻𝚔

❥ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝗀

❥ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺.

❥ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 + 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾𝗌; 𝗈𝖻𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽.

❥ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅��𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌-𝗍𝗈-𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍; 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇, 𝖮𝖢 𝖠𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒/𝗇

❥ᴀ/ɴ: 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍!! 𝗂'𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀! 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗈. -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

‘The Great International Bake Off’ was not something you were expecting anything to come from. Being a pastry chef in France, you were used to having doors slammed in your face. Everything, even things meant for beginners, were handed off to the people with a name and a home full of trophies. Even getting through to the final round of auditions, you were just hoping that the callback would be enough to get you a better job (it wasn’t).  

You had actually expected so little from it that you had actually forgotten the result date. You went into work normally, made simple chocolate cookies, spent your lunch break whipping up a complicated cake. It was a normal day, until your coworker (and team mate,) Amelie burst through the kitchen doors. Her smile was gigantic as she pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your cake falling to the floor in a mess of raspberry puree.

“What in the world?” You had whined, frowning at the mess of chocolate and fruit on the floor.

“We did it!” Your eyebrows had furrowed as you moved to grab a towel. Amelie grabbed you by the shoulders, her dark brown eyes wild. Slowly, realization of the date crept into your head.

“Oh, a-are we-” She jumped up and down, squeals piercing the room.

“We’re on the show!” 

Needless to say, you were getting a better job.

*

On the first day of filming you wore high waist jeans with a black turtleneck sweater. The blue haired boy on the Korean team had giggled when he met you while all of the contestants waited to enter the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” He began through his laugh. There’s an accent in his English that causes the words to slur together almost sweetly, “you just look very French. Like how people imagine French girls to look.” You laughed along with him, glancing down at your outfit.

“You’re right, I do.” His laugh is soft and squeaky. You notice his cheeks turning pink, “It’s the turtleneck, I think.” He nods in agreement with you before the large metal doors to the studio swing open.

You’re concentrated while cooking, like always, but you can’t help that you hear slurred English and a squeaky laugh permeating the room.

*

“So I saw you talking to Lee Taeyong before we went in today.” Amelie pokes as you lounge on the bed of your shared hotel room. She’s in the bathroom, washing the day off her hands. 

“Is that the Korean boy?”

“Oui.” She sings, shutting of the faucet. You stare at the magazine page in front of you, eyes glazing over a bite size dome cake covered in edible flowers.

“Yea, he’s sweet. Charming.” She laughs as she enters your bedroom, tossing a different magazine onto your bed. You can’t read the text since it’s entirely in Korean, but you see Taeyong on the front; He’s smiling with an arm wrapped around a glass mixing bowl. His hair was pink in this photo, “What does it say?” Amilie shrugs, flipping a dark strand of hair over her shoulder.

“Son of five star chef to represent Korea in international bake off.” You pull your eyes from the picture to smirk at your friend.

“When did you learn to read Korean?” She swiftly flips her middle finger up at you, sticking out her tongue childishly.

“I ran it through a translator app.” She answers, snatching the magazine up from it’s place in front of you, “It’s weird though, right? He’s like basically a celebrity.” 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of cool. If we beat them we’ll get major bragging rights.” She laughs, thumbing through the foreign glossy pages.

“True that, Korea will definitely be our biggest competition.” Your eyes glaze over as she rambles on, the feeling his sweet laugh had left in your chest dying.

You become a different person when fueled by competition, it’s what made you top of your class in culinary school. You knew you couldn’t win if you were also trying to keep up someones opinion of you, or fantasizing about blue hair and kind eyes. Best to nip it in the bud before anything happened.

“Yea,” you creek out while nodding, “beating them would be tough.” A small smile cracks onto her lips.

“We can do it.” A lump takes form in your throat. Amelie doesn’t notice “I’m getting dinner with Antonio and Maria, from team Mexico? Are you coming along?” You nod, pushing yourself up from the bed. 

All night long your minds drifts helplessly to the smiling pink haired boy from the magazine cover.

* 

You’re melting chocolate over a stove top in an industrial hotel kitchen at three in the morning when you settle on the fact that it’s difficult to not pay attention to Taeyong. It’s not as if he’s needy for the attention like his teammate, Donghyuck, but he gets it anyways. When it’s not for his ridiculous, angel like, appearance, it’s for the sheer beauty and sophistication of his desserts. He utilizes both his own culture, modern techniques, and a certain rustic quality while still keeping a certain refinement about whatever goes on the plate. You don’t want to say that you’re jealous of him, you’re rarely jealous of anyone about anything, but watching him present his desserts every other day makes your chest swell with something ugly. He captures everything in a dessert, leaving everyone wishing for a taste.

It would be nice to say that you are indifferent towards him, but that’s clearly not true. You’ve always had somewhat of a competitive streak. On your first day of culinary school your teacher announced that the class would be making pastry dough the next day; “If you can’t make this... Why are you here?” He had stated gravely, staring you dead in the eyes. You were the only girl in the entire class.That night you spent hours making the dough, three batches of it. You made it until it was perfect, reveling in the sight of your teacher eating his words the next day. You loved to win, and you hated anyone that tried to keep it from you.

A part of you finds it sad that you can’t bring yourself to like him anymore, he’s so sweet. One day in the kitchen you notice his sky blue hair falling into his face in delicate curls, then proceed to kick yourself while beating the devil out of a bowl of egg whites. In every place where you are competitive, Taeyong is docile. You often wonder if he even notices that dish of the day is always between your teams. He always cheers whenever Team France is announced as the winner for the episode, it makes you feel like an ass.

You throw in the last bit of your chocolate and fruit zest, trying not to notice the way your hand trembles. As it melts into rest of the liquid the large steel door of the kitchen creeps open. You don’t pay much attention to it, the staff is far too familiar with finding you here by now.

“Oh,” That voice is definitely not a hotel cook. It’s low and warm, the vowel long and messy, “Y/N! I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine.” You interrupt quickly, turning around to see pastel blue hair and dewy skin, “I’m almost done, then you can have the kitchen all to yourself.” Taeyong is standing in front of you in plaid patterned pajama pants and tight black t-shirt with Korean writing across the front. When you return to your chocolate you can feel his deep brown eyes drilling a whole into your skull, He might actually be more tense now than he is in competition. 

“What are you making?” He’s peeking over your shoulder, watching intently as you measure out heavy cream.

“A dark chocolate ganache and raspberry tart.” You dump half a cup of cream into the bowl, a tuft of Taeyongs bedhead tickling the side of your face.

“I love raspberries, I haven’t used them much here.” You hum an answer, focusing on the bowl in front of you. A thick silence settles in the room, allowing you to work quietly how you always like. Taeyong can’t seem to leave well enough alone, “Congratulations by the way, about your dish today.”

The fact that he said that surprises you, so the “Thank you” muttered in response comes out as a question. He cocks his head at you from over the mixing bowl he’s begun working at.

“What? Did I say something incorrectly? I meant-”

“No! I understood you.” You wipe your hands on your apron, shoulders tensing, “It’s just... Well, I didn’t win. Why are you congratulating me, shouldn’t I say that to you?” His eyes soften. You want to throw something.

“Because you plated a beautiful dessert, one that you worked really hard on. I noticed, we... We all noticed. It’s not about winning.” You scoff, heat rising to your face.

“Of course it’s about winning! It’s always about winning.” His eyes grow even softer. It reminds you of the way your culinary teacher had looked at you; patronizing.

“That’s terribly sad.” You swiftly pull your hair into a ponytail, suddenly recalling the night you told your father that you were going to be a pastry chef, that instead of going to a traditional university you were going to culinary school. You remember the voice that used to sing you to sleep telling you he was disappointed. You remember how terrible every Christmas has been since then.

“It’s how it has to be.” You pick up your whisk and continue with the chocolate sludge.

“It doesn’t have to be-” Something inside of you snaps. In a whirlwind you turn around, whisk still in hand. The chocolate mixture flies across the kitchen, a dollop landing in Taeyongs sky blue hair.

“Some of us don’t have daddy’s five star restaurant to fall back on if they lose. Some of us have nothing to fall back on if we lose. Nothing. So don’t stand there and act like it’s not about winning, because while that may be true for you it’s not true for me.” Hot tears are welling in your eyes. You decide right then that your worst trait is the fact that you cry while angry.

“Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Yea, no. It’s whatever.” Your face is burning as you turn back to the mixing bowl. You want to leave, “You know what, the ganache split so I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

“Y/N wait-” You dump the half finished ganache down the sink, tears now pouring freely down your cheeks. Your throat is so tight that it’s a miracle you haven’t choked yet. 

“Goodnight Taeyong, I’ll see you in two days.” You take long strides to the exit, stopping as your hand comes to rest on the door handle, “By the way, congratulations.” 

*

“Y/N,

I suppose I should start with an apology. It was never my intention to offend you, but that’s the thing about offending people. You never mean to do it.

So; I am sorry. Sorry for forgetting how privileged I am in this sense, sorry for interrupting your midnight baking, inexplicably sorry for making you cry. And for your lovely ganache getting caught in the crossfire. You were just trying to have an escape and I came in and rained all over your parade. I feel like an absolute poop.   

I think you are a ridiculously skilled cook. I genuinely envy how you breathe life into traditional, stuffy desserts. Last night was the first time I drooled over a plain chocolate ganache in ages, where did you get the idea to put orange zest in it? Absolute genius, I’m honestly rooting for you.

That being said, I understand if you never want to speak to me again. I will respect your decision, but I do hope you want to speak again. I’ve always wanted to work with French cook.

Either way, I hope you will accept these tokens of my apology. I doubt mine are as good as yours would’ve been, but I do hope you enjoy these raspberry and white chocolate tarts. (There’s a bit of matcha in the ganache; I drew inspiration from the finest.)

Truly, apologetically, sincerely, Taeyong.”

*

You manage to avoid the kitchen again for a week. It’s a week filled with ignoring sad smiles from Taeyong. He thinks you don’t notice the big starry eyes that are constantly staring holes in your skin, but it’s impossible not to notice. The gaze isn’t even necessarily sad, or apologetic, just... Longing. It makes you want to die; the thought of facing him makes you want to die. Which is why solitary midnight cooking was out of the question, no matter how erratically your heart thumps after winning dish of the day, or how long you stare at the stark ceiling of your hotel bedroom. The thought of even going back to the kitchen and possibly running into the sweet boy is so daunting that it makes you feel sick.

You’re determined not to give in, until you find yourself hurriedly pulling on pajama pants and socks while laying in bed after a particularly long day. Glancing at the alarm clock, you think to yourself that he’s probably not even there. He’s probably tired after such a long day of filming. You’ll be fine.

*

You were wrong. Taeyong is already in the kitchen; head bent over a        saucepan simmering on the stove. The entire kitchen smells painstakingly of key lime pie. 

He doesn’t even notice that you’re there until you get two bowls from the island and begin separating eggs. When he looks up he turns red, offers a meek smile, then returns to the stove top. 

In the next hour you find yourself watching the way he cooks, admiring how his shoulders release tension every time he scrapes the edges of his pan. His hands skate across everything he touches, his breaths come out in long bursts. You almost think of writing a book based on his mannerisms.

Neither of you say anything until he turns to the counter top where you’re working, pouring a translucent mixture (presumably lime curd) through a sieve and into a bowl. You turn to the counter behind you, clicking a mixing bowl into the kitchen aid and turning on. As it whips your eggs and vanilla a deep sigh wrecks through your chest. Your palms firmly plant into the white counter top, you allow the contact to be grounding.

“It was my mom.” You finally say, bringing one hand up to wipe the tension from your forehead. He let’s out a confused mumble, shuffling from his spot at the island.

“What?” You turn around to face him, being greeted immediately with a furrowed brow and noticeably tired eyes.

“My mom, she’s where I got the idea for orange in the chocolate ganache. It was always her favorite flavor combination. I make it that way when I’m homesick. For her, or for... For childhood, I guess.” He stays silent, elegant hands throwing the lime curd into the refrigerator, “I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s just a sensitive subject, I get defensive when someone comes close to knowing how much I actually need. A-and then there’s you. You’re so talented, and hard working, and kind, and you don’t... You don’t fight like I do, but you still succeed. It reminds me of the boys that I went to school with, but you make it so damn hard to be upset with-” “Y/N, it’s okay. I was rude to you, you don’t have to explain yourself. Not to me or anyone.” You shake your head, guilt settling into your gut. 

“Yes, I do. Even if you had been a dick, which you really weren’t, it doesn’t give me a right to yell at you. Or call you spoiled, or guilt you-”

“Why do you care so much?” A smile plays at his lips, you notice quickly that they’re not as thin as you previously thought. More puffy than anything, like a dolls.

“Because you work so hard!” The words spill out of you like air, flush rising to your cheeks, “And it’s unfair of me to assume that you do have something to fall back on, and I shouldn’t lose my temper, and... And... And I’d really like to be your friend?” The smile on his face intensifies, yet his eyes become even softer. You try not to let them tear you apart. 

“Oh... Um, then you’re forgiven. You never had to apologize in the first place.” He giggles, hands diligently returning to his work, “Did you enjoy the tarts?” You exhale a laugh, remembering the sweet note that you read over and over while sitting on your bathroom floor.

“I did! Actually, I hid the second one from Amelie. It was too good.” For the rest of the night you treasure how he giggles at all of your bitter quips. You two dance around the kitchen and talk for hours, time slipping into early morning. He tells you about what it’s like to grow up in a restaurant, whining on about never having junk food at home.

(“Wow,” You had laughed while shoving cream into a piping bag, “I’m jealous.” He playfully rolled his eyes, carefully layering lime curd and lemon sponge cake with pistachio honey ice cream.

“It’s nice. Sometimes I just want normal food, though” You had properly laughed, beige coffee cream splattering onto your hand, “I’m serious! I’d come home from school and ask for a snack and my dad would hand me something with eyes!” Your head arched backwards, laughter settling comfortably in the room.

“Aw, I’ll make you an after school snack Yongie.” He had cut his eyes to you, putting on a proper mischievous grin.

“Like what, crepes?” Your cheeks had gone pink, hands frozen as a laugh bubbled in your chest.

“... Yes?” A laugh ripped through him, all squeaky and warm.

“That’s hardly junk food.” He wheezed, words slurred together in sleepiness.

“I’m French, leave me alone.”)

When you finally get to taste a bite of his creation it’s via him spoon feeding it to you while you pipe chocolate buttercream flowers onto an opera cake. It’s wonderful; the citrus flavors making your lips pucker while pistachio and honey danced smoothly across your tongue. You barely even register the moan you let out as you savor every flavor on the spoon. 

“Taeyong,” you whine, swallowing the bite of heaven, “You need to make thousands of those. And give me at least ten, it’s amazing.” He flushes red, taking a bite from his own spoon. He smiles around the spoon, another warm laugh starting in the base of his throat.

“It is pretty good, but I’m ready to try yours!” You roll your eyes and smile, carefully placing the plate in front of him.

“Bon appétit!”  

*

“Taeyong,

The way that you so effortlessly execute flavors that have made me cry in my kitchen at 3am (no, I am not speaking from experience!) infuriates amazes me. I would have literally given a leg to try your desert today, who even thinks to make wasabi mousse? Like, ever? I’d love to live in your head for a day. 

This is nowhere near as innovative as anything you’ve made, but it is a classic. You’ve told me you like French classics.

I sincerely hope you enjoy: The Madeline. Don’t ask why they’re shaped like shells, it has to do with pilgrims. I can tell you at our next baking session:)

(Slightly) jealous, Y/N”

* 

“It was a what?” Taeyong questioned, a warm laugh bubbling in his throat.

“An emblem of Saint James.” You were separating edible flowers with a set of tweezers as Taeyong made batter for a green tea cake. Lately you had started working on desserts together, then debating once you were done if you should leave them at the doors of the judges hotel rooms. 

(“Oh my gosh, Taeyong please!” You had whined the first time he suggested it, giggling around your mouthful of chocolate.

“I was kidding! A joke! Haha, laugh, funny!” He answered, words spilling out like he was a wine glass someone knocked over. A large smile broke across his panicked face as you rambled on.

“Come on Yong, I could write a dessert ransom note and everything!” He clapped his hands, fork clattering to the counter as he trembled in laughter.)

“Would they just wear like... A shell? A straight up sea shell?” You laugh again, looking to his furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes catch briefly on the small scar on the right side of his face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It’s weird when you notice something that reminds you that he’s a human, it’s often easy to forget.

“I’m not really sure, maybe?” He tied his apron in a neat bow, nodding along with your answer.

“Well, I loved the cookies so much I’m about ready to go make myself a seashell emblem. I’ll make it a pin and wear it every time I’m in a suit.” His voice is muddled with sleep, low and warm. It reminds you of when you snuck out of your house as a teenager to go to a bonfire on the beach; the way that the fire grumbled on as the waves crashed softly. He has a lovely voice, you think.

“And how often do you wear a suit?” You quip, causing him to poke his tongue out at you.

“Every. Night. When I eat at my fathers restaurant.” He put on a posh British accent, pulling an I take myself way too seriously face while splaying a hand across his chest. You laughed so hard that you damn near snorted.

“Okay, Draco Malfoy!” You manage once you can finally breathe again, “We can make seashell pins when you come visit me in France.” The room settles, something friendly seeping into the kitchen tiles.

“You want me to come visit you in France?” He’s smirking, yet his eyes are inexplicably soft. They’re so shimmery that you almost think he’s going to cry.

“Of course I do! How else am I going to stuff you with sweets?” You want to keep joking, but he’s staring at you in a way that makes your heart hurt. You’re not stupid, you know what this is. Heat is rising to your cheeks, your palms are sweating, the two of you are staring at each other like someone is speaking gibberish. You’re stuck between feeling guilty and never wanting this to stop.

(‘Korea will definitely be our biggest competition.’)

In an instant you sink your eyes to the flowers on the counter, taking to organizing them by color. The air you breathe in feels heavy.

“Well,” He breathes out, wiping his hands on his apron. He hadn’t even touched anything since putting on, “you might just have to come visit me in Korea.” He smiles to you, a smile that could calm storms. You say nothing, allowing the butterflies settled in the pit of your stomach to flap their wings freely.

*

“Dear Y/N, 

I’ll have to ask you to forgive me if this is too forward, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you mentioned France. Is that silly? I haven’t thought much about leaving here, about talking to people when I do leave here. I’ve kept brief contact with Johnny since the American team left, but I wasn’t sure of what you’d want. We don’t really talk outside of cooking together, but I cherish your friendship so much. 

I never had many friends while growing up. Even now, I’m only really friends with Donghyuck (and he’s annoying!) You’re the first person that’s let me be silly, let me enjoy my craft, reminded me of my privilege. It feels like everyone is so scared to say anything to me, but the second time I talked to you you scolded me! You're like a force of nature, and not in a ‘gentle breeze’ kind of way. 

I was honestly a little bit worried that you would never talk to me again once we left here. Clearly, I’m glad that’s not your intention. 

Anyways, I think I’ve rambled on long enough now. I hope you enjoy Hotteok; it’s basically a pancake stuffed with cinnamon, brown sugar, and peanuts. 

Sincerely, happily, Taeyong.” 

*

The next time you enter the hotel kitchen past midnight you’re slightly tipsy and finding it nearly impossible to not tackle Taeyong (or anyone, for that matter) into a bear hug. The crew had just finished the third to last day of filming, which meant it was down to the final three teams. Mexico, France, and Korea.

Naturally, Amelie wanted to get smashed. Her and team Mexico were actually still getting smashed in the lobby along with Donghyuck. You had nursed one gigantic glass of wine for the whole duration of your presence, feeling solemn without your sweet friend. When you started blowing bubbles into your glass while slumped in a big leather chair, Donghyuck rolled his eyes while reluctantly leaning over to you.

(“You know he’s waiting for you in the kitchen.” Your had eyes widened, a smile spreading across your face like an infection. Donghyuck had laughed so hard at you that he snorted, slapping your knee while he doubled over in laughter.)

“Hi.” You say now, head spinning. Taeyong grins at you, leaning against the white counter top, “W-why weren’t you downstairs?” He shook his head, blue strands of hair bouncing with the movement.

“I’m not feeling up to it. I was going to make something, but I don’t know what. Like... I think I’m having a mental block.” His knee is bouncing as his knuckles rap against the cutting board. Before you really know what’s happening you’re standing next to Taeyong, shoulders bumping together. He exhales a laugh, looking at you through a set of long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out unbelievably calm considering how much wine you had slurped down. Taeyong digs the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning then inhaling sharply. 

“Just surprised to be here. Final three, I mean. It’s a lot of pressure.” It’s clear that there’s something he’s not telling you, his words falling flat.

“Tell me what’s actually wrong.” He smiles sweetly, it feels like you’ve done this with him thousands of times

“It’s nothing, I’m just having a block. That’s all.” It’s clear that he’s still only telling half of the truth, but you decide to leave him be. Instead you move to the cabinet under the island, pulling out a steel mixing bowl, “What are we making?”

“I am making a family recipe, you are keeping me company.” He laughs, a smile fixing comfortably onto his face. You can almost feel a bubble form around the moment as he pushes himself up to sit on the white counter top.

“I think I can handle that.” He kept his promise. The next two hours were filled with soft, tinkling laughter, and quiet conversation. He keeps his voice as low as whispers, a rasp seeping in through the edges of his words. He asks what you’ll do when he comes to France, it makes your heart skip a beat.

(“Well,” You began, voice shaking, “obviously we have to go to the beach. It’s like eight minutes from my house, and we’ll go to a proper French bakery. Not the one where I work though, that’s gross.” He had chuckled, the same laugh you remember from the first day of filming showing up again.

“Unless you win.” He adds, eyes asking a question, “Then we’ll be at your own bakery, everyday.” Your heart had soared at the idea, hopes stacking themselves far too high. The warmth that rises in your chest at the thought of Taeyong sitting with you in a space that is your own, piecing together a creation through shared anecdotes and pitchy laughter makes you almost drop your whisk. The thought of making something with him in a place where you are just you and he is just him had always felt like an unobtainable fantasy, but you had realized then just how close it was to being reality. In a week you both would be back in your own kitchens, the high stress of this competition replaced with idle everyday life.)

“Here you are!” You announce, placing a baking tray filled with perfect white circles in front of him, “My personal favorite, lemon meringues.” He immediately pries one from the sheet, moaning as the soft shell dissolves in his mouth.

“You outdo yourself every time.” He says, reaching for another one, “I’m going to weigh a thousand pounds when I leave France.” You giggle, grabbing one from the sheet and popping it into your mouth.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you start after swallowing, “not everyone’s as good as me.” He chuckles lowly, grabbing a third sweet.

“I’m sure.” A comfortable silence settles between you two, Taeyong eating nearly four more before he speaks again, “Y/N?”

“Yes?” His voice had been so soft, you were surprised you even heard him.

“How badly do you need this win.” His disposition shifted to one of quiet determination, steely eyes tracking your own.

“Pretty badly. I’ll be able to get by without it, I still have my job thankfully. It’ll just be a while until I can really do what I want. The bakery we work at is nice, but it’s clearly meant for tourists. Winning this means I could actually make what I like, even the gross stuff that you only order if you’re French.” He smiles as you bite into another petite meringue, “Without it I’ll probably be stuck in a baked goods assembly line for two more years, hopefully by then I’ll have enough to buy my own shop.”

“That’s so messed up.” He sighs, voice tired, “You’re the most talented chef I’ve met; more than that, even. The most hardworking. I hate that this all depends on hopefully. You deserve more than hopefully” He looks genuinely upset, pouting from his perch on the counter. You’ve lived with hopefully for so long that the idea isn’t disappointing anymore.

“I’m sure everyone has their own sob story of why they need it.” He shakes his head, a hand clamping the back of his neck.

“I don’t. If I lose, Donghyuck and I will return home to jobs where we make and design desserts for the best restaurant in Seoul. We need it the least, yet we’re one of the last teams here.” It’s hard to tell where he’s going with this, but it’s clear to you that he feels guilty.

“I mean yea, but don’t you want something for yourself?” He looks you dead in the eyes, gaze making you feel small in an unfamiliar way.

“Not if it means you have to keep doing less than what you love.” The words settle heavy like an accusation.

“W-what are you trying to say? If you’re trying to say what I think you are then-” He rests one of his hands onto your shoulder, teeth worrying his lower lip.

“What if I drop out? I’ll never forgive myself if I keep you from what you’re meant to do while I live comfortably.” You shake your head, bringing a hand to cover his own.

“You’re not keeping me from what’s meant to be! What’s meant to be is, and what’s meant to be is you and me head to head in the finale. You’re not throwing away the chance of a lifetime just to preserve feelings.” You don’t remember when you gripped the front of his shirt, or when the hand that had steadied your shoulder snaked around your waist. His breath was fanning across your cheeks, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Are you sure?” Taeyong is almost two inches taller than you, it had never been evident until now. He borderline towers over you, keeping eye contact through drooping eyelids.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to win because I deserve it, so don’t you dare go easy on me either!” He laughs as you jab a finger into his chest, grabbing your finger with his hand. He slowly laces your fingers together, quickly adverting his eyes to the floor.

“You’re so ridiculous, you know that? I gave you a free shot at winning and you turned it down.” You laugh, ruffling his pale blue hair.

“You’ll understand how it feels to win something and know you’ve earned it.” 

“Don’t say that.” His pout returns, reminding you of the dog you got for your sixth christmas. 

“You said it earlier!” 

“That was different! I said unless!” You giggle at his defensive response, heart soaring as high as the clouds. 

“Whatever.” He was swaying slowly, your body moving with his. You weren’t too sure when that had happened. Similarly to how you weren’t sure when your hand had found a home on his shoulder, or when he had started humming a sweet lullaby. You were, however, sure of the way he was looking at you. It was the way your parents looked at each other while drinking wine on the terrace of your childhood home. 

As if all the stars were hung in your eyes, and he was endlessly searching for constellations.

*

“Dear Taeyong,

It’s official, final two! I’d hoped it would end like this, try to remember me in your next life. You know, after I kill it tomorrow;)

Just kidding mostly! I’m excited to see what you make, and for you to spoon feed it to me when you get to France. You have to keep in contact with me once we’re home! Texts and emails will suffice, but I think I’d like to keep up our letters. It’s nice to have a physical thing that shows how much you care, I’ve never had that before. I don’t think many people really have. Since I’ll be home, I can even send you real French junk food and not just crepes!

Sorry for the lack of sweets this time around, as you can imagine I’m just a little busy. I promise I’ll make up for it when you visit me! 

After tomorrow, it’ll be so long until we actually see each other again:( How will you survive without me?

I’m gonna miss your dorky self, (Y/N)”

*

Losing doesn’t hurt as badly as you had anticipated. When Taeyong and Donghyuck had been announced Amelie had turned to you, eyes sad.

(“We came so far.” Her hand rubbed a circle on your tense shoulders, a knot releasing in your throat.

“We did.” You look to her, offering a watery smile, “I’m proud.” She had nodded, swallowing tightly.

“Me too.” Her mood was... Uplifted by now, to say the least. She was curled on a couch in the corner of the after party, sipping on champagne and clinging to Antonio of Mexico’s arm. It turns out you weren’t the only one who had taken a liking to competition.)

The party was stuffed into your hotels ballroom, which had been decorated with black and gold bunting on anything that would sit still. Everyone was embellished in cocktail dresses and suits, drinks flowing freely from the bar into manicured hands. You were currently sipping on an apple martini (read: trying to lick the cinnamon and sugar from the rim of your glass) while team Americas Johnny laughed incredulously at you.

“You know, you’re kind of hilarious when you don’t have that whole ‘get in my way and I’ll bite your head off’ thing going on. Though the dress definitely adds to that. ” You rolled your eyes, swallowing a mouthful of gritty cinnamon and smoothing the silk of your short red dress. You had downed about four decorative drinks, allowing every one to think that you were drinking away your sorrows. It wasn’t quite true, but there’s no harm in letting people assume.

The truth was, you were doing absolutely anything to distract yourself from the fact that you hadn’t seen so much as blue shock of hair all night long. Apparently, you weren’t the only person that wanted to speak to Taeyong at his victory party. It’s not like you were expecting to have the whole night with him, but you were hoping for at least a minute alone. It would be terribly depressing if the last time you saw him for months was while soothing tears from your best friends eyes.

“I know, right?” You take a deep swig of your martini, successfully topping off the fifth drink of the night, “You were all too scared of me to realize my real potential. Nice and hot.” Johnny bites on another laugh, a brown strand of hair sweeping into his eyes. 

“I guess so.” He takes a long sip from his drink, swallowing with a sour face, “Taeyong was never scared of you, though.” You exhale a short laugh, lip still toying with the rim of your empty glass.

“Really?” He leans into his black chair, rubbing a hand over his face while exhaling sharply.

“Yea, he just talks about how skilled you are. He never viewed you as competition, just a sweet girl to learn from.” You try to suppress the pink rising to your cheeks, which is not easy considering all the drinks you’ve downed.

“That doesn’t surprise me at all, sounds just like Taeyong.”

“It really does.” He casts you a mischievous glance, lips quirking, “ You know, he would also always talk about how pr-” 

The boy is cut off by a low voice shouting something in Korean. Even if it weren’t for the hand snaking around your waist, or the blue hair that tickles your cheek, you would know immediately that it was Taeyong. Hearing him speak small Korean phrases had been one of your favorite parts of midnight baking.

(Had been, had been, had been)

“Johnny! So good to see you not embarrassing me! Mind if I steal (Y/N) for a minute? Nope, okay thank you” In a flurry he grabs you by the wrist, dashing to the exit while towing you behind.

“Taeyong!” You shout, laughs ripping through your chest, “Taeyong! Slow down, where are we going?” He laughs, warm and squeaky as always, refusing to let up.

“Just follow me, come on!” He whips you two around a corner, grip tight and relentless. At this point you’ve taken a form similar to that of a rag doll, Taeyong dragging you along.

“I’m trying!” You snort while dashing through the lobby, wrist almost ripping from Taeyongs hand, “It’s kind of hard to run in heels!”

“OH MY GOD! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize!” 

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?! It hurts!” Your whining only makes Taeyong laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Come on, we’re almost there.” He drags you straight through the lobby, into the kitchen bustling with caterers, and finally through a tall glass door leading outside.

“The pool?” you question, pulling off the clasp of your thin black heels, “I didn’t think it was open this long.” He’s clambering to a lounge chair, grasping his heaving chest.

“It’s not, that’s why we took the employees entrance.” You nod, rubbing the raging blister forming on your ankle.

“And the running?” He looks up at you from his spot on the chair, eyes glimmering.

“I didn’t want anyone to follow us?” You deadpan, dropping your shoes.

“Oh, you are a dead man!” You lunge at him with the small bit of energy left in you, immediately ghosting your fingers over his ribs. One thing you had learned from Taeyongs countless childhood anecdotes, was that he was ticklish to a (nearly dangerous) fault.

“Stop, stop!” He cries, writhing under your fingers, “I’m sorry! I’ll feed you!” The shrieks are muddled with squeaks and snorts as he grasps desperately at your wandering fingertips. Hot tears stream down his face while he jumps to his feet, placing your hands in an iron grip.

You find yourself in the same position as your last baking session, bodies pressed together like there’s no space left in the world. He giggles at the sight of you wiggling your hands, trying desperately to break them free.

“Taeyongie, I’m done! Promise.” His makes a short tsk tsk with his tongue, pulling you even closer.

“Im sorry (Y/N), you’ve broken my trust! I’ll never lo- Be happy again!” Despite the claims, he lets go of your hands. They immediately rest on his shoulders, one of his own hands poking a piece of hair behind your ear. With your limbs entangled, you chat idly for at least half an hour. It feels almost like you’re drinking up the final drops of him, heart growing heavy every single time he mentions Korea.

“How badly are you going to miss me?” You ask, eyes glimmering playfully. He laughs, thumb rubbing a circle on your cheek where his hand is still rested.

“More than I miss kimchi right now. You are the highlight of my day, every single day, and I have no idea how I’m going to cope without you.” The words are punctuated with a pout. You can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, maybe the strict stare of moonlight. Perhaps the breeze that grazes your thighs, or the heavy weight of Taeyongs beautiful hands holding you as though you’re something precious, but fat tears start to well in your eyes. As soon as Taeyong notices he becomes panicked, dropping his hand from your face, “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” Tears start to fall, your chest clenching so tightly that you have to gasp for air.

“No, no. It’s just-” He runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught in the gel. It sticks up in every direction, like he’s been struck by lightning. If it weren’t for the tears in your eyes you would’ve laughed.

“You hate me now don’t you? I’m sorry, I wanted you to win. I thought you were!” 

“What?” You blubber, Taeyongs chest starting to heave.

“I’ll give you my share of the earnings!”

“Oh goodness, don’t be an idiot!” You move a hand from his shoulder to wipe away a blackened tear, “That’s not w-why I’m crying.” Your lip quivers, rather pathetically. Taeyongs eyes are frantic, like he’s trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. He wants to fix it, you don’t know if he can.

“Oh... Um, then why are you crying?” His sweet voice combined with the way he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows makes you cry even harder, wet sobs wrecking through your chest. He says nothing, simply pulling you into a bone crushing hug. If it weren’t for your already subpar air supply he would’ve squeezed the breath out of you. 

“I just don’t want to leave!” You eventually force out, words bouncing around, “You make me s-such a nice person, I’m literally unbearable when I don’t have someone reminding me to be kind. A-and I don’t want us to not talk again, like I know you’re coming to France and all of that but I want t-to see you before then. I-i don’t want to not s-see you Taeyong, a-and I don’t want you t-to forget me a-” He swiftly brings a hand to the back of your neck, wrapping his long fingers around the curve.

“(Y/N), I will never forget you. Even if we didn’t talk for thousands of years, I will never ever forget you.”

“That’s what everyone says.” You look up as he sighs, coffee brown eyes flicking swiftly to your quivering lips.

“I’m not everyone.” He wipes away a tear, eyes gluing themselves to your lips, “I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?” The words don’t fully process, your brain still rambling from where your mouth was cut short.

“I don’t think you want to, I was just-” He drags you in from the waist with his free hand, heavy breaths hitting your wet cheeks.

“(Y/N)?” He’s taken on the same determined look he had earlier today in the kitchen, like he’s going to settle something.

“Yes?” Your voice comes out small, barely a whisper.

“I want to.” You don’t register nodding, or closing your watery eyes. The only things that exists within the next ten minutes are Taeyongs lips and yours. 

He tastes intoxicating, like expensive red wine and homemade pastry. Taeyong is not a selfish person, and this kiss is no different. He’s going out of his way to make you feel safe, fighting against any needy instinct.

You wrap your hands around his neck, thumbing his jaw while trying to say ‘it’s okay’. When he pulls away your chests are heaving, lips aching for him to come back.

“Should we get back?” He asks, breathless. His lips are puffy, you swipe over them with your thumb just because you can.

“Um, yea. Sure.” He nods, pulling his hands away to straighten his blazer.

“Okay, alright. But first, this.” He presses a matter of fact kiss to your lips, your hands taking over and grasping him like he’s a necessity. They travel up and down his torso, pressing into crevices and dips. You’re trying to find which of his buttons to push, taking a mental note for later (the base of ribs. He turns into jelly when your thumb presses into that valley,) “You are handsy!” He giggles, linking together your arms and moving to the tall glass door.

Before you return to the party, you both flee into the bathroom to freshen up. He thought it might be inappropriate to return looking like he had just run a marathon. Or stung by a bee on the lips.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, curled hair now disheveled. Your cheeks are wet and stained black with flaky mascara, cupids bow shining. (Hopefully it’s not with snot.) 

In that moment, you are positive that Taeyong is in love with you. 

*

“Dear Taeyong,

“Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, Be calm – love me – today –yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all–farewell. Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved. Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.” - Beethoven to ‘Immortal Beloved’.

Ever yours, (Y/N)”

*

"Hurry up!” 

“I’m trying, let me park the car!” You’re dashing onto the hot sand of the beach, shoes hanging precariously from your fingers. Taeyong clambers from his rental car, toting along a wicker picnic basket and plaid blanket. The sun is setting over crashing waves, sea salt piercing the air. You firmly plant your feet into the shore, inhaling deeply while taking in the view.

It’s almost weird to have Taeyong here, watching him assimilate so perfectly into your world. When he had landed last night the very first thing he had said was ‘Hello my love, I’m so excited to see you’ in flawless French. You crushed him in a hug, smothering his tired face in kisses. Having him here felt right, like the fairy tale ending on the last page of a book.

“This is my favorite sight.” You sigh, Taeyong wrapping an arm around your waist. He presses a kiss to your cheek, squeezing tighter.

“Mine too.” You snap your head to meet his gaze, affirming that he was staring lovingly at your profile. A giggle bubbles in your throat while you turn in his arms to match the embrace.

“You’re so cheesy.” He laughs, wind whipping blue tufts of hair in every direction.

“That’s why you like me, now help me set this up.” 

When he finds perfectly circular lemon meringues at the top of the picnic basket  a wide grin spreads across his face, immediately reaching into small bag they’re packed in. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, you decide that’s your favorite thing about him.

“That’s not all.” You sing, reaching into the mesh bag. Resting at the bottom of the package are two petite seashells, gold pins hot glued to the back.

“Oh my gosh, you didn’t!” An innocent laugh slips through your lips at your sweet boyfriend and his childlike excitement. You nod, leaning forward on your knees to secure the pin into his shirt.

“I did, and we’ll have madelines tomorrow.” He hums, quickly pecking your lips, “I wouldn’t recommend doing that  while I’m handling a needle, you might get poked.” He giggles, leaning back on his hands.

“I’d get poked a thousand times if it meant I could kiss you once.” You roll your eyes, finally fastening the pin.

“You’re so drama-” He surges up, kissing you soft and slow. One of your hands cradles his neck, the other dropping to the base of his rib cage. He smells overwhelmingly of cinnamon and vanilla, the taste of lemon meringues heavy in his mouth. 

“What were you saying?” He questions, a smirk toying happily with his lips. Taking in the sight of your sweet boyfriend relaxed on his elbows, the wind pushing his hair while waves crash mere feet away from you, makes something beautiful bubble in your chest. If weren’t for your grumbling stomach, you would sit there and kiss him until the sun set again.   

“Oh, be quiet. I’m hungry.” You relax onto the blanket, Taeyongs hand traveling with you. It rests on your thigh, rubbing noxious circles. 

When he secures your seashell pin into your white button up top his hands are shaking, knuckles softly brushing your jaw. You cover his hand with yours, offering a comforting smile. He giggles bashfully, turning his head to the sea. You sneak a kiss onto his jaw, then to the high point of his cheekbone, then again to the tail of his eyebrow. Taeyong finally looks back to you, something warm emanating from his smile.

“I love you.” He exhales, eyes sparkling. It reminds you of when you used to bake together, the way he would shine every time you would manage to slip into friendly banter, or the time that you accidentally turned the mixer on high after putting in a huge batch of flour. You remember your first kiss, the way Taeyong held you like the world was ending. The way he asked if it was okay. 

“I love you too.”

You decide then and there that those two phrases, uttered while basking in sleepy sunshine, are the only things that matter.  

[lildevyl]

2 🤩

😁😁  I get to talk about my two OCs, the Dream Sisters!  Okay, so before I start to talk about them, just a little heads up here.  The Dream Sisters will be debuting in Dreamscape.  So, let me explain a little bit, for all of you who are patiently waiting for an update of Septicscape.  I’m sorry but Septicscape isn’t going to be continued.  The reason why is because nothing is coming to me and the story isn’t going the way that I want it to. So, I’m going to re-write the whole thing but I am going to keep the Septicscape up for anyone who wants to still read and/or want to adopt the story.

Okay, now on to the Dream Sisters!

The Dream Sisters:  The Dream Sister are the rulers of the Dream World.  Where everyone goes, when they dream.  The Dream World, is where all the worlds come together.  Our World the real world and Egopocalypse, the world that all the egos/characters live.  The Dream World is divided into places that each Sister Rules over.

Dreamland:  Is the place that all the dreams are made and where people go when they have nice/good dreams.  It can be anything from a six year old pretending to be their favorite superhero, to someone who is working at a job and dreaming of getting the promotion.  A college student dreaming of passing the final exam with flying colors and landing their dream job after graduating.

This World is Ruled by Dreama and her two children, Sunshine and Lunar.  Dreama has a pastel yellow sundress, tanned skin, sparkling butterfly wings, bright green eyes, and light blond hair.  She has her Magic Wand that looks a lot like a typical Fairytale wand but she doesn’t mind.  However, nothing is as peaches and cream in Dreamland as everyone who goes there and all the people who live and work there to give our good dreams. Some of the residents in Dreamland think that their Queen is too much of a pushover and is being too lenient of her sister, Nightmira. They believe that the Dream World would be better off without that section ever existing. To the point where many of them have secretly planned to try and raid the Nightmare World.

Dreama respects her sister and understands the Dream World has to have a balance between Good and Evil.  Not to mention that some of the Nightmare honestly terrify her, even though Dreama is powerful enough to take them down, they still scare her. But her sister Nightmira, admires her for her bravery.

Nightmare World:   Have you wonder where all the inspiration for the Dark Alter Egos, horror movies, horror stories, the villains and the boogeyman ever came from? They all came from here, the Nightmare World. All the fear and nightmares that writers and artists get and then create all those stories, and wonderfully scary content. They all came from here.

This World is ruled by Nightmira.  Nightmira is the complete opposite of her sister, Dreama.  She’s a head teller then her sister, with a black ball like gown that has bones for the corset and the trim, skeleton hands, skeleton moth wings (that she can fly with), button like eyes, and what appears to be a stitched mouth of many things used to stitch it together.  She can easily talk to you with the stitches ever tearing her mouth.  She also has a staff that looks as if all the top horror writers and directors came together and made a magic staff for an Evil Fairy Queen.

But like some of the residents in Dreamland, some of the residents in Nightmare World believe that Nightmira shouldn’t be the ruler.  And many of them don’t understand why their Queen doesn’t go and destroy Dreamland.  What was the point of that part of Dream World when this part is the one that all the characters, movies and stories are born from?  What is the point of having that little pixie as a ruler, when it’s clear that their Queen is more superior?  Nightmira is aware of this and does her best to squash any and all attempts, even interfering in many attempts to raid her sister’s kingdom.  Nightmira isn’t as forgiving as her sister, so the punishment fits the crime or the criminal themself.

But a new threat has been found in the Dream World and is targeting someone that is a big influencer in the Real World.

Inspirations for these OCs:  Honestly, it’s when I was watching Gab Smolders Let’s Play of Alice: Madness Returns that kinda inspired this.  That and when I started to get better at my writing with the Egos and saw a lot of other Artists and Writers do their own OCs.  I wanted to try and do my hand at it, but I was so afraid of the “Cringe Culture” coming over saying, “Yeah, this character is too Mary Sue for me.” Or, “You created another Mary Sue.”  Or, “Yeah this is Mary Sue not an OC.”  But this is something that I want to do, so for all ya that are just going trash about it?  Fuck You, I don’t care!  I’m doing my OCs my way!

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 39: You Can Have Your Snack and Eat it, Too... Next Time.

It's Adam. Adam is the snack.

First  Previous  Next

“Thanks, Hunk.” Shiro smiles, sets up his comms unit to send a live video to Keith. He sighs, staring ruefully down at the plate of pastel… whatever. It’s not food. He refuses to believe it. “Cheers.”

“Some for me too, please.” Adam materializes, sits down next to the captain, stiff and clearly uncomfortable. All his usual flair has faded, leaving him subdued. He seems more like he’s taken the same beating that Lance has. There are shadows under his eyes. It makes sense, if Shiro thinks about it. Adam works when the crown prince works, and said prince has clearly been working nonstop.

Cue awkward silence. Hunk slides a plate over to Adam, receives a murmured thanks in return. He’s so quiet, Shiro realizes. It's a far cry from his cool yet bold rejection earlier.

"Tired?" Shiro asks.

"To the bone." Adam drags a hand down his face, working at the sagging skin beneath his eyes. “Captain?”

“Hm?”

“I apologize for my earlier conduct.”

“I- What?” Shiro stares at the Altean in bafflement. “Why?”

“You are a captain, and I was left at your disposal. My behavior was inexcusable. I was extremely rude.”

“Aren’t you a born noble?”

“Yes. Or I was. Now, I am Crown Prince Lancel’s attendant. While I hold this position, I have no status. I am no more than a servant, though the crown prince keeps me comfortable and facilitates my interests.”

Shiro begins eating, letting the disgusting flavors coat his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He won’t complain; he won’t say a word. Next to him, Adam begins to eat too. He eats like one does when he hasn’t eaten in way too long but doesn’t want anyone to know.

He really is wonderful, Shiro thinks. Hazel eyes, made less approachable by lenses. Brown hair. Brown skin, forest green scales shimmering on his cheeks. Delicate wrists. Strong, clever fingers. Intensity crackles in the air around him -usually-, laser precision in everything he does, including telling Shiro off.

People never do that; they treat him like he’s perfect. It’s exciting, in a way, that someone remembers he’s not, that he’s a whole and complete person. It’s also humbling.

“Actually?” he whispers, setting his fork aside. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You were right. It wasn’t about you. It was about me. It was selfish, inconsiderate, and unfair. It wasn’t acceptable to put you in that position. So… In summary, I was an ass, I suck, and I’m sorry.”

Adam finishes his meal, pushes his plate away. He regards Shiro with narrowed eyes, bottom lip caught in his teeth. “Finish your food.”

Shiro chuckles, nods, resumes eating the awful Altean food. “Do you think I’ll die if I eat this?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Adam turns sideways in his chair, watching the man eat. “Have a good night, Hunk.”

“You too, Adam. Don’t make my kitchen gross. Take it elsewhere.”

“Hm.” Adam stares, making the hair all down Shiro’s back tingle under his uniform.

“I mean it, dude. I cook food here. My staff eat here. My daughter plays here.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Goodnight.” Adam smiles a slick, sly smile as Shiro finishes off his food. Hunk just groans in defeat, shutting off all but the oven lights, leaving them in the relative dark.

“There! Done!” Shiro wags a finger at the datapad. “You better hold up your end, you drunk little shit.”

Adam quietly turns off the datapad. “Thank you for the apology. I forgive you.”

Shiro nods. “You’re welcome... and thank you. For forgiving me.”

They sit there in the dimly lit kitchen, illuminated by a row of stoves along the back wall. The coldboxes softly hum. Adam nibbles at his lip, runs a hand through his hair. He’s exhausted, run more than a little ragged. He thanks the Ancients Lance gave him tomorrow off. As much as the crown prince drives himself into the ground, he takes care of his people.

Adam will still try to make his only friend’s load a little lighter. Maybe then Lance can get some rest, too.

Shiro sighs, smiling good-naturedly even in defeat. “Well, Allura needs rest, so we’ll be leaving at our leisure tomorrow. I’d better sleep while I can.”

The captain makes to stand, but Adam catches him by the collar of his uniform, pulls him in for a kiss. It’s not a long one, only lasting a few ticks, but it’s bold, firm, assured. When Adam pulls back, it’s with a self-satisfied smirk.

“That’s for being a gentleman.”

“I… was the exact opposite of a gentleman,” Shiro whispers, holding those sparkling, green-and-gold eyes with his own as he gapes. He’s not aghast so much as in awe.

Adam shakes his head. “You're gentlemanly enough, even if you are a bit of an idiot sometimes.” The slender attendant stands, small smile still gracing his lips, green scales glowing ever so softly in the twilit room. “It’s better this way, don’t you think? It’s about us.”

“Definitely better… Well actually, I’m supposed to stick my tongue in your mouth-”

Adam laughs, shakes his head. Color swims up into his tired cheeks. “Keith would never agree to those terms. Nice try.”

They both laugh, a soft, intimate kind of laugh. It sings in the space between them.

Adam lays a hand against the Galra’s cheek, works his fingers into his fur. Shiro purrs deep in his chest, leans into the touch. Adam's smile softens, that nervous worrying of his lip finally ceasing.

Shiro wants this tiny, fragile alien as his mate; he’s sure of it. He has no claws or sharp teeth, and most of his senses are so dull as to be almost useless, but by all the gods he’s the perfect blend of poise, elegance, and chaos. Shiro would take Adam as his mate right now if he thought the Altean would consent, but he knows he won’t. So instead, he simply responds to Adam’s words in an effort to make him stay a little longer.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to wait until next time, won’t you?” Adam bends down, presses their lips together again. It’s oddly sweet, sweeter than Shiro would have thought him capable of. Adam keeps that side of him very well-hidden. “Goodnight, Takashi.”

Adam slips away like a satisfied cat, liquid and smiling. Shiro gazes after him, eyes wide, lips still parted. He laughs into the empty kitchen, lips curling into a grin.

“Goodnight, Adam. Sleep well.”

Next time, huh?

[witchsofia]

The woman's words were nice and generous but Sofia certainly felt odd receiving them, not uncomfortable but unsure. What was their purpose? She didn't know the woman before her and while she may have seen her in passing it seemed like the words of care were more pretence than anything else, even if she figured that they were genuine at least in politeness, after all, it was a rare person who simply hoped for someone to be doing poorly. "Thanks," she said in response, "the same to you." At least visually the woman seemed fine but that could have been a poor assumption.

Sofia was ready to apologise for assuming she was there for a man, to ask if perhaps she was instead looking for one of the dancers or the bar staff who were also mostly women, since 'definitely' seemed like such a strong word. In her mind it didn't seem far fetched for someone as beautiful as the woman before her to have a partner, or for anyone inside to be married or dating, so the 'definitely' felt more like the impossibility of it being a boyfriend. It was strange sometimes how easily words could be misunderstood.

Fortunately, before Sofia could suggest that she could find the woman's girlfriend, she spoke again.

Roman.

Fair. She presumed this was the only place most of his hook ups knew him from, since she really had never seen him anywhere but here and his trailer and she had a feeling it was a rare one night stand he took all the way out there. After all, if they got pissed it would have been much easier to throw a brick through his windows or slash his tires than if they only knew his place of work.

The woman continued still though, Sofia not interrupting to say he had the night off. Not a hook up then, or, not solely a hook up. Shame. The woman was pretty, the pastel pink of her sweater making the warmth of her skin more obvious, even in the dark, and her brows seemed to have an arch to them Sofia could easily envy. "The wrong way...?" she rolled off, the words spoken quietly as the other continued to speak.

"'Something' made you? Like Roman's entire personality?" Sofia joked, still clutching his jacket around herself, unable to consider how her words might have made the gesture of holding the leather so closely to herself feel confusing to a stranger. In truth though she knew what it was to be helped by Roman so the smirk on her face as she joked slowly shifted into something softer, like all her features that could be harsh became delicate. Whatever had happened when she was hidden in her home had affected some people and it didn't shock Sofia to hear that something had come over this woman and Roman had not simply allowed it to happen.

"Sounds like Roman," she added upon the conclusion of the woman's words. "He beat the shit out of my ex in this parking lot when he caught him trying to grab at me, I doubt he'd let whatever was making you be a jerk to him prevent him from doing something about it," Sofia mused, unaware of the depth of the situation since all she had to go on was what the woman had said. It might have hurt a little to know just how much emotionally he'd given over to the woman before her, Sofia had not truly seen Roman show any part of himself to her after that day in the parking lot, it was all sex and taunting, but envy would not have surpassed a gratefulness he hadn't taken advantage of the woman's state.

Ultimately, Roman hadn't told her but... "I haven't seen him since before everything happened, so can't say for sure if he's okay, but he's picking me up after work, I can tell him to find you?" she suggested. "Sounds like at the very least you guys should talk. And...sorry if you're not okay, I shouldn't have assumed you were."

It was kind of funny, when one considered how the two women would come across such similar situations when in dramatically different areas of work. Neylani could certainly empathize with having to deal with her fair share of folks that couldn't keep their liquor down, who attempted to bribe the cuffs off, or even tried to physically take her out before they got brought in. All of it could be so miserable and yet so rewarding at the end of a long, hot night as she sank into a scalding bath to clean those moments from her skin. "You're right," she agreed, with a bit of a smile. Demons had definitely been way, way worse but... That didn't diminish from the fact that, as women, they dealt with certain kinds of 'demons' on the daily. "I'm glad that you seem to be holding up well, then."

Neylani knew she'd seen this woman around town before and within the club itself-- heck, she might have even come in while the lady was dancing on stage and not realized it. Though they weren't deeply familiar to each other, it was clear this person had one of those tough spirits. Probably had to, for the kind of work she was in. Only because of the patrons, though. It was one of those physically demanding and exhausting things, but if the right people actually came in all the time, probably very thrilling, too. Rewarding, even, to know you were basically Goddess in someone's life that night. To Ney, that just seemed like it would feel so good to have something like that, fleeting or not. She hadn't experienced it before and she found herself nearly jealous of the woman for it.

She couldn't do this, though. She'd never even learned to dance at middle school and high school functions. There was no way she'd be capable of acrobatic feats on a pole.

"Oh no, definitely not," Ney snorted to herself, unable to envision being with anyone, let alone how she would feel if they came here. Single men, sure, have it at. But dating and married men? It was a bit harsh on their significant other, wasn't it? To prefer coming to see other women than going home to the one they had? At the very least, it was a form of emotional cheating, right? Honestly, she didn't know and it wasn't anything she had to worry about, anyway. Had nothing to do with her situation in the slightest.

As the woman snuffed her cigarette and came into better lighting, Neylani noted then the oversized jacket wrapped tightly about her small figure. It was plain whose jacket that was. Her not trying to answer and be honest about the situation only seemed to make it more awkward and weirder that she'd be hovering around the employee's entrance in the dead of night. Besides, there wasn't anything to hide. "Actually," her arms came up to hug over her chest and offer a tight smile, "I thought Roman would be working tonight." She didn't pretend to know what his schedule was-- why would she? She just knew he did work there and they'd interacted before when they needed the department's extra assistance. That wasn't an every day occurrence.

"Please don't take that the wrong way," Ney went on quickly to say, to hopefully avoid any conflicts that might dredge up with this girl, "it's just-- he helped me the other night, and I wanted to stop by to thank him for that." She frowned, the guilt and concern visible in the way her brows creased. "And I.. ah..." She faltered, briefly glancing off because it was difficult for her to admit to any kinds of weakness. That night had been her worst and she hadn't been able to shake it, since. "Well, it's hard to explain but," Neylani's words came out in a sudden rush, "something made me attack him and say some pretty awful things.. And he still helped me, so... I wanted to be sure he is okay." That was the truth. Hopefully, if Roman had mentioned it to his girlfriend? by now (and she couldn't imagine he wouldn't have), she'd understand it was innocent. Neylani wasn't sure why she was this nervous to make it apparent that she wasn't there for any other reason, but that distinction seemed important.

[bluezey]

Pretty Pretty Dresses - extended cut

Someone wanted to see an extended version of the Pretty Pretty Dresses drabble, and I felt inspired to do such a thing.  There’s a lot more fluff in it, and it ends with Ian being humiliated, cause you know me, I’m a jerk to characters I love.

So, for those who haven’t heard or need a refresher, this is just basically Ian being a big brother to his new little sister Judy, in a way that some readers may not expect, and some might.

It was late Friday afternoon when Ian came home.  Willowdale College is about an hour away, so he likes to visit every other weekend. Especially when he doesn’t have that much homework.  This weekend could be a little bit of an exception, he has a report to write, and an exam on Wednesday.

As he opens the front door, he hears the familiar footsteps racing towards him.  It’s not Blazey this time.

“Ian!” the little three year old girl cheered, arms out as far as she could stretch them.

He happily knelt down and caught her in a big hug.  “Judy!”

Ian and Barley were not surprised when Laurel and Colt got married, but boy were they surprised when they found out their mother was pregnant with Colt’s child.  Funny enough, it wasn’t that the child was going to be half elf, half centaur that Ian and Barley had to prepare for.  It was that the child was going to be a girl. Not long after that shocker, Ian had to share Barley’s bedroom, Ian’s old bedroom was turned into their little sister’s bedroom, and Judith was born.

It took some getting used to, the young adult brothers now having a little sister, now three and a half years old.  Especially for Ian.  Not only giving up his bedroom to become Barley’s new roommate (thank Alora for college dorms), but being a big brother in general.  Over time, as Judy grew from a baby to a preschooler, they got the hang of it. Barley seemed to handle the more tomboy things, like rough housing, making mud pies, catching bugs, even playing Quests of Yore once Barley adjusted the rules to make the game easier for her. While Ian…

“Are you here for the tea party?” Judy asked.

“Oh, uh,” Ian stood back up. “I have homework to do.  I wish I could…”

Judy’s glowing smile immediately fell to a frown, her elf ears flopped downward a little thanks to those extra ear muscles she got from the centaur side.

Ian felt terrible, but gave a little grin as he thought aloud, “But Iandelle may be available.”

“Really?” Judy hugged her big brother’s long spindly legs.

Ian patted the top of her brown haired head.  “Go to your room, she’ll see you in a minute.”

“Kay, brother!” Judy went running upstairs, slowing a bit so she can clop each hoof on the stairs.

Ian picked up his backpack and suitcase, took his staff and headed to his bedroom.  Well, his and Barley’s bedroom.  Ian opened the door and peeked his head inside first, seeing if Barley was there.  Nope, their bedroom was empty.  Barley must be working another job.  Let’s see if he can keep this one.

Ian had to step over some dirty laundry, trash and Quests of Yore toys to make it across the bedroom. Barley’s mess sure has expanded since Ian was gone and Barley had their room to himself.  Thankfully, the part of their room that had Ian’s desk, bed and closet still had some clean floor left.  Wish he could do something about the musky smell though.

Ian placed his suitcase and backpack on his bed and his staff by his desk.  He opened up his closet doors.  Thankfully he got the closet while Barley made do with his clothes in a dresser.  Well, most of the closet, there were a few stacks of gaming and “questing” toys on the top shelf.

Squeezing past a wood dresser shoved into his closet, Ian dug deep behind some of the clothes hung up on hangars and grabbed an outfit he purposely hid as deep as he could.  It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, it’s just that he’d be embarrassed if anyone but Judy caught him in it.  After finally unhooking it from the hangar, Ian pulled out a pristine white costume dress, frilly with pastel bows and puffy cap sleeves. Ian draped the dress on his bed before staring at it, giving a soft “this is ridiculous” shake of his head.  But he still had a grin on his face cause, well, it’s for Judy.

Ian got dressed into the pink frilly dress, fumbling a bit to reach the zipper in the back, but he managed to get it.  He sat down and pulled the dress up to his knees, then put on a pair of lacey white stockings that ran up to his mid thigh with matching pink ribbon and bows sewn on the hem.  Yeah it was silly, but he’ll take to the grave that he thinks he looks in them.

Once dressed and ready, Ian peeked his head out the bedroom door, looking both ways to see if the coast is clear.  No one in sight.  Hitching up the skirt a bit so he can walk better, without tripping on the hem that is, Ian crept his way upstairs, easing into a walk to his old bedroom, now Judy’s room.

The walls and floor remained untouched, but everything that reminded Ian of his old room was gone. Where his bed once was instead had a little girl’s bed, well still pretty big since it had to fit her horse half, covered with sheets branded with the many princesses and queens from the Pretty Pretty Centaurs series.  Where his blue rug used to be was a heart shaped rug so pink he could be blinded by it. His old closet was now overflowing with a mixture of toys, butterfly nets, foam play swords and other assorted play things.  The room also included a white wooden dresser, a plastic toy table with a little play tea set, and a small plastic play vanity.

Judy was already dressed as one of her favorite play dresses, complete with a matching plastic tiara.  She backed out of her closet, pulling one of her Pretty Pretty Centaur dolls out of a pile, letting the pile fall as she freed the dollie.  She turned to see Ian standing in the doorway, and her face glowed that cooling pink elf faces are known for when she smiled. “Princess Iandelle!”

Ian chuckled.  It’s just him in a dress, a boy elf in a dress. But since Barley made up that nickname, it just stuck whenever Ian was in a dress.  “Hey Judy.  I heard I was invited to a tea party?”

“Do you want to play makeups first?” Judy asked.

Ian sighed, keeping up that smile, though the rest of his face fell.  He thought it was just going to be a quick play date, but makeovers?  But, how could he say no to that little face? That little face that could throw a pretty big tantrum if she wanted to.

Ian tried to sit in the little plastic kid’s chair by the vanity, making sure to keep his legs together and his skirt covering so only his feet showed.  He may be a boy, but he still has to sit properly in a dress. Judy opened up the small drawer in the plastic vanity, pushing away the fake plastic molded prop makeup for the real makeup Judy and Ian hide in the back.  Just blush and lipstick, nothing too fancy.  And if Ian helped apply them, nothing too messy.  Ian applied a thin layer of pink lipstick, subtle but complimented Judy’s blue elf skin perfectly.  He then added a thin layer of pink blush that gave her freckly cheeks a nice sparkle.  It was Judy’s turn, painting Ian’s cheeks in the same blush, and coating his lips in a soft blue that made his lips just a touch more darker.  He smiled, approving of Judy’s makeover.  Then, when Judy’s back was turned, quickly grabbed a paper towel and mirror to remove a whole lot of it so his makeup looked more like a subtle touch up than clown paint.

Judy returned from the toppled pile with an armful of accessories.  Ian sighed, preparing himself.  Judy picked out some clip on earrings and a pink bow hair clip for Ian, and a toy necklace for herself.  Ian clipped the earrings onto his long blue elf ears and helped Judy with clipping the bow to the side of his head.  At least the hair clip was small and nice.  The costume jewelry earrings, however, were gawdy, and didn’t match the outfit at all.

“And now we’re ready for the tea party,” Judy declared happily.

Ian exhaled.  “Oh.  Good.”

Judy sat down at the plastic kiddie table, the back legs of her horse half perched in a little plastic chair.  Ian chose to sit on the floor, his legs folded so he was sitting on his calves. The skirt puffed up around the lower half of his body, making him look like a cupcake decorated with white and pink icing.  Judy placed her Pretty Pretty Centaur doll at the table, their third member to their tea party.

“Would you like some tea, Princess Iandelle?” Judy asked politely as she picked up the ceramic toy teapot.

Ian offered his little ceramic teacup.  “Why thank you, Princess Judy.”  He smiled politely.

Minutes passed as Ian and Judy shared their little tea date together.  Ian “sipped” on some calming tea and “nibbled” on some imaginary crumpets as they had some polite conversation.  Ian shared what he was learning in college and studying magic, mostly Judy nodded but didn’t understand the college stuff.  Judy told of her art projects and friends she made in daycare, or what antics she and Barley have been up to.  Ian would smile and politely ask a question or two when Judy had her Princess Idina doll speak.

As Ian was in the middle of a sip of tea, he heard a loud snap and a caught a quick flash out of the corner of his eye.  He quickly turned and caught sight of Barley’s janky smart phone ducking behind Judy’s bedroom door.

“BARLEY!!” Ian shot up to standing, but one step later, Ian planted face first onto the floor.

Barley was halfway down the hall, smart phone in hand, laughing loudly, as Ian burst through the door and came running down the hall.  Barley noticed Ian holding up the skirt a bit so he could run better, revealing those lacey white stockings underneath.  Quickly, Barley took another picture.

When Ian heard that loud snap, he nearly died a little inside.  “NO!!” he shouted as he tackled Barley to the ground.

The two brothers wrestled on the hardwood floor of the hallway.  Barley was trying to pin Ian down, while Ian was grabbing desperately for Barley’s phone.  In their struggle, Ian lost one of those costume earrings.

“Come on, Princess Iandelle,” Barley asked, putting Ian in a head lock and giving his head a noogie.  “Where’s your sense of humor?”

Ian struggled to grab the phone off the floor, just inches from his fingertips.  “Delete those pictures this instant!”

“Yay!  Barley’s home!” Judy came bolting out of her bedroom and leaped into the pile, thinking it was time to wrestle.  Barley was happy to play, letting Ian go and grabbing Judy by the waist, picking her up.  Man, Barley can be strong!

This was Ian’s chance. He scrambled to grab the phone, but found it missing.  He did a double take back to Barley’s direction.  Shantar’s Talon, he must still have the phone!

“Kids!” Laurel called from downstairs.  “Dinner’s almost ready!”

Soon as Ian heard his mom’s voice, he caught the smell of dinner baking in the oven.  How long have Barley and mom been home?  How long have he and Judy been playing?

“Okay, kiddo,” Barley told Judy, leading her to  the bathroom. “Time to wash up for dinner.”

“Aww,” Judy moaned.

Ian wiped the lipstick off his face with the back of his hand.  “And delete those photos, Barley!”

“Oh no!” Barley’s voice echoed through the hall.  “They are too good!”

Ian groaned as he stood up, adjusting his feet so he doesn’t step on the hem and rip his dress.  He made his way downstairs and headed to his and Barley’s bedroom to get changed back into his usual clothes.

Laurel was in the kitchen when she caught sight of Ian at the door.  “Will Princess Iandelle be joining us for dinner tonight?” she asked with a smile.

“Mom,” Ian groaned as he shut the bedroom door behind him.

[kristannarubbish]

learn to do it (chapter two)

aka “princess diaries but make it norway + kristanna”

rating: T for language

word count: 2.6k

pairing: kristanna (always!)

part 2/10ish

“Anna!” Olaf burst into the room, looking very disheveled, “Get up! Get up! You’re going to be late.” He shook her body and ripped the bed covers off.

“Olaf stop that isn’t funny!” Anna’s morning voice cracked as her bleary eyes slowly blinked open, “Didn’t I say 7?” She took a quick glance at the clock, then did a double take. 8:30. 

“Holy fuck!” The redhead jumped out of bed and immediately ran towards her small closet, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“Anna I’m so sorry!” Olaf exclaimed as he grabbed the dress she picked out while they were wine tipsy last night.

“Thanks, and I don’t... have time... to be... upset!” Anna stammered as she ripped her big t-shirt off. After getting tangled in it, Olaf steadied her and handed her the dress.

“I must have overslept because I thought you getting a letter from the queen of Arendelle was a fever dream. Usually my body clock is better than this, you know that. It must have been the win-” 

“Olaf it’s fine! Just please help me! How am I supposed to get to Midtown in 20 minutes?”

“Anna, just breathe. I... don’t think that it’s humanly possible. You’ll only be a little late.”

“I can’t be late to a meeting with a queen of a country I haven’t even heard of!”

“Anna, you’ve never heard of Arendelle? Like ever? Did you take world history?”

“Of course I did, but I guess I just don’t remember it coming up? I’m not a royal follower like you. If they aren’t my ruler, it’s not exactly my top priority!”

Anna was getting a little aggressive, but Olaf understood given the circumstances, that were, to a degree, his fault. “Okay maybe I do follow fancy Europeans a little closely, but here’s a crash course. Arendelle is the country next to Sweden. It’s small, but has a bit of political leeway. Their reigning monarch is Queen Sonja, who was married to King Runeard, but he died a few years back I think... I can’t remember.”

“Okay, thank you so much Olaf, but I have to go,” Anna said as she finished sliding on her black low pumps to match the neckline of her emerald dress. 

“Heels, Anna? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Olaf cocked an eyebrow at her.

“It’s going to make up for the lack of effort I put in up here,” Anna motioned to her face. She hurried over to the door and grabbed her things.

“Alright,” Olaf followed her over to the door, “fill me in when you get home, yeah?”

“Yup, bye! Love you! Thank you!” Anna called as she raced down the stairs of their walk up. 

“Tell the queen I said hi!” Olaf shouted down the stairs, laughing to himself.

*****************************

Anna bolted to the nearest subway station where the R stopped, the train that would get her to Midtown the fastest. On her way, just as Olaf had silently warned, Anna tripped on a break in the sidewalk, skinning both her knees. 

“Great. Just peachy,” Anna muttered to herself. She let herself sit for a second and catch her breath after she realized there was nothing she could do about her bloody knees. After a deep sigh, she picked herself back up and pressed on to the subway station.

The R train was delayed. So here Anna was, sitting in a humid subway station biting her nails until they were nubs, with now frizzing hair and two bloody knees. Bet the queen would love to see this. Then it really hit Anna, for the first time, that she was going to meet a queen for God knows what reason, looking absolutely ridiculous.

What could she possibly want with me? What is she going to think of how messy I look? How does she even know I exist? Why does she want me? I am just another lousy American, right? Isn’t that what foreigners think of Americans? She’s probably different though. Am I even listening to myself think right now? We’re talking about the queen of an entire country. I sound so arrogant. 

Interrupting her obsessive thoughts, the R train finally pulled into the station. Anna sighed a long breath of relief, until she saw how crowded it was and of course everyone waiting at her station was getting on only this train. Nevertheless, she squeezed herself into the sardine packed train. Great, she was going to meet a queen smelling like B.O. and weed, while looking like something out of Rocky Horror.

*********************

There was a round of steady knocks on their apartment door. Olaf looked up from his phone, confused. He stood up slowly to go answer. He checked the peephole, and it was the same guy who had hand delivered the letter for Anna yesterday. Olaf opened the door.

“I’m here for Anna Andersen,” the tall man spoke down to Olaf.

“She’s not here. She just ran down to the subw- Oh,” Olaf mouth shut tight in realization.

“She took the subway?” The man’s eyebrow arched under his black sunglasses.

“Yeah, she didn’t know there would be a car, sorry about that.” 

“That’s fine, have a nice day Olaf,” the man turned to go and walked down the stairs quickly.

“You too,” Olaf called, then shut the door. “How did he know my name?”

*********************

Anna had finally reached the hotel in Midtown she guessed the Queen was staying in. Out of breath from running, she wanted to stop and catch it before meeting her, but she was 15 minutes late. 

Walking into the orante hotel lobby, Anna took in her golden surroundings. There were waiters waiting on people hand and foot, hell she thinks she even saw someone getting a foot massage! So this is how the other half lives. She was now aware that this is where the best of the best stayed. She was also aware that now, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Stuck out enough apparently to quickly catch a man in black’s attention, he had an earpiece and everything. “Anna Andersen?” He said after approaching her.

“Is it that obvious?” Anna asked laughing lightly.

“Yes. Come with me,” he spoke sternly as they went through a door behind the front desk. Anna could feel cold stares even coming from the staff. She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, but then had a pit in her stomach that this reaction was going to pale in comparison to whatever monarch she was about to meet.

The man led to a secret elevator, which was somehow even more fancy than the lobby. There was a renaissance style painting of a girl in a field of flowers on the wall. It was small though, so Anna and the stranger were shoulder to shoulder. After a few moments of silence to the beginning of a long elevator ride to what she assumed was the top floor, Anna spoke.

“Can I know your name?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t appropriate.”

“Well neither is you showing up at my apartment or following me home. That was you, right?” He did not respond as Anna inspected his face, “It was you!”

“You’re right, it was. But that was under her majesty’s orders.”

“Did she order you to not tell me your name?” Another silence from the stoic earpiece man. The elevator dinged and the door began to open.

“Mattias. My name is Mattias.”

“Nice to meet you Mattias,” Anna beamed, feeling strangely a tad more comfortable now that she knew one fact about the entire situation.

Anna turned to step out of the elevator and her mouth immediately dropped into an ‘o’ shape. This might be the most beautiful room she had ever seen in her life. There were carved columns that reached all the way up to the high painted ceiling that was illuminated by a skylight. The floor was marble and all the furniture looked too fancy to sit on. 

“Right in here Ms. Anderson,” Mattias called from a few feet away, holding onto the golden handle of a large door. 

When the door opened it was another room filled with paintings Anna was sure was worth more than the Manhattan itself. The light was so bright squinting was her only option. The sound of her own TJMaxx heels clicking on the marble floor was the only thing keeping Anna grounded in reality.

“You can sit in here and help yourself to some tea while you await her majesty, Ms. Anderson,” a nice lady in a maid’s outfit startled her.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” Anna said wearily as she sat herself down on a plush pink velvet chair by a large window. 

Maybe I’m not late. She thought as she poured some tea, which she honestly needed. I’m probably still early by Queen's standards. But seriously, if this is some sort of subconscious ploy by my brain to get me out of a coma, please wake me up now. 

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice asked from behind. Appartently the redhead had been speaking aloud.

Anna startled and saw a poised looking woman with medium blonde hair, pale skin and sterling blue eyes. She was definitely older, but had an elegant air to her. The woman was wearing a pastel violet dress and a glittering crystal crown. 

“Oh! Uhm, hi. I’m Anna.” The redhead spoke as she set down her all too fancy tea cup.

The royal looked Anna up and down quizzically. “Anna Anderson?”

“Yup…” there was a beat of uncomfortable silence between the two, “that’s me.”

“I was expecting you would at least know that you do not sit in a queen’s presence without her permission.”

“Oh, sh...oot. I’m so so sorry.” Anna corrected and quickly stood up, with a sloppy attempt at a bow. There was another beat of thick, heavy silence between the two strangers.

The queen rolled her eyes slightly, “You can sit down.” 

Anna sat down quickly, starting to sweat just a little. This time it wasn’t from the sticky subway. Not knowing what to do with herself, she took another sip of tea. Her leg bounced as she awaited anxiously for one of them to say something.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to be here this morning,” the queen said stoically. 

Anna nodded slowly up at her, covering her skinned knees with her hands. The royal poured herself some tea with a soft mhm. Straightening her back, which Anna was confused that it was already as straight as it could get, the elder spoke to her with a straight tone.

“Well, as I’m not quite sure you know, I am Queen Sonja of Arendelle.”

“I know who you are.”

“Never can be too sure,” the queen paused, to prepare herself for something and Anna was practically about to spaz at endless possibilities of what she might say. 

A million thoughts raced through Anna’s head. Am I going to be married to a prince, like Royal Love Island or something? Maybe she was the older woman I crashed into at work a couple weeks back. Did I accidentally commit a crime in her country by changing my VPN to watch Friends on Netflix? I wouldn’t have done it if Olaf didn’t like the Thanksgiving episodes so much.

“Anna, are you listening?” Queen Sonja commanded her sternly. Anna sat straight up alarmingly.

“Yes, I’m sorry your majesty.” Anna had been sure to google how to address a queen on the train ride over. The queen nodded, softening a bit, and began her story.

“My son, Agnarr, was the crown prince of Arendelle. He had a lovely wife, Iduna, who became the crown princess of Arendelle once they were married. After their daughters were born, they decided to move to New York City before my husband and I abdicated the throne. Oh, and they had two very lovely daughters, whom I loved endlessly.” Queen Sonja began to get misty eyed, but quickly composed herself.

“Are you okay?” Anna wasn’t quite sure what to do, but asking if she was alright seemed right.

“Yes I am. Thank you.” Another deep breath and the queen was headfirst back into the story. “They moved here to try and experience more of the world so they could rule well rounded. But, one day, on a drive upstate to their estate away from the city, they got into a terrible crash.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Anna said with a sullen voice.

“Thank you. But I’m afraid some wounds never fully heal. All of them died, but the youngest daughter. I still miss them every day.”

“Well where is the youngest daughter now?” The redheaded woman became entranced in this story, that seemed like it would become a lullaby with an ominous warning in it one day.

“There is no easy way to say this. But, I am only delaying it if I don’t. You aren’t just Anna Anderson of New York City. You’re Anna Charlotte Elizabeth Anderson, Crown Princess of Arendelle.”

The room was absolutely still, so silent if someone dropped a pin, they could hear it yards away. Anna had no clue how to react, so she just laughed hysterically.

“Okay, where are the cameras?” Anna laughed, “Is it in the teapot?” She picked up the floral china and inspected it.

“What do you mean? Put that down!”

Anna obliged, still laughing, “This is some sort of reality prank, right? Am I gonna win like 10,000 dollars or something?”

“Anna,” Queen Sonja said sternly, “this is not a joke, or some silly reality television show. This is real life.”

The silence returned, and Anna blinked quickly, to try and wake herself out of whatever fever dream she was living.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely, Anna.”

“But- what about my parents? Why do I still live here if I’m a royal?”

“Well, we wanted you to grow up here so you could be the well rounded ruler your parents wished to be. Your adoptive parents have known the whole time, and are friends of the royal family.”

Anna stayed silent and slumped in the fancy plush pink chair. She wished that the soft fabric would just absorb her and she would never have to deal with this strange newborn reality.

“Now, Anna. I know this all must be shocking, but we needed to tell you soon since you are the next in line for succession.”

Anna shot up from her state of loathing, “I can’t run a country! Don’t you see me? I have skinned knees from running late to a meeting with a queen!”

Queen Sonja smiled at her patiently, “That’s why I’m in the city, to teach you how to be a true royal, if you so choose.”

“I don’t have to?”

“Technically, no. It will just be the end of the Anderson line in Arendelle history which is- well I won’t tell you how I feel about that. Just please consider it Anna.”

The young woman nodded slowly, standing up, still in a state of shock. “I have to go. I’ll uhm, let you know your majesty.” 

Before the queen or Mattias could stop her, Anna was rushing out the golden doors and to the secret elevator. After pressing the down button as quickly as possible, the doors shut. When they opened again, Anna ran through the hotel lobby, all of the aristocrats staring at her. She didn’t care, she just needed to get out. 

After running outside, Anna’s pale back leaned against the cool granite of the building adjacent to the hotel where her life just changed forever. Finally letting go, she let hot tears run down her face in hard sobs. She slid down the wall and sat in the alley off the busy street. 

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-Five “Victim of my defeat”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-five of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter. I’m sorry for not updating last week, I didn’t have time...

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                 –––––––––––––––––––––––

- Good morning Miss Shepherd and welcome to the Four Seasons hotel in Los Angeles. We hope you had a good trip for us.

- Very good, thank you.

Leaning on the reception desk, and a hand on Amelia’s back, I keep my attention on the hotel lobby on the comings and goings of customers.

Young women, with impeccable suits, on the arms of mature men, in their fifties. 

Potential stars, sunglasses riveted on the face, and cellphone fixed to the ear.

The usual population of such a palace, which is also approaching a broadcast ceremony.

But it is clear that since we arrived in Los Angeles, I am at a level of tension and maximum alertness.

- We have a suite checked for you, Miss Shepherd. On the third floor of our establishment.

Appeased by my observations, I redirect my attention to the receptionist to make sure that we will be judiciously installed.

- Is there a terrace or balcony in this suite? I ask the receptionist.

He looks at me strangely for a few seconds, surprised by my intervention, while I had remained distant and silent until now.

- Yes, of course. It is one of our most beautiful suites, facing south, which offers you a magnificent light for breakfast on the terrace.

- We do not want a balcony or terrace, unless it is a roof terrace, without connection to other rooms.

- Unfortunately, this possibility is no longer available. But you will see that the terrace of this suite is nice.

- Give us a suite without this type of installation outside, in this case, I resume with a polite smile.

- Sir, I’m sure Miss Shepherd would enjoy a better stay with this in-room amenity.

- Give me a suite without a balcony or terrace, please, Amelia confirms.

The receptionist looks at each other, a little unsettled then taps for a few seconds on his computer.

- A suite? He asks, talking to me.

- A suite is enough, I answer, knowing perfectly the layout of the Four Seasons suites and in particular the fact that they are all equipped with at least a convertible sofa in addition to a Queen-size bed.

- All right, in this case, you will have suite 205, Miss Shepherd, on the second floor. Oliver will accompany you and bring your luggage, the receptionist informs by handing the keys to his colleagues who had joined us on the side. I wish you a very good stay with us.

- Thank you very much, replies Amelia with a frank smile.

- If you would like to follow me, the bellboy continues. 

He enters the gigantic hall of the hotel, decorated with a magnificent chandelier, and leads us into one of the many elevators present, our two bags in hand.

I stay close to Amelia, a hand against her waist while walking in the footsteps of her steps. 

We make our way to the bedroom in silence: the staff of this type of establishment knows how to be discreet and avoid engaging in banal conversations if it was not sparked by the customers themselves: the watchword is not to bother or annoy. 

He thus brings us to the door of suite 205 and opens us, letting us enter politely first. We discover a suite, bathed in bright and intense light, the August sun generously inviting into the room.

Amelia comes forward and takes a quick tour of the place, I observe her doing, contenting myself with discovering the main room: it is decorated in pastel colors, decorated with freshly cut flowers here and there. A queen-size bed stands out majestically in the room, beautifully highlighted by a super embroidered bed set. An office area and a "dining room" part adjoin this central part of the suite.

I distinguish beyond, an alcove, where I spot a more "cocooning" atmosphere with a sofa and different armchair: the section that will become my quarters during our short stay in Los Angeles. 

- It’s beautiful, concludes Amelia with a smile, leaving the bathroom and heading to the window to discover the view of the sea.

- Thank you, I whispered to the bellboy, who deposits our suitcases at the foot of the bed, while slipping a bill in his hand.

- Thank you sir, and have a very good stay with us. If you want anything, we remain at your entire disposal.

I nod. He smiles politely at me and closes the door behind him, after leaving the key on the bedside table. 

.

I observe Amelia from behind, still immersed in the contemplation of the landscape, which smiles at me. It was touching to see that she was still able to marvel at the beauty of the place she discovered. Far from these starlets jaded and dry from any reaction or emotion.

I grab my little suitcase and move towards the alcove that I had spotted, depositing my luggage at the foot of the sofa.

Amelia’s fascination for sight, however, makes me feel a little guilty.

- You are not too disappointed not to have a balcony or terrace?

She finally turns around and answers me with a smile.

- No, don’t worry. I understand why you prefer not to have one. Next time, however, I will not deprive myself! She specifies, laughing slightly.

She then goes to the audiovisual equipment present in the room and turns on the television: a channel of information is immediately broadcast on the screen.

- Thank you for these details on the economic context, Daniel, indicates a female voice of journalist. Other important news of the day: we announced it at the beginning of the bulletin. Today was the funeral of Alex Karev. The heir of this illustrious family committed suicide four days ago by jumping from the top floor of his mansion in the Seattle area.

.

The information paralyzes each other for a few seconds and brings us back to the memory of the drama we witnessed…

.

- My god… Amelia whispers wedged against my back.

I can see Alex’s inert silhouette on the gravel below. I reposition myself on the floor on the balcony and turn to Amelia.

The rain always falls above us, but it’s as if the natural elements were invisible to us at this moment.

Our eyes freeze in each other: I read a strange mixture of dread and pain in the dilated and reddened pupils of Amelia.

I weakly extend an arm and approach her while she remains as paralyzed, in shock.

I tightly embrace her and stick her face against my chest: I only realize at this moment fully that she is there, safe and sound… and not lying down, lifeless, alongside Alex.

- You have nothing, I whispered almost to myself, lowering my face and spontaneously kissing her wet hair.

I feel her hands tighten a little more and cross my back. I hold my chin against the top of her head while my right-hand slides against her hair until I find my second hand, resting against her hips.

A shiver spreads throughout my body and I realize that Amelia shivers against me.

I detach myself slightly from her: I keep a hand against her waist and gently lead her towards the side of the castle, to shelter us from the rain and allow her to regain her senses.

Once inside, I fully discover her: wet hair, glued to her face, features market by fatigue and emotion.

I find myself helpless, with no jacket or warm clothing to offer her, as she shivers in front of me.

I stay in front of her and slide my hands against her arms.

She stares into my eyes, but strangely absent. As if she disconnected imperceptibly from reality and the present moment.

She doesn’t react, letting herself be like a doll, while I forcefully move my arms back and forth to warm her and prevent her from falling into shock.

I can see that her skin takes on slight pink colors, and her eyes observe me with already a little more life, dancing within her pupils.

- It was him… she whispers weakly. I saw nothing, understood nothing…

- You couldn’t guess, nobody could…

- He wanted to kill me… he wanted to destroy me… me and all my life…

I feel chills suddenly take hold of her after these words: I put an end to my energetic gestures against her arms and hold my hand on her waist while staring intently.

- Try not to rehash everything… it will do you more harm than good… you must not blame yourself for anything. He was visibly crazy… his behavior was unstable and dangerous… and what he just did was in no case, your fault, okay?

She looks at me silently for long seconds.

I can see her eyes shining a little more gradually, until the pressure releases and a fit of sobs takes hold of her. 

I immediately hug her, a hand wedged behind her head: I let her free the stress, the anxiety, and the weight of what just happened in a few minutes. 

Her crying gradually subsides and I end up loosening my grip.

Her face appears to me again, traces of tears visible on her cheeks and at the corner of her eyes.

I slide my fingers stealthily against her face to erase these marks from her skin.

She smiles weakly at me and I return to her without thinking, a smile in return. 

- I need to call Nathan… he can pick us up and help us with his teams. And we’re going to need his support to avoid being officially involved… do you have your cell phone?

- Yes, in my bag behind the desk.

- Ok, so let's not waste time, I answer by going to her bag that I had just spotted on the ground. And we have to change, we are not presentable, like that, I replied with a smile to lighten the atmosphere while looking down on myself.

My t-shirt sticks to my skin, slightly torn in places and my skin is marked by multiple scrapes and traces of blood.

I find Amelia’s gaze, a few steps in front of me: strangely, my attempt at humor doesn’t seem to have reached her, while she observes me with a serious air even almost solemn.

- You saved my life, she announces suddenly. Without you, I would not be of this world. Thank you…

- Don’t thank me… it’s not over yet…

It’s not over yet.

We are in Los Angeles, listening to the announcement of Alex’s funeral, and yet we know Amelia and me that the threat is still there.

Alex made it clear before he dropped into the void: he had given us an appointment in a week… here at the Music Awards.

Discovering that he was the instigator of Amelia’s ordeal, we embarked on intensive and meticulous research with Nathan and his teams.

Research to understand but also to recover the slightest clues about what he meant with this meeting given in Los Angeles.

Large parts of the mystery had been revealed to us.

We had discovered that Amelia was a real obsession for Alex: he collected all the articles, all the stolen photos which he had recovered in his surveillance, the slightest market of the singer towards him (letters, visits he filmed…). Methodical work but revealing of unhealthy behavior.

The meaning of this strange black Ferry Boat was no also known to us. Investigations of Alex’s family and past revealed that she was part of a very special organization. 

The order of the Ferry Boat.

An order from the colonial era.

Even if this era belonged more to the past than to the present, Alex had kept a great sensitivity with this philosophy and this acronym had become his trademark… as a reminder of his family’s past power as a benefactor of the United States.

Beyond these major facts allowing us to better understand the personality of Alex, his words had particularly intrigued us. 

Before dying, he had confidently reiterated that the threat would not fade with him. Information that left no doubt that he was not acting alone: a suspicion that we had already for some time, given the actions which seemed more and more prepared, almost professional. And confirmation hadn’t been hard to find: movements of money on Alex’s accounts were quickly identified by Nathan’s teams. Several substantial debits expressly made in cash. A process that made it easy to imagine that Alex was paying someone in cash, from hand to hand, to leave no traces or means of identifying this person…

The last debit was the most important of all as a balance to close a deal…

No doubt for Nathan and myself: he had hired a professional and paid him in advance for the last part of the work.

Eliminate Amelia.

And Alex’s conviction that the work would be completed led us to suppose that he had not revealed his true identity to this professional whom he had hired… thus guaranteeing that his death, widely publicized, would not compromise his evil plan.

.

The TV sound suddenly disappears when Amelia has just turned off the device.

She sits on the bed and watches me standing in front of her, a few steps.

- What is your program for the rest of the day? I asked to immediately evacuate the reminder of the death of Alex.

- I’m waiting for a call from the bank on my loan request… Meredith should join us here in a short time, I think she organized a busy schedule, and Andrew should not delay any longer, she answers a little absent.

A phone ring suddenly rings around us and Amelia grabs her cell phone.

A smile dresses her features before she picks up.

- Hi sweetie, she replies with a softness in her voice. How are you today?

I do not perceive the words of her interlocutor, but I know that it is April.

We greeted her a few hours earlier when she was about to leave the hospital.

Amelia had offered her to settle with Jackson in her apartment, which April had accepted with relief. She no longer supported the hospital anymore and preferred to do her physiotherapy and rehabilitation session at home.

The farewell had been difficult, however: one image particularly marked Amelia, that of seeing her friend for the first time in a wheelchair. She had tried not to let anything show through, but I knew it had touched her a lot… her wet eyes after leaving the hospital had betrayed her.

- Yes, it’s beautiful here. The weather is splendid and the hotel is a marvel. And you, how is the installation going? You don’t miss anything with Jackson?

I hear Amelia laugh suddenly as I distinguish two voices escaping from the cell phone: Jackson was obviously attentive to the conversation and did not hesitate to participate. 

True to his guidelines he had described to me, he was fully committed to April to support and help her in her recovery. He had hardly left her bedside in the hospital and he volunteered to look after her while we were away. Their already visible complicity before this ordeal was even more obvious: their relationship was stronger day by day. Jackson had the right attitude under the circumstances: he did not treat April differently. He helped her, without lowering her or increasing her feeling of being suddenly diminished. He encouraged her in all her exercises, even when she had had enough, he challenged her and pushed her to continued, not to let go of anything. He used all his energy to convince April that walking was only a question of time and not a utopia.

And above all that, he brought her that daily dose of happiness and humor that helped April to keep her morale high and to stay strong. With the accident and her new condition, exuberance and joie de vivre were more rarely expressed in April… it was only in the presence of Jackson that we could recognize at certain moments the lively and spontaneous young woman we loved so much…

- I see that everything is fine, continues Amelia after a few minutes. I’m counting on you to watch me during the ceremony. I would need your good waves. I give you huge kisses, concludes the singer with a smile.

Amelia’s gaze suddenly catches mine.

- Yes, of course, he is with me. I pass him to you, no problem.

She comes forward and hands me the phone.

I take it from my hands a little surprised, while Amelia nods towards the bathroom, where she slips away for a few moments.

- Yes?

- Owen, wait a second… Jackson, it’s in the kitchen, the fruit juice that you bought earlier, exclaims April a little louder while moving away slightly from the handset. Excuse me, I couldn’t speak to you freely earlier with Amelia in the room, she continues. I wanted to thank you for everything you did… for saving my little star.

- April, you don’t have to thank me…

- Yes, you must know it… and the most important especially is that you must have confidence. I know that with you nothing will happen to her. It is only with you that she is safe.

Amelia reappears from the bathroom, her hair now tied in a ponytail. She immediately seeks my gaze, while I’m still in the middle of a conversation with April.

- Don’t doubt you… you can’t go wrong with your choices or actions.

- Thank you for your trust, April, I hope the future will prove you right.

- A man in love can’t go wrong when it comes to protecting the one he loves.

I observe Amelia, the words of April echoing in me.

A conviction is diffused subtly throughout my being.

I contemplate the young woman in front of me, April’s assertion in the background in my mind.

A connection is established naturally.

And for the first time, my internal reservations are silent. 

No contradiction or arguments to oppose.

Truth is revealed… it was there for some time, but I hid it deep inside me.

In this instant, only one voice speaks; a voice that rose more en more often… louder and louder… a voice that I thought was extinct forever…

The woman I look into has achieved the impossible. 

I had meticulously taken care to trample the debris of a bruised heart.

I had scattered it ashes to prevent the hearth from reviving. 

And yet, I feel it inside me: it burns again.

Stronger and brighter than ever.

.

- In this case… I will not be wrong, I answer distinctly, my gaze fixed on Amelia, a surprising conviction expressed in my voice.

.

In these few words, I concede my defeat.

While staring at two magnificent blue pupils who seal my fate…

I’m a victim of love again… it, whom I thought I would have killed forever…

                –––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. Stay safe and have a great week 💛

[iridescentides]

CREATOR SPOTLIGHT: Kat (@sarahsjeffery)

Support your local gif makers! In celebration of my one year gif-iversary, I am posting shoutouts to gif makers who have motivated and inspired me with their creativity in the past year. This post is for Kat, whose gifs can be found here.

Kat’s standout traits are their passion and care. From Legacies to Descendants to Disney, to helping others, they have exemplified immense dedication to their craft that has motivated me to work hard on my own gifs. I know I can rely on Kat to help me through any gif-related issue I may be having, and to support me when I’m feeling a little lost. Kat’s spirit and friendliness are ultimately what sets them apart, along with their impressive sharpening skills and imagination.

MUST-SEE EDITS

Audrey and Uma - This was one of the first gifsets of Kat’s that I saw, and I was instantly blown away by the expert blending of moving shots of Audrey and Uma, along with the vibrant pinks, blues, and reds that add to the overall expressiveness of the set. The way Kat merged these images will never cease to amaze me, for they used sparkles and gradients to paint a seamless portrait of two iconic Descendants characters. The top right gif is especially impressive for the way Kat perfectly blended the two gifs and skillfully took advantage of dark negative space to create the effect of Uma looking down at Audrey; Uma’s mischievous smile and the motion of Audrey’s staff contribute to the stunning overall effect created by this gif.

Kristoff and Ana - In this recent creation on their Disney sideblog @mirandasanchez, Kat perfectly arranged and colored pastel scenes of a beloved Frozen couple. This muted set shows off Kat’s diverse skill set and eye for composition. In contrasting blue hues with orange, Kat made this pastel set very appealing and eye catching, alternating scenes that featured different color schemes; looking through Kat’s edits, you will see clever patterns and arrangements like this frequently, as Kat is great at balancing coloring in their compositions. The cherry on top that makes this set so attractive to the viewer is the speed of each gif; Kat used frame rates that gave the overall set a very smooth feel.

Maya Fell - This set stands out for its subtlety. The mark of a seasoned gifmaker is not always editing in a flashy way that includes obvious effects, but instead making adjustments that tie a composition together in such a seamless way that it goes unnoticed to the untrained eye. This set uses beautiful reds, greys, and blacks to tie each gif together. Kat cleverly emphasized these colors and omitted others to create this harmonious creation.

Peter Pan - In another gorgeous display for their Disney sideblog, Kat used vibrant colors and lively action to capture the essence of the nostalgic film Peter Pan. Kat’s stunning balance of blues, purples, yellows, and a hint of red jumps out at the viewer immediately. This bright and shiny take on a classic film features iconic elements like Big Ben, Tinkerbell pouting, and even Captain Hook. The action shots, like Wendy slipping off a cliff and Peter Pan jumping into a room, give this creation its excited, spirited vibe.

Sofia Wylie Descendants Dance Party - This set is a testament to Kat’s impeccable sharpening skills, paired with some vibrant coloring. In these gifs you can clearly see the texture of Sofia Wylie’s skin and hair as she passionately recites lyrics to a popular Descendants 3 song. This clarity provides an immersive experience when you look at the gifset because it almost makes you feel like you are right there. The bold red hue of her jacket also plays a part in this creation, calling attention and capturing the spirit of the dance number.

CREATOR’S TOP PICKS

Kat has too many favorites to list at the bottom of this post, so click this link to check out each one individually!

Thank you to Kat for inspiring me over the past year! Be sure to check out all of their amazing gifsets, reblog them, and leave nice feedback!

[mnemememory]

better to scream

yasha is too tired for this shit. 

critical role pacific rim fusion au (part 1 of 2)

.

Over the years, Yasha has heard of ghost drifting.

Of course she has. In this profession, rumours are almost always more reliable than whatever new strange thing the scientists have cooked up to try. With such experimental technology, it was a safe bet to trust the instincts of those who had gone before rather than simply hoping for the best.

Beau complains about it all the time. How she always has Jester’s voice in her head telling her about her latest prank, or how cute Fjord looks. Fjord always rolls his eyes. Jester just laughs because “of course I have their voices in my head, where else would I keep them?”

When Molly dies, there is nothing but silence.

.

The man is a stranger.

It’s fitting, almost. Yasha tells herself that she wasn’t expecting anything different when she walked off that helicopter, but she’s always been a bad liar. It’s probably for the best. She doesn’t know if a familiar face would have broken her or not.

“Good evening,” the man says with a placid smile. He is taller than her, which is unusual enough to warrant attention, with pastel pink hair and cow-soft eyes. “My name is Caduceus Clay. My sister is the one in charge of fixing Necrotic Shroud.”

Yasha clenches her jaw and says nothing.

Caduceus Clay doesn’t seem too put off by her standoffish presence. He simply gives her another vacant look and gestures her towards the door.

It’s raining. Yasha walks over wet asphalt, boots heavy in the puddles. It hadn’t been so obvious from above, but from ground level everything has a distinctly rough edge to it. Yasha may not have been here for the first building blocks, but the whole building complex had been new and in good condition upon her abrupt departure. A lot appears to have happened in two years.

They wait a good ten minutes for the elevator which never comes, so Caduceus Clay ushers her towards the fire escape just a few feet down the hall. Their footsteps echo in the hollow metal chamber, the light casting a sepia tone over the surroundings. Caduceus Clay’s skin is painted in orange heughs, his eyes gleaming yellow.

Yasha looks away.

They eventually make it down to the correct level – number seven, Yasha notices with detachment – and step out of the stiflingly warm confines of the staircase to something far colder – and familiar. Yasha feels an unpleasant chill run across her skin as she walks out into the hanger room. There are ghosts here, in Yasha’s head, but they’re not the right ones.

“This way,” Caduceus Clay says. Yasha doesn’t move.

The first time she ever came to the Shutterdome, the sky was bleached white-blue and the ocean sparkled green. Molly was next to her, talking. He was always talking. Yasha followed him through the throngs of people who were gathering around the stairwell. They were all looking up at the overhanging railing with clear expectation.

“This place is amazing,” Molly said.

Yasha shrugged. It was certainly big.

“There are so many people here,” he said. “This is so much bigger than the circus. There are – what, a thousand people? Two thousand? I can’t imagine what it would be like to perform for so many people.”

That cracked a smile across Yasha’s face. “You weren’t a performer,” she said.

Molly’s grin was sly as he flared out his uniform-noncompliant multi-coloured cloak. A few people dodged out of the way of the flowing fabric.

“They don’t know that.”

“Miss Yasha?” Caduceus Clay says. He patiently waits for Yasha to blink her way out of the memory before urging her to the side so as to not disrupt the trickling flow of traffic.

A thousand people? Two thousand?

Try twenty.

Yasha eyes the skeleton staff with no little wariness. They all look a shade short of exhausted, with hair pulled up and bruises around their eyes. As she watches, one of the engineers stumbles off to the side and collapses against the wall, the palms of his hands pressed tight to his temples. Another engineer breaks off to check on him, but quickly gets back to work when he waves her off.

Caduceus Clay follows her eyes. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment,” he says easily. “But Clarabelle’s people are good people. They’ll get things up and running in time.”

“Clarabelle,” Yasha says. “Your sister.”

“I’ll introduce you two later,” Caduceus Clay says. “She probably won’t thank us for interrupting. I’ll show you where you can put your things and then we can get something to eat.”

Yasha gives the hanger one last casual glance before turning around and looking at what she’s been avoiding ever since she entered.

Necrotic Shroud is a tomb of a thing, black and grey and matte. It towers above the other Jaegers lined up. Yasha’s eyes run over the armour plating, the deceptively delicate lines of its hydraulic musculature, the thickened gauntlets. Her lady is in mourning; the paint no longer bares Molly’s distinctive paintwork. He would sit on Necrotic Shroud’s shoulders for hours at a time and drive the engineers to tears with the paint fumes.

Seeing her like this, naked, is a punch to the gut.

“Hey, beautiful,” she whispers. Her voice manages to come out steady, which is a pleasant surprise. Everything else about Yasha is shaking.

“She’s the last Mark II in existence,” Caduceus Clay says. “She’s one of a kind.”

Yasha thinks of Molly’s paintings, the way feathers and vines flowed their way messily along Necrotic Shroud’s ribcage and spiralled out from the shoulders. She always was, she wants to say, but she’s so tired.

“Who else is here?”

Even with the Jaegers filling up the open space, there’s something hollow about the Shatterdome. Maybe it’s because this place was built for so many more. Yasha can see empty bays that have been repurposed into scrapheaps, where busy engineers scavenged and discarded pieces.

Caduceus starts walking. After a few seconds of hesitation, Yasha decides to follow him.

“Here, we have Converging Fury,” he says, waving to the Jaeger set up in the bay next to Necrotic Shroud. It is compactly built – a Mark IV, if Yasha can read the specs right – with a massive metal staff with a circular knob at one end secured alongside it.  The sleekness of the design makes Yasha absurdly uncomfortable – compared to Necrotic Shroud, the plating looks flimsy and useless, sacrificing armour for manoeuvrability.

How many hits will this take before crumbling? Yasha wonders. It’s a design strategy, she knows, and yet. And yet.

“She’s piloted by Keg and Nila, who should be around here somewhere,” Caduceus Clay says. “Well, Nila should be here somewhere. Keg is very good at showing up in unexpected places.”

Yasha nods.

“They’re from around Shadycreek Run way,” he says. “Northeast of Zadash. Twelve drops, twelve kills. Nine of those were solo. They’re a good team.”

“Sounds like it,” Yasha says.

Caduceus Clay moves on.

“This is Dragon Slayer,” he says, gesturing to a frankly haphazard Jaeger. Half of its torso is covered in uniform black scaled armour, while the rest of a patchwork of whatever had been made available at the time. Yasha can see the corpses of at least three Jaeger’s that she’s served with stitched into its skeleton, and her stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Caduceus Clay glances at her, reading the hesitation in her body.

“We had to get creative when things started to get decommissioned,” he says. “Some of these are spare parts, but some were ripped wholesale off whatever we could save. Well” – here, he ducks his head – “I say we. My sister is the engineer in the family. I’m just an administrator.”

Some administrator, Yasha thinks, eyeing the whipcord muscles underneath his skinny frame.

“In any case, this beautiful creature is piloted by Twiggy and Calianna. They were originally stationed out by Nicodranis, but they moved basically anywhere they were needed. Towards the end, that was basically everywhere. Now they’re here.”

Yasha can read between the lines. They’re needed here, because this is it. We’re being shut down. It’s now or never.

“And here, we have –”

“YASHA!’

Yasha braces herself just in time. She stills rocks a little on her feet as Jester’s body rams into hers, arms flung around Yasha’s torso.

“Jester,” Yasha says, looking down at the smaller woman with a smile. She still looks so young.

“Yasha! I can’t believe you’re back – I mean, I absolutely can believe it, but also I didn’t think you were going to come? It’s been a very long two years. Caleb didn’t think you were going to come, but I told him that you would.”

“It is very nice to see you, Jester,” Yasha says, giving her an awkward squeeze. Jester just beams harder, snuggling into Yasha’s soaked hoodie.

“You’re back.”

It almost hurts worse than seeing Necrotic Shroud, the way Beau’s voice comes out so flat. Yasha stiffens before she means to, head jerking up and heart in her throat.

She looks the same. Well, the same, but more tired. Thinner. The softness has been filed away. Beau’s cheekbones stand out like knives across her face, hair pulled up in an exhausted mess. She’s half-in and half-out of her black under-armour, the shirt peeled back and tied around her waist. Yasha’s eyes linger a touch too long on her bare arms, the dusty contours of her muscles.

“Beau,” Yasha says, cautious.

“About time,” Beau says, and walks away.

.

Yasha can’t sleep.

That in itself isn’t unusual. Yasha has never been very good at beating off the darkness of the night, now more so than ever. The spacious quarters are a painful reminder of just how cramped it would have been with another person present. Yasha’s eyes keep lingering on the bare walls, on the empty bedside table, on the unmade upper bunk.

It’s cruel to put her here. It isn’t the same room as the one she had previously shared with Molly, but it’s close enough to itch.

The third time that Yasha looks over to see that barely ten minutes has passed, she gives up. Rolling out of bed, she shoves her bare feet into her sneakers and pulls on a sweatshirt over her leggings. Phone stuffed into her bra, she slips out of the room and into the silent hallway.

There aren’t many people in this area of the Shatterdome. Caduceus Clay had been kind enough to complete the tour by informing her of their greatly reduced numbers, and – consequently – the gradual spread of living space. Yasha’s area is running on rechargeable batteries. They aren’t connected to the main power grid anymore.

Her breath mists in front of her as she moves deeper downwards. If she closes her eyes, she could trace out her path by route. Forward, left, forward, forward –

The kitchens open up in front of her. At this time of night – well, morning – there aren’t many people around, save for those unlucky enough to have been rostered on for preparing breakfast. There’s a pot of something foul-looking but decent-smelling bubbling away on the stove, but Yasha bypasses it completely for the refrigerator.

As she inches the door open, one of the people cooking turns to glare at her. “Excuse me,” she says, hands planted firmly on his hips. “I’m afraid that you can’t –”

“It’s okay, Adeline,” a familiar voice says. “She’s with me.”

Adelina falters. “Mister Fjord –”

Fjord steps out of the shadows like the creepy overdramatic bastard that he is. Yasha glares at him and then goes back to rummaging around the refrigerator for anything unopened. Fjord can explain, if he wants to stand up for her. Yasha is too tired to deal with anyone today.

Adelina eventually leaves to go and check on something on the other side of the kitchen, though she doesn’t look especially happy about it. Fjord sidles over to where Yasha has gathered some cheese and a few leftover eggs. She’s already mixing them together when he comes to sit next to her.

“Long time no see,” he says.

Yasha ignores him.

“Mind if I had a taste of that when you’re done?” he says. “I was feeling a little bit peckish myself, which is why I came down here.”

“This feels like an ambush,” Yasha says, looking around for a microwave. Fjord handily points it out to her.

“Not an ambush,” Fjord says. “I don’t like eating in the cafeteria either. Getting it straight from here is – safer.”

Yasha grimaces, stabbing at the buttons with more force than it probably warranted.

“How was the Wall?”

“Cold,” Yasha says. “And wet.”

“So no different from here, then.”

“It was a little different,” Yasha says, and then hesitates. “How have things been here?”

“Cold,” Fjord says with a smile. “And wet.”

“Fjord.”

“It varies from day to do,” he says with a shrug. “We’re all working to get things done. Did you see the massive clock in the hanger? They’re counting down the days between each attack.”

“Fourteen,” Yasha says.

“Our brainiacs in the science department don’t think it’ll be much longer,” Fjord says. “Have you met them? Caleb and Nott.”

“Nott?”

“Don’t ask, she doesn’t like talking about it,” Fjord says. “But yes, that’s her name.”

The microwave beeps. Yasha opens it up to look inside, and then scrambles the goopy mixture up with her fork and puts it in for another forty seconds.

“How much longer, then?”

“A week,” Fjord says. “If we’re lucky. Three days if we’re not. That’s why everyone’s on high alert at the moment.”

“I noticed.”

Fjord flashes a bright, tired grin her way. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m not sure if I’m back,” Yasha says. “I don’t have anyone to Drift with.”

“There are a lot of good kids training here,” Fjord says. “Not as many as in our classes, but a decent selection. You’ll find someone.”

“I might not,” Yasha says. Three seconds before the timer runs out, Yasha stops the microwave and tests the eggs. She’s managed to overcook them, so they’re a little rubbery, but edible compared to what she’s used to eating these days. “I might not want to.”

Fjord regards her steadily from where he’s sitting at the table. “If you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t be here.”

Yasha shakes her head and deposits the plastic bowl on the table in front of Fjord, offering him her spoon. “This place is dying,” she says. “The Wall won’t work.”

“The Marshall has a plan,” Fjord says. “We need all the Jaegers we can get. That includes Necrotic Shroud. Beau and Jester and I, we can only do so much.”

“And those other pilots,” Yasha says, stealing the fork back and taking a bite.

“They’re good,” Fjord says. “But we haven’t been on a run with any of them. I know you. I trust you.”

Yasha’s fingers clench around the cool metal of the fork. “You shouldn’t.”

Fjord sighs. “Is this about what happened? Because Jester and I –”

“It’s not only about that,” Yasha says. She isn’t hungry anymore. She hands the fork back to Fjord. “Not fully. Molly had to pilot the Shroud for almost an hour before anyone came to help. I was useless.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Fjord says.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yasha says. She doesn’t say, but it is, because that would be counterproductive. “It’s going to affect anything I do in the Drift. My new partner might not even be able to connect.”

“Molly –”

“Molly was a blank slate,” Yasha says. “He was silence in the storm. I’m never going to get anything like that ever again.”

Fjord closes his eyes and takes a bite of overcooked eggs. “I can’t imagine it,” he finally says. “If I lost Jester or Beau.”

“That won’t happen,” Yasha says.

“Big words,” Fjord says. “You gonna back those up?”

No. Yes. Maybe. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow, won’t we?”

.

Caduceus Clay says, “I was opposed to reinstating you as a Ranger.”

“That’s fair,” Yasha says. She’s just been given an empty room with no internal heating. The blankets that are folded on the end of the mattress look worn but serviceable.

“I don’t mean to be personal,” Caduceus Clay says. A brief look of discomfort flashes across his serene face, but it’s gone too quickly for Yasha to be sure. “But I advised that you were too unpredictable to be brought back into a combat situation. Considering what happened last time – and how you reacted to it –”

Yasha bares her teeth into a smile. “I understand,” she says. “I wouldn’t have reinstated me either.”

.

“One, four.”

Yasha rolls to her feet and offers her opponent a hand up. She’s sweaty, but not sweaty in the right sort of way – this sweat is from the monotonous repetition of tasks, rather than an actual workout. There’s no challenge to this. Block, deflect, attack.

Yasha can feel her moves going stale with every blow she doesn’t bother to dodge. The flashy man in front of her smacks his staff against the ground in what appears to be an intimidation tactic, but Yasha just gives a small sigh.

“Begin!”

The man moves, and Yasha waits for him. What else can she do? There are only so many matches she can follow through with before things start to get old. When the man reaches the limits of her patience, she puts him on the ground. Rinse, repeat.

On the other side of the room, at the door of the Combat Room, Caduceus Clay stands with a clipboard in hand next to Marshall Shakaste, the Duchess an ever-present distraction at his side. After a few more matches, Yasha can’t hold back her frustration and rounds on them.

“Alright, what is it?” she says.

“What is what?” Shakaste says, but it’s Caduceus that she’s looking at.

“You,” Yasha says. “Every time I beat someone, you have this look” – she tries to imitate it, but probably only ends up looking constipated – “like I’m doing something wrong.”

Caduceus blinks slowly. “Well, you are doing something wrong.”

Yasha’s voice is flat. “Really.”

“You took hits you shouldn’t have,” Caduceus says. “It’s obvious that you could have finished the fight quite a bit more easily than you managed. You’re not taking this seriously. Since my sister was the one who spent most of the past year of her life fixing the machine that you’re going to be piloting, I’d prefer if you didn’t screw that up.”

Yasha bares her teeth. “You think you could do better?”

“Probably,” Caduceus says. “It’s not like you’re trying very hard.”

Shakaste lets out a low chuckle and takes the clipboard away from Caduceus. Yasha obligingly steps back onto the mats and sweeps her staff low and inviting.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a few minutes to warm up,” Caduceus says. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be fighting today.”

“You’re certainly dressed for it,” Yasha says. Caduceus’ clothing is tastefully green and loose, the shade going well with his hair.

Caduceus just smiles. Yasha is really starting to hate that look on his face.

There are too many people in the Combat Room for Yasha to really feel comfortable. She’s better at fighting behind closed doors, where no one can see how ugly it can get. Jester is in the corner, next to Fjord. Yasha can’t see Beau anywhere, but she’s got to be here somewhere. No matter how much has changed over the past few years, there are few things that Beau likes more than a good fight. And regardless of what Caduceus thinks, Yasha is very good at fighting.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Caduceus says after a few stretches. He’s remarkably bendy for someone who looks like he should snap in half at the first stiff breeze. Yasha tightens her grip on her staff.

“Okay,” she says, and attacks.

.

The first time Yasha crossed staves with Molly, they were already exhausted from playing second fiddle to thirty or so of their classmates.

Yasha was very good at knocking people down. Molly was very good at making a fool out of people. Neither of these things made them very popular.

“I don’t think I’ve sparred with you before,” Molly says.

Yasha shrugs.

“Well, in any case, it’s been a pleasure,” Molly says, giving her a mocking kind of salute. Yasha responds more automatically than she would have liked, but there were certain courtesies beaten into trainees before they were even allowed to set foot into the Combat Room, and respect was one of them.

Molly’s blows come in short, sharp bursts; he’s never where Yasha expects him to be. If they were going for points, he would be the winner, because he was getting more.

From the way they kept on fighting, though, Yasha knew that this wasn’t going to end until one of them was on the ground.

Half an hour later, most of the class had already packed up and were trying to leave. Yasha weathered the blows without faltering. There were going to be bruises all along her arms and across her shins for weeks to come, but she barely felt the pain. Molly was slowing down rather significantly. Whereas his initial attacks had come in rapid succession, he was being more cautious about them now, more incredulous.

“How the hell are you still standing,” he says.

Yasha shrugs, and then sends him sprawling with a single blow to the ribs.

.

Someone told Yasha, once, “You fight angry.”

(A lot of people have told Yasha that).

It’s an easy statement to make. Yasha fights like she’s going to die. Molly laughed at her for it.

Caduceus just waits.

Yasha can’t quite get the timing right. Every time she goes in for a strike, there’s something about Caduceus’ stance that makes her hesitate. She stops an inch from his throat and jumps back, fingers clenching hard around the practice staff.

“I’m not really trained for this sort of thing,” Caduceus says. He hasn’t stopped smiling.

Yasha’s staff dips. “You’re not so bad,” she says. “You just need more practice.”

Caduceus blocks her next strike. There’s an opening, but Yasha doesn’t take it. She backs off and starts circling.

“There’s not much of a chance for that around here,” Caduceus says. He’s not even sweating. Yasha’s drenched, though that could be because of her earlier bouts. It’s a little unnerving facing down someone who doesn’t waste energy on excess movement – Caduceus stands still and waits for her.

Yasha attacks. Caduceus parries but doesn’t go in for a blow to the neck, despite Yasha telegraphing the opening for a good five seconds. She narrows her eyes.

“You’re messing with me,” she decides.

“I told you I’m not very good at this,” Caduceus says. “Now you’re taking me seriously.”

Then he starts fighting back.

.

“You,” Yasha says.

Caduceus is on the ground in front of her, arms spread wide with a contented expression settling over his face. His staff is on the opposite side of the room. Yasha’s ribs ache from laughing so hard.

“Me what?”

“You’re my partner. I won’t Drift with anyone else.”

Reading the smug lines of Caduceus’ mouth, Yasha can already tell he had planned this.

.

The cafeteria food looks as unappetising as ever.

Yasha takes the offered plate automatically and then looks around for a table to sit at. Jester is very obviously bouncing up and down in the far-right corner, waving her arm enthusiastically in the air, but Yasha takes her time before ambling over there.

As per usual, Fjord is settled alongside Jester. Beau is sitting opposite to them, moodily chewing on something that might resemble lettuce if it wasn’t so – stringy. Her expression darkens when she sees Yasha coming towards them, and she hurriedly begins to scarf down what remains of her food. She’s almost made it by the time Yasha reaches them, which is impressive, considering how disgusting it looks.

“Yasha!” Jester says. She ushers Yasha to sit down next to Beau, who pointedly scoots further down the bench. “It is good to see you. Again.”

She won’t stop smiling. Yasha smiles back.

“How have you been?”

“Fine,” Beau snaps, and then goes back to picking at her food.

Fjord clears his throat. “Ignore Miss Grumpy over there. We’ve been doing as well as can be expected, really. We were just transferred out from over Nicodranis with Dragon Slayer. Have you met Twiggy and Calianna yet?”

“Not yet,” Yasha says. She scrapes some mashed potatoes around disinterestedly across her plate. “Are they nice?”

“They’re so cool,” Jester says, waving her fork around in the air. “Twiggy is always giving me her chocolate, which is awesome, and Calianna writes the best poetry –”

Fjord smiles. “I think you’ll like them.”

Yasha pushes her tray away from her. “And the other team?”

Beau bares her teeth in a smile. “Reliable.”

“Ouch,” Yasha says.

“Beau,” Jester says in a tone of profound disappointment. “We talked about this.”

“No, you talked about this,” Beau says, crossing her arms across her chest. She looks tired. They all look tired. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Yasha. We didn’t think you were going to come back.”

“Beau…”

Beau shakes her head and gets to her feet. Yasha tilts her head to one side and considers following her, but a quick glance at Fjord tells her that probably isn’t the best idea. She watches Beau leave through the door towards the hanger bay.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jester says. Her fork is back alongside her still-untouched plate of food, and she’s twisting her fingers into anxious knots. “She was so sad when you left. She thought you were going to come back – a long time ago. Before this.”

Yasha sighs. “I couldn’t.”

“I know,” Jester nods. “If something happened to Fjord or Beau – I don’t know what I would do. Molly –”

“I don’t think this is the place for that kind of talk,” Fjord says. “We’re very. Out in the open, if you know what I mean.”

Yasha glances up. Caduceus is walking over, gait unhurried, a heaped tray of food in his hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’ll know everything soon enough.”

“Soon doesn’t have to be now,” Fjord says firmly.

Yasha shrugs. Caduceus sits in the empty seat next to her, beaming across the table. Jester smiles back with the same kind of open reassurance, though Fjord seems largely immune.

“Heard you’re going to be a Jaeger pilot,” he says.

“That’s the rumour,” Caduceus says, shovelling something that didn’t look especially edible into his mouth. Yasha looks over her plate, and then dumps it onto Caduceus’ tray. He gives her a nod of thanks and keeps eating.

“And how’s your sister taking that?”

“She wouldn’t stop laughing for twenty minutes straight,” Caduceus says. “Says I deserved everything that happens to me.”

“That certainly sounds like Clarabelle,” Fjord says.

Yasha glances between them. “When am I going to meet your sister?”

“You’ll see her eventually,” Caduceus says. “She’s around here somewhere.”

There’s a low buzzing sound. Fjord glances down, and then takes his phone out of his pocket. He reads the message, closes his eyes, and then glares at both Yasha and Caduceus.

“That was Beau,” he says. “Shakaste wants you two in the hanger ten minutes ago for a trial Drift.”

.

Yasha has so many scars from her uniform – there are clamps and drills and hooks that dig into her skin and down to her bone. The biggest scar she has is along her spinal column, where the suit connects directly into her nervous system.

It had required surgery. Molly had been there when she closed her eyes, holding tight onto her hand in a way that was both reassuring and terrifying. Yasha remembers breathing in and out, in and out, and waiting for everything to go dark.

Her skin aches as she puts back on the suit. Her shoulders pinch along the scars, the metal digging into her throat and along her collarbones. Yasha breathes in and out, in and out, and doesn’t jolt when they connect her spine.

Walking into the cockpit of Necrotic Shroud is a nightmare of reality. There are exposed bundles of wiring that have been taped down, cracked glass screens that are just good enough to justify their continued presence. No longer does a sleek, minimalistic aesthetic dominate the area – that has all been thrown out in favour of cheap practicality. Here’s how to save the world, a dollar at a time.

Yasha hooks herself into the harness. The tech’s try to help, but she’s done this hundreds of times before, and she’s done before they can really make much of a difference.

Molly is next to her, grinning.

No.

Caduceus is next to her, looking almost ridiculous in his dive suit. Yasha blinks away the memory of Molly’s sharp grin and tries to smile back.

Shakaste’s voice echoes through the cockpit: “Prepare for neural handshake.”

Yasha’s smile turns bloodless.

“My head isn’t a very nice place to be,” she says. “I’m either very unlucky, or cursed. And I don’t believe in luck.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Caduceus says.

Four.

Yasha closes her eyes. Molly is there, just out of reach.

Three.

“Don’t latch onto anything,” she says. “The Drift is silent.”

Two.

“See you on the other side.”

One.

.

“Hey, sleepy,” Zuala says.

Yasha shakes her head and presses further back into the pillow. It’s still dark out, but she can see the faint light coming in through the window from the streetlamp outside. She’s been meaning to install curtains above it, but it never really seems to come up.

“G’way,” Yasha says, burrowing down.

Zuala laughs. Zuala has the most wonderful laugh in the world.

“Hey, sleepy,” she says. “Get –”

“ – up. Yasha, get up.”

There’s an alarm. Yasha’s eyes snap open and she scrambles around for some kind of purchase. Everything hurts. The buildings around them are in ruins, blown apart to dust and rubble, and a storm is whipping wind and hail and dust around them.

Yasha is on her knees. Zuala is in front of her, and she’s on the ground, and she’s not getting up. Her hands scrabble weakly at Yasha’s. In the distance, as a kind of horrific background noise, a siren wails in futile warning. There’s a monster out there in the mist, somewhere, but Yasha can’t think.

“You need to go,” Zuala says. She’s shaking Yasha frantically. Yasha clambers slowly to her knees and shakes her head like a wounded dog, trying to think. The rain isn’t letting up. “Yasha, get up, you need to –”

“ – go, go, go!” Molly laughs, pushing Yasha forward. “C’mon, wake up, we’ve got a monster to kill!”

Yasha shakes her head and stifles a yawn. Even the minor pain of getting into the dive suit doesn’t wake her up as it usually would. She cracks her neck and gets into the harness, tightening the straps automatically.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

“You ready for this?”

Yasha dredges up a smile from somewhere. “Always.”

Four.

“– wake up – wake up –”

Three.

“ – wrong – Jester and Fjord –”

Two.

“– Lorenzo –”

One.

.

[mochixjimin]

What Lurks in the Shadows p.1

Vampire!Au, PJM x KTH

Words: 1.7K

You started off the morning hungover and broke. You were never the type to hold onto a job for long enough, but this latest incident wasn't your fault; your last employer was a complete creep. He said gross things, attempted to grope certain staff members, and dangled tips in exchange for "favors" so you had enough and allowed your mouth to slip some words other than, "Yes sir, I understand, my apologies". Unfortunately for you, the boss was the son of some hotshot restaurateur and when you told him to "kindly remove his head from his ass to see where he was groping" you were called an ungrateful bitch and fired right there. The only thing you really wished you did was to give him a swift kick to the groin before turning on your heels and walking out head high, but as you left he promised to ruin your reputation and that he did.

"God ___, I am so sorry that bastard really fired you! Especially on my day off, I would have loved to see that go down! What did you say?!” Your eager friend from the same club worked, Chaewon was a bartender so she didn’t receive the same amount of workplace harassment that you did being a waitress/host, but to say she didn’t receive some perverted comments would be anything less than the truth.

You sucked in through your teeth and let out a haughty exhale as you lay in bed next to her, “Dude, it was bullshit. Deoksu is just an entitled pretty boy whose daddy gets him whatever he wants and I am not a prize to be bought.” Thinking about that incident last week still made your blood boil, “He grabbed my ass then had the audacity to get mad when I tell him I’m seeing someone. You should have seen his face then Chaewonnie, he was so red and started spouting off about how I just wanted his money and tried to seduce him into sleeping with me so I’d get pregnant.”

“Yuck, Deoksu is an idiot. Who would ever procreate with that roach? And I thought you and Jaeyoon-ah broke up, are you seeing someone new!? Are you dating Mina now?” Chaewon was very open about your sexuality and relationships, but you and Jaeyoon broke up only two months ago and it was devastating; he completed his military training, but decided it would be best to go to the United States for a while for a change in scenery and that change meant without you. It seemed amicable enough, but you cried for an entire month after he left for the airport.

Your brain bounced around all the memories you couldn’t erase from the 3-year relationship when Chaewon snapped up and spoke, “Oh! You can work at that club that Yoongi owns! They’re pretty well known and I’m sure I can put in a good word for you.” You turned to roll on your side and propped your head on your arm, “Nah Chaewon, you shouldn’t ask him for that, I can find a job…”

“It’s been two months ____! You can’t sit here and mope around, I will call Yoongi after I leave and he’ll probably text you or his receptionist will call.” Chaewon told you as she got up to stretch and do her “morning dance” to loosen up as she prepared for the day, “Also, it’s about time you met my boyfriend don’t you think?”

“Okay ___, you can do this. Just walk in the door, ask for Yoongi, and start working hopefully.” You aired to yourself as a mini pep talk before walking up to the bouncer at the door. He wasn’t too big, but slim and yet his biceps were bigger than your head, “Um, excuse me? I have an interview with Min Yoongi, I’m ____.” He simply nodded and unclasped the velvet rope to let you past all the other people waiting in line to enter, “She got in… dressed like that?! She must be blowing the owner or something.” You overheard and turned your head to shoot daggers at the person who let that stupidity fall out their mouth, the man quickly dipped his head in shame and you smirked at his lack of courage to mouth off directly to you. Your outfit was appropriate for a club, not slinky and too tight, but cute enough to be taken seriously. There was a job on the line and you were ready for a successful bite, “Why, hello! You must be ____! Chaewon called me and told me all about you! You are so pretty and smell really nice!” The random woman blurted as she came from behind her desk to pull you into an awkward, yet firm hug. “I’m Miyeon, nice to meet you!” She looked no more than twenty-six and dressed in leather pants, striped top, and stood tall with heels on; her hair was a pastel purple and pulled into a messy bun, showing her many piercings and tattoos, “I think Mr. Min has one client in his office, but he should be out any second, have a seat.”

You obliged, smiled, and sat on the nice couch in the back of the club. It honestly looked nothing like the flashy lights and blaring music on the other side of the wall, if you had walked in this way, it would seem as if the local office was unfortunately placed near a booming nightclub, “Ah, Mr. Woo, I am happy to business with you. I hope that our agreements will last a lifetime.” The man said as he shook hands with an older gentleman, maybe around thirty, but handsome as ever. He winked at you as he left making you blush but you quickly groomed yourself and focused on the bigger, more important issue at hand.

“Mr. Min, your appointment is here. Should I hold your calls or are you out for the night?” The lively receptionist asked as Yoongi came back around to fiddle with certain items on her desk, “Miyeon, I told you, it’s okay to call me Yoongi and yes, if anyone calls, I’m not in the office. Hello ____, I’m glad you could make it. Step into my office.” He added and allowed you to stand up, you didn’t have a clue why you were so nervous, but maybe that you’d be working for one of the biggest nightclub owners and that he also managed to be your best friend’s boyfriend did not help either. As you two walked down the hall, you looked at all the acts that were in his club; famous musicians, artists, actors, and the like.  Deoksu’s stupid club couldn’t get local bands and Yoongi has been around platinum recording artists, another thing you noticed was the sleek, effortless way he walked, not a care in the world and a knowing smirk adorning his face as you examined everything. “So how long have you known Chaewon?”

He asked, breaking the silence you two were in, “Oh, for a long time! I think we really got to know each other in our elementary school days, and ever since then, we’ve been tight ever since! We tell each other everything.”

Yoongi sort of faltered in his steps as he stood at his office door and quirked an eyebrow, “Everything? Even the business of this club?” You quickly backtracked, “I mean, um, not everything everything! She’s talked about you to me as well, but I don’t know much… and just that it’s a nightclub pretty much.” He simply laughed and opened the door, everything in his office looked so high-tech, “Wow. Chaewon never told me you were into music like this.” Yoongi chuckled again and sat at his desk offering you a seat across from him, “So she hasn’t told you how this club is run?” You looked at him in confusion, “No, not really? I mean I’m assuming it is run like my last club, minus the harassment and inappropriate comments.” Yoongi paused and leaned back in his chair as if trying to find the exact words to say, “Well yes. This will be a standard nightclub operation, you will be a host, entertain guests, and serve them as deemed necessary. But also, as you know Chaewon can’t keep a secret so this will have to be between us for the time being.” You perked up in confusion and a little bubble of anxiety started to come up, “What do you mean? This isn’t like a porn club or anything, because I am no-” He cut you off, “No ___, it isn’t a porn club. More so a nightclub with you might say, benefits for the right customers. If you need extra money on top of hosting you could also host for that as well.”

You wanted to scream, “Are you seriously trying to get me to sleep with you!? Chaewon is my best friend and I’m not keeping my mouth shut on a pervert like you.” As you got up to leave, Yoongi looked to your eyes and you felt locked in, “Listen to me ___, I am not asking you to have sex with me, I would never. But there is a clientele that you are probably not familiar with, so why don’t you take a seat and I will explain it to you in a better way?” In a trance-like state, you walked back to the chair and sat back down, “Now I’m going to tell you this and you can’t freak out okay?” Unwittingly you nodded, “What is happening. Why do I feel like I have to obey whatever you say?” Yoongi blinked and his irises were tinted yellow making you completely break from his gaze to shout, “What is wrong with your eyes!? What’s going on?”

He was in a daze, “Wait, you can see my eye color? It doesn’t appear as a brownish color to you?” You were about to jump out your skin, “Hell no! Are you like a vampire or something?!”

Yoongi sat there for a few seconds, unsure how to phrase the next sentence, eyes still, “Werewolf, but I appreciate the guess.”

And with that, you fainted.

a/n: don’t ask for updates, but let me know how you felt about this fic!