#hot model shell raven

[belovedcelebrity]

Meet Shell Raven Bio Plus Size Model How Redefining Beauty Standards?

Despite initial rejections due to her plus-size figure, Sheel achieved her goal of becoming a professional plus-size model. Her story shows that with determination, belief in yourself, and never giving up on your dreams, you can break into the fashion in

[cecilebutcher]

⌊✭𝕳𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖞𝖙𝖆 𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖙𝖔✭⌉

T.w:Mention of violence.

⊱Bᴀsɪᴄs⊰

Name: Hippolyta Salenfoto

Age: Entry not found

Date of birth: August 19

Zodiac sign: Leo

Hight:209cm

Place of birth: Island of woe

Based off: Nyx, goddesses of night and many other things(Greek mythology)

Sexuality: Polyamorous. Pansexual.

⊱Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ⊰

Hippomyta is a 209cm(6.7) female. She has dark purple-ish black hair with egg shell streaks in it and on the inside. She has one purple eye and one gold, with cracking skin on the gold one.

⊱Vᴏɪᴄᴇ Cʟᴀɪᴍ⊰

Urbosa (legend of zelda)

⊱Tᴇᴀᴄʜᴇs⊰

Changes and Comparisons of abbreviated Spells in Ancient and Modern Magic History

⊱Hᴏʙʙʏ⊰

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⊱Bᴀᴄᴋsᴛᴏʀʏ⊰

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⊱Sᴘᴇᴀᴄɪᴀʟ Mᴀɢɪᴄ⊰

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⊱Tʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs Oɴ Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs⊰

𝚁𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎: my second best student, he knows he’s destined for greatness and is making his way towards it. Nothing will stop him, except his maturity and mindset. He needs to open up to others and learn how to be a child.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚢: the most normal person in this hellish school. To me it seems he’d fit more in Royal Sword Academy then Night Raven College, but alas he’s here with these buffoons.

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛: He puts on a front and hides who he truly is. Mr.Diamond isn’t as happy as he lets people see, it’s obvious how he’s just acting to others.

𝙰𝚌𝚎: Mr.Trappola is a trouble maker, but the things that ticks me off is the fact that he isn’t trying. He’s happy just getting by but I know that he can be excellent if he just tries.

𝙳𝚎𝚞𝚌𝚎: Mr.Spade might seem like a horrible students to others. But I can tell how much he’s trying and how hard he’s working

𝙻𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚊:He knows he can do better, but he doesn’t do anything. Him and Shroud are birds of a feather, they know they can be amazing, but think that nothing will change so they don’t try. Hopefully he sees how he can be great and seizes that.

𝚁𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎: A child who learnt how the world works far too soon. Mr.Bucchi doesn’t live, he survives. But I can tell that his future will be a very comfortable one with how things are right now.

𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔: Mr.Howl, a very dedicated student. But mediocre to say the least. I’ve seen many like him in my lifetime and will continue to see more like him.

𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖: a delight to have around the class. Might not be one of my best students, but having him around brings a certain atmosphere to class.

𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕: Mr.Viper is one of the most dedicated students I’ve come across, and no I don’t mean in class or with his work. I mean his relationship with Al-Asim. He’s willing to put his life in the line without a second thought for him.

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚕: Mr.Ashengrotto is one of the top students, I haven’t met anyone who can top his papers and essays. You can tell how much effort he puts into each and every work, I just hope he remembers to have fun and enjoy his teenage years.

𝙹𝚊𝚍𝚎: Mr. Leech is difficult to read at times, but like any other student it’s easy to read him most of the time. Unlike what other people say, I think he’s the more difficult of the two twins to deal with.

𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚍: mr. Floyd Leech. I have to say he always manages to bring a laugh out of me with his antics, you never know what he’ll do next.

𝚅𝚒𝚕: Mr.Shoenhite can be very stuck up sometimes. But he’s still a very dedicated student. Along side his studies he’s also a very dedicated and passionate model and actor.

𝙴𝚙𝚎𝚕: A wild card honestly, it’s obvious he’s putting on an act. He’s hot headed and doesn’t like being ordered around. Remind me of an old friend

𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚔:Mr.Hunt is something. While it’s obvious how he’s curious about most things, he’s still quite secretive about certain things, I can respect that.

𝙸𝚍𝚒𝚊: I’ve known Mr.Shroud since he was a little kid, being friends with his father and all, his interests didn’t change much, only his attitude towards people did.

𝙾𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚘: Ah yes, the young Shroud. He’s quite adorable, reminds me of my youngest brother.

𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚜: Ah yes, the prince of Briar Valley, and one of my best students. I fully trust that he’ll be a wonderful king in his future.

𝙻𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊: Mr.Vanrouge might try to hide the fact that he’s an old soul. But really, those sort of things are easy to uncover. Nevertheless I find him quite difficult to deal with at times.

𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚛: I’m quite cornered for Mr.Silver. Don’t get me wrong he’s a wonderful student, but his sleeping condition can be very dangerous at times. Once I found his fast asleep on the street in a storm nonetheless.

𝚂𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚔: Mr.Zigvolt is very dedicated to his school work, but he’s benefit from getting off his high horse and treating his classmates with respect, those who deserve it of course.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗: I’ve known professor Trein for a very long time, and he’s taught me quite a lot. I have but the utmost respect for him.

𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚕: He’s quite alright, can be a diva at times. But still a good colleague.

𝚅𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜: ugh, that buffoon. He’s all muscle no brain. Not to mention can be a flirt most of the time, if only I could strangle him.

𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚢: The headmage is something to say the least, while he’s my boss I only don’t find him at all reliable. Hens also very childish is you ask me.

𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑(𝙽𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝙾𝙲): I would consider Ms.Warden a friend. While she has a habit of snooping around I don’t mind it, as long as she doesn’t try to snoop around me that is.

⊱Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ⊰

Positive traits: Smart, intelligent, clever, wise, Responsible, Reliable, Brave, strong, Confident, Independent, Loyal, Dedicated, helpful, Hard-working, Careful, Organized, Realistic, Stable, Punctual, Self-confident, Truthful, Reasonable, Attentive, careful, Trustworthy, Disciplined, Mature.

Negative traits: Argumentative, Bossy, Uncaring, Harsh, Petty, Cunning, Irritable, Passive, Cold.

Neutral traits: Quiet, Calm, Honest, Antisocial, Mystical, Traditionalist, Strict, Private, secretive, Reserved, Serious,

⊱Fᴜɴ Fᴀᴄᴛs⊰

Hippolyta is one of the most quiet teachers nrc has.

She tends to keep to herself and tries to blend with the crowd.

For some reason the only person who knows anything about her is Trein.

She’s stated before that she has younger siblings and two of them go to this school.

Most of the times she’s seen in her classroom either reading or on her laptop.

She used to work with Idia and Ortho’s dad, but no one knows when or on what.

She barley has any records of anything about her past, only the near past.

She has a snake tatto on her back.

Thanks again to @nem0-nee for letting me use their wonderful oc Elizabeth^^

[aria-chicken-flugget]

MC reacts to The Brothers (+Undateables)

In a crop top ~ yum

For @beelzebubs1trulove and for me too ngl

*NSFW* ish / undertones - these turned into mini drabbles ?? Lol?? Sorry??

The Brothers

~

Lucifer 🔥

He freezes, his eyes narrow slits as they focus on you

“You want me to wear a what?”

You’d have to be very close to make that kind of request of him if he’s never worn one

He’s anxious it would damage his pride and so would vehemently dismiss the idea

“Luci ~” you’d lilt, winding your arms around his tense shoulders from behind, distracting him from his work

He knew that lilt. That lilt for when you wanted something quite specific. You were hellbent to get what you wanted

Consider the interest of this Sadist TM piqued as you toy with his raven locks, coyly starting cat and mouse teasing

“My answer was no.” “Was is a conditional, so that means there’s room for debate.”

He’d smirk at your coy and almost sly attitude, swiveling around so that he could grip your hips,

“You’re as troublesome as ever, twisting my words to suit your desires.” “:)”

You’d give him That Smile TM, when you wanted something. How could he refuse?

“And what if i refuse? What will you surrender to me in compensation?”

You’d bite your lip - he’s cracking, considering it

I’ll let you imagine what you’d be willing to do in compensation lol

He’d tighten his grip on your hips at the insinuation, your sweet words caressing the shell of his ear

It took everything he had not to demand payment up front, if you catch my drift

He’d ensure you swore not to tell a soul (nor demon ofc) no one. This would be private for you and no one else, or he won’t do it not even if you begged.

You’d stay true to your word, desperate to see him in the crop... you were not disappointed

You were leisurely atop his sheets when he finally revealed himself with a distinct cough, to clear his throat and make his presence known

Your jaw dropped. The Crop was an inky black and appeared to be water woven silk, one shoulder sliding down.

His cheeks tinged rouge as he brought himself to look you in the eye, a silent plea for you to say something. Anything.

You swallowed a golf ball sized lump as you rose from the sheets, approaching tentatively, finger tips mindlessly stroking the fabric

You could feel his abdominal muscles clench from underneath the satin fabric, a sharp breath in from his handsome lips

He quickly grew quite fond of your reaction to the clothing item, and how the events of that evening took a turn for the unexpected

Would most definitely wear it again when he wanted you and may try another

Mammon 💵

Makes a sound akin to a “guh!” at your request

Is certain he misheard, until you ask again

“What d��ya think ya talkin’ about, huh? Askin’ me to wear a thing like that...” BLUSH

“But you don’t mind a bit of skin, you’re a model!” “T-that’s not -“ “AND your demon form?! Hello?!” “Hey! That’s not the point!”

The point is, it’s because it’s you asking and his imagination takes him to naughty places due to your request

You’d have to wait a few days before bringing it up again, asking sweetly

He’d be unable to look at you, a blushing and stuttering mess if you tried putting your arms around him to ask

“Why’d ya keep askin’ me somethin’ like that, huh? Quit it...” you’d let go, a little disheartened

“Hey, wait!” He’d unintentionally holler, stumbling after you

As you turn back around, you thread your fingers through his snow white hair, “Come to my room?”

His Adam’s apple would bob uncontrollably as he swallowed, offering a faint nod before snapping back into his usual self

“Ya better not ask this of the others.”

He’d come to your room, bright red and at the door, unable to walk in further

You’d calm him down, casually patting your bed, “What are you doing over there? Come on.” With an easy laugh

He’s won over pretty quickly and at ease

He’s lying on his front atop your sheets, on his D.D.D when you hover over his back, palms either side of his shoulders. He freezes

“Mammon?” You’d call sweetly, brightening the tips of his ears

“Can you please wear this for me?”

You’d ask in a soft whine, making it nearly impossible for him to form a coherent thought, let alone turn you down again

Despite actually wanting to do as you’d asked from the beginning

Your arms ensnaring him in place so he can’t run away, “You’d look so good in it, you should model it for Majolish.”

He can’t get much more blushy or flustered than when you start talking to him like that, he’s a goner

He finally relents, and returns wearing the Crop you picked out for him. Your eyes shamelessly trail his perfect form, far from disappointed

His chin angled towards the floor as he flushes, he’ll snap, “Quit lookin’ at me like that, would ya?”

You can’t help it. The loose white T with tiger print looked so much hotter on him than you expected

You got it cause you thought he’d look so cute in it... which of course, he did but... his exposed torso, coupled with his lean bisceps folding as he waited for you to speak, had made it all the more difficult to do so.

You’d hum in approval, quick to slide your hands under it to make contact with his bare skin if he’d let you

If you were tactless about it, he’d growl. No touchy lol

But if you got him into the right mood, well

He’d gasp in surprise, uttering your name as you roamed his body with your hands

Fingertips ghosting over his lips to hide his vulnerability, as you grip his hips towards you

Things would get a little more heated than intended, but neither of you were complaining

Next time he was more confident and wore a mesh one for you to tear off, he did That Growl TM as you did and it sent you

Levi 👾

Oh boy haha, good luck with that lol

Reacts worse than Mammon

“W-w-wear a C-crop Top?! Me?!”

Instant nosebleed lol

You’d have to get him in the mood, boy won’t just do it out if nowhere. Ever.

His self consciousness would mean it would take A LOT of coaxing. A lot, a lot.

But he would do anything if you were having a little dom-sub play, and it was your turn to dom

Given that he was comfortable enough to do that with you anyway, what’s a little crop in comparison?

“Think of it as a little cosplay...” you’d whisper seductively, hot and damp against his ear before nibbling at his lobe

He’d almost whimper at the request now that you have him where you want him

He’d flush harder than any of the brothers, obvi

“W-what do you want me to do?” teeth sunk into his lower lip as he peered up at you, playing along. AAAAHHHHHH

Your soft hands at his chest, before slowly lifting the hem of his shirt, only breaking eye contact when necessary

He would be speechless watching you

no more hiding, no more excuses. He wants you, like this. He’s not so nervous anymore

You didnt want him to feel too self conscious, so you got him a loose fitting neon crop with a black mesh to go over it

His anxiety had melted away but he was still a little self conscious, you’d have to coax him out a bit more

Would actually really love the feel of the top and the mesh did make him feel better

You thought his body was perfect, literally God given ha ha and wanted him to show it off more

You made sure to say as much, making his heart swell.

you wet your lips at his new clothes, making him flush harder and his hands creep to his face again

You gently removed his hands from his face, “Don’t shy away, you have a perfect body... i love it”

May day may day Levi is dying from loss of blood at the nose

Similarly to Lucifer, you may have to coax him with some promises of gameplay/concert tickets/cosplay and roleplay

“Does... this mean I get to see you in one too?”

His dominant side comes out real fast when you wear a teasingly revealing number, crop and thigh high stockings

He is a goner

Just the thought of someone else possibly seeing you this way darkened his expression

You are in for a wild night w this Dark Horse TM lolol

This side you didn’t often see exhilarated you

You silently thanked your idea for the crop tops

Stay safe kids ahha

Satan 📚

His face would flush, hand flying to his chest, “Excuse me?”

Careful Satan, your Lucifer is showing

You’d thread your fingers through his hair as he’s reading. It’s a risk, sometimes he melts into your touch - other times, well -

“If you’re trying to please me, you’re doing it all wrong.”

His blonde brows would frown, before going back to his book.

You’d huff - what to try next? #Take2 I guess...

You’d hum, sinking onto his lap to straddle his thighs. He’d tense his frame from under you, fingertips whitening on the book he held between your chests

He’d blush, unable to look at you for a moment as you’d try asking again,

“For me? Please?” Voice up an octave to sound cute, rubbing soothing circles into the taut muscles at his shoulders

“Why would you want me to do that?” He’s flushing harder now, less resolve in his voice. Bingo.

“I think you’d look really good...” fingertips trailing to his bowtie, eliciting a nervous chuckle from his throat

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, human.” He almost stuttered. Your seductive eyes would meet his with a coy smile, “please?”

“You really are cruel.” He’d say so quietly as though admitting to a great sin. Your teasing would stop immediately, smile faltering

With gentle fingertips you’d encourage his chin towards you, sincerity in your eyes, “What’s wrong?”

His brilliant emerald orbs searching yours, “If we were to do what you’re insinuating, i’d want it to be more.”

You gasped, realisation hitting you like a smack to the face. Your form relaxed above him, gently carressing his beautiful face,

“What makes you think that I don’t want more?”

You’d brush your lips against his in a gentle carress, winning him over

He’d have to be close enough/comfortable enough in your relationship to do it for you

He feels vulnerable without clothes covering him quite well, even in his demon form

So he’d want you to keep this private and would find it really hard to forgive you if you betrayed that trust, especially to Lucifer

Knowing this, the first time he tried it for you you’d helped him pick out one that was loose, comfortable and longer in the sleeves - revealing his lower abdomen in a tease.

It was green to match his eyes. His eyes searched yours for your thoughts.

The first thing you wanted to do was graze your hands at his exposed hips, his breath caught at your actions

“You look ... so sexy.” You’d praise in a hoarse whisper, he’d make a choking noise

Quickly gaining confidence as your hands roam tentatively at his hips, he’d smirk

“You better enjoy this whilst you can, I won’t be doing it again.”

You’d find a way to convince him into it again, dont worry lol

Asmodeus 💋

Bold of you to assume he isn’t wearing one right now

You two have just come back from a well deserved shopping spree ‘for making it through a particularly boring student council meeting’

Asmo’s wearing a crop that barely covers his chest, skin tight, revealing his perfectly sculpted shoulders

He said it was “‘cause it was hot that day!” even though there is no sun in the Devildom

You two were on your way back to The House of Lamentation when he caught you stealing surreptitious peeks

He’d smirk, “Take a photo of me, it’ll last longer.”

You’d laugh, but your blush would give you away

He’d shift his bags to one hand so that he could hold yours, “Come on, honey - it’s time for our fashion show.”

You’d ask him to go first just so you could gawk at him and his stupidly perfect body

He would not complain - even though you’d already seen the outfits, you wanted to see him in them again

If you were feeling particularly confident, you’d pluck out the small bag containing the crop you bought for him as a surprise

He’d squeal with delight, “Ooh for me? What is it?” You’d deny his snatching grasp with a teasing tut, “It’s a surprise - i want you to wear it tonight.”

His eyes would glaze over with anticipation as he’d hum, shifting slightly, “Watch what you say, you know anything can set me off.”

You’d giggle and he’d add with a pompous air, “If it’s ugly, i’m not wearing it.”

When night came and you’d revealed the crop, he gaped. He was very pleasantly surprised.

It was a maroon, lace number, long sleeved and high collar - it was surprisingly high fashion

You thought I was gonna give him some BDSM leather didn’t you? You cheeky thing you

He slid into it effortlessly with another hum of approval, “ooh i love it, thank you.” Planting a chaste kiss to your cheek

Warmth spread through your chest, he must really love it if he wasn’t trying to immediately come onto you

He flushed, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand. His adams apple bobbed as he shifted, “You always know what to do to drive my heart wild, don’t you?”

You’d plant a sweet, lingering kiss on his soft lips and share a surprisingly tender night with him

Variety is the spice of life after all, so he had many many more crop tops to satiate your curiosity

“Your turn ;)”

Beelzebub 🍔

Has probably worn a cropped, sleeveless hoodie to work out in

He doesn’t show off his body but is far from self conscious, he works hard for what he’s got

When you ask him to wear one, poor baby won’t see it that way

“Uh, sure okay, why not?”

Would whip out a cropped T-shirt and change infront of you, honey i know, i feel hot just thinking about it

He’d turn to you with That Smile TM coupled with his sweet chuckle, “‘Like this one?”

You’d probably get him to try a bunch on just to see him change lol

If he had the time, which for you he usually did, he’d have no problem being your doll to play dress up with lol

Literally would just let you dress him, as long as the boy has a snack he’s gucci

You quite liked the sleeveless hoodie crop, knowing he works out in it gave it that edge

He’d be comfy, smiling brightly as he’d wrap his big arms around you

You aren’t complaining, you get to feel those abs lolol

If you were feeling confident, you’d roam your hands under the hem, or your hands would wander south -

He’d flush, brows raised slightly, suddenly realising where your thoughts were headed

“So you really like this one, huh?” He’d smile, palms resting comfortably at the small of your back

You’d nod, chewing your bottom lip. His smiling lips would meet yours sweetly, before scooping you up in his arms

Your legs around his waist like a koala, you’d smile, tugging at the drawstrings, “I wanna see you in this more often.”

“Come to the gym with me.” “Lol no.”

“I’d rather see you out of it anyway.” He’d blush as he held you, whispering your name like a blessing

He’d be loving and tender, surprisingly flushed as you’d worship his toned form under that crop

You’d have to try to keep cool if he wore it out, not only would it attract a lot of attention but he wouldn’t really realise

Jealousy wouldn’t really be the problem, it would be more to do with you not gawking at him all day lol

He���d ask you to wear one for him, too, making you flush with anticipation

Would tug at it with his teeth.

You explode

Belphegor 😴

You’d tend to the flyaways of his thick bangs, his head on your lap as your soft hands lull him to sleep

“Belphie?” “Hmm?” “Can I ask you something?” “Sure.”

You’d grow quiet, teeth sinking to your lower lip as you suddenly felt anxious to ask

He’d prop himself up with a yawn, at attention with dark brows,

“What is it?” It can’t be that bad, he thought

You’d realised as you were in the quiet if that attic that you’d only ever seen him in loose fitting and soft clothes

Your flustered cheeks would grow warmer at the thought of him in a tight crop...

His fingertips would caress your chin as gentle as the breeze, the depths of his eyes swimming, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

You’d eventually utter, “I was wondering if you’d wear something for me... just to try it.”

His brows would raise in surprise, that wasn’t what he thought you’d say at all

At your darting eyes, he quickly melted into a suggestive smile, “What is it you want me to wear?”

His expression would harden slightly as you said ‘tight’, but he was surprisingly willing to hear you out

When you showed him what you had in mind, he was surprised once more, “huh... this one?” “MmmHmm.” “Sure.” “:D”

He’d shrug, much like Beel he’d have no qualms changing in front of you, which surprised you some

You were not complaining though...

It was an off the shoulder number, tight but not constrictive, just well fitted. Perfectly

You found yourself having to slam your jaw shut after gaping in surprise at his lean torso

He appeared almost bored until he noticed your state, his hand creeping to his cheek, “Like what you see, MC?”

He wanted to hear you say it out loud

‘Cause Damn... yes, yes you did like it

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, getting more than you’d bargained for - your imagination didnt hold a candle to the real deal

“Come here.” He’d beckon, tearing you from your reverie

He’d hold you close, somewhere in your mind you’d register that you hadn’t seen this much skin of his... your cheeks heated at the thought for some reason

“I want you in one.” He’d say unabashedly, eyes pirecing yours

You’d gasp, trying not to think of a double meaning

His hands would roam your body with a hum when you did, rather enjoying it himself - suddenly understanding the appeal

Would tear yours

~

I hope you enjoyed these as much as i enjoyed writing them lolol - when i do the Undateables lol stop it i will link the posts! Due to the nature of these HCs, i will NOT be posting for Luke, obviously. I’ll probs edit these but have them for now! ✨

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 47 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet bombed her design pitch, and Adore and Pearl broke up.

This Chapter: Violet gets a lovely surprise, Aiden gets angrier, and Courtney comforts a friend.

***

“So,” Fame looked over at Raja, leaning back on the green velvet couch. “What do we think?”

Ivy had come by with lunch, two salad containers now sitting half empty on the table. They had received printouts from Ivy with the original couture sketches, whatever samples the designers had handed them, and polaroids of the garments as they looked today.

“About the couture looks?” Raja smiled. They were talking about the Spring collection, but Raja was also finalizing the dresses and roles for Monday’s holiday collection showroom show.

“Mmh,” Fame nodded, fiddling with her thumb, the edge of her manicure looking like it was cracking.

“Who do we want this on?” Raja held up one of Kiara’s holiday designs, the dress a lovely red. “I’m thinking blonde?”

“Good call.” Fame smiled, that particular dress without a doubt ending up in Chad Michaels’ closet. It always got Fame in the best of moods to watch Raja work, her friend at her very best when she was pulling final styles together, her eye for the entire picture unmatched.

“We still need a holiday dress for Raven,” Raja smiled, holding up her fiance's headshot. “Opening or close?”

“Who says she’s getting either?” Fame teased, a laugh leaving her when Raja shot her a look. “I want her closing. She does that very well. Makes everyone feel like spending money.”

“Mmh,” Raja smirked, a proud expression on her face, putting Raven with one of the prettiest dresses in the bunch. It was weirdly romantic how Raja always looked out for Raven, though Fame was sure she’d deny it if she was ever confronted directly.

“Okay,” Raja sat back on the couch, putting her elbow on the back, golden bracelets clacking on her wrist as she rested her head on her hand. “What’s the verdict for couture?”

“Hmm,” Fame chewed her lip, flicking through the folder on her lap. “I think Alexis should open. This sky-inspired piece of hers,” Fame pulled the sketch out, “is lovely.”

“I agree.” Raja nodded.  “And closing?”

There were several to choose from, but if Fame was being honest, there was only one that made sense for her.

“What about Violet’s?”

“Violet’s?” Raja sounded genuinely surprised, her eyes widening. “I thought you hated it?”

“What? Why?”

“Because you cut her off?”

“Raj, please,” Fame rolled her eyes. “She was talking my ear off, explaining all these incredibly unnecessary details when her work clearly spoke for itself. It’s very unbecoming to need that much reassurance of a job well done.” Fame pulled Violet’s dress from the folder, the flared sleeve and horizontal beads exactly what Fame wanted.

“Aha.”

“Good.” Fame put it down on the table, not noticing the small smile on Raja’s lips. “We’ll email everyone, and start looking for our exclusive models if we need anyone from overseas-” Fame paused. “Hold on. I have to call Courtney. This manicure is driving me absolutely crazy.”

***

It was always a rare relief when Fame decided to go into Raja’s office for a meeting rather than the other way around, and today was one of those lovely days, Ivy taking care of everything they needed and urging her to go take a real lunch break while she had the chance, that she’d call her back if necessary.

Which for Courtney meant a visit to her favorite department at Galactica: makeup. It was incredible how just walking into their suite made her whole body relax, the bright and sunny creative energy something she absolutely craved. Even the way people dressed was better down here: bright colors and fun patterns and hair every color in the rainbow. Alaska gave her a warm welcome as always, inviting her to sit down and eat with them, even sharing some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, which was a very nice addition to Courtney’s own sad little garden salad.

“You know,” Kim said, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she took in Courtney’s face, eyes squinted as if imagining the way the colors would look, “the Spring Rain palette would look amazing on you.”

“Omigod, it so would! Let’s try it out!” cried Amy, clapping her hands. Amy was the department’s coordinator, and Courtney hadn’t spoken to her much, but based on her electric-blue pigtails and ruffly Lolita dress, she knew she liked her.

“Whaddaya say, Court? Wanna be a canvas for a bit?” Alaska asked.

“Sure!”

Soon, Courtney was sitting in a director’s chair as Kim and Amy went to town on her face.

“Are your eyes green or blue?” Kim asked, tilting her chin this way and that in the bright light.

“Green. But I think in some lights they look blue.”

“Yeah, this cerulean is really picking that up.”

“Try adding a bit of the peacock,” Amy suggested.

“Yes! Good call!” Kim said, picking up the palette again.

Courtney closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of brushes being swiped against her skin, Kim’s movements both precise and certain. It was awhile before Courtney felt any urge to speak again, asking a question that had been on her mind for awhile.

“Um...do you guys know Bianca Del Rio?”

“No, I wish!” Kim chuckled. “She’s such a badass.”

“We have mutual friends. Why?” Alaska smiled curiously, and Courtney suddenly felt a bit embarrassed.

“Well...I don’t know, I was just wondering what you think of her.”

“She’s everything I want to be when I grow up,” Amy piped up, swatching a few lip colors on Courtney’s arm. “She’s supposedly a real ball-buster, but my friend at Marie-Claire says she’s a decent boss. At least, people like working for her.”

“That’s cool,” Courtney said, biting her lip, cheeks growing hot under the lights as she worked up the nerve to ask what she really wanted to know. “What about, um...her...dating history. She’s gone out with a lot of girls, huh?”

“Yeah...she has,” Alaska replied slowly, exchanging a look with Kim as Amy stepped up to apply the chosen lipstick.

Kim waved a pair of lashes in the air, waiting for the glue to become tacky.

“The thing about Bianca is…” Alaska paused, seemed unsure of whether she should continue, before saying, “She’s not really into relationships. She just doesn’t ever seem to want more than flings. I mean, we’ve crossed paths dozens of times over the years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with the same girl twice.”

“Oh.” Courtney nodded, settling back while Kim applied her lashes, wondering why her heart was pounding so fast.

“But that said, I mean...she does seem to treat people pretty well. You certainly never see girls crying about her in the tabloids, which I think says a lot, considering her...volume.”

“It helps that she’s apparently god-level in bed,” Amy giggled.

“Don’t trust the rumors,” Alaska warned.

“Well, I’ve heard it from someone first-hand, so…” Amy trailed off, giving a suggestive wink before reaching forward to finish the look with a delicate, shell-pink lip gloss, as Courtney tried her best not to squirm in her seat.

“Umm...anyway…” Alaska began awkwardly, when loud buzzing from the table interrupted. “Oh, Court, it’s Fame.”

Alaska handed her the phone, the usual seizing of Courtney’s stomach whenever her boss called telling her that the fun was over.

“Hello?”

“Courtney. I’m done with Raja, and my thumbnail is chipped.”

“Ye-”

Fame hung up before Courtney could respond, leaving her slightly puzzled.

“Thanks guys, this was super fun,” she said, sliding off the chair and grabbing her handbag, knowing she’d be expected to send a memo to design right away, along with apparently finding a manicurist to come to the office? Maybe?

“Wait!” Kim cried, holding up a lighted mirror for her to see the whole look.

“Wow.”

It was certainly a lot more colorful and dramatic than the makeup Courtney normally wore, and for a split second, she let herself imagine that she was backstage getting ready to perform, or on the set of some glamorous photo shoot, before pushing those silly fantasies down and giving Kim a grateful smile.

“Thanks, really, you guys are awesome,” Courtney said, internally lamenting the fact that she had to leave this colorful and fun office to go back to the stark white institutional tension upstairs.

***

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: (undisclosed)

Subject: Spring Runway Selection

MEMO TO GALACTICA DESIGN AND TAILORING DEPARTMENTS

FROM THE OFFICE OF MISS FAME

Please find attached the selected looks for the opening and closing of the Spring runway show, along with the alternates that we are keeping in the show, placement TBD.

Additionally, make sure to note the following upcoming deadlines in relation to the Spring couture collection:

December 5, 7 pm - submission for the rest of the Spring couture runway looks

December 11, 7 pm - final revised Spring couture submissions

December 12 - Selection of final couture looks/alternates

December 14 - Individual designer meetings with tailoring dept

December 18, 11 am - First fitting

January 11, 11 am - Second fitting

***

“Oh...“ Violet couldn’t believe it.

She had clicked on the placement, hoping that her dress would be in there somewhere, Trixie’s promise that nothing would get scrapped completely not enough to reassure her, but there it was, in black and white.

Her first couture look for Galactica was closing the fucking Spring show.

“Holy shit-” Violet whispered, the information not sinking in at all.

She had been chosen, she had done well, she was making the company proud.

Violet was just about to panic, everything so overwhelming, when a second email ticked in.

From: Courtney A. Jenek To: Violet Chachki

Subject: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

OMG ALKDJALSKDJALDJ IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!11 AKFJSALKFJASLKFJALFSD CONGRATS!!!!!!!111

Violet snorted, Courtney’s excitement radiating through the screen, that message somehow making it real.

From: Violet Chachki To: Courtney A. Jenek Subject: Re: Fwd: Spring Runway Selection

Thanks

***

Aiden closed the door to Trixie’s office firmly behind him, using all the strength in his body not to slam it with full force. He briefly imagined how good it would feel, to be able to make the walls vibrate with all of the rage he felt inside. Instead, he swallowed down all the bitterness and headed to his desk.

It had been an awful meeting, Trixie pulling his typical nice guy act to say that he was “concerned” about Aiden’s “attitude” and wanted to make sure that he was gonna be the right fit for the Galactica team long-term. That he wanted to see more collaboration with the other designers, and as a learning experience, he should be prepared on Monday to assist backstage for the Holiday collection show.

Assist.

Aiden was a designer, not a fucking tailor, not a fucking assistant, and this was going to be a new low. Not to mention that he was already in a foul mood, having seen the selection for the opening and closing Spring runway looks. That new little brat, the baby with no experience, not like Aiden, had been chosen to close the show.

He sat at his chair for almost a minute, saying nothing, just breathing deeply. Before Kiara asked, “Everything alright, dude?”

“Oh yeah. Everything is fucking great!” Aiden snapped, not bothering to stay and take in the stricken look on her face before getting up and marching to the restrooms, where he could at least lock himself in a stall and get a tiny minute of peace and quiet.

***

“Omigod, I’m so happy to see you!” Adore exclaimed, pulling Courtney inside her apartment, over to the sofa. “I stole a bunch of alcohol from Bianca before I left, so I’m well stocked! What do you want?”

“Gin and tonic?” Courtney asked, taking off her coat and settling down against the plush velvety purple fabric of Adore’s sofa.

“Coming right up, ma’am!” Adore exclaimed, walking over to the open kitchen to pour Courtney’s drink.

“So, you seem...how are you?” Courtney ventured, knowing that Adore was probably still in a fragile state, but not wanting to destroy what seemed like a decent mood.

“Well you know… It’s been shit. But I stayed with B all week and she’s like, kinda the best in this situation. She didn’t even gloat over being right.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. I’m glad she took care of you.”

Adore set Courtney’s glass down.

“Yeah, it was nice.”

There was a firm knock on the door, and Adore jumped up again, running to answer.

“Pizza’s here!”

“Pizza?”

“Yeah, I ordered ahead because I knew you’d be working late and you probably haven’t had a real meal all--thank you!” She closed the door, carrying the boxes and a bag over to the coffee table and setting it down with a smile.

It was such a sweet gesture, and Courtney was truly starving, so she almost felt bad reminding Adore, “Um...I’m still doing that vegan thing, remember?”

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I totally forgot, I-” Adore bit her lip, looking more distraught than was probably necessary, given the circumstances.

“It’s okay, I’ll just pull off the cheese, don’t worry!” Courtney reassured her.

“But you’ve told me like a billion times and I keep forgetting and I’m just the worst friend ever,” Adore sniffled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, it’s okay, really.” Courtney crawled over to Adore, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not. I got you a kale caesar salad too because I know you used to like those but that’s not vegan either. God, what is wrong with my stupid brain?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re human, you make mistakes. It was still so nice of you to get all this.” Courtney pressed a kiss to her temple. “And you know what? I’ve been so strict for a few weeks, I think it’s okay to have one cheat day.”

“Are you sure? We can order Chinese or Thai if you want, or there’s-”

“I’m sure. I came here to try and cheer you up. Not to make you feel guilty.” Courtney snuggled against her, head on her shoulder.

“Okay. We can postmates some vegan gelato for dessert.”

“Perfect.”

Adore sighed, leaning her head against Courtney’s for a moment before sitting up and opening the food. Courtney accepted the plate from her, pulling the cheese off her pizza and shaking up the caesar salad - she decided that she could handle the dressing if she omitted the little container of parmesan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Courtney looked up at Adore and asked, “Do you want my cheese?”

Adore’s eyes widened, looking down at her plate.

“Yes!”

She took it with such enthusiasm that it made Courtney laugh.

“Was this the plan all along?”

“I wish. I’m not that smart,” Adore told her.

“Yeah you are. You’re very smart. You’re the best.”

Adore held her gaze for a few moments, eyes welling up before the tears spilled down her cheeks. She covered her face, and Courtney shoved the plates aside, laying Adore’s head down in her lap.

Courtney stroked her hair for awhile, letting her cry, not saying anything, tears soaking into her skirt and tights. When her sniffling finally subsided, she asked, “So on a scale of 1 to 10...how much do we hate her?”

Adore rubbed her red, swollen eyes. “That’s the hardest part. I don’t really hate her at all. I mean, I asked her to be honest with me, and she was, and...it just wasn’t what I wanted to hear. So...no, I don’t hate her. It would be too exhausting to hate her.”

Courtney took her hand, holding it tight and solemnly saying, “Okay. Then I’ll hate her for you. So you don’t have to.”

Adore’s face crumbled as her tears began falling again.

“You’re the best friend in the world.”

“No, you are,” Courtney said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go wash your face and order that gelato!”

***

“I just can’t believe that my dress is going out on that runway, like, I was so sure Fame absolutely hated it, and-”

“You don’t need to chop the parsley that finely lovely eyes,” Sutan smiled, stirring the pasta puttanesca sauce they had made together. Sutan wasn’t necessarily the best cook in the world, neither he or Raja ever really picking up on their mothers love of spending time in the kitchen, but he could do a few dishes well, and after seeing Violet’s fridge, he had made it a mission to make sure his girlfriend had a minimum of culinary experience.

“Oh,” Violet paused, looking down at the cutting board. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sutan pressed a quick kiss against her temple, standing side by side in the kitchen surprisingly nice. “I know it’ll be just as amazing as your holiday dress.”

“Please,” Violet smiled, though Sutan could see on her face that she was pleased. He wasn’t going to buy anything at the show, but he was still coming along, both to test one of his newer models, but also because he wanted to see what Violet had created in action.

“I’m serious.”

The sauce was almost done, Violet pulling a face when she had seen him slice up the anchovies, but Sutan was pretty sure that she’d like the dish, if what she tended to gravitate towards could be used as any indication.

“Would you mind setting the table?”

“Not at all,” Violet smiled, putting the knife down, quickly washing her fingers, her jewelry left in the little bowl by the sink that Raja and sometimes Raven had used when they all lived together.

Sutan hadn’t actually noticed it until Violet had dumped her rings into it, the fact that it was there completely escaping his attention, interior design never something that had interested him.

When he had gotten married to Kahmora, he had moved from this apartment directly into her place and back again after their divorce, how she wanted things decorated not anything that had mattered to him in the short time they had been married.

He had never really lived with Jinkx, their relationship thankfully never moving any further than their disastrous engagement, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have been asked about his preferences, shame momentarily curling in his belly at the thought of how unfair and terrible he had been to Jinkx.

“Sutan?” He was pulled out of his thoughts by Violet’s voice, the woman standing by his cabinet with a smile on her face. “Did you buy wine? To have with dinner?”

“I got us a bottle of red.”

“Okay,” Violet nodded, grabbing the wine glasses from the shelf. Juju used to complain when she came over, and had told both Raja and Sutan multiple times that the apartment was furnished for giants, but Violet never had trouble getting anything.

Sutan’s alarm went off, telling him it was time to drain the pasta, Violet handing him two plates so he could serve up their meal, both of them sitting down at the table.

“Do you like it?” Sutan smiled as he watched Violet taste the food, a thoughtful expression on her face as she chewed on it.

“It’s fine.”

“So you hate it?” Sutan lifted an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

“No!” Violet seemed outraged. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” Violet kicked him under the table, smiling now. “It’s nice.”

“Sure,” Sutan laughed, Violet’s deadpan deliveries still something he was getting used to, her dry humor a lot more enjoyable than he had ever imagined. “Good.”

They ate for a while, chatting back and forth, Sutan refilling their glasses, Violet almost finished with her pasta when she put down her fork.

“I-” Violet looked at him, her teeth biting into her lip. “I’ve been thinking about Aspen?”

“Yes?”

“And I’d like to go.”

“Oh?” Sutan wasn’t aware that it had been something she had been considering, the fact that she was even thinking about turning it down not even crossing his mind.

“Well I’m glad.” Sutan smiled, hiding his confusion. “Mostly because I already booked your plane ticket.”

“Really?” Violet sounded genuinely surprised, almost as if she wasn’t sure if he had been serious about the offer.

“Really, not that I would have forced you to come.” Sutan tapped her foot under the table, Violet still such a mystery to him. “Raven on the other hand,” Sutan smiled. “That could have been a problem, since she’s bought matching everything for you two.”

“... What?”

***

ADORE: Courtney’s a vegan, you know.

BIANCA: Yeah, she told me.

ADORE: I keep forgetting like an asshole so I just wanted to make sure you knew and would have some vegan stuff on thurs

BIANCA: It’s gonna be 100% vegan, I hired a chef to cater. She even making vegan relleno de pavo

ADORE: WAIT WHAT

ADORE: How the FUCK do you make vegan relleno de pavo?

BIANCA: I dunno, but she’s a professional.

ADORE: And what about the corn pudding? IT NEEDS BUTTER

BIANCA: Would you relax? It’ll be delicious

ADORE: WHAT ABOUT THE TURKEY

BIANCA: I don’t eat turkey. You’re outvoted 2 to 1.

ADORE: BIANCA DEL RIO I’VE HAD A VERY TRAUMATIC WEEK! IT’S THANKSGIVING! TURKEY!

BIANCA: I’ll get you a package of fucking Hillshire Farm, calm down

ADORE: I want to be mad at that but I love Hillshire Farm. lol

BIANCA: You’re welcome

BIANCA: Btw you’re also welcome to cook whatever you like and contribute to the meal

ADORE: Um...no thanks

BIANCA: Thought so, cunt

[alexandralyman]

Any chance of a WIP update for Valentine’s Day? Or more sneak peaks? I just miss your stories.

Now, obviously this ask came in over a month ago and I was going to post a sneak peek for you at the time, Anon, but then it got me inspired to start writing something set during Valentine’s Day for BH&H, since I’ve written a bunch of extra scenes set during holidays like Christmas and Easter, but hadn’t tackled that one yet. 4,300 words later, it turned into a somewhat longer scene than I was planning and it’s now the next holiday and Valentine’s Day is long over, but I don’t have a St. Patrick’s Day fic so I’m posting this anyway.

                            Ordinary Time (Between Heaven & Hell)

Read also on AO3 here and on FF.net here

Summary: Demons don’t celebrate the feast days of saints, but on the day dedicated to lovers Killian Jones is willing to make an exception. As long as that exception takes the form of Emma Swan, that is. Will his angel answer his prayer on a cool February eve in Venice, Italy?

Rating: M

                                                      ….

No one did revelry quite like Venice.

Old-fashioned lanterns turned the famous canals to rivers of gold, music filled the piazzas from dusk til dawn and the citizenry moved with ease from formal, black tie balls in ancient family piles to after parties held in underground clubs where the dress code was definitely less is more. High fashion models rubbed stylish elbows with counts, new money flirting with old nobility, tourists came from far and wide as they had since time immemorial to gape at the splendour and over every graceful stone bridge and behind every famous church a dark alley beckoned, where purse snatchers slipped away with their ill-gotten gains and prostitutes of both genders fell to their knees to offer their own form of worship, for a price.

Venice dazzled all the senses, but there was a dark underbelly hidden in the floating city build around the stolen relics of one of the holiest of saints, sin and salvation linked as two sides of the same coin.

Killian flipped a gold piece over his knuckles with a dexterity no mortal could hope to achieve and into a medieval fountain. It was a round pool topped with a statue of an angel rising from a platform in the centre, stone wings unfurled against the late afternoon sun and one hand outstretched over the water, the delicate, carved fingers just out of reach to anyone standing below. The coin was a scudi that was as old as the fountain itself,from the days long ago when the doges ruled over Venice as kings in all but name. It was rare and valuable, a collector’s dream (that some would even literally sell their souls to obtain) but he let it fall into the water without a second thought with a flash as it caught the light and reflected it back for a heartbeat before sinking down to disappear into the pile of more humble copper pennies at the bottom. He slipped his hands back in his pockets and glanced up at the angel, a wish wasn’t all that different from a prayer after all and the blank-faced statue must have heard innumerable requests over the centuries from the many who passed through the city and stopped to make an offering at her marble feet.

Would his angel hear him, and finally grant what he wanted above all else? Only time would tell, and he had even more of that to spare than he had gold coins.

He strolled the narrow streets for a while, alone with his memories of the old days while the city teemed around him, packed even more to the gills than usual. It was a day dedicated to lovers, and as the sun set and the stars rose above doey-eyed couples giggled in arched doorways and held hands over bottles of wine, making eyes and making love (not in public, at least not mostly, those dark alleys were playing host to more than just paid trysts tonight) although, strangely enough, the lust he could feel hot in the air was tempered with something else, something that his demonic senses instinctively shied away from and made him want to retreat back into the shadows until it was safely gone again. Still, he meandered on, past stalls selling trinkets like carnival masks and blown glass ornaments that had stayed open late to take advantage of the festivities (avarice, he approved of that), pausing here and there to examine the wares and plucking a single red rose from a bouquet dangling from the hand of a young woman with her arms around her paramour’s neck and her eyes closed into his kiss. Neither one noticed the tiny theft, too wrapped up in each other to see the danger that lurked so close. Killian could have used his unholy influence to spark a sudden argument, insert some disharmony into the romantic tableaux as he was meant to, bound to, stoking the flames of jealousy by turning the man’s head towards a winsome young signora instead of his beloved or greed in the desire for a much more lavish gift than mere flowers, but he stayed his hand and continued on a path only he could see, following his own map through the ancient city of mariners like the pirate he had been, once upon a time.

At the end there was a treasure much more valuable than gold, a light amidst the darkness, one that had always enticed instead of repelled. Rose in hand, Killian waited patiently in a small piazza ringed with packed trattorias and bustling wine bars. Venice’s climate was fairly mild in the winter, but his unusually warm breath turned immediately to fog as soon as it hit the cooler air, forming a cloud of twisted serpents that writhed and slithered away into nothingness with each measured exhale. As he bided his time his attention focused on a pair of young men on the other side of the square who were chain-smoking cigarettes and cat-calling every woman who walked by, clearly full of both too much machismo and too much liquor. He watched the flecks of burning ash fall to the ground with each careless flick of their wrists, the glowing tips turning the crimson of infernal fire as they took deep drags and filled their lungs with thick, noxious smoke. Their voices got louder and more lewd as his influence washed over them, drawing a demon’s attention was never a good thing and Killian’s lips split in a rictus grin of amusement while he fanned the flames a little higher, a little hotter. They were unaware of his presence, but it loosened what little inhibitions they had left as his corruption spread like the smoke and filled the spaces between every dark impulse, every forbidden desire, letting them run riot until nothing else was left.

A distinctively feminine figure appeared in the misty haze and started across the piazza, the heels of her boots making no sound on the cobblestones but drawing every eye nonetheless in an instant and Killian could feel the sinful anticipation rolling off the two men in waves at the sight of her. Long blonde hair fell down the back of a leather jacket the bright red of heart’s blood and it was like waving a matador’s scarlet cape in front of a bull to the two idiots who were about to discover the sword hidden underneath instead. If Killian’s attention was dangerous, hers was even more perilous for mortal souls, especially ones puffed up like peacocks on their own arrogance. He idly twirled the rose back and forth between his fingers and drew his thumb across the velvety petals, his own anticipation for what was to come a pleasant hum under his skin.

“Did you miss me?”

Emma accepted the gift he offered with an innocent smile and a hint of a bow, his manners impeccable and beyond reproach while her own expression was caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. The two cat-callers were still there, but the busy piazza was considerably more quiet now than an angel had descended from the heavens and rendered them both completely mute with nothing more than a look. They were literally struck dumb, opening and closing their mouths with nothing coming out while passersby stared at them curiously, unaware of the role the damned and the divine had played in the little bit of street theatre and that Heaven and Hell both were present only a few feet away in the form of a dark-haired man and a blonde woman, the lone raven and the graceful dove.

But then again, mortals were usually blind to what went on right under their own noses.

“Ciao, Killian,” she said with a roll of her eyes, sidestepping his question but he didn’t really care, his name on her lips was a summons that fanned the flames within and made him burn even hotter under his own black leather jacket. Steam rose from the ground from the heat he was generating, Venice was eternally sinking into the sea and the ground was perpetually damp as a result. He was unable to resist a direct summoning and when she turned he followed, away from the lights and the laughter and into a quieter, residential section of the city where the music faded away and the shadows cut deep. Red leather met rough stone when he backed her into a wall, his taller form easily concealing them from any prying eyes, the raven enfolding the dove and pinning her fast.

“Beata angela,” he breathed hot into the shell of her ear, fingers teasing just under the edge of the leather at her waist. “Did you miss me?”

Her own small hands toyed with his belt buckle for a moment before dipping lower and his eyes slammed shut at the feel of her palm sliding over where he burned the most.

Or second most, but he refused to acknowledge the dull ache in the left side of his chest.

Emma gave a little squeeze that almost made his knees give out and teased right back. “It feels more like you’re the one who missed me, Damnate.”

“Angels aren’t supposed to play dirty,” he muttered, unable to stop the desperate rock of his hips into her welcoming touch.

“And demons aren’t supposed to celebrate the feast days of saints, even if everyone else has forgotten what this day originally was,” she shot back. “You’re not the only one who breaks the rules.”

Killian lifted his head and matched her wry smile. “Point taken.”

He had broken more rules than he could count because of her, what was one more? Their foreheads touched and they just stood like that for a moment, the saint and the sinner, angel and demon, come together in a city barely tethered to the earth and caught eternally between falling below and rising above with each roll of the tides.

                                                     …

                                                     …

The small pensione where she had a room for the night had one been a convent, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the demon next to her with eyes the same shade and sharpness as Ceylon sapphires. He silently read the inscription on the faded plaque next to the door that described the building’s illustrious history with a raised brow while Emma waited for the inevitable smart-ass remark.

“Inviting the fox right into the henhouse to play, are we?” he said at last with a grin.

“More like il gallo, I think.”

Killian understood both the Italian word for rooster as well as the double meaning behind it at once and he chuckled while she unlocked the iron gate that had been intended once to guard the lives and the chastity of those within and keep predators of all stripes out. But the nuns were long gone and her room was not a Spartan cell with only a single cot and a crucifix that the sisters had made due with to keep their vow of poverty, it was comfortably appointed and had come with a bottle of red wine and a heart-shaped box of chocolates for the holy day that had become a secular celebration of romance, clearly meant to be consumed by two. Times certainly had changed, the previous residents would have been completely forbidden from enjoying such decadent luxuries as feather pillows, high-thread count sheets and imported confectionery, let alone from being encouraged to entertain a man in their chambers.

Emma saw him eye the pair of glasses that had been left with the bottle, a hint of uncertainty crossing his handsome face in sharp contrast to his usual confident swagger.

“I do hope I didn’t interrupt any other plans of yours tonight, angel.”

Jealousy. She could see that as well, in the flush on his neck and the darkening of his eyes, a wisp of deadly sin rising between them in the room. Their affair had never included a vow of fidelity, but he always kept the promises he made and there were some things that were best left unsaid, they were too different and he wouldn’t understand. So she didn’t answer him with words, but in the press of her lips to his, a benediction in the soft slide of the kiss that had him stiff-backed and resistant for a moment with his arms at his sides until he relented with a low noise in the back of his throat that rumbled through her and did delicious things between her legs. Hands found her hips, large, dexterous, flexing along the curve and trailing along the strip of bare skin just above the waist of her jeans, under her jacket. His touch was always warm and it shouldn’t make her shiver, but they’d always been a contradiction, the demon who prayed, the angel who sinned. In a deconsecrated convent where celibacy had given way to passion they defied all the rules like the martyred saint for whom the day was named, clothing falling to the floor in a mingled heap.

“Don’t burn my jacket,” she said in between kisses, trying to get it off to join his before Killian’s usual impatience got the best of him and he scorched it into ash.

“Don’t worry, I like the red leather jacket.”

Emma laughed, “Really?”

A kiss was placed into the little dip in her shoulder as the jacket was peeled back that made another shiver down her spine while he murmured against her skin.

“Red leather…black lace…silky little unmentionables, I like them all very much on you. Let’s go shopping tomorrow, I’ll buy everything your heart desires.”

There wouldn’t be tomorrow, couldn’t be, there could only be these few hours stolen from eternity when the world above and the world below were both shut away outside the door. Clothes shed without any casualties, Emma stepped out of the pile and pressed herself to him boldly from shoulder to shin, nipples tightening and feeling the ripple and flex of the muscles up the ladder of his ribs as she ran her hands along them. The heat blazed, enough to fog the mirror hanging above the chest of drawers, antique Venetian glass turning to smoke and blurring their reflection as if it was also hiding them from any divine or damned scrutiny on the other side while they tumbled down to the bed. Killian knelt above her, his blue eyes taking on a wicked gleam that immediately told her he was up to something. There was a ripple in the air and she felt another small weight settle on the bed by her elbow, when she looked down she saw it was the box of chocolates. Killian wound the pink satin ribbon tying it shut around his finger and gave a slight tug, pulling it off and lifting the lid to peer inside.

“So tell me, is this how one is meant to feast in honour of a saint?”

He held up a chocolate between his fingers and it immediately started to melt, dripping onto her chest in a warm drizzle while his grin turned wolfish like the predator he was and clearly, she was the wayward lamb. His dark head bent and that silver tongue flicked out, capturing the drops that flowed down the valley between her breasts and tracing the sensitive curve underneath before going up the slope and wrapping around the taut peak of her nipple. Emma ran her fingers through his soft hair, arching up into the sensations as he carefully licked up every stray drop. The next piece had some kind of caramel filling, swirling in a sticky ribbon down her stomach when the chocolate coating broke apart. That too was caught by his mouth, the ache between her legs increasing with each lash of his tongue and scratch of his beard against the delicate flesh while he moved lower and lower, blue eyes glancing up from beneath those thick black lashes. Finally, finally, the chocolate was forgotten as he started to feast on something else in earnest, spreading her thighs apart and burying his face between them with a muffled groan that Emma echoed with her own cry at the sheer, unbridled pleasure being drawn with each slow and deliberate swipe and stroke. The supplicant kneeling at her altar, Killian was well-versed in this intimate rite and and a liturgy of sighs and moans spilled from her lips at his eager worship while she tightened her fingers in his hair and felt her back arch up off the bed and the strain of her wings as they longed to unfurl and let her take flight. His hands on her hips were an anchor that kept her from flying away until she was falling instead, a moment forever frozen in time as the angel in ecstasy.

Killian sat back on his haunches with an infuriatingly smug look, naked, his erection standing thick and proud and ready but he appeared to be in no particular hurry to use it, reaching over to take another chocolate out of the box and popping it into his mouth instead.

“You hate sweets.”

The smugness only increased as her voice came out laboured and unsteady, while her skin was flushed as red as the rose all along the path that his mouth had wandered. The marks he had left would quickly fade, leaving her unblemished and uncorrupted once more when he was gone but the echo of them would linger on, reminding her that uncorrupted and incorruptible were not the same things and playing with fire could end in a nasty brand.

“True,” Killian agreed after he swallowed the piece. “Most are too cloyingly saccharine for my tastes, but some are more palatable than others, especially when paired with the right accompaniment.”

His lustful gaze wandered over her and left little doubt as to what type of accompaniment he was referring to before he went back to the box and carefully perused what was left, selecting something that Emma couldn’t see at first. The box vanished in a shadow and he revealed a flat, ebony disk that he flipped like a coin, drawing her eye to the movement long enough for him to unfold from his seated position and strike with serpentine speed. He loomed over her in less than a blink, a deadly viper in the form of a man. But instead of venom, his bite was full of the bitter taste of dark chocolate, pressed between their lips to dissolve on her tongue in a swirl of cocoa tinged with hints of cinnamon and spice. It was incredibly decadent, so rich that it was almost too much, velvet smooth and far from sweet.

It was utterly delicious.

The chocolate melted away and it was just Killian, only Killian, always Killian, the one temptation she could never resist and there was no resistance when he pushed inside, she was still pliant and slick and they moved in a languid dance, slow and unhurried. He braced himself on his forearms and rocked his hips in a steady rhythm, his body aligned with hers from the rub of his nose against her own when he dipped his head down for another kiss to the tender press of her breasts against his chest, their legs in a tangle and each slide of hard, male flesh sheathing deeper and deeper within her with each stroke until he was buried to the hilt, fitting perfectly with no space left between them. Darkness and light had once been one, in the beginning, and they were again before the inevitable separation that awaited them.

“Emma.”

He lifted up, her infernal lover, his eyes deep pools of midnight while inky hair fell over his forehead. She scratched her nails lightly down his chest and left a golden trail of blessed light, flickering like the tail of a falling star.

“Yes?” she asked, knowing what he wanted but unable to resist teasing him just a little first. His jaw clenched and his eyes fell shut as the sensation ripped through him, making the cords on his neck stand out while he let out a deep groan that rumbled right through his chest and into her palms. A mortal man would have given in completely at such a jolt of divine ecstasy, Killian was more impervious. His eyes snapped open again and narrowed to a focus that would both thrill and terrify an innocent nun in equal measure. Emma felt him shift his hips, the thick drag of his erection hitting almost just the right spot with the movement and making her clench around him. He was focused on finding the angle that would make her fall utterly apart, thrusting shallowly for a few strokes and then sliding in deep. Her toes curled like petals and her hands clutched the muscular curve of his ass when he found what he was looking for, a dangerous grin spreading across his lips in response.

“Emma,” he repeated, a clear note of command in his tone. “Say. It.”

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. She knew what he wanted, more than just sex, he wanted her to name him and acknowledge his true form, the demon in her arms, inside her, to give him that power and give in to him completely. Unseen flames licked at her skin the same way his tongue had traced every inch, coaxing and cajoling, while his voice was the only one she heard, command turning to a fervent plea that drowned out everything else.

“My blessed one, my angel, say my name. Say you want me, only me. Please!”

It came out like the peal of a ringing bell, clear and sweet, the sacred wrapped around the profane. “Killian!”

Light flared incandescent, divine radiance meeting infernal fire and creating a conflagration that engulfed them both. Killian let out a near howl of triumph, bucking hard against her for the handful of thrusts it took to send them both spiralling into white hot bliss. His name spilled over her lips again and again, the broad shoulders shuddering in response to each while his face was buried in her neck. His inhuman pace faltered and finally went still, his limbs slack although something else remained stiff even as her voice turned to a feathery whisper and the fire slowly died down to embers. That too softened at last, and they cleaved apart once more.

“Lent is early this year.”

He said it casually, as if he was just making idle, post-coital pillow talk. He used to smoke cigarettes afterwards, but that had stopped at some point years ago. Emma rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm.

“I know.”

Ash Wednesday was only a few weeks away. Unlike the fixed dates of other feasts like the one currently being celebrated with flowers and candy it varied every year and on this particular liturgical cycle it fell early on the calendar, marking the start of forty days of fasting and repentance among the faithful. Emma was among them, forsaking earthly vices like chocolate and caffeine (and a blue-eyed demon who was the hardest of them all to give up) for six weeks and doing penance in hopes of absolution.

There was a resigned sigh from above and the arm he had wrapped around her bare back tightened a bit, holding her in place for a moment until he relented and loosened his grip.

“Well then, I suppose that just means it’s over sooner.”

They lay in silence, the minutes ticking back as time marched inexorably on even for two immortals. He had been gone over Christmas, departing as he usually did in late November just before the start of the Advent season, and Lent loomed just ahead of them in early March. The brief stretch in between was Ordinary Time, a reprieve from it all when she could pretend to be just Emma Swan and not an angel of the Lord.

For a little while, at least.

“I did, you know.”

She lifted up slightly on her elbow and met Killian’s confused look.

“You did what?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

“I missed you.”

The smugness was gone and there was surprise instead, a boyishly pleased smile blooming like the rose across his face at her simple confession. He was even more dangerous like this,

when he asked for nothing and she wanted to give him everything.

She didn’t do penance during Lent for herself. Giving everything else up was easy, which was precisely why she had to sacrifice him.

“And I know you were goading on those two morons back in the square,” she added, poking him in the ribs.

Killian didn’t bother trying to deny it, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I had some time to kill and as you pointed out earlier, it’s the feast day of a saint. Had to introduce just a little discord into all this soppy romanticism, I do have a reputation to maintain, blessed one. Besides, I knew you could handle them before they got too out of line. I had faith.”

She made a non-commital noise at that and rested her head back down on his shoulder. The two men had thought they had the upper hand, seeing only a lone woman to tease and torment and nothing more. At least at first. She had given them a glimpse of her divinity and not held back, a halo forged directly from the light of a star, wings that were twice the height of a man, revealing her true form in all its Heavenly glory. She wasn’t just Emma Swan and he wasn’t just Killian Jones no matter what the season or the date on the calendar.

Emma felt his fingers thread gently through her hair and the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek, closing her eyes while he pulled the blanket over them. They could never be ordinary, but they could be like this, at least for a little while.

[mortyandcarlsbespokesalvage]

Day 1 Sequence 1

Raven Daniels awoke with a start. The harsh blare of the precinct klaxon rang through the barracks. He checked the clock and saw it was just past three. His sleep had been shallow and restless. Raven had spent shifts on standby at the precinct barracks before, but this was his first shift since being promoted and a doozy of a storm was bearing down on the city. He listened to the P.A.

“Repeat, Squad 13 Trash Panda to Bay 9. Trash Panda, all Sweepers report to Vehicle Bay 9.”

Raven had slept in his armor. He could not have known that his team would be called to action, but he had secretly hoped. He felt a twinge of guilt. A call to action had to mean someone needed help. It was selfish of him to hope for an emergency. But today was his first day as a full Sweeper, and he was going to be ready for anything. 

Raven sat up quickly and immediately banged his helmet against the upper bunk. Not an auspicious start. He turned up his visor and hastily tucked his long blue-black hair under his hood, tightened the straps on his somewhat ill fitting armor, grabbed his axe, and headed for the Vehicle Bay.

“We’ve got a Code Black,” Captain Meri Mendoza shouted as the klaxons continued to blare. “Trash Panda form up on me! Get the lead out people, let’s move it!”

Squad Trash Panda rushed into action. Captain Mendoza was still yelling. “This is a Medical Retrieval mission. Gear up and head to the Southwest Drop. We’re riding Rosie and going in hot. Daniels’, you’re with us.”

Raven felt a thrill of excitement rush through him as joined the press of men and women checking their armor and axes. It was only his first day as a full Sweeper, and already he was off to handle a Code Black. He couldn’t wait to tell Abby and Percy about it later. Raven’s guilt eased the more he thought about it. This storm was a beast, one of the worst Raven could remember, and the undercity was prone to flooding. It was not unheard of for work teams to get trapped. And then there were all the things that got chased out of their dens by the rushing water. A bad situation could turn catastrophic in an instant. It was a harsh reality of city life, especially in the undercity. But at last Raven would be able to help people. 

He was so excited!

Armed and ready, he followed his team to the Southwest Drop. Captain Mendoza was already there, loading up Rosie. The Heavy Rig was a massive beast of a tractor, armored top to bottom, with a monstrous engine, and drill and plow attachments at forward mounting points, made to clear even the most congested tunnels. All sides were heavily plated to defend against whatever beasties the deeps could throw at them. The medical trailer had already been coupled and the Rig rolled onto the massive elevator platform.

“Hey, Mendoza!” Sweeper Cortez shouted to catch her attention, then threw a thumb back to point at Raven. “Are you sure the kid is ready for this?”

“That kid got his promotion a full two years before you got yours, Sweeper Cortez. Sweeper Daniels’ will be fine.” Mendoza cast a sharp eye over her team as they assembled. “Though if you’re that worried about him, you can join him up front.” 

Cortez grimaced comically but kept his mouth shut. Instead, he wrapped one meaty arm around Raven’s shoulders and gave him a brief but affectionate rap on his helmet before mounting his post on the Rig. With Cortez occupied, Captain Mendoza looked down at Raven with her bright obsidian eyes and quietly confirmed, “you ready for this, Daniels?” 

“Yes, Captain! Absolutely.” Raven stood with his shoulders pushed back and chin up, trying to look as tall as possible. At 6’4” and with a powerful physique he was small for a Sweeper. His teammates to a one had at least a good half foot on him vertically, and some horizontally. Captain Mendoza was 7’6” slouching and twice as broad as himself. Raven knew (hoped) he had some more growing to do. He was confident he could do his job well no matter how short he was, but didn’t want to be the team shrimp forever.

The captain smiled with too many sharp teeth. “Good. Now get in formation. Sweeper Howell?”

“The squad’s ready on your call, boss.”

She nodded and faced the team. “Brace for the Drop.” She shouted.

“Everybody ready for the Deep-Down!” Cortez bellowed

Something swooped low in Raven’s stomach as the huge lift descended abruptly. The knot was more than just the feeling of freefall. The ride down would take a few minutes, and the captain took this time to brief her squad.

“Dispatch received a medical distress call from Squad Muskrat in the deep shafts. A Spire team was down there on a routine excavation with Muskrat running escort. Coms on site called in for immediate medical extraction with an emergency quarantine. Following that, we lost contact with the team. No further details so we’re going in blind. Are there any questions?”

“Yeah,” Cortez jumped in. “Who dressed the rookie?”

Raven flushed red. A few chuckles spread through the squad. “It’s classic.” he mumbled. 

Raven shuffled awkwardly under the attention before straightening his back and standing as tall as he could without going on tiptoe. He was aware that his armor was too big for him. That it was old. But it had belonged to his father, Darius, a veteran sweeper and Raven’s hero. It had given him pride and no small sense of comfort to don the armor he’d seen his father wear almost every day of his life. The bronze colored armor did indeed look out of place among the newer Sweeper gear. The armor was heavy plate over insulated coveralls of reinforced durable mesh. His air tank was covered by the sturdy metal shell of his back plate. His heavy helmet visor, looking like a great welding hood covered his face so completely without contour as to look a metal can on his head when it was lowered. By contrast, modern sweeper armor was lighter, and looked more like heavy scaled fire coats. The air tanks were exposed, and the newer designs eschewed heavy plating in favor of highly durable and resilient fabrics, with armored breathing masks and large goggles for improved visibility. 

Raven’s father’s armor had been cared for through the years, and had survived a 30 year tour of service without breaking down. Despite improved models through the years Sweepers never forcibly discontinued armor that still worked. You wore it until it no longer did the job, then you got something new. So while the style could kindly be called vintage, and the fit was poor at best, Raven wouldn’t be ashamed of it. Just a tiny bit embarrassed, maybe? In hindsight, it was pretty sentimental of him. 

Meanwhile, the chuckles Cortez had garnered withered quickly under Captain Mendoza’s stern unblinking black eyes. “I’ll rephrase: does anyone have any questions that are pertinent to the mission and not dumber than a day old gob-sausage?”

Silence among the squad of twelve. 

Captain Mendoza had a reputation, Raven knew that much. But a reputation for what changed often from person to person. Depending on who he’d asked, Captain Mendoza was known for being a hard ass, for excellent training, for having enough tunnel sense to fill a deep shaft, for being more terrifying than a tunnel-full of Doom Rats. But her teams had some of the highest survival rates. And Sweepers who worked her Squad long enough often found themselves Team Leaders or Captains. And Raven was already beginning to see why. “We have a little time, so pop quiz, Sweepers. The point of armor is to what? Sweeper Howell?”

“To keep us alive, Captain.”

“Correct. Sweeper Daniels’ armor has obviously seen several years worth of action and survived to be worn again. That’s more than most of our own armor can say. Obviously it’s doing the job it was built for. Besides aesthetic critiques about Sweeper Daniels’ sartorial choices, can anyone give me a valid reason for him to change?”

Silence reigned on the platform. Raven watched, slightly awestruck, as the captain let the squad marinate in their own embarrassment for a few more tense moments. Then, “good talk, everyone. If it ever comes up again, I’ll be telling Sweeper Daniels about every fashion mistake I’ve seen on this squad, starting with that gods-awful hair-cut you’ve got under your helmet, Cortez.”

From atop Rosie, Cortez squawked indignantly and he adjusted his helmet. The tension broke as the squad dissolved in laughter. But the lesson seemed to stick, and no one looked askance at Raven again.

“Tunnel contact,” Sweeper Howell called over the din. “Everyone prepare to disembark.”

The elevator shook with a loud bang as the platform came to an abrupt halt. Though he couldn’t see it, Raven was suddenly and intensely aware that he was suspended above a seemingly bottomless chasm. As deep as the Barrier Wall was high, the Deep stretched over one thousand feet down into the abyss. And Raven was now just a few fallible sheets of metal from falling into its black depths.

The elevator’s front gate dropped forward with another deafening bang as the ramp connected with the tunnel entrance. Rosie’s engines revved loudly as it lurched forward across the ramp and into the tunnel. So much sound, echoing into the great chasm. What noises were there in the Deep, when the Sweepers weren’t there to make it?

“Everyone mount up! We’re on double-time!” Captain Mendoza bellowed. The remaining members of the Squad who had not taken up hard points on the Rig gripped the handrails and steps on either side. Raven pulled himself up and into position as Rosie rolled down the tunnel at speed.

Raven held tight to the side as the Heavy Rig barreled through the dark. His heart was pumping like mad. It was only his second time in the Tunnels. His first time had been his supervised expeditionary training. Though he’d paid close attention and taken many mental notes, it had felt almost like a tour. But this was a real mission and that made everything different. 

He had been a trash-man for two years now. He’d started topside the minute he turned 18, walking the city streets and running collections bi-weekly. He had developed a rapport with the citizens along his route, and it was a good job. But he’d always known that the real heroes of the sanitation corps were the Sweepers who patrolled the upper undercroft and kept vigil against the horrors that crept up from the deeps to menace the city. 

Raven had worked his way down the ladder, applying after only a year of service for duty at the frontlines in the undercity, clearing the underground blocks of trash and chasing out the crawlers, weavers, and assorted subterranean fauna. He had even taken out a pair of scrap-eaters at one point. Single-handedly slaying the two man-sized rodents in defense of the citizenry was an impressive achievement for a rookie trash-man, and it earned him a fast-track to special training to join the Sweepers.

Raven’s father had been a Sweeper, and he was the bravest, strongest  man Raven had ever known. Only Chief Hobbs had the same kind of presence. Appropriate, Raven thought, since he had grown up hearing his father’s stories of his years as a trash-man with Hobbs as his partner. Raven had loved hearing about his father’s adventures. 

Stories of the monsters of the deep down, of protecting excavators and engineers as they worked to map the undercity. Stories of finding lost treasures, ancient mechanima, smuggler’s caches. Of the mountains of varied scrap, mined to build the city and the Jewel Isle settlements. To Raven there was no greater calling than to be a Sweeper, like his father before him.

“Junction coming up.” Howell’s voice in Raven’s helmet radio came through over the rumble and roar of Rosie’s engines.

“Slow and dismount” crackled Mendoza. “Roll by slow, and ready on the left flank.”

The Heavy Rig slowed. Raven and his squadmates hopped down from their posts on the side rails and walked slowly and deliberately up to the gaping maw of the adjoining tunnel. Rosie’s headlights only pierced the dark so far, but they took a moment to evaluate what they could see.

Moss and lichen covered an assortment of junk. There was furniture overgrown with it - shapes of couches and tables subsumed by carpets of luminescent subterranean flora. There was familiar debris, like kitchen appliances - ovens, refrigerators - and stuff they couldn’t place - wheeled box-like machines like miniature Rosies, metal and plastic picture frames with no picture. It was a scene which Raven had come across before. But never quite so wild. 

The floor of the tunnel had a carpet of moss. A wide path cut its way through the junk, and Raven could see, right before the light reached its’ end, it began to veer a little. 

“Rosie’ll fit,” said Cortez. Raven hadn’t realized the older man was beside him. “Sweepers cut the path down here years ago to fit Bubbles. Rosie’s a smaller lady, so she’ll get through easy so long as the path’s still clear. But it’s been a while since this entrance was used. We’ve got to scout ahead for any blockages.”

“Didn’t Muskrat have to take care of this on their way down?” 

With perfect timing, Captain Mendoza’s voice came through the headset. “Alright Trash Pandas, listen up. Good news bad news time. Bad news first. We are not following Muskrat’s path. Muskrat came down via a Spire access point coming from the opposite direction. That road would take double the time and we’re on the clock. This pipe hasn't been swept in  months, so there’s been more than enough time for the local ecosystem to creep back in. The good news is, the elevator we rode down puts us closer by half. This route is only one tunnel league away from the vault. Let’s roll on and keep those eyes peeled and ears open. We don’t know what’s moved in while we’ve been gone.”

With that, the Vanguard took point in front of Rosie and entered the tunnel. The moss was soft under Raven’s feet but also unexpectedly slippery. He found himself constantly second-guessing his footing, and in no time, excitement turned to annoyance. There were people counting on them! They had to move faster than this.

“Hey,” Cortez’s heavy hand fell on Raven’s shoulder. “Cool it, kid.”

“But-” Raven began, frustration bleeding into his stance.

Cortez cut him off before he could even begin. “Listen. We’re going to go as fast as we can while still making sure to get there in good enough condition to kick as much ass as Muskrat needs help kicking. Meanwhile, trust your squad. And slow down. We’re gonna be shitty cavalry if we show up with you nursing a concussion after slipping on moss.”

“I’ve got my helmet on,” Raven said petulantly. He was not sure he liked Cortez very much right now. “It even fits.”

“Sure does, kid. Guess that big head’s good for something. Now here’s a tip. It’s a good one, too, no bullshit. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast. Keep that in mind and you might live long enough to fit the rest of that armor.”

Raven didn’t reply, but he did slow down. And he chewed on what Cortez told him.

Rosie rolled behind them, slow and bright. The headlights were low beams; enough light to see what they needed, not so bright they’d blind themselves if they turned around. The path serpentined madly through the cavernous tunnel, but it was mostly clear. The few blockages were more shallow spraws of junk. Probably debris from the clumsy passage of a tunnel worm or something. They didn’t reach a true interruption until they were more than halfway through to the vault.

A smaller tunnel branched off the route they were taking. From inside, the Vanguard could hear the sound of footsteps.

“Lets have some light,” requested Sweeper Ko. The flood-light atop Rosie swiveled towards the smaller tunnel. A few feet in, Raven spotted a pair of humanoid figures. Their clothes were rumpled and their movements were jerky and uneven. Raven hefted his ax and made to rush forward. Cortez grabbed him by the nape of his armor and pulled him back like an errant kitten.

“What in all the hells do you think you’re doing?!”

Raven looked at him and the two traded incredulous looks. Raven replied, “those are shamblers. You’re supposed to kill them on sight.”

Cortez groaned and manhandled Raven to face the tunnel again. “Kid, take a minute, clear off your visor, and take a good hard look at those two. Do those really look like shamblers to you? Really?”

Raven was really starting to get annoyed with Sweeper Cortez. But that was still one of his teammates, and a senior officer, so he listened and took a second look. At first, he was certain his first impression was the correct one. He’d fought shamblers before and he recognized the halting, uneven movements of the undead. But then he looked harder. And he listened. 

In the light there was a bright blue-green rash across their skin. At least at this distance. Up close, however, it would undoubtedly look like bright crusty corrosion and flaking scales of oxidized metal. The clothes were not just worn, but in tatters, a gruesome clue to how many years they had seen. Shamblers fell apart before their clothes reached that state of degradation. And the footsteps. Raven hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was a ringing that echoed after each step. The size of the tunnels, the proliferation of noise dampening mosses, the layering of each echo - they’d combined to camouflage the metallic quality of the sound. But now Raven could hear it, could see what he’d overlooked the first time. Lastly, the eyes. They burned in the dark like embers in black sockets. How could he have mistaken them for shamblers? He wanted to kick himself for not recognizing them immediately. Walkers.

Another Sweeper stepped forward. Raven thought he recognized them as Sweeper Li. “Walkers confirmed. Two of them. Tracking loops now.”

It seemed like the tunnel itself held its breath while they watched the pair. 

“Aren’t we going to engage?” Raven asked Cortez in a whisper.

The older man shook his head. “Not unless we have to. We’re a rescue party, not a cleaning crew. As long as these guys aren’t in our way, we can leave them and come back later. Now watch.”

The Walkers stayed in the side tunnel for several minutes as they repeated movements. But soon enough, one stepped out into the tunnel. A ragged tightened noose dangled from its neck. It stepped into the larger tunnel and began climbing the junk. Once it reached a certain height, and Raven noticed the pile had been packed down there, almost into a ledge, Raven watched in quiet horror as the Walker's hands moved as if to tie off the long lost end of the rope. It pulled to tighten the knot around its neck. Then, the Walker jumped. 

It landed on the tunnel floor with all the impact of a falling bell. Raven felt the sound reverberate in his bones. It sprawled in the path looking broken, unmoving for minutes. Then it pulled itself to its knees and crawled back into the smaller tunnel. There, Raven caught sight of the second Walker. He hadn’t paid as much attention to it as the other at first. It was just cradling trash in its arms like a baby, pacing across a moss-bare patch of tunnel floor. 

Raven could hear chatter on the radio, but he’d given up listening. The second Walker had stopped pacing. It lifted the trash in both hands, inspecting it, and started shaking it. The shaking grew wilder. Then the walker stopped and fell to its knees. In Rosie’s light, Raven saw the Walkers face change, the once expressionless visage twisted into agony. Then it collapsed, still cradling the trash bundle. 

It stayed on the ground, totally motionless. Then it got up, and resumed cradling its trash bundle and pacing. 

Raven felt sick.

“Looks like only Walker 1 strays into the Rig’s path. Both loops took in excess of 10 minutes. More than enough time for Rosie to clear this intersection.”

Captain Mendoza acknowledged it over the headsets. “Mark it and radio topside. Let’s keep moving.”

The squad progressed and Rosie rumbled after them. Her engine was loud enough, Raven could almost convince himself he couldn’t hear the steps anymore. Or the thud of the jumper landing. Almost. 

Once they were past the intersection, the radio crackled in Raven’s headset. "Daniels, channel 11."  Sweeper Howell’s voice spoke in his ear and he switched his radio channel. “Was that your first Walker, Daniels?”

“I, yeah. I’ve heard about them, we covered them in basic. First I’ve seen one, though. I think the closest I’ve ever been before was helping evacuate part of the black market 8 months ago? There’d been a sighting on that level, but I never- I didn’t- And my dad told me about the looping, but- I didn’t expect it to be like that,” Raven confessed. “On the street, people say they’re just tougher shamblers.”

“It’s different seeing it,” Howell agreed. “And if you need to talk about it after this mission, you’re welcome to come see me or Captain Mendoza about it. For now, though, I want to make sure you know the right protocol. ‘Tougher shamblers… Devin’s Maul, that might be the worst understatement I’ve ever heard.”

Howell quickly broke down the differences. Shamblers and Walkers were both undead humans. But while Shamblers still had human flesh, Walkers were metal, and hard enough to break an axe on if you swung carelessly. A single, well trained trash man could take a Shambler and come out alright. One good swing would do, often enough. Walkers on the other hand, took half a squad, six sweepers, armed with axes and dragon fire, to safely engage with even a single Walker. Shamblers could hear you, and would attack unprovoked. You'd be in for a fight whether you wanted it or not. But Walkers looped. 

Looping was simple in theory but horrifying to watch. Things that used to be people repeated their human actions again and again. Trapped, stuck, like a record skipping. And like the two they’d passed in the smaller tunnel, they’d often repeat one moment of their life before, some moment that preceded their succumbing to the Sickness. Looping Walkers were passive, mindless things. You could go around them. But if you interrupted the loop, they’d turn on you, angry and flailing and so, so strong. Strong enough to tear off limbs, as Howell told it. 

So sure, they could’ve engaged with the two back there, and probably come out fresh. But they would’ve spent precious time, energy, and resources well before they reached Muskrat in Vault 213. Vault 213 was the priority.

If they found another Walker and if they had to engage it, as part of the Vanguard, Raven would stand in formation with his fellow Sweepers to surround it. They would alternate between dousing the Walker in dragonfire and attacking the heat-softened metal body with their axes. Two sweepers with dragonfire burners to hose it down, two to hold it in place,  and two to go for  the head until it was severed or crushed. Hopefully, however, there would be no more Walkers for the rest of the journey. Ideally, there would be nothing for the rest of the journey and they could get to Vault 213 with no more interruptions.

After nearly half an hour of walking in mostly silence, Raven had to ask. “Cortez, why are you sticking with me?”

“Captain told me to,” Cortez answered matter of factly. 

“And you always listen to her? Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t really seem the type.”

“Oh no, I absolutely am not,” Cortez assured him. “But Captain Mendoza’s good at keeping her people alive. And my recursive career path notwithstanding, I am very partial to being alive.”

Almost immediately after saying as much, there came a low, guttural chittering sound. Something between a growl and a roar, echoing through the tunnel from the darkness ahead. 

The Squad stopped dead. The captain spoke softly over the com. "Lights." Without a word all squad members switched off their helmet lamps, and Rosie's headlights went dark. It took Raven a moment to adjust his eyes to the soft glow of the bio-luminescence. It was more light than he had been afforded in training. Sweepers had to learn to work in the black. They wouldn't last long otherwise. "Li, scope and recon." Said the Captain.

Sweeper Li brushed past Raven and quietly strode forward around the bend of the tunnel ahead. "Confirmed contact. Doom Rat. Big one. Maybe 12 meters."

"Shit." Cortez said softly. "Well kid, looks like you'll get to use that antique of yours after all." Cortez nodded at Raven's axe. Like his armor, it had belonged to his father, Darius. It was heavier than the fire axe he had carried as a trash-man. It had to be. Sweeper axes were made to fight monsters. Less a true axe than a polearm, a long handled great sword or a short handled halberd. If Raven was short for a Sweeper, then his axe made up some of the gap, with a longer handle and blade, straight, single edged, and tapered to a harpoon-like axehead tip. By contrast, Cortez's newer model axe was shorter and broader, with a curved head at the end. Sweeper axes always had a jagged hook at the tip of the blade. Raven once again felt the knot in his stomach, knowing that he was about to use his father's weapon for its intended purpose.

"Vanguard, form up and ahead slow. Rearguard to flanks." Mendoza said softly. They rounded the turn and saw Li crouched and low against the far tunnel wall. She gestured ahead, and there, on its haunches making a meal of a nest of thick shelled giant pill bugs, was the colossal rodent.

This was a little more familiar to Raven, but just barely. Outsized rodents were a scourge that popped up all over the city, his promotion after all had been for laying out a pair of man-sized Scrap-eaters. This one was just bigger, he thought. MUCH bigger. Almost as big as Rosie. 

Gargantism was an attribute that appeared in almost all the creatures that lived in the Tunnels, and it was especially pronounced in the Deep-Down. For reasons unknown, the deeper something lived in the undercity, the bigger it got. Theories about the cause, and Artisan’s lower ecology in general, ran wild. But given how dangerous it was to work in the Tunnels, they were rarely if ever proven. Sweepers especially liked to theorize as, without these things creeping up to the surface, there might not be a need for Sweepers in the first place.

Shamblers tended to appear less frequently the deeper one went, presumably because of alpha predators like the one sitting before him. Even rotten meat was still meat, after all and Doom Rats were notoriously not picky eaters. Walkers however seemed to be passed over as subterranean meals went. Possibly because they were made of metal? And they didn’t grow.

Raven shook his head to clear it. None of that was important now. He swallowed hard to curb both his fear and his enthusiasm. His near mistake with the Walkers was fresh; he didn’t want to make another.

“You good on protocol for this, Rookie?” Cortez whispered in a tone that was void of levity and heavy with somber resolve. The change in demeanor in the older man, to one of serious professionalism took Raven by surprise. Suddenly Cortez seemed to Raven like a shadow of Captain Mendoza.

“Y-Yeah.” Raven stumbled. “Vanguard forms an axe wall and draws its attention to lead it into a Flashlight protocol or flashbang, while Rearguard flanks and goes for the legs to immobilize, and finally go for the throat.” He remembered his basic training, but the practice drills against a thrashing mechanical puppet seemed quaint now that the real thing was before him, at least 3 times bigger.

“Don’t forget to watch the teeth.” Cortez whispered flatly as his eyes remained fixed ahead at the Doom-Rat. “These things chew through the walls down here.”

“Any other advice?” Raven spoke softly.

“Sure,” said Cortez. A caustic levity returning to his voice. “Don’t get dead. Now get your head in the game. Here we go.”

Captain Mendoza stepped forward ahead of the Vanguard and raised her axe high. The squad stepped up behind her in unison and raised their own. Mendoza turned the flat of her axe toward the tunnel floor and brought the huge blade down hard. Raven and the others followed and the sound that resulted was deafening. The clatter of a dozen blades ringing out and echoing against the walls of the massive pipe. The monstrous beast whipped its head around to face them and in an instant had turned its body into a defensive posture that seemed to nearly fill the tunnel. 

“AGAIN!” Cried the captain. Again the sound rang like some fractured bell and echoed in the dark. It seemed as if the great rat winced, and in a moment that seemed to stretch far longer than it should have, it lunged forward towards the squad. In the same stretched instant, there came a sound like a muffled shot as Howell switched on Rosie’s high beam headlights. The rat screamed and flipped backward, wheeling away from the blinding light. In the flood of light, the creature seemed even larger, thought Raven. 

The rat’s scream drowned out all other sound as it lunged again. It was throwing itself towards the silhouettes of the Sweepers against the searing light. The flashlight protocol was intended to either frighten away the monstrous creatures or at least put them at a painful disadvantage. Raven was unsure how much that handicap would count for as he stepped forward with the rest of the vanguard to form an axe-wall for the beast to throw itself against. The lunging teeth and claws moved with lightning speed and it was all Raven could do to raise his axe in front of him. 

The rat missed him entirely, but its gaping maw rushed towards Sweeper Li. At the same moment the Rearguard was rushing along the sides, Raven caught the sight of Captain Mendoza’s axe striking hard against the long, axe-like front teeth, cracking and chipping one. Again the rat screamed, but this time it whirled around, and a thick 20 ft tail lashed like a whip in a frenzied circle. The Rearguard was knocked back, half a dozen sweepers thrown against the walls or into the dark of the tunnel behind the rat. The captain was hit and thrown back past Rosie’s front wheel, and the whirling rat lunged once more Sweeper Li.

Raven’s body moved before he realized it, throwing himself into a mad sprint towards Li. Time slowed. Li raised her axe across herself like a shield. The rat’s gaping maw spread wide and sharp. Raven raised his blade overhead in an action that seemed in the frozen moment to take more effort than he had known himself capable of. 

And then time snapped back, Raven’s blade flashed, and the Rat screamed a deep roar as it leapt backward, toppling head over tail and scrambling as it flipped and lashed. It turned towards them again, this time sporting a large gash across its face that crossed over a bloody socket where its right eye had been. It hissed with a sound that shook the tunnel, then scrambled backward and up through a huge hole chewed through the tunnel wall.

Silence reigned within the tunnel as the skittering scream of claws on metal faded into the distance. 

 “First time I’ve known anybody to jump towards the teeth.” Li laughed. “That was nice and stupid, rook. Beautiful, but stupid.” Li removed her helmet to smile at Raven. “Thank you, Sweeper Daniels.”

“Oh! Well, of course!” Raven stuttered as he helped Li to her feet. He felt a few other hands clap his shoulders. Suddenly Captain Mendoza was there. 

“Sweeper Cortez, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on Daniels?”

“Aw, c’mon cap” Cortez  protested under her stern glare, slouching exasperatedly and gesturing a wave at Raven. She turned to look at Raven, giving him a once over. “Sweeper Daniels,” she said, her tone flat and unforgiving, “that was incredibly reckless, and entirely against protocol.” Raven’s adrenaline gave a sharp spike. He hadn’t had time to be afraid of the Doom Rat, not in a real, articulate, ‘I’m going to die now’ way. Now, he was terrified that the captain was going to send him back up to the trash men, acutely aware of how crushing such a demotion would be. Then her lips quirked in a small but genuine smile. “That makes you one of us now.”

----

<Last chapter | Next chapter>

[ktrsvo]

infinity plus one (2.9k) alternate universe - soulmates

Peter whispers, “I’ll never not choose you, Lara Jean.”

the movie called me, and i could not resist

Lara Jean grows up believing that the sentence on her wrist is supposed to mean something.

Six words. Nineteen letters. There is no one like you.

All her life, she is told that birthmark words are words she’s supposed to hear from her soulmate. Something exclusive, grand, and romantic. Magical, in the way hearing classical music on a moonlit night is supposed to feel. Like you’re more than part of the universe, like you actually encompass the entity itself. All the stars, planets, suns, revolving infinitely around the earth.

Or, at least that’s what romance novels say.

But here’s the thing: the sentence on her skin is nothing extraordinary. It could come from anyone, anytime. Some people, she’s heard, have beautiful words, and there are Lara Jean’s, as plain as they come. There is no one like you. Fate’s way of handing out poetic irony right there.

Margot won’t tell her what her sentence is. The response is always the same: “just flowery nonsense”, each and every time.

Lara Jean’s kind of jealous, really.

But not everyone has words. There are those with images, too. Almost the same as tattoos, but ultimately with more meaningful permanence. Delicate roses done in pale pink filigree, to name a few. The unfurled wings of a raven, spread out in midnight-blue ink. Sea shells on a tangle of anemones, pearl-white and ornate.

They beat what she has, any day.

Admittedly, it’s a pretty vain wish, to have stars instead of an unkempt scrawl. But that’s precisely the point: if she’s going to meet her soulmate, it might as well be a memorable affair. Not - whatever this is.

Oh, well. You can’t have everything in life.

✧･ﾟ: *

She thinks it’s Josh for a good two weeks.

It starts when she falls off her bike one day. They’re riding around the neighbourhood, the warm afternoon light luminous against their skin, their backs, when Lara Jean comes across a rock and skids to the side. She isn’t wearing any kind of protective gear, so that earns her a few scrapes.

The sight of the gashes gets Josh into the Worried Mode immediately. That sort of state is usually reserved for Margot - Margot being Margot and all - but Josh can be just as bad, sometimes. So there they are, crouched on the sidewalk, Josh carefully examining the afflicted areas, Lara Jean sticking her tongue out all the while.

“Hey, I’m fine. Promise,” she insists, pushing away at his hand because it’s the truth.

Josh raises an eyebrow. There’s an amused twinkle in his eyes that makes her breath catch for the briefest millisecond. Or two. “Uh, hello. You can’t ride in your condition,” he says. “What if you like accidentally trip again? Or something? Margot would kill me.”

“Nice to know that your own welfare is all that you care about.” Lara Jean snorts. Then, she moves to get to her feet, but the effort makes her wince, and it isn’t lost on Josh.

So before Josh can speak up, Lara Jean is hopping onto her bike again and racing down the sidewalk. It is quick to become a game, the two of them speeding along the streets, the balmy summer hair whipping through their hair.

They stop once they reach the front of Lara Jean’s house, and Josh practically throws himself onto the grass.

“Seriously?” she says, poking at his leg with a foot. “C’mon, lazy bones. We still have that tree-climbing to do.”

Josh rolls onto his side. He curls into himself, pretending to sleep. “Get yourself patched up first.”

“That can wait.” Lara Jean lets out a laugh. And then, she stretches out a hand. “Josh. Please. Get up.”

For a moment, it looks as if he isn’t about to listen to her, but then his fingers wrap around her own wrist, his lips quirked up into a smile. And for some reason Lara Jean’s heart, that - that traitor, starts stuttering at this, Josh’s hand now slipping into her own, his mouth curled in a crescent moon shape, his voice honey-sweet in her ears.

“There is no one like you, is there, Lara Jean?” he says, and maybe he means it to come off as teasing, but it isn’t, not really.

Those six words, six syllables, and still the world turns. Staying firmly in its tracks.

The now dying light haloes the brown of Josh’s hair, illuminating the lighter hues, like the golden threads of a tapestry. It’s you, Lara Jean thinks dimly. Definitely you. But it does not feel like it is.

(He is not, Lara Jean realizes not long after. When she discovers the mark on his skin does not match hers in the slightest. Not a sentence, but an image. A whorl of powder-blue, twined along the slender arch of his collarbone.

✧･ﾟ: *

There’s Kenny from camp. John Ambrose from Model UN. But it is neither of them, like Josh.

Kenny, she finds out the hard way, after he says the words on her wrist without knowing of their existence. And it’s funny, how a sentence that once meant so much could turn out insignificant in the end.

“You know, Lara Jean, I actually know who my soulmate is,” Kenny says to her as they’re swinging their legs over a ledge, unaware that her heart is sinking, sinking, sinking. “It’s this girl back at home. She’s really pretty, you know. Brown hair, green eyes. Freckles all over her face. I think I’m in love with her. And I think she loves me, too.” He says this so seriously, so solemnly, Lara Jean forgets her disappointment and hopes it’s true, for both their sakes.

When you’re eleven, you don’t really know what love is. Not the kind where your family or friends are involved, but the kind that makes your heart race, palms sweat, knees buckle. Lara Jean would know; she got over Josh point five seconds after the crushing realization. So, Lara Jean and Kenny? Not meant to be?

Cool.

Camp is the last time Lara Jean sees Kenny, anyway. Cutting a languid, loose-limbed figure against the noonday sun, tanned from exposure.

✧･ﾟ: *

John Ambrose is a little more complicated. They get to know each other well during the MUN meetings, and Lara Jean ends up liking him so much it’s harder to accept the reality.

Smart, handsome, soft-spoken John Ambrose, with those bright blue eyes of his that remind her of oceans where they’re at their deepest. Rich sapphire. Deep, deep blue.

For a while, she is sure that John Ambrose likes her back. That maybe, just maybe, he is the one meant for her. So when a stroke of fortune gets him to utter the cursed words, during a conversation about political warfare, she’s touched that he seems to mean it, that he truly thinks she is clever and capable and bright, but there’s something missing from the picture, one that she cannot name for the life of her.

Sure, John Ambrose does like her. In the way she has been hoping for.

It is not a dream come true, however. Whatever they have between them ends where it starts - never mutually acknowledged - because, number one, they’re kids, and, number two, she figures out it’s not John Ambrose her heart has been searching for.

When John Ambrose moves to a new school by the end of the year, that’s quick to become history, and strangely enough Lara Jean feels an odd sense of closure.

✧･ﾟ: *

Seventh grade comes along and brings with it Peter Kavinsky.

This one is easy: the only real event that comes up between them is a single kiss during a game of Spin the Bottle. That’s pretty much it. Plus, there’s the matter of Gen being crazy wild for him, convinced they’re meant to be together, forever and ever, so ....

Good for Gen. Whatever.

Still it does not stop Peter from stealing looks at her on occasion. And she notices this, alright. Hard not to.

✧･ﾟ: *

Lucas James happens before Lara Jean has the sense to finally draw the line somewhere.

She’s not sure how it begins. Her, eyeing Lucas James from afar, pulse racing, cheeks warming. Maybe it was the smile. Or that amazing sense of humour. But it was the dance, really, that sealed the deal, the two of them swaying under the blue-purple lights, rendered aglow. Him whispering the words so many before him had once told her.

However, they don’t last long, her feelings for him. It is the start of something new, until one day it isn’t: “Hey, Lara Jean, I think - I think I’m into guys.”

That day, Lara Jean looks him in the eye. And gives him a big smile.

It may not have worked out, but at least she found a friend.

Five boys later, and clearly the soulmate search isn’t really working out.

Perhaps it’s time to set it aside. For now, at least.

✧･ﾟ: *

Eleventh grade arrives, and by that point Lara Jean isn’t really looking for a somebody, anymore. It gets pushed to the sidelines, wondering about her soulmate, because there are better goals to have at the present moment than trying to find the One. She’s got years ahead of her. A lifetime, to be exact. And if that still isn’t enough, then that’s that, she supposes.

If it isn’t meant to be, then it isn’t meant to be. No use trying to wish the unachievable into existence.

And then Kavinsky happens - again.

Peter Kavinsky. Kavinsky, with that lazy, crooked smirk, and those piercing dark eyes that have always seemed to smolder with all types of belly-burning promises. And Lara Jean has seen them in action - the effect potent up-close and just as strong even from afar.

A butterfly’s touch to the wrist turned searing by the low burn of that steady gaze.

Lara Jean should be immune to this. This being boys like him, too cheeky, too charming for their own good - nothing but trouble.

And she is, so to speak. Immune.

She’s seen him in classrooms, hallways, and parking lots. With his arm slung over a pretty girl’s shoulders. His laugh infectious when he leans down to whisper into her ear. His smile loose and coy. Incandescent at the seams. This part is where the appeal’s lost on her, even though yeah, he is hot.

No, that’s not it. Because what Lara Jean has always been drawn to is that Peter, for all that boys like him should stand for (as dictated by those silly ninety-nine cent finds at discount bookstores), is actually really, really nice. Like, he’s been this way since middle school, and maybe Lara Jean’s being judgemental, but she’d been at least thirty percent sure that he’d change, transform into someone annoying and pseudo-debonair. Typical jock attitude.

It’s nice that she got that assumption wrong.

So, back to the topic of soulmates. And how Kavinsky fits in.

It’s stupid, thinking about those things on the same page, much less the same line. It’s Kavinsky’s fault, honestly, that he had to choose sitting right next to her - out of all people - in Lit class, and then proceeding to give her that annoyingly gorgeous Peter Kavinsky grin.

While saying, in his most serene voice, “Looks like we’re stuck together, Lara Jean. We’re officially partners-in-crime now, right?”

There was a cough in the background - Gen’s irritation, at the sight of them side by side - and then Lara Jean’s small smile directed towards him, amused.

That’s how it started. Lara Jean falling against her better wishes.

And the dangerous part is, there now seems to be no end in sight.

✧･ﾟ: *

It takes Peter Kavinsky driving her to school, swapping silly notes and hanging out at cafes with her, to get her to arrive at a realization.

That he feels so, so different from the others. Josh, Kenny, John Ambrose, and Lucas James, that it honestly kind of startles her in its novelty. The slow and tender way he’s steadily infiltrating her thoughts and the spaces in between. The limbo between rest and wakefulness, and that dream-state of barely-there consciousness.

Peter’s just a hard-to-forget afterthought in her reality, solid only when he’s around in her presence, until one day he isn’t, slowly easing himself into a position of significance in her life, no longer white noise.

He is there at school, and now in her dreams as well. Boy running. Boy chasing. Always, always after her, through dew-soaked meadows of green gilded by sunrise.

✧･ﾟ: *

“Lara Jean,” Peter says with a grin, settling down onto the spot next to her and then knocking their knees together.

“I’m waiting for Chris,” Lara Jean says, putting aside her book.

His mouth curls in amused suspicion. “No, you’re not.”

A sigh. “No, I’m not.” She looks into his eyes, and there are lights flickering in them from the lamps lining the street, and she thinks she can hear her heartbeat, there behind her ribcage. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy, Peter? Why always me?”

“That’s because there is no one like you, Covey,” Peter says, and the mark on her wrist burns, but Lara Jean just looks away.

✧･ﾟ: *

At school, they tell you how stars are born, the ones high up in space. The process takes place inside molecular clouds called nebulae, where dense regions start forming, and then collapsing under their own gravitational force. Once that happens, a real star is born after the resulting protostar at the centre undergoes fusion.

That’s the simplified step-by-step. Minus the technicalities.

It’s hard to explain Lara Jean’s reasoning, why she thinks that might be how love develops, too. But she’s always had a thing for reconciling completely unrelated topics with each other; that’s the beauty of metaphor. It doesn’t have to make sense, so long as it moves you.

So picture this: a nebula. A cloud of dust and gas. Confusion. Feelings. All sorts of happy but irritating things.

And then next, gravity compressing the cloud. There’s pressure building, and the temperature going up.

The centre gets hotter and hotter, and then a fusion reaction takes place. And there you have it: a star. Love burning, burning, burning.

✧･ﾟ: *

Lara Jean takes to distancing herself, but it’s hard, because it’s Peter, and giving in is so much easier, so she stops, and just goes along with it, lets herself think about Peter in all the ways she’s wanted to.

Holding his hand. Looking into his eyes. Pressing her palm to his heart.

Peter saying, “Lara Jean,” when he means something else, and Lara Jean saying, “Peter,” when she means, “I feel the same way.”

And then there comes a time when Peter tells her he’s known who his soulmate is for a while now, and Lara Jean’s heart sinks because she thought he was genuinely hers, but she doesn’t let her disappointment show; she only smiles and says, “Good for you.”

“Don’t you want to guess?” Peter says, and Lara Jean shakes her head, trying for another smile.

“No, not really.”

✧･ﾟ: *

She finds out that Kitty has been keeping Peter’s notes, and she’s only annoyed for a moment, until she goes through some of the papers herself.

You looked so pretty today, Lara Jean. Math class, fifth period.

Did you know that you have hair the colour of midnight. Seriously. I’m not saying this only to be poetic. World History, third period.

And then, There is no one like you, Lara Jean Song-Covey -

Wait. Wait.

Lara Jean pauses. Scrunches her eyebrows. Then she pulls down her bracelet, compares the note’s handwriting to the one etched on her wrist.

Same letters. Same scrawl. A hundred percent match.

A small smile blossoms on her face.

✧･ﾟ: *

They meet up after school, when the sky is a thousand different shades of languid rose-gold. Peter is waiting for her on the bleachers, hair windswept, mouth pulled up in a large grin, and there’s Lara Jean moving next to him, her heart refusing to settle, still.

“I got your note,” Peter says, and Lara Jean feels full of this: the timbre of his voice, the deep amber flecks in his eyes, the soft, gentle glow of sunlight against his hair.

He shows her his wrist, and there it is: I know it’s you, Peter Kavinsky, done in the soulmate mark equivalent of glittering blue gel pen.

Wait. “But - but I gave you that note two hours ago,” Lara Jean says. “How did you know it was me before then? Like, you told me way back when that you already had an idea.”

“I think I dreamt you,” Peter says, and when Lara Jean laughs, tells him to be serious, he just says, “Honestly, I did. Like, I think that my heart’s internal compass was just pointing at you this whole time. That, and I really wanted it to be the case.”

“You … did?” Lara Jean’s breath hitches. Halts entirely.

The fading sun turns his skin luminous and orange-warm, and when Peter whispers, “I’ll never not choose you, Lara Jean,” before leaning down to kiss her, nothing magical happens, and even though it isn’t like what the movies say, it’s even better because it’s real, all of it.

Peter’s mouth against hers, her hand pressed flush against his chest, and the unspoken I’m falling for you in between.

The world is already painted in the colours of a sunset when Peter reaches up to cup her jaw and kiss her more deeply, so really, that’s all the magic that she needs.

[bambamwolf87]

"New Neighbors" Ch 3

Summary: Loki and Thor are living at Stark Tower. You're a new hire, hired to help the brothers learn more about the ways of life on Earth.

Thor has declined to go with Loki and you...

Stepping back into your living room, Loki spots you instantly.

“Aren't you a ray of sunshine? Pardon the cliche phrase, but that yellow makes you stand out. In a good way, or so I think.”

Trying not to blush at the long comment.

“Thank you, I was aiming for something less daunting than black and gray.”

Loki looks down at himself, he is in a black suit jacket and slacks, with a light green shirt and a dark green tie. Thinking it has more color than usual for himself, he stands. Holding out an arm to you, with a soft grin upon his face. You hesitate for a moment, but give in and place your hand on his sleeve. Getting a cab to head out for today's adventure.

First place was to go pick out a smartphone for Loki. Getting out at the phone store, you lead him inside. Yes you could have stayed in the Tower and showed him pictures, but you wanted him to hold the item to help him decide. You had always prefer a hands on experience.

Loki walks around the counters, eyeing the pieces on display. No associate approached him. You find one, to get their help in opening the Avengers account while he's browsing. You meet Loki where he is standing, as he is swiping and tapping on some screens.

“Find something you like?”

“I don't know, this is entertaining to me, like one of the video games Groot plays.”

“Would you like to try this model? If you don't like it, we can exchange it within the first few weeks, if you are unhappy with it.”

He tries to pick it up, unknowing how displays work. Placing your hand over his, you look up to meet his eyes.

“You don't take that one, that's just for an example to see and try. We'll be getting you a brand new one.”

Luckily he liked a phone with a similar system to yours. Making him an email was going to be a challenge. Tony said all employees had email addresses with nicknames to help prevent hacking… Tony has had a few nicknames for Loki, all you wish to avoid.

Remembering Thor’s was ‘dawn_of _snakes’, using it for some inspiration. ‘dusk_and_daggers’. Typing it and letting Loki see it, he questioned your choice, “Why did you choose that?”

“It is the opposite of Thor's, his starts with ‘dawn’, you're both so opposite. ‘Daggers’ is due to your weapon of choice.”

Loki was secretly impressed by your knowledge of him. He smirks and nods his approval. Then puts the device into his jacket pocket.

Walking to the nearby library, Loki got to learn of audiobooks, many on disks, some online only. Learning how his email could help him learn more information pleased the prince.

Lunch time comes around, finding an Italian restaurant, you both are seated and the waiter assumes you're a couple. It's made apparent when they offer you a bottle of wine or champagne. Loki just wants a beer, and you get sparkling cider.

Loki keeps observing you, unknowingly to you. You gush about your favorite dishes and desserts that they had in the menu. He committed these to his memory.

He trusts your judgment and gets the same order as you. Getting garlic and shells pasta with shrimp and breadsticks.

Declining on dessert after becoming full, you pout about missing out on the German chocolate cake slice you had your eyes set on. Moving on, to an antique bookstore. Looking for first editions of some authors, you leave Loki to explore for himself.

He remembers that you mentioned him and Thor learning how to cook… what if he could teach himself? Be a step ahead of his big brother. Picking up a few books that were on cooking and food preparation.

You find a handful of books to add to your collection. At the counter, he is waiting for you, as he flips through a magazine. Not looking at his stack of books, you pass your work card to pay for them.

Back inside the Tower, you see Pepper, waving at each other. Tony following a few steps behind her, he waves and calls out to you and Loki. “Nice email, I'd have gone with ‘reindeer-games’, but I'm sure that's already taken. First time you have left this place without Thor. Good to know (y/n) is doing her job well.” Stark winks at you.

“It really didn't feel like work, if I'm to be honest with you. I enjoyed the day out after staying inside the Tower over a week.”

Loki nods, not speaking during the exchange. Tony took it as his queue to go.

Loki doesn't follow to your door this time. He turns to you from his doorway, “Thank you for today. Iron Man was correct, I've not left this building unless with my brother.”

“He has a name, ya know.”

“I'm aware, but since he never calls me by mine, I don't intend to call him by his.”

Rolling your eyes at his childish reasoning.

“Loki, you can't keep being so anti-social. Aren't you lonely? I saw how annoyed you were with Thor. You should make an effort, this is your home.”

He listened to you, but not answering your question. “I'm going to relax, I probably won't see you at the cafeteria tonight.”

Then he goes into his quarters and you hear the door click closed.

You crack open a book and read until you go get dinner, sitting down at an empty table. Until a couple of women sit at your table. Looking up, they're both beautiful, but they had eyes focused on you. Their scrutiny made you nervous.

“Can I help you?” You ask, in case they need any supplies or something.

One was blond, you recognize her as Black Widow. The other you had some knowledge of, as Scarlet Witch. Unfortunately, you didn't know their personal names.

“I'm Natasha, this is Wanda. We’ve seen you around the building the past week. Maybe we could have a girls night sometime.”

Smiling at the invitation, “Uhh, thank you. I'm not a hero, I'm just an employee.”

Wanda spoke next, “You put up with Thor and Loki in the same room this morning, that is heroic in its own way.” The redhead smiled, but then looked sad. “I envy them, they have each other, I'd do anything to have my Twin at my side. Thor can be a bit of a bully, but I'm not sure he realizes it.”

Her words had a ring if truth in your mind.

“Maybe over the weekend, if you're not busy with a mission, I'd like to hang out with you.”

This makes both smile widely.

You go back to your room. Getting into pajamas, of mid-thigh shorts and a t-shirt with matching butterflies on them. Turning in early to bed, you fall asleep quickly.

The next morning you do your morning routine, but just have a light breakfast. Then head to the gym. You see who you can only assume is the Valkyrie Thor mentioned earlier. She looked a bit intimidating. As you get onto the small trampoline, to do a workout, she spots you.

“Wanna wrestle?”

Shaking your head from side to side as a ‘no’. You step off of the trampoline to the elliptical, so you could change and work on cardio. Then you see Thor and Loki come into view. The Valkyrie makes a howling noise, excitement at the blond royal. Loki looks like he doesn't want to be there. She lightly punched Loki's shoulder.

“Why don't you ever spar with me? You could be a formidable challenge, if you tried.”

Your ears perk up as someone gave him a compliment. He shakes his head, making his curling black locks sway around his face.

“I admire and respect you too much to ‘try’.”

“Ha! I knew you let me win on Sakkar!”

Thor chimed in, “I had wondered why you were bound that day… you let her win?”

Loki smiles for the first time since you’ve seen him in the gym room. You believe him.

You finished your workout and made your goal. As you were in the back corner of the room, the brothers hadn't seen you yet.

The woman whistles at you, “I'll go easy on you, promise!”

“I'm not a fighter, I'm more of a klutz.”

You wave at the guys, as you exit.

You have managed to get a shower and then a knock comes from your door. You try not to panic, as you're not expecting company. It's almost lunch time, who would be at your door?!

Throwing on your terry cloth robe, and a towel wrapped around your dripping hair. You make sure everything is covered, expecting Tony or Pepper. Opening the door a few inches, you see Loki. He is holding a tray. It had a few plates on it. You can't see what's under the lids.

“Yes? What can I help you with Loki?”

He looks up from his feet, to see you. His mouth opens and closes, but no words spill out. He makes a quick glance at your attire.

“I was told you hadn't been to lunch yet. So I thought to bring it to you. Although, I think I really do have bad timing.”

His face flushed pink, even his ears were turning red. It was cute. Add his crooked grin, you couldn't help but usher him inside.

“Get in here! Quick, before someone else sees me like this.”

He sets the tray onto your small dining table. You pull out a chair and sit down. He looks oddly at you.

“Are you going to stand while eating, or did you not bring anything for yourself?”

Blinking his eyes a few times rapidly, his raven eyelashes fanning his flushed cheeks. Loki seats himself and looks into your eyes.

“I wanted to surprise you. Show you I could learn something on my own. Lunch is from the cafeteria, but dessert I made myself.”

Removing the lids, the hot lunch was teriyaki chicken with rice and vegetables.

“Shouldn't you get dressed?”

“Then my food would be cold! I can eat and dry out at the same time.”

You had no idea what your state of dress was doing to Loki. Surely he's seen plenty of bodies, and yours was still covered. Granted pulling a couple of large strings that make a belt and it would be exposed. Eating the warm meal, you were delightfully surprised by his gesture. When finished, he clears his throat. Looking up, starting deeply into his eyes, like you could drown in them.

He breaks the silence, “You ought to get dressed before you get sick.”

You giggle at the idea, he's more mothering than you had expected. He starts to tap his long fingers on the table's surface, seemingly as if inpatient. He wasn't smiling.

“Oh alright, gosh. You're such a worrywart.”

That was a new name he hadn't been called before. To be fair, he didn't know what came over him. His need to impress this small woman. Then not wishing to witness her to become ill, especially because of his arrival.

You return, in dark jeans and a green silk blouse. Not even knowing that all shades of green were his favorite color. Oh how he watched the silk cling to you, as you must've still had damp skin and hair. He realizes how good you look in his color.

“Okay, happy now?” You do a twirl.

“Very.” The tone to that one word makes your breath catch for a moment.

“I made this for you.” He opens the last lid, its a cake. Looks like a German chocolate cake, maybe eight inches round, at least 2 layers tall. You smell the scent of chocolate, but can't believe he made it.

“Now, be honest!”

“I am. One of the books I got yesterday at the bookstore, it had a recipe and directions to make what I'd heard you say you wanted at the restaurant. I went to the kitchens, getting the supplies and bringing them up to my room's kitchen. It took me two tries. The first taste tester was my brother. Not by choice, but because he barged into my room and cut himself a slice. Joke was on him!” A deep chuckle filled the air.

“And what about the second attempt? Who tried that?” You ask nervously.

“Oh I took the cake to the kitchens, to have the cooks try it and tell me of my wrong doing. Then made it again and they tried it, thankfully. The two available said it was correct. So that's why it's missing a couple of slices. So ta-da!”

The look of pride upon his face made you smile. Reassured that it was edible, you take a slice and put one on each of your plates. He watches you as you cut into it with your fork. You look at it for a moment, then sliding it into your mouth. Your eyes close as the bite melts on your tongue.

“The problem on the first one was the frosting was made wrong. It is a messy mix, but it looks like the picture I saw.”

Opening your eyes, as you stare at the prince who cooked two cakes for you.

“I'm completely flattered and floored that you did that just for me. No man has ever baked a cake for me.”

After eating the cake, Loki puts the rest into your fridge.

“I won't see you for the next few days, maybe a week. I was invited to go on a mission. I thought I'd go try to make more friends. Valkyrie, Spiderman, and Stark are going. The sorcerer, Dr. Strange is recovering from his last adventure. They think my magic could be helpful.”

You stand up from the table. You lean towards Loki, wanting to hug him. He lets you wrap your arms around his waist. Your head on his shoulder. He finally closes his arms over your back.

“Don't worry or work too hard in my absence. Teach my brother something. Don't take any crap from him.”

You force a laugh. He pulls back, looking down to kiss your forehead. Loosening your arms as he walks out of the embrace. He smiles and waves as he leaves your apartment. You're shaken in a way you don't understand… the day was only halfway through, but you had lost the motivation to do much more than curl up on your couch.

(End of chapter 3!)

[talesnbone]

THE HORNED KING IS PROUD TO SEND THEIR CHILD, MERCEDES REYES, TO THE LAND OF AURADON FOR THE UPCOMING SOCIAL SEASON. WE HEAR THEY’RE CALM AND DETERMINED, BUT CAN ALSO BE SECRETIVE AND SADISTIC.

General

Full Name: Mercedes Reyes Age & Date of birth: 26, 11/12/1798 Gender: Ciswoman Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Demisexual Relationship status: Not looking

Biography

There is no such thing as Mercedes Reyes. ‘Twas only a name, created for a shell. Something that could be accepted in polite society. For her entire life, she was only known as little wraith, little ghoul, little raven. Her father’s bone like fingers smoothing over skin that nearly matched his own. Less skin and closer to bone. Something gaunt and made of nightmares. Her new name means nothing to her. A means to an end. Still, for their own entertainment, they had chosen the name carefully. Pulled the sounds and meanings they wished to be hidden among the other names of the shadow children around her. The Great Horned King is the only the only one that knows her true name. Something they exchanged in blood. An understanding of secrecy between them. The words were never to be uttered.

The reason of things untold was not the only things her father taught her. In a world of magic, secrets were currency. Despite there being no magic, it was etched into her very blood. Something carved into a soul that was closer to a specter than a human. His cold voice, like a growl in the dark as he whispered of things she needed to know. Must know. Literature. Manners. Etiquette. He brought her to a looking glass and had her look within. Watch how the soft people moved about their lives. Each one of them spied upon to memorize them. Like knowing how the pieces on a chess board were to move. They all had their purpose. Hers was to understand. Not for the sake of empathy. It was not a verb or feeling she truly understood but for the sake of understanding their designs. More specifically, how to tear them apart. Piece by piece.

She lived a private life within the shadow realm. Only two companions she would see if she saw any. Her world wrapped in shadows and clarity. Only those two and her father had seen what she looked like before walking through the looking glass. Her body always covered in a cloak and hood to hide. There was no shame. But there was always a design, and they would do everything they could to keep the secrets for their favor.  The like her father, was a creature made of blood magic and necrotic spells. It didn’t matter that her mother had been someone soft and warm. The taint in their blood, the power that intertwined its way through the entirety of their existence, was not stop by something as pitiful as mortality. Her very first spell she did the moment she walked and left the shadow realm. A glamour. Something to match a name that was not her own. Heat and soft smiles faked with a thought. Her face, modeled after her mother. Someone, that was perhaps beautiful… all she wished to do was tear the skin away and be nothing but her true form.

A form that toward in a way that wasn’t entirely human. Limbs gaunt and spindly with hands that could be compared to spider legs more than soft flesh. Lips that looked more akin to a cadaver barely hiding monstrous teeth. Eyes that were a deep red. Closer to a blood. Hot. Sticky. Blood. Horns that were small within the shadow realm, so little magic. Enough to give her part of her heritage but they grew with more magic use. After a short time in Auradon, her horns have grown to something looming. All her glory, hidden by weak flesh.

While their time in Auradon so far, was not long. It only had the feeling of eternity for her. She knew the sun would be bright, but she had no idea it would hurt her eyes as much as it did. Flowers she used to gaze at with love through the mirror, left nothing but a curl in her lips. She preferred the dark of her own. Them dead and gnarled. Dying and barely clinging to life. Perhaps the worst, was the food. Disgusting food. Lady fingers that were not fingers at all. Wine that tasted of sunshine and berries. Not only did it taste horrible, but much of it did little for her. All of this on top of the mortals walking among her simply, existing. Pleasantries and hiding. Yet another bad taste in her mouth.

There was little enjoy for her in the shining sun of the other side of the looking glass. All she could feel was a single determination to make sure their plans came to fruition. She would keep some she wished as decorations. Their limbs frozen and twisted in was to entertain her.  The world would be torn apart and she, she would devour flesh and bathe in blood.

Misc

Face Claim: Priscilla Quintana Height: 5’4 Pinterest: [x] Playlist: [x]

Notable Connections

Nikolai Chernov – one of the five people she respects Faerilyth Moore – one of the five people she respects outside of her father

[bluboothalassophile]

How are you doing blu? Good, I hope. The story with Jason asking Raven to move in with him was wonderful, and it also gave me an idea. Can we get a sort of continuation of that where they’re going through moving boxes, and find all their old costumes?

Hello,

I’m a functioning vegetable, but that’s okay. I hope you’re well though. As to your story, I do not think this went the way you thought it would go; it didn’t go the way I thought it would go if that helps. But I hope you enjoy the story all the same. =)

Dress…

Raven hummed a bit to herself mostly, as she moved throughthe boxes. She and Jason had moved in together, after Jason had assured herthat the building wasn’t going to collapse out from under them. And she giggleda bit to herself opening one of Jason’s boxes and seeing the Red X belt there,along with his old uniform with the red skull on it.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just old stuff,” she said tilting her head back, he curledover to look at what she was looking at.

“Hmm… oh, that, well, if you’re up for reminiscing I havesomething I’d love to see you in,” he said and smiled devilishly.

“What?”

“There’s a particular dress of yours I want to see on you,”he grinned.

She blinked, and her lips parted. “Jason, that…”

“What?” he asked, and his fingers slipped through her hair.

“That dress is very important to me,” she said standing andturning into him.

“Why’s that?” he asked, the curiosity he was feeling was toogenuine for her to deny.

“Because it’s my coming of age dress, I am technically notsupposed to wear it before I am twenty-five, and it’s endowed with a lot ofmagical properties, I used to wear it because it stabilized my magic notbecause it was sexy,” she said carefully.

“It’s still sexy and I’d love to see you in it,” he said.

Raven just smiled a bit, it still baffled her that hethought her sexy, no guy had ever called her that. Or beautiful, or gorgeous,or pretty, Jason called her all that and then some though.

“Tell you what, I’ll wear it, but you can’t destroy it,” shedecided cautiously.

“Coming of age to what?” Jason asked her.

“Well, a lot of things,” she answered. “On Azarathtwenty-five would be the age that I’m fully grown into my magical powers, andit’d be the age that I could marry, I could teach, the age I could go to war,the age I am an independent from my mother and am my own person and a fullcitizen. It’s also the age that I could…” she started but shook her head. Therewas so much that could happen at twenty-five for her on Azarath. She missed it.

“Could what?” he asked her.

“Could have a family,” she whispered softly. Though thatwasn’t likely to happen, not with her being a demon, but still, when she hadbeen a child it had been a part of the dream. Once upon a time it had been herdream to be normal, to be a full mage of Azarath, to be a woman, to have thoserights.

“A family?” he still with her in his arms. She felt thespike of apprehension in him and she softened as her head fell back againsthim.

“Yes, but I would not worry about it, Jason, as making it totwenty-five for us will be a feat for celebration,” she mused.

“True,” he grinned. “So about the dress?” he asked.

“What about the dress?”

“Mind modeling it for me?” he chuckled, his lips against hertemple and she sighed as she let her eyes flutter shut.

“No,” she muttered.

“At least I was never into your long-sleeved bathing suit,”he chuckled.

“What was wrong with the leotard?” she asked.

“Nothing, if you’re eight,” he kissed her neck.

“I was thirteen,” she snapped.

“I rest my case,” he declared.

“You know, I should dig up some scaly green speedos and makeyou model those for me, then we’ll see who’s laughing,” she decided haughtily.

“Oh, that’d be me, as I got the legs to pull them off princess;and other assets,” he whispered against the shell of her ear which had herblushing as she stiffened a bit.

“So why do you want me to wear the dress, it highlightsnothing,” she pointed out.

“Au contraire, mon petite,” he laughed. “You have my three favoritethings in abundance, and that dress highlights all three in that elusive way Ihappen to love.”

“What three things?”

“For me to know, for you to figure out,” he promised as hishands slid over her stomach to her hips.

“You are really weird,” she decided as she twisted around inhis arms, her arms twining around his shoulders as she floated up to his level,his hands slid over her ass as she studied his face carefully.

All his emotions were an easy read for her, but it was whatshe was seeing that baffled her and had her smiling a bit as he pulled herclose and she took the initiative to kiss him with everything she had as herhands tangled in his shaggy hair. Jason’s grip was firm as they fell onto theirmattress and box spring.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Okay, but seriously, Jason needed to get Raven to model thatdress for him. He had kind of been itching to get it off of her for a year now.Not that he was going to tell her that! No, but the fact remained, he wantedher in that dress just so he could have the immense pleasure of getting her outof it.

What could he say? He had a thing for legs, hips, and ass onhis girl, and Raven had all three of them in abundance.

There was also the fact that dress; despite being so damn risqué,was so fucking conservative at the same time. He wanted to see her in it again.

With the boots, and the belt, and the cape, and with all herpowers.

Yeah, he wanted to get her out of all of it, or have hernothing but a screaming, writhing mess. It was kind of hot to think of her inthat dress.

Raven had the maturity and looks for it.

Yes, he was going to have to get her into that dress, andthen he’d get her out of it. And if that meant he had to wearing an old replicaof a Robin costume then so be it.

But he would get his girlfriend into that dress, if only toget her out of it.

[entergamingxp]

Röki review – If you go down in the woods today… • Eurogamer.net

Like a lot of things based on Scandinavian folklore, Röki looks cute but isn’t really. This is entirely to its credit – and to the enduring credit of Scandinavian folklore, I imagine. Röki’s about woodland ponds, but it’s also about pond scum. It’s about sweet little animals, but it’s also about the skulls of sweet little animals. And it’s about magic, but what it’s really about is the stuff that magic can’t undo. I was gently moved for a few hours and then I was clobbered, gorgeously, over the head. This game hurts. I love it.

Röki review

Developer: Polygonal Treehouse

Publisher: United Design,

Platform: Reviewed on PC

Availability: Out today on PC, available soon on Switch

Röki is a point-and-click adventure about Tove, a girl out looking for her little brother, who has been taken by mysterious forces. It’s about her family, still woozy from a devastating loss that none of them can properly face, and it’s about the surrounding landscape, which is sparkling with ice and frost and rich with strange beings and dark histories. Stone trolls litter the forest paths and real trolls may lurk in the deeper shadows. Wooden churches, fitted with carved gargoyles, poke from glittering drifts of snow. Stone and moss are in stalemate. Don’t ask about the mushrooms.

Tove’s objective – and this is as much as I’m going to spoil – involves tracking down a group of forgotten giants who once tended the land, so her mission is really about understanding the landscape that she is exploring. It’s a fascinating place. Caves and temples and forests are hardly new to video games, but they seem freshly wrought here, glittering snow banked up against rocks, runes etched into ancient walls, wooden models of ravens dangling from trees. A path of gnawed rib bones might lead you deeper into a lair. A twilight grotto may have bookcases and chairs stacked by the oily shore. A cauldron might burble in the depths.

Secrets abound – floors with cracks that show hidden rooms, staircases that fold down into the soil. The pleasure of an adventure game comes from what you are working towards as much as what you are actually doing moment to moment, and there is always something to get open here, something to coax back to ancient life. In the game’s long second act there is a fast travel system so beautifully conceived that I often used it just because it actually felt like magic – old, earthy magic of the kind that the game is so good at, magic with sharp edges and a kind of deep, frowning pragmatism at the core.

As an adventure game, Röki keeps things simple. Collected items go straight into your backpack where they can be dragged onto parts of the landscape to use them or onto other objects to combine them. Interactive hotspots can be revealed with a press of the thumbstick that also rings out a nice chime, like the wind through hanging bells. This means that unspoken reality of most adventure games – that you pick through their stagecraft worlds like a hungry crow searching for the only morsels that count – has a kind of thematic resonance to it. I would walk through the forests in Röki, very much alone, but banging the thumbstick and making the objects around me glow and the bells chime, as if I was singing to myself to keep my spirits up.

The puzzles are clear-eyed often multi-step affairs, but they bury themselves in the folds of the story so that they never feel like busywork. Not only are you always working multiple leads at any one moment so there’s no real chance to get properly stuck in that hot headache adventure game way that makes you start considering whether the game is broken, there is always a context that means collecting three doodads feels important in a very human way. Tove’s looking for her brother, but her wider actions often involve kindness and understanding – she is making sense of the world and trying to help the people in it as she works her way closer to her goal. This is that rare video game that hinges on empathy and mercy, and it’s built into the puzzles as much as the narrative. And, yes, always that splinter of malice that Tove is working towards, that thing that transforms a cute winterland fantasy into something thrilling.

Towards the end of the journey, changes to the basic design lend events and puzzles a cumulative force that many adventure games lack in their climactic moments. Even better than tricks like this, though, is the notebook that Tove carries through the whole adventure, filled with notes of what she’s seen as a memory aid for puzzles, but also maps of the territory that are slowly filled out, badges that stand in for achievements and “loot” – scraps of feather and egg shell and other wonders found along the way. It’s a reminder that Röki’s horrors and joys are all the richer because they are viewed from a child’s perspective. To step into this game is to be small and lost in the woods, and to be determined in that bright and undiminished way that characters in the best children’s books are. It’s earthy magic. It’s fantastic.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/roki-review-if-you-go-down-in-the-woods-today-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=roki-review-if-you-go-down-in-the-woods-today-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

[alertreadingquotes]

Weapons of Math Destruction, Cathy O'Neil

What are WMDs?

“The first question: Even if the participant is aware of being modeled, or what the model is used for, is the model opaque, or even invisible?... A key component of this suffering is the pernicious feedback loop. As we’ve seen, sentencing models that profile a person by his or her circumstances help to create the environment that justifies their assumptions. This destructive loop goes round and round, and in the process the model becomes more and more unfair.The third question is whether a model has the capacity to grow exponentially. As a statistician would put it, can it scale? This might sound like the nerdy quibble of a mathematician. But scale is what turns WMDs from local nuisances into tsunami forces, ones that define and delimit our lives. As we’ll see, the developing WMDs in human resources, health, and banking, just to name a few, are quickly establishing broad norms that exert upon us something very close to the power of law....

So to sum up, these are the three elements of a WMD: Opacity, Scale, and Damage”

“Shell Shocked: My Journey of Disillusionment

...

My challenge was to design an algorithm that would distinguish window shoppers from buyers. There were a few obvious signals. Were they logged into the service? Had they bought there before? But I also scoured for other hints. What time of day was it, and what day of the year? Certain weeks are hot for buyers. The Memorial Day “bump,” for example, occurs in mid-spring, when large numbers of people make summer plans almost in unison. My algorithm would place a higher value on shoppers during these periods, since they were more likely to buy. The statistical work, as it turned out, was highly transferable from the hedge fund to e-commerce—the biggest difference was that, rather than the movement of markets, I was now predicting people’s clicks. In fact, I saw all kinds of parallels between finance and Big Data. Both industries gobble up the same pool of talent, much of it from elite universities like MIT, Princeton, or Stanford. These new hires are ravenous for success and have been focused on external metrics—like SAT scores and college admissions—their entire lives. Whether in finance or tech, the message they’ve received is that they will be rich, that they will run the world. Their productivity indicates that they’re on the right track, and it translates into dollars. This leads to the fallacious conclusion that whatever they’re doing to bring in more money is good. It “adds value.” Otherwise, why would the market reward it? In both cultures, wealth is no longer a means to get by. It becomes directly tied to personal worth. A young suburbanite with every advantage—the prep school education, the exhaustive coaching for college admissions tests, the overseas semester in Paris or Shanghai—still flatters himself that it is his skill, hard work, and prodigious problem-solving abilities that have lifted him into a world of privilege. Money vindicates all doubts. And the rest of his circle plays along, forming a mutual admiration society. They’re eager to convince us all that Darwinism is at work, when it looks very much to the outside like a combination of gaming a system and dumb luck. In both of these industries, the real world, with all of its messiness, sits apart. The inclination is to replace people with data trails, turning them into more effective shoppers, voters, or workers to optimize some objective. This is easy to do, and to justify, when success comes back as an anonymous score and when the people affected remain every bit as abstract as the numbers dancing across the screen. I was already blogging as I worked in data science, and I was also getting more involved with the Occupy movement. More and more, I worried about the separation between technical models and real people, and about the moral repercussions of that separation. In fact, I saw the same pattern emerging that I’d witnessed in finance: a false sense of security was leading to widespread use of imperfect models, self-serving definitions of success, and growing feedback loops. Those who objected were regarded as nostalgic Luddites. I wondered what the analogue to the credit crisis might be in Big Data. Instead of a bust, I saw a growing dystopia, with inequality rising. The algorithms would make sure that those deemed losers would remain that way. A lucky minority would gain ever more control over the data economy, raking in outrageous fortunes and convincing themselves all the while that they deserved it. After a couple of years working and learning in the Big Data space, my journey to disillusionment was more or less complete, and the misuse of mathematics was accelerating. In spite of blogging almost daily, I could barely keep up with all the ways I was hearing of people being manipulated, controlled, and intimidated by algorithms. It started with teachers I knew struggling under the yoke of the value-added model, but it didn’t end there. Truly alarmed, I quit my job to investigate the issue in earnest.”

On perverse incentives caused by WMDs.

“Students in the Chinese city of Zhongxiang had a reputation for acing the national standardized test, or gaokao, and winning places in China’s top universities. They did so well, in fact, that authorities began to suspect they were cheating. Suspicions grew in 2012, according to a report in Britain’s Telegraph, when provincial authorities found ninety-nine identical copies of a single test. The next year, as students in Zhongxiang arrived to take the exam, they were dismayed to be funneled through metal detectors and forced to relinquish their mobile phones. Some surrendered tiny transmitters disguised as pencil erasers. Once inside, the students found themselves accompanied by fifty-four investigators from different school districts. A few of these investigators crossed the street to a hotel, where they found groups positioned to communicate with the students through their transmitters. The response to this crackdown on cheating was volcanic. Some two thousand stone-throwing protesters gathered in the street outside the school. They chanted, “We want fairness. There is no fairness if you don’t let us cheat.” It sounds like a joke, but they were absolutely serious. The stakes for the students were sky high. As they saw it, they faced a chance either to pursue an elite education and a prosperous career or to stay stuck in their provincial city, a relative backwater. And whether or not it was the case, they had the perception that others were cheating. So preventing the students in Zhongxiang from cheating was unfair. In a system in which cheating is the norm, following the rules amounts to a handicap...

Each college’s admissions model is derived, at least in part, from the U.S. News model, and each one is a mini-WMD. These models lead students and their parents to run in frantic circles and spend obscene amounts of money. And they’re opaque. This leaves most of the participants (or victims) in the dark. But it creates a big business for consultants, like Steven Ma, who manage to learn their secrets, either by cultivating sources at the universities or by reverse-engineering their algorithms. The victims, of course, are the vast majority of Americans, the poor and middle-class families who don’t have thousands of dollars to spent on courses and consultants. They miss out on precious insider knowledge. The result is an education system that favors the privileged. It tilts against needy students, locking out the great majority of them—and pushing them down a path toward poverty. It deepens the social divide. But even those who claw their way into a top college lose out. If you think about it, the college admissions game, while lucrative for some, has virtually no educational value. The complex and fraught production simply re-sorts and reranks the very same pool of eighteen-year-old kids in newfangled ways. They don’t master important skills by jumping through many more hoops or writing meticulously targeted college essays under the watchful eye of professional tutors. Others scrounge online for cut-rate versions of those tutors. All of them, from the rich to the working class, are simply being trained to fit into an enormous machine—to satisfy a WMD. And at the end of the ordeal, many of them will be saddled with debt that will take decades to pay off. They’re pawns in an arms race, and it’s a particularly nasty one.”

On opaque ranking systems that boil universities down to ordinal rankings without explicitly describing the variables used to compare them.

“Perhaps it was just as well that the Obama administration failed to come up with a rejiggered ranking system. The pushback by college presidents was fierce. After all, they had spent decades optimizing themselves to satisfy the U.S. News WMD. A new formula based on graduation rates, class size, alumni employment and income, and other metrics could wreak havoc with their ranking and reputation. No doubt they also made good points about the vulnerabilities of any new model and the new feedback loops it would generate. So the government capitulated. And the result might be better. Instead of a ranking, the Education Department released loads of data on a website. The result is that students can ask their own questions about the things that matter to them—including class size, graduation rates, and the average debt held by graduating students. They don’t need to know anything about statistics or the weighting of variables. The software itself, much like an online travel site, creates individual models for each person. Think of it: transparent, controlled by the user, and personal. You might call it the opposite of a WMD.“

Biases in hiring WMDs

“Defenders of the tests note that they feature lots of questions and that no single answer can disqualify an applicant. Certain patterns of answers, however, can and do disqualify them. And we do not know what those patterns are. We’re not told what the tests are looking for. The process is entirely opaque. What’s worse, after the model is calibrated by technical experts, it receives precious little feedback. Again, sports provide a good contrast here. Most professional basketball teams employ data geeks, who run models that analyze players by a series of metrics, including foot speed, vertical leap, free-throw percentage, and a host of other variables. When the draft comes, the Los Angeles Lakers might pass on a hotshot point guard from Duke because his assist statistics are low. Point guards have to be good passers. Yet in the following season they’re dismayed to see that the rejected player goes on to win Rookie of the Year for the Utah Jazz and leads the league in assists. In such a case, the Lakers can return to their model to see what they got wrong. Maybe his college team was relying on him to score, which punished his assist numbers. Or perhaps he learned something important about passing in Utah. Whatever the case, they can work to improve their model. Now imagine that Kyle Behm, after getting red-lighted at Kroger, goes on to land a job at McDonald’s. He turns into a stellar employee. He’s managing the kitchen within four months and the entire franchise a year later. Will anyone at Kroger go back to the personality test and investigate how they could have gotten it so wrong? Not a chance, I’d say. The difference is this: Basketball teams are managing individuals, each one potentially worth millions of dollars. Their analytics engines are crucial to their competitive advantage, and they are hungry for data. Without constant feedback, their systems grow outdated and dumb. The companies hiring minimum-wage workers, by contrast, are managing herds. They slash expenses by replacing human resources professionals with machines, and those machines filter large populations into more manageable groups. Unless something goes haywire in the workforce—an outbreak of kleptomania, say, or plummeting productivity—the company has little reason to tweak the filtering model. It’s doing its job—even if it misses out on potential stars. The company may be satisfied with the status quo, but the victims of its automatic systems suffer. And as you might expect, I consider personality tests in hiring departments to be WMDs. They check all the boxes. First, they are in widespread use and have enormous impact. The Kronos exam, with all of its flaws, is scaled across much of the hiring economy. Under the previous status quo, employers no doubt had biases. But those biases varied from company to company, which might have cracked open a door somewhere for people like Kyle Behm. That’s increasingly untrue. And Kyle was, in some sense, lucky. Job candidates, especially those applying for minimum-wage work, get rejected all the time and rarely find out why. It was just chance that Kyle’s friend happened to hear about the reason for his rejection and told him about it. Even then, the case against the big Kronos users would likely have gone nowhere if Kyle’s father hadn’t been a lawyer, one with enough time and money to mount a broad legal challenge. This is rarely the case for low-level job applicants. * Finally, consider the feedback loop that the Kronos personality test engenders. Red-lighting people with certain mental health issues prevents them from having a normal job and leading a normal life, further isolating them. This is exactly what the Americans with Disabilities Act is supposed to prevent.

The majority of job applicants, thankfully, are not blackballed by automatic systems. But they still face the challenge of moving their application to the top of the pile and landing an interview...The hiring market, clearly, was still poisoned by prejudice...As you might expect, human resources departments rely on automatic systems to winnow down piles of résumés. In fact, some 72 percent of résumés are never seen by human eyes. Computer programs flip through them, pulling out the skills and experiences that the employer is looking for. Then they score each résumé as a match for the job opening. It’s up to the people in the human resources department to decide where the cutoff is, but the more candidates they can eliminate with this first screening, the fewer human-hours they’ll have to spend processing the top matches. So job applicants must craft their résumés with that automatic reader in mind. It’s important, for example, to sprinkle the résumé liberally with words the specific job opening is looking for. This could include positions (sales manager, chief financial officer, software architect), languages (Mandarin, Java), or honors (summa cum laude, Eagle Scout). Those with the latest information learn what machines appreciate and what tangles them up... The result of these programs, much as with college admissions, is that those with the money and resources to prepare their résumés come out on top. Those who don’t take these steps may never know that they’re sending their résumés into a black hole. It’s one more example in which the wealthy and informed get the edge and the poor are more likely to lose out.”

[sadspottedpanda]

Swipe Right for Awkwardness (FFXV FANFIC) - ch 3

It was actually happening. Noctis can't help but stare at Prompto as he takes off his shirt, his best friend's freckled cheeks red with a bit of embarrassment. They're on Noctis' bed with Prompto straddling Noctis' hips and a naughty grin forms on Noctis' face as he reaches out to touch the object of his affection. He bends up and pulls Prompto on top of him, his lips making a beeline for Prompto's, and they kiss. It's an awkward, messy kiss, but Noctis doesn't mind. His hands move down to Prompto's boxers and he lowers them down to his knees while Prompto reaches for Noctis' rapidly stiffening cock, eventually pulling the thick sausage from under the wristband of his best friend's tight, black briefs. Prompto breaks off the kiss and his lips head staright for the throbbing dick awaiting the warm embrace of his mouth. Noctis can feel Prompto's warm breath and he moans, eagerly awaiting the wet sensation. The fantasy is broken as Noctis' alarm blares out for the tenth time, but this time, it's loud enough to actually have an effect on the prince of sleep. Noctis stirs as the scene he's made up in his mind dissolves into the plain ceiling of his room. "For fuck's sake..." Of all the times his body chooses to react to his alarm, it had to be then. He kicks the sheets off and just lies there, angry at the interrupted fantasy, when he feels wetness in his crotch. He cranes his head to see what the fuck was wrong and sees a large, dark patch on his tight briefs right where the head of his semi-hard dick was. He grunts and pulls his briefs off and rubs the wet spot with his fingers before bringing them to his lips. Despite all the kinky shit he was into, he's never actually tasted his own cum. Moments later, he sticks his tongue out and licks the rest of the cum off his underwear. "Hm. Not bad." He throws the briefs across the room into the basket of other dity clothes and heads for the bathroom. Downstairs, Prompto's leaning on the railing of the balcony. Having just arrived home from his daily morning run, he thought he could use a few minutes of rest before taking a shower. Meanwhile, Noctis finishes his own shower and heads downstairs with nothing but a towel over him. He hasn't realized Prompto's returned until he sees his best friend outside. He spends a few minutes admiring the view. Prompto was dripping with sweat and his tank top was clinging to his body rather tightly, showing off his great figure. His running shorts left little to the imagination as it perfectly followed the curves of of his nicely-toned ass and sharp hips. Prompto may be scrawny compared to a lot of guys Noctis has taken an interest in in the past, but he was toned and firm. Finally deciding to stop thinking of his best friend in such lews terms so he wouldn't develop a boner in the middle of the living room, he walks to Prompto and playfully slaps his ass. "Mornin'" Prompto yelps a little, not expecting Noctis to suddenly appear there as he was admiring the view of the boats out on the harbor. "Dude! Don't sneak up on me like that! You know I - oh - you're naked..." Prompto blushes a little. "Like the view?" Noctis says teasingly, gripping his towel. He has half a mind to just let it drop to the floor just to see Prompto's reaction, but decides against it. Prompto wasn't exactly great at handling stressful situations and he was already sweating again." "Yeah. Wait, no! Not you! I mean the boats! I...uhhh..." "Did you just call me ugly?" "No dude! You look great! Aw man. Sorry, you know how I am with surprises." "Hope that was a good one." "Ugh." Prompto lets out a groan of exasperation and rolls his eyes. "Anyway, you ready for today? I'll just go take a shower and grab my gear, then we can go." "How about getting dressed?" Prompto groans again and grins. "Speak for yourself, hot stuff. Since when did you become such a joker? Anyway, be back in a few minutes." He heads upstairs and Noctis follows shortly. His balls have already retreated because of the cold air blowing in from the open balcony door and he'd rather have them hanging loose. They meet back up in the living room around 20 minutes later, fully dressed, and head for the garage where Noctis' car was. It was fancy, balck model his dad had bought for him and Noctis was eternally grateful for it. It also had plenty of room in both the back and front, perfect for roadtrips with friends, Prompto's gear, and hot sex with random men. Noctis puts the key in the ignition, retracts the top, and drives out onto the streets of Insomnia. It was a clear day with a beautiful blue sky. The sun was shining and a cool breeze was blowing on them. Prompto had his digital camera out, excitedly snapping away at anything the passed that was interesting to him. Noct was wishing he was back in bed with the curtains drawn. Despite his apprehension of going out on such a perfect day to stay indoors, he did it out of support for Prompto's photography gigs. Today, they were heading out to Galdin Quay to meet up with some girls from school who were trying to build up their modeling portfolio. Two hours later, they're at a beautiful resort facing the clear, blue waters of the Lucian coastline. Noctis parks the car and was helping Prompto's gear from the backseat when two ladies approach them. "There y'all are!" The cheery voice was coming from a pretty girl with short, wavy blond hair. She had a body any boy would drool over, with her rounded hips and large, succulent breasts. "Sorry for dragging you all the way out here, sweeties, but thanks for coming anyway. We mighty 'ppreciate it." "I agree. This place is the perfect backdrop for our portfolio." Next to the blond bombshell was a statuesque girl with soft, gentle features. She exuded an aura of high class, yet seemed to have a defiant side to her. Her hair was made up in a complex ponytail, further accentuating her overall regal look. "Now, it's up to our photographer to make it work for us!" "Hey Cindy, Luna! Sorry to keep you waiting. We hit some traffic on the way!" Prompto grins in the presence of the two ladies. "Oh, I know, I know hun' We just got here ourselves! We ran out of gas just outside of Hammerhead and I told Luna to push the car as a joke, but she did! She's stronger than she looks! Ya'll better be careful 'round this one, she's got some muscle!" "Oh stop, Cindy. You make it seem like I pushed the car for miles!" Luna laughs sweetly. "Really, I just pushed it into the garage with the help of Cid, the mechanic, and he did most of the pushing! Maybe next time, a certain someone should remember to fill the tank before heading out." The girls exchange a few words of banter related to gasoline as they walk to the resort. For once, Noctis was comfortable being around people other than Prompto. He first met Cindy and Luna in high school when their class split up into groups for a dumb project involving nature. The two girls became quick friends with the normally introverted boy and were effortless in breaking him out of his shell. They were genuine, down to earth, and were more interested in Noctis as a person than his wealthy background. He wasn't as close to them as he was to Prompto, but they were alright. Eventually, he introduced Prompto to the two girls and they became a weird circle of friends they called "Three Blondes and a Raven." They reach the lobby and the girls head up to their room to change into their outfits while Prompto and Noctis wait at the cafe with a great view of the ocean. They arrive minutes later - Luna in a white, flowing dress and Cindy in a tight, yellow bikini. "Alrighty! We're ready!" Cindy chirps. Prompto grabs his gear "Great! Alright, lets go do Cindy's shoot on the beach first, then we'll do yours, Luna! Do you guys want to join us, or do you want to wait here in the shade?" "I'll wait here, thanks." Luna says. "Join me, Noct?" "Sure, Luna. See you guys later." Prompto and Cindy head out onto the beach while Luna takes her place in the seat beside Noctis. "Ok, spill, Noct." "Huh? Spill what?" Luna gives him a knowing look. "You know...Prompto?" "What about him?" Noctis looks confused. "It's quite obvious you're attracted to him, you know?" Noct freezes. Was he that obvious or was Luna just frighteningly perceptive? "He's my best friend. Sure we get close and stuff but...attracted?" "Noctis Caelum, in all the years I've known you and with my own personal experiences, I know when a man is in love with another man." Luna nudges Noctis' shoulder and laughs. "After all, I'm a girl AND Cindy's girlfriend, remember? My gaydar is pretty strong!" "Oh, that's right." Noctis remembers the day Luna and Cindy came to them, revealing that they were in a relationship, then looking like a great weight was lifted off their shoulders. He remembers when they threw a party at the boys' place to celebrate, ending in Prompto and Cindy drunk and Luna drawing silly pictures on their faces with her lipstick. "Y'know Luna, I don't know. I admit I like Prompto, but I don't know if he likes me back. I don't want to make things awkward between us if he doesn't feel the same way about me. He thinks that all the cuddling, holding hands, and cute stuff we do is just normal for best friends. I mean, we've only had each other to cling onto for the longest time and I don't want to mess up." Noctis sighs, looking a little bummed out. Luna puts her hand on Noctis' shoulder and smiles comfortingly. "Noct, if it makes you feel any better, I felt the same way about Cindy. I valued our friendship and wanted us to be more than friends, but I was scared too. Lucky for me, she said yes, but it took a while. Try showing your feelings for Prompto by doing little things for him and seeing how he reacts. You know what else? You two remind me so much of Cindy and me." "We do?" Luna nods. "You and Prompto are so different, but you complement each other so well. It's a great balance of personalities, and I think that helps in forming a deeper relationship. You just have to be brave and observant of Prompto, especially observant, since you have a tendency to shut yourself in and focus on tthe things right in front of you while ignoring everything else around." The statement stings a little, but Luna was right. "Thanks for the advice, Luna." "Look, if you need help, let me know. We have more in common than you think and Cindy and Prompto are also almost like exact mirror images of each other." Noct smiles and nods gratefully. "Speaking of Cindy and Prompto, where are they?" Luna walks to one of the cafe's windows and sighs. "The water's taken them both, I'm afraid." Noct jumps from his seat and runs to Luna, expecting to see Prompto and Cindy lying on the sand and surrounded by lifeguards. Thankfully, he sees the two just mere feet from the shore, splashing each other with water and laughing. Prompto has pulled off his shirt, kicked off his sandals, and was losing against Cindy, who's made it her mission to drench Prompto's meticulously-styled hair. He shakes his head, silently kicking himself for having a worst-case-scenario instinct. "We better go get them. I want to get out of this dress and get my swimsuit out too." Luna says longingly. She then turns to Noctis with a scary expression on her face. "After that, be on your guard. I warn you that you won't be able to defend your hair from me." Noct raises and eyebrow and eyes Luna's own styled up hair, "Oh, is that a challenge? I'll take it." Luna smiles and grab Noctis' hand, pulling him with her to the beach. "Ahem...AHEM!" Luna feigns anger as she approaches the edge of the shore. "Mr. Argentum, I believe we had an arrangement for a certain photoshoot?" Prompto emerges from the water with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Luna. Cindy pulled me in and I just couldn't escape!" Luna turns and walks towards the garden, stopping to say, "Yes. Cindy pulled you in so suddenly that you had the time to take off your top and sandals" before leaving with a mock huff. "Oooooooh, you unleashed the hydrean in her, hun. Better go after her." Cindy taunts. Prompto grabs his camera and runs after Luna, all the while shouting for mercy, while Cindy and Noct laugh. "Your boyfriend is just a cute, bundle of sunshine, ain't he?" Cindy says. "Yeah...he is..." Noct says absentmindedly. "AHA! I knew it! Y'all a couple!" Cindy is squealing with delight. "Oh gods, with the way you look at the boy, I had a gut feeling y'all were in love!" "Wait...what? No!" Cindy taps her head with her finger and grins. "I can tell, hun. I knooooow. I can sense it." "Oh, c'mon, you too? Is this gaydar thing something all girls have?!" Noctis groans Cindy laughs. "Sounds like you talked to Luna already. Don't worry about it hun. I ain't gonna tell Prompto nuthin'. It's all up to you when you wanna say you love the cute thing." Noctis sighs in relief. He kicks off his own sandals, strips down to his shorts, and enjoys a nice chat with Cindy about love and Prompto when Prompto returns, followed shortly by Luna, who's changed into her own bikini. Prompto is visibly excited. "Alright! You girls are gonna have agencies calling you from all directions once they see the pics we've taken today! Awesome work today!" "Perfect! Thanks a bunch, Prom! You're the best!" Cindy says thankfully. Luna walks toward Noctis, stands in front of him, and looks him right in the eye. "Now, Noctis. About that challenge..." Noctis stands and bows. "As you wish Lady Lunafreya. I pray you don't harm my hair too much," he says in a bad immitation of Luna's noble accent. Laughing, Luna chases Noctis to the water, furiously pawing at the water and trying to drench Noctis hair. Cindy and Prompto watch them from the beach and utter an "awww" together. "Y'know, if Luna liked boys, she and Noctis would be a great couple," Cindy says. "But you know who else might be a great couple?" "You and me?" Prompto jokes. "Uh, no. You and Noctis!" "Hahaha. I mean we already live together, so aren't we already a couple?" "No dummy! Like a real thing like me and Luna!" Prompto tries to think of a good response "Well, Noctis...he's my best friend. I'm just not sure about us being a couple." "You mean you haven't thought about it after all these years?" Prompto falls silent, seemingly lost in thought, before replying in a low voice. "I have, but...it's complicated." He shakes his head and smiles. "Ok, enough with the heavy talk. Noct looks like he could use some help defending his hair!" Prompto runs into the water, then trips, sending a huge splash over both Noctis and Luna. He emerges from the water with the two angrily looking down at him, their hair falling limp and dripping wet down the sides of their faces. Noctis shouts "Prompto, you're dead!" followed by Luna's screams of "How could you?!" Cindy watches as her girlfriend and Noctis assault Prompto with vengeful splashes of water and sighs. Her eyes focus on poor Prompto who might as well be drowning from the water coming at him from left and right. "So you're scared too, huh? He's scared too, y'know," she whispers to herself before pulling herself up and joining the fray.