#i always get nervous about posting a new chapter! pumping my fists into the air! yoom-tah!

[o-wyrmlight]

A Toast to the Pigs: A Disco Elysium fanfiction that explores the concept of Harry Du Bois having not lost his memory in Martinaise and having to deal with the consequences of his actions. Featuring in Chapter 14: A couple of dressing downs over the radio, figuring out the sleeping situation, and brief insight about the pipeline of falling into fascistic beliefs.

Lieutenant Jean-Heron Vicquemare is anxious, and you are a mirror. He isn't here with you right now, but he's pacing with the sort of restless energy that only caged and starving animals in overstimulated and crowded enclosures ought to have. One could argue that an overstimulated and crowded enclosure is what the RCM is to begin with, and you would be one of those people leading that argument. You're already a laughingstock. You don't care. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is being sharp with him, trying to help Jean see his own reason. You understand why Jean is angry. It's always him who cleans up your messes. You'd be frustrated if you had to deal with yourself as much as he has to deal with you, too. And you are a mirror, so across 8/81 and a moor and a river, you mirror your partner because that's one of the things you do best. Aggravation met by aggravation. Fists met by fists. Cigarette by cigarette. Jean Vicquemare sighs heavily and collapses. The fighting spirit has left him. He gives up on being angry--for now, at least--and he's just tired. You are a mirror. You stop, too. You already know that Jean will cover you again. You were lucky to have him. You can't believe you've let yourself lose him.

Harry went quiet for a while, bracing himself against his arms, staring down toward the water. “…I wanted to talk to you,” he said suddenly, pivoting himself to face Kim, “because I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Kim raised a brow, nursing his cigarette. He was very careful not to blow the smoke directly into Harry’s face. “For what?”

“For what I said.” He knotted his fingers together, squeezing tightly, keeping them very still. His body weight was being supported by the efforts of his elbow. His voice was sharp and his eyes were keen. “In the gym.”

Kim huffed, shaking his head. “You already apologized. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Kim. That was barely even an apology, and you know it.”

Kim considered him for a long, long moment, a little surprised, a little intrigued. This was new—he couldn’t remember the last time that somebody did this, throwing down an attempt to make a more genuine apology beyond the typical, socially accepted one. Kim was always expected to just take those half-baked ‘sorries’ and deal with it. They apologized, after all. What else did he want?

Kim turned his body to face him, sliding his cigarette out of his mouth and letting it dangle from his fingers. He curled his arm over the railing but didn’t lean. He ignored the uncertain fluttering in his lungs, sucking in an anxious gasp. He didn’t expect this and he didn’t know what to expect going forward.

All right. Let’s hear it.

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough  Am I giving enough  Have I paid my debts  Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker -  and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

[static-fanatic-1]

Test To Stay

-| Stuck at a StandStill |-

StandStill: Chapter Two

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mineta is part of the story sadly.

Today's the day! Today is the day Aiko will head into class 1-A and make a name for herself. Her confidence as of lately has been at an all time high, never before had she felt so ready for whatever would come her way. The air smelled faintly of cherry blossoms and the weather was just perfect. Nothing would stop her!

A hand clasped harshly onto her shoulder, once again making her jump out of her skin and whip around. Her nose was practically touching Komori's because of how close he was. "Guess who got into the Hero Course, Sweetheart." His rave black hair swept in the wind, it's messy appearance complimenting the thick glasses hanging off his button nose.

She hated that nickname, he gave it to her long ago and for some reason it still stuck. Besides, what should she even say to that? Surely he will be in class 1-A with her when the bell rings. Better save herself the pain and let him figure it out himself. "Good for you. I'm proud of you."

Komori lifted a brow, the smaller girl sounded so genuine with her words, yet there was still a hint of something beneath those encouraging words. Something he couldn't exactly place. Still, the words gave the black haired boy a thing of punk on his tanned cheeks. "Well then, if that's all you have to say I'll see you at lunch. And don't worry your pretty little head, I'll tell you all about the Hero Course." He leaned down and patted her head with a heavy hand.

Aiko furrowed her brows and scooted away, Komori strutting his way into the school grounds. Her tense figure relaxed a bit, moving to the front to dispose of her outside shoes and placing her clip-on roller blades in her book bag. She shuffled a few things around and turned to find her class, but luck have it, she bumped into someone. "Sorry!" She quickly exclaimed, hands up in defense.

The figure she bumped into was tall and broad for his age, and when she looked up she noticed a familiar face from just a few days ago. He adjusted his glasses and straightened out his silver school uniform. He raised one of his hands, almost as if he was about to slap her. She flinched. "It's fine. People make mistakes."

Sighing, Aiko examined the student further. As stated he was broad shouldered and tall for his age, with thin glasses resting on his nose. His face and jaw was strong, defined, and his eyes were a beautiful navy blue that matched his short yet neatly parted hair.

He shut his locker, which was opposite of hers, and turns back to her. "What class are you going to?" His hand pointed at her, palm facing up.

"Oh! Um—Class 1-A. You?" She asked carefully.

A pleased grin stretched across his cheeks. "Class 1-A, If you and I are going to be classmates, how about we exchange names? I am Iida Tenya." He extended his hand in a mutual form of respect.

"Takahashi Aiko, I prefer Aiko though." She gave a gentle grin and cocked her head to the side. "Nice to meet you Iida-kun." Her small hand was engulfed around his own, and in contrast against her gentle nature, his shaking and grip was iron.

"Well, Iida," She tasted his name on her tongue one more time to make sure she didn't mess it up. "We should probably get to class before we are late."

He whipped his head toward the fancy watch he wore on his wrist. "You're right! Let's go." With an almost robotic walk, he led the way to Class 1-A.

"Do you know where you are going?" Aiko questioned before thinking about her words. Was asking that rude?

"No!! But we can follow the signs they placed for the first years." He kept walking, turning his head just a bit to make eye contact with the girl. "If we go up the stairs to the second floor and turn right we should be there."

Her silver eyes glanced over at the signs and posters on the wall, a few being the ones from before but many were signs posting to classes. "Oh, my bad."

"Don't worry about it."

The two students traveled up the stairs and stayed right. Many different students passed them, each one making their way to their classes. A certain figure passed them though, one Aiko was too focused to not notice.

His wings flared behind his back, why the hell was she going right? The General Studies and Business Courses are on the left side, did she somehow get into the Support Course? Komori's dangerous, plum eyes watched her walk behind a guy with engines in his calves.

He kept walking behind the pair, watching and waiting to see where they end up. Is that guy a friend or something? Aiko and the tall guy stopped in front of a large door, one that towered all the way to the high rise roof. Inscripted on the side of the door in bolded, white letters screamed 'Class 1-A'. No way, no way in hell did she get into that class.

Komori accidentally bumped shoulders with another student, this one having blonde hair and a smug look on his face. "Pardon me." He snapped through gritted teeth.

The blond glanced at the two disappearing figures, scoffing and placing his hands on his hips. "Class 1-A, they have nothing on us." He bitterly exclaimed, waving his hand in a dismissive way. "This year, Class 1-B will be the ultimate hero Course!" He chuckled maliciously.

The bat man with black hair cocked his head to the side. "You're in Class 1-B?"

"Truly! Class 1-A will finally learn what it is like to be second best! None of them will come close to being strong enough to face me!"

Komori quirked up a brow and grinned. "I think you and I will be great friends." A clawed hand extended toward the cocky blond. "Komori." He introduced.

The blond glanced up at his taller classmate, the mischievous grin on his features twisting into a pleased expression. "Monoma, pleasure to meet you, Komori."

~~~

Aiko's pink lips stretched into a soft smile at the other students already in class. When she entered half of the entire class was already in their seats. Some of the more extroverted people talked to the students next to them, like Kaminari talking to the guy in front of him. Wait, did that guy have a tail?

Speaking of the blond, when he saw a familiar set of silver eyes and pale pink hair, he stood up and enthusiastically waved in her direction. Aiko waved back with a questioning yet polite look, shuffling over to take an empty seat in the back. She put down her bag and picked out her sketchbook, last night she was designing her costume but it wasn't approved, so she had to play around with her sketches to figure something out. Maybe more skin?

Every time a new student entered, Aiko couldn't help but anxiously await Komori, when was he going to show up? He would have probably showed up by now, right? Still, when a certain ash-blond entered with his hands stuffed into his pockets, she couldn't help but stare at his pursed lips. Why does he always look so pissed off?

Bakugou collapsed onto a chair and threw his feet onto the desk. Aiko cringed, and Iida, oh poor Iida... it was almost like he had a sixth sense for stuff like that. He strutted over to Bakugou, his entire body filled with momentum as his hands waved around in disapproval.

"Remove your foot from that desk! Such an action is insulting to those who came to U.A. before us as well as the craftsmen who made the desk!!" His hands pointed to the desk and the boy.

"Like I care." The delinquent leaned closer to Iida's face. "What middle school did you come from, you extra?"

Aiko's concerned gaze shifted to the newest student entering the class, his face was difficult to describe. Almost like he was disturbed but too polite to fully express it. Her attention returned to Iida, one hand now over his heart.

"I-I'm from Somei Private Academy. My name is Tenya Iida."

"Somei?!" The blond snapped. "A stuck-up elitist then? I should blow you to bits then."

Iida backed off in surprise... or was it disgust? "You're aweful. Do you really want to become a hero?!" Without fully finishing the conversation, Iida noticed the broccoli haired boy and wondered over to him instead. "I'm from Somei Academy...." The tall male introduced, hand outstretched.

The boy from the sludge villain incident tensed up and waved his hands in front of his body. "I heard you before! Ah... I'm Izuku Midoriya. Pleased to meet you Iida."

They talked a bit more, though it was more of a hushed conversation. Aiko tilted her head at the green haired boy, could he have been hurt to the point of making him skittish? Through her experiences, Aiko could only guess.

The door creaked open behind them, a sweet looking girl with brown hair, chocolate eyes, and a smile just as sweet as sugar. "Ah! That curly hair!! The plain looking boy!!" She pumped her fist in the air. "You got in! Just like Present Mic said!! Makes sense though!! That punch was awesome!!"

His entire face flushed a bright red, his hand covering as he turned away. "No! I-I mean...! I have to thank you for speaking on my behalf... I... well...."

Aiko found the transaction cute, a shy boy and a girl that seemed too sweet to be normal, so she returned to her sketches and kept her mouth shut. Until everything was suddenly quiet.

She glanced back at the door, the same scruffy teacher from the entrance exam huddled into a yellow sleeping bag. A small pouch in his hand that he sucked on. "This is... the Hero Course."

'Huh?'

He stumbled out of the bag, letting it fall to the floor as he entered. "I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Pleased to meet you." Although his words were professional, his tone said otherwise, like he was beyond bored to be here. He lifted up his bag and grabbed something within, pulling out a classic U.A. training uniform you would see during their tournaments. "Quickly now. Change into your gym clothes and head out to the grounds."

The entire class was split, some were jumping from their desk in excitement while the other half stood with a nervous hesitance. Aiko was part of the nervous group, but one at a time everyone took their issued gym clothes.

The girls rushed into the locker room, a certain pink skinned girl with curly horns on top her fluffy, lighter toned hair, beamed in excitement. "What do you think we are going to do?" She asked, turning to face the small group of girls with a beaming grin.

The brown haired girl from earlier smiled, her chocolate eyes sparkling. "I don't know! I'm nervous though." Her rosy cheeks adding another level of cuteness to her overall appearance.

Small bits of chatter danced around the room, introductions being made and clothes being replaced. Each girl, with a sense of nervous excitement coursing through their veins, introduced themselves.

Momo, an insanely beatutiful, young girl with black, silky hair pulled into a ponytail.

Ochako, the cute girl with a permanent blush and short chocolate hair, she seemed nice.

Mina, the pink haired girl who started the conversation. Her skin seemed to match her personality and style, bright and frilly, kinda like a girly Tom-boy.

Tsu, a girl with a cute accent, almost like she had a stuffy nose. Long green hair ending in a bow and intelligent eyes makes her comfortable to be around.

Hagakure, a sweet girly-girly personality wise, but other than that Aiko didn't know how to describe her. Maybe invisible would work? She hoped that wasn't too mean to think.

Aiko listened intently, simply trying to buy time by examining her new gym uniform and shuffling it around in her grip. When it was her turn she rushed with her introduction, stating her name and a little something she likes. Drawing, she chose drawing to be the thing she likes.

"Oh!" Beamed the pink girl, a enthusiastic smile stretching across her lips. "You'll have to show us your drawings!"

Aiko glanced away with her cheeks flushing a rosy red. "Ma-maybe. They aren't anything too impressive though...." her words trailed off into a quiet mumble, before she remembered she actually had to get dressed. "Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom."

Swiftly, the white-haired girl's exited the conversation, shutting the bathroom stall door just a little too quickly in the process. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Aiko calmed her nerves. As much as she loved making friends, the over ecstatic girls made her a bit uncomfortable.

Though, them being excited about her art made her lightly blush.

~~~

The principle climbed his way into the room, the smaller form of All Might judging a price of paper in his boney hands. A deep set look of thought was etched onto his face, so much so he didn't notice Nezu entering and beginning to brew some tea.

A small ding alerted All Might of the new presence, and with a startled jump he turned to see who it was. The mighty hero sighed and examined the paper. "Aizawa is going to be harsh on the students."

Nezu pored the tea into two cups, took hold of both of them and handed one to Toshinori. "He's always hard on his students, I believe he would be good for your successor."

All Might turned and joined Nezu on the small desk. "He doesn't like me, Nezu, he'll defiantly see too much of me in him."

The principle smiled and took a calming sip of his tea. It was slightly sweet with a hint of mint, warm against his tongue as the steam tickled his nose. He sighed and kicked his legs in the chair. "That could be a good thing, besides I'm sure he will see potential in him much like you did."

All Might leaned forward, letting the steam warm his sunken face. "He expelled his entire class last year."

"That won't happen again, we've told him off for that last year." Nezu commented with a laugh, sighing and carefully handling his tea on his lap.

"But he can still expel someone, right?"

The mouse-like principle lightly chuckled. "Technically."

The two of them halted their current conversation, opting to change the subject on another issue All Might noticed. "You place twenty-one students in each hero course this year, why?"

"The batch of aspiring heroes seemed especially good this year. I wanted to give them all a chance."

"Won't there be some problems?"

"I've already thought ahead, don't worry. We will have the teachers follow the curriculum as usual, but whoever the extra person is, we can have the students who need more training get another chance." Nezu glanced over, taking another long sip of his tea. "Did that make sense?"

Toshinori hummed, his forefinger and thumb holding his chin in thought. "Yes, it does." The mighty hero sighed and stood, thanking his friend for the tea. "I'm pretty sure Aizawa is already testing them."

Nezu laughed. "Probably. It was nice to talk to you again, Toshinori."

"It was nice. I'll see you later, Nezu."

~~~

The entire Class 1-A stood in a field, a shot put field from the looks of it. Aizawa stood in front of them, taking in their forms like he was already deciding to give up on them. 'How optimistic', Aiko thought sarcastically.

He started talking, something along the lines of how U.A. allows independent teaching, and something about quirk prohibitions in society. "Bakugou, how far could you throw in middle school?"

"Sixty-seven meters."

"Great. Now try it with your quirk. Do whatever you need to do, just don't leave the circle." He handed the ash-blond a small ball. "Give it all you've got."

He smirked and mumbled under his breath before throwing the ball with a massive explosion behind it. "DIE!!" The sickening sound echoed through the field.

Air and smoke swept through everyone's hair, Aiko covering her face with her arms and squinting at the bright light. 'Die?' She glanced up at the sky, the ball only being a small spec in the vast ocean of blue. Slowly, it descended back to earth with a trail of smoke tailing behind each weak bounce it made.

Aizawa turned back to the group, his shoulders hunched and relaxed. In his hands, dressed with callouses, was a small device with the illuminated numbers 705.2m on the small screen. "It's important for us to know our limits." He began with a bored tone. "That's the first rational step to figuring it what kind of hero you'll be."

Aiko shivered at the slightly threatening words from the teacher, but everyone else cheered with delight. After all, this is a chance to prove themselves as the future heroes of Japan! To fight villains and save lives! Taking a quick glance at her classmates, she clenched her fists with a confident face.

Yeah, she would stop villains too! She would become a hero!

"'Awesome you say?'", Aizawa repeated, a bit of malice echoing under his disinterest. "Hoping you are going to become heroes after three years here... and you think it'll be all fun and games?"

'Huh?' Aiko's sudden confidence dwindled like a dying candle, and her posture slumped. 'Oh god, whats happening?'

"Right. The one with the lowest score across all eight events will be judged hopeless... and will be expelled."

"E-e-expelled?!" She suddenly yelped, the entire class screaming their disbelief. 'Holy shit! He can't do that?! Can he?!'

"Your fates are in our hands." Aizawa trailed his hand through his messy, black hair. "Welcome, this is the Hero Course at U.A."

'That-that wasn't welcoming.' Aiko worried, hurrying along with the other students to the chopping block. They huddled up like cattle to the slaughter. The first challenge: 50-Meter Dash.

Two at a time, the students dashed as fast as they could, a race to the finish line. Aiko was paired up with a red head with sharp teeth. He grinned at her, a soft smile and a thumbs up. "Do your best." He added, bending down to prepare the sprint.

Aiko bent down too, blowing her loose hair out of her face, and patiently awaited the signal.

The dark haired teacher blew his whistle, and the two students were off! Aiko propelled herself forward, launching her body as fast as possible. The wind brushed past her hair, and she was subconsciously holding her breath with each step. 'A little farther!' She thought, the red-head beside her already past the finish line.

'When did he finish?' Aiko's foot passed the finish line, the camera off to the side blaring her score. "6.56 seconds." '6.56! That's better than middle school!' Suddenly, the red head finishing first didn't seem so bad.

Speaking of which, he was wondering over. A small bit of sweat coated his brow, and his toothy grin beamed brightly. "Good job!" He cheered.

"Th-Thanks, you too." Aiko kindly replied, fixing her gym shirt and taking a few deep breaths.

Next challenge: Grip Strength. She frowned, grip strength would be a tough one to do. Maybe her constant drawing would make her stronger than normal? Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Yeah, it was wishful thinking, 36 kg wasn't that good.

Third Challenge: Standing Long Jump. Knowing each student could use their quirk, Aiko wondered if there was any way her quirk would be useful.

Fourth Challenge: Side Stepping. This would be an easy one, obviously as she finished almost last. Second to last to be exact, pretty good if she had to say so.

Onto the next challenge: Sit-Ups. Easy, eighty-eight and fourth to finish.

Sixth Challenge: Seated Toe-Touch. Also easy, Aiko stretches every morning before skating to school.

Seventh Challenge: Distance Run. Nope, was one of the last to finish, hopefully this wouldn't ruin her score that badly.

Finally, the Final Challenge: Throwing. Besides the eventful Aizawa vs Broccoli Boy vs Explosive Blond back to Aizawa, Aiko didn't do that good.

The reveal was upon the students, a horrifying set of numbers that would decide someone's fate. Aiko related her own score, if they went by a number system she made up, then she should be okay. If each student was put into the position they ended in, and each student was given the respective amount of points, then the people with the least amount of points would be at the top. Aiko wouldn't be at the top, but she shouldn't be on the bottom either.

There was a small beep, and with a deep breath, Aiko glanced up at the screen Aizawa held. Momo, Todoroki, Bakugou, Iida, etc... Aiko. Aiko Takahashi! In 14th place behind Tsu!

Her shoulders slumped and she let go of a breath she didn't even know she was holding. "I made it!" She quietly exasperated.

Though she paused, immediately being overwhelmed with guilt at whoever was in last place. Midoriya Izuku, that's the green haired boy right? Silver eyes glanced over at the boy, his head hung low. Should she go comfort him?

"Your total scores simply reflect your performance in each of the events. Explaining the process would be a waste of time, so all you get are the final rankings." His tone wasn't any different from before, he must really not care about them. "Also, I was lying about expelling someone."

Another sigh of relief.

"That was a rational deception... meant to bring out the best in all of you." His cheshire grin reeked of mischief.

The students shrieked in disbelief, the shy girl shuffling away from the front of the crowd. "Anyway, were done here." Your documents about the curriculum and such are back in the classroom, give them a look."

~~~

"Oi!" A shriek like yell burst through the comforting conversation of the after school pack up. The surprise made the small girl jump and slam her locker closed. "Aiko right?"

When she turned around, the electric blond from earlier. "Uh, yeah? Um, Kaminari right?"

"Yup!" He pulled over two other figures, a purple haired boy from the bus ride and the red head you raced against. "You know Mineta, and this guy right here is Kirishima." His arm hung over their shoulders, a little awkwardly she would admit, and his thumb pointed to the sharper tooth kid.

"Nice to meet you guys." Small, slightly shaky, hands reentered her locker code. "Uh, I'm glad we all made it? Mr. Aizawa seems pretty... intense?"

"Oh, geez. Tell me about it! I thought I was going to fail!" Kaminari yelped, planting his palm on his forehead. "There wasn't even anything I could use my quirk on!"

Kirishima sighed. "Me too, hardening isn't exactly good for stretching." He joked.

"Hardening? That's your quirk?" Aiko asked, the smaller, purple haired student shuffling from side to side anxiously.

"Yup," He raises his arms and flexed them, the once soft flesh changing into hardened, jagged pieces. Like rock. "It makes it harder to move."

"I can harden too-." Burst Mineta, though he was quickly interrupted by Kaminari.

"I can manipulate electricity, I can't use too much of it though, fries my brain." He swatted his hand in the air. "Hopefully later on I can really show off my skills!"

"Do you want to know what my quirk is?" Aggressively, Mineta tried to butt his way past the other two boys. "My balls-."

"So what's your quirk? I didn't see you use it either."

"Oh, it's called pause." Aiko began, doing her best to unite Mineta. "I can freeze—pause objects in time. It gives me bad headaches though." She tapped her temple and shifted her gaze across from her locker, still grabbing the few things left in there. Across form her, Iida waved goodbye with a small smile. She returned the action before turning back to the boy's. "It wouldn't have helped me."

"So," started Kaminari, but replaced his interest with the skates in her hands. "Oh! You skate?"

"Oh yeah, my transportation." The white haired girl waved them in the air before putting them on. "Sorry, but I have to go. Mr. Takahashi wants me to get some food on the way back home."

"Mr. Takahashi? Your dad?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah... my dad." Aiko realized how weird that might sound, after all she used to say mom and dad. "Anyway, I'll see you guys tomorrow!" She smiled and dashed off and away from the situation. "Bye!"

Her hair brushed past her shoulder, and everything else became a blur. Warm air tickled her nose and played with her school uniform. This was freedom, this was relaxation. No matter what happened, no matter who yelled or hurt her before, skating around the city was always relaxing. Always a way to clear her mind of any worries.

After a day like this, she needed it. After all, Komori and Aizawa scared her beyond believe today. Taking a detour wouldn't end the world.

[ranger-jedi-knight]

A New Hero Ch 6

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887313/chapters/53294245 Tag List: @vixen-uchiha

Ok, so here’s the next chap! Sorry bout the wait, most of it was cause I was writin a fic that ended up bein scrapped. Ya, not fun. It was the little mermaid au I talked bout briefly in the fic I posted. Then I sorta got sucked into a few new ships. And then life(or would it be considered mind/brain?) happened once more. Heh, life really enjoys buttin in huh? But no matter, here’s the next chap and Mari is officially Ladybug to Paris! (Ok, so here Adrien is going to be chaotic, he’s seen that his father is actually breaking laws and holds that over him to do what he wants finally. Later on I will explain what will be happening with Lila ok?, k). I hope you enjoy the chap!!

Chat here is based off this: https://unmaskedagain.tumblr.com/post/189337423122/chaotic-chat

Mari had been hoping for a peaceful first day of school. But apparently, fate decided against that. She scowled as she watched the stone beings walk around. Nino and Kim were next to her, they were nervous but ready to help. “Did any of you see what got hit?”

“I...I think it was a piece of paper,” Kim replied and Mari nodded. She looked around and saw they were alone.

“Got it. Tikki, spots on!” Mari shouted and quickly changed into Ladybug. Her suit was looser being all black. She had knee-high red boots that had black spots placed strategically to not overwhelm. A cropped red jacket that was always zipped only went to her elbows also with black spots placed strategically. Finally, she had black gloves with red fingers and a red mask with five black spots. She pulled her yo-yo off her hip and threw it out the window and went to find the first stone being, Stoneheart.

As she swung around trying to find him, she saw a black figure walking on top of the roofs. She lands in front of him, startling the boy. “So, you’re my partner, Ladybug,” she introduced holding a hand out to the boy.

“Uh, Chat Noir at your service M’lady,” Chat said and Ladybug rolls her eyes.

“Uh-huh. You know what to do?” she asked.

“Take down the bad guy and I have the ability to destroy anything I touch,” Chat said and Ladybug nodded.

“You can, but you need to remember you only have one chance to use it and after you have 5 minutes before detransforming,” Ladybug said, having a feeling that Plagg may have not told him everything. “These bad guys, aren’t bad guys, Chat. They’re innocent people being used by the real bad guy. So don’t be reckless or try to permanently hurt them. Got it?”

“Got it,” Chat agreed and they started running trying to find Stoneheart who also had Mylene and Chloe captive. They find Stoneheart on the Eiffel Tower, police had set a perimeter and were trying to get Stoneheart to let the girls go. The mayor was even pleading for Stoneheart to return his daughter.

“You want her? You can have her!” Stoneheart shouted and threw Chloe. Chloe screamed as she flew through the air. She was used to it when with Dick and the others above a net with things to help her. But here, she had nothing to help her. And she didn’t know where Ladybug was.

“Chloe!” Ladybug shouted as she swung to the girl and caught her. She landed on the bridge on one knee, sliding towards the police cars a few feet. “You ok?” Chloe nodded hesitantly.

“Y-yeah. I-I’m going to get a grappling fun or something. Don’t want to be in that again,” Chloe said and Ladybug nodded.

“That would probably be smart. You can text Tim and ask him to make you one,” Ladybug replied and Chloe nodded agreement. There was a choking noise and they watched as Stoneheart shocked and tons of butterflies left him and formed a presumably Hawkmoths head.

“People of Paris, listen carefully. I am Hawk Moth.” the head began.

“Hawkmoth?” Ladybug asked sharing a look with Chat who said it at the same time.

“Ladybug, Chat Noir, give me the ladybug earrings and the black cat ring. You don’t want to make these people suffer more than they have too?” he asked and Ladybug slowly clapped walking forward.

“Nice try, Hawkmoth, but we know who the bad guy is. Let's not reverse the roles here. Without you, none of these innocent victims would be transformed into villains. Hawkmoth, no matter how long it takes, we will find you, and YOU will hand us YOUR Miraculous!” Using her yo-yo, Ladybug jumped up to where the butterfly swarm was. “Time to de-evilize!” She swung her yo-yo and caught every butterfly and turned to look at the people who were watching shocked. “Let me make this promise to you. No matter who wants to harm you, Ladybug and Cat Noir will do everything in our power to keep you safe!” she opened up the yo-yo and held it up. All the butterflies flew out, going in every direction, going into cameras. People cheered but stopped when Stoneheart got up. He yelled before climbing up the Eiffel Tower until he reached the very top, hanging from the tip.

The two swung up after him and Ladybug and Chat landed above him. “Lucky Charm!” She swung her yo-yo up into the air and a parachute landed in her hands. She and Chat shared a look.

“A parachute?” he asked confused and she could only shrug. She looked around and snapped a finger. “Got an idea?”

“Get ready to catch, Ivan,” she said and Chat nodded. Ladybug swung her yo-yo around Stoneheart and onto the first holding both Mylene and the object. She pulled and Mylene’s lips pressed against Stoneheart. Stoneheart gasped out letting go of Mylene and the object. Chat hit the object with his baton over to Ladybug. She grabbed the object and crushed it. She then dived off the tower and caught Mylene and threw her yo-yo up to catch the akuma. She pulled the cord and the parachute opened.

Meanwhile, Chat jumped down and caught Ivan quickly. He then got them down safely after ladybug and Mylene landed. “Bye-bye, little butterfly!” She said opening her yo-yo and the white butterfly flew out.

The people that were there still cheered as everyone changed back to normal shortly after. “What about all the damage?” Chat asked and Ladybug smirked.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybug shouted as she tossed up the parachute. Millions of ladybugs left the item and swirled all over Paris, fixing all the damage done by Stoneheart and his minions.

“Whoa!” Chat exclaimed watching as they went about fascinated. The people near them shared the same sentiment. Mylene and Ivan nodded thanks to them before turning to each other and talking quietly. “Pound it!” Chat said excitedly and holding a fist out to Ladybug who then hit it with her own. They smiled at each other until beeping happened.

“Bug out!” she called and threw her yo-yo and swung off. Chat followed after her as his ring started beeping as well. “Chat, we can’t know each other’s identities!” Ladybug said when they both landed on the roof of Mari’s home.

“Don’t care,” was all he said before detransforming in front of her. In front of her was Adrien Agreste, the new student that missed the first day of class. She pinched her nose and sighed.

“I’m so proud of you, kit,” Plagg said floating in front of Adrien who had a smug smirk on his face. Ladybug let her transformation fall as well and Tikki flew in front of her.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tikki said looking disappointed but Plagg just shrugged.

“Ok, fine. What do we do Tikki?” Mari looked over at Tikki who gave a small shrug and hum.

“Well, we will just need to hide it from Master Fu. You were bound to find out about Chat’s identity eventually since you’re training to become a Guardian. It’s only Chat that shouldn’t have known,” Tikki explained.

“But how come? Doesn’t that seem a bit unfair that I can know but he can’t?” she asked and Tikki and Plagg shared a look.

“I don’t know. This hasn’t exactly happened before. Especially since you two cannot be akumatized under any circumstances since it’d be dangerous for your family and friends,” Tikki replied and the two heroes shared a look.

“Well, knowing each others identities will help. We can help keep each other calm, and perhaps help each other with excuses when an Akuma happens,” Mari said and Adrien nodded agreement. “We should get back to class now.”

“Oh, we should,” Adrien agreed.

“Yup, and you can meet three other people who know about me,” Mari said walking them out of her family’s apartment and through the back door. They walked up toward the school when Mari looked over at Adrien curiously. “Aren’t you a model for your father?” she asked and Adrien nodded.

“I was. Then I figured out my dad was breaking child labor laws and whatnot. So, I’m holding that over his head to be able to do what I want finally,” Adrien explained as they entered the school and went to their classroom.

“Ah, ok,” Mari replied as they entered the classroom. Ivan and Mylene hadn’t arrived yet. Alya was grumbling in her seat, she had only managed to get little footage of the villain and heroes before getting stuck behind a car. Chloe looked sorta shaken still. “Nino knows, sit next to him. Chloe needs me,” she said and Adrien nodded and sat next to Nino in the front. Chloe and Mari sat behind them, Mari watched silently as Nino and Adrien fist pumped.

“Hey,” she said softly and pulled Chloe toward her. Chloe hugged her tightly, tensed up, ready to bolt. She gently hummed under her breath and ran a hand up and down Chloe’s arm. Ms. Bustier came in then and shakely began class.

The class was done soon and Mari took her friends, and Adrien, to the bakery. She led them upstairs and into her room where they all sat down. Tikki flew out and Plagg did the same. The others nodded at that. “So Adrien is Chat, figures,” Chloe said rolling her eyes and Adrien just smiled at her.

“Yup. Broke the one rule we had. But no matter, I should tell em what happened,” Mari said and they nodded as she pulled out her phone and started dialing.

“Who?” Adrien asked.

“Friends in Gotham that trained her. They’re friends of the Guardian,” Nino explained and Adrien nodded at that.

“Hey, Damian. Can you get your family gathered? I’d rather only say this once,” Mari said once he picked up the phone. “Hey, ya. I have some news about Paris. The Peacock Miraculous is now active. Do you think you can monitor the situation and make sure any hero that wants to come has permission from me, ok?” she hummed as she heard the response. “Thank you. Ya, don’t worry, I will,” Mari replied with a smile.

“Who were you talking to Marinette?” Adrien asked tilting his head. Mari smirked as she looked at him.

“No one else outside this house, including my parents and the Guardian, know about them and their secret. So do not tell anyone, got it?” she said and Adrien nodded, slightly scared. He could tell that he’d regret it if he crossed Mari. “I was talking to the Wayne’s, aka, batfamily. I’m only telling you this since you would probably join me in my usual weekend visit for training. They typically join me too,” Mari said gesturing to the other three and Adrien nodded.

“Ok, got it,” Adrien replied and Mari smiled.

“Good. Now, we’ll start with the basics then.”

Cracked but Healing @proudgothamite

Proud to say I’m doing better now! Bee here has helped a lot! Alster is proud and says she has a surprise in store. Kinda wary, but I trust her! Thank you everyone helping! #thankyousomuch #stillhealing #butwaybetternow #whatdoesntkillyou #makesyoustronger *pale red head smiling hugging a pale black haired girl with brown eyes, both smiling happily with a college behind them*

Tagged @bibumblebee

Ok, so here’s the next chap finally! Just in case you were confused(cause tbh, i was a little myself before i remembered) rn Mari is 14 almost 15. Like, im going with her bday is in a few months. I’ll do a few more time skip chaps until Mari is 16. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. Next chap will be a little purely because I’m writin two one-shot fics for a new ship I got(tech two but eh. One is only one time) but I do hope you enjoy em too! -Love Willa<3<3<3

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 39/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

How many times can you make love before the coffee in your cup turns frigid? How many times before the motel staff inform you that you have to vacate the premises?

Ben and Rey found themselves in the parking lot, disheveled and hastily dressed, holding two long-cold coffees. They hadn't seen the morning go by, making love over and over again, as if their lives depended on it, and when Ben no longer had the stamina, he used his fingers, his mouth, and anything else. She was insatiable and surprisingly loud. 

"Eros and Thanatos, sweetheart," Ben explained, thoroughly amused by the situation. "Love and death. There are always baby booms after major disasters—people must have a carnal need to feel alive after having narrowly escaped death's grasp.”

"My love, my heart, sweetheart, baby".

Rey felt a touch of sadness; a few weeks ago she was preparing to become Mrs. Finn Storm. Today she was casually having breakfast with Ben Solo who peppered her with endearments as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Now I understand James Bond's sexual appetite," she replied. "And Austin Powers. Mikael Blomkvist. Indiana Jones? The list is long," said Rey pensively.

"You forgot the best," Ben quipped with a little smirk that dug a dimple in his cheek. "Rey Jakku."

Rey rolled her eyes, handing her bag to Ben who opened the trunk of the car.

"Novice spy, then. The awkward kind that falls in love with the bad guy, too."

Ben froze mid-gesture, and Rey covered her mouth with her hand.

“Sorry! Sorry...I didn't mean that, I—"

He ran a hand through his hair, averting her eyes as he put her belongins in the car.

"You wouldn't be the first to think so...it's a common complaint with the women in my life, I suppose. But don't feel too bad for me, we reap what we sow."

She felt the breeze lift her hair. Did Ben just call her "a woman in his life"? Was he also talking about his mother? Time stood still for a moment. Arms at her sides, fists clenched, she watched him motionlessly as he closed the trunk and lit a cigarette. He suddenly seemed fascinated by his shoes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She finally asked, gathering all her courage. "You told me about your father last night...I don't know if I dreamt it. What really happened?"

Ben pursed his lips as if to moisten them, a sign that he was nervous. He seemed to be looking for a loophole, staring unseeingly at the ground, then the buildings, finally the cars.

"We're going to ditch the Lincoln," he said then. "Hux has definitely launched a search for it. I'll take you to San Francisco myself in the other car."

"Well—"

"Let's just go, okay?"

His eyes were sad, glistening. Rey felt a pang of hurt. She advanced slowly, took his hand, and standing on her tiptoes, drew her mouth against his. She gave him a long, very gentle kiss, savoring his lips. She opened her eyes and looked at his grief-stricken face.

"I'm not your enemy. I love you. Talk to me."

This time it was her turn to wipe a tear from Ben's cheek. He gently released himself from her embrace to take a drag of his cigarette.

Rey waited.

Finally, he took two steps away from her, and leaned against the car.

"I killed my father when I was fifteen," he started. "He took me out to the track where he did stunts on motorcycles, an obstacle course…he was a real daredevil. It was...a difficult time."

Rey said nothing. What could she say? She would ask her questions later. Silently, she listened, biting her thumbnail. Ben dropped the ash from his cigarette, taking another puff.

"I was always the black sheep...in the shadow of my amazing parents. I wasn't up to it. When they left I was unhappy, but when they were at the front I hoped they would die there."

He looked up at her.

"It would have been great, what a tragedy! Everyone would have pitied me and then left me in peace, blaming everything on the grief," Ben made a gesture with his hand, as if to sweep away a memory. "I didn't really mean it. It's the kind of thing you want when you're a teenager."

Rey couldn't agree. She hadn't known her parents and during her childhood at the foster home she had dreamt of countless secret backstories for herslef. Perhaps she was the daughter of a princess in exile...they were all tales to give herself somewhere to belong. Wishing for the death of her parents was a feeling she could hardly imagine. But she said nothing. Ben continued.

"He dragged me to the course, we yelled at each other, I'd been smoking cigarettes to piss him off, he blamed himself and swore that he would fuck me up to get rid of me...stuff he probably didn't really mean either. He was just angry. He left me in a corner and got on his bike to ride out the rage. He was going fast."

Ben rubbed his eyes

"I was on the edge of the circuit. I yelled that I hated him and wanted him to die. I threw my helmet on the course. He...he swerved to avoid it, lost control of his bike."

Rey bit her lip. She stepped forward slowly and took his hand. He broke contact, looking her right in the eye.

"I saw him fall. He died before my eyes. My mother doesn't know what happened, she believes he had an accident. She believes that Han Solo was too cocky with his bike, like he always was. But she's wrong. Han Solo would’ve never died such a stupid death. It was me who killed him."

His cigarette was finished. He crushed it under his sole. Rey took back his hand, the one he had taken away a moment earlier, and this time she didn't let it escape. With the tips of her fingers, she brushed away a lock of hair from his face. His eyes were red.

"Your mother is right, Ben. It was an accident. Come here."

She hugged him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He was so much larger than her. She felt him hugging her back, breathing in the scent of her hair. Deep inside, she struggled to find the words. Could anyone deny his responsibility in the death of his father? But it was an accident. A thoughtless gesture. In the end, it was best that Leia didn't know the truth. It wasn't technically wrong to belive that, and the truth was enough to break a mother's heart. It must have been hard for him too, growing up with this weight on his conscience.

He eased himself out of her embrace and checked the time on his phone. 11:40 AM. They were eight hours from San Francisco, no point in hanging around. They would get something to eat on the way.

"Ben," Rey sighed unhappily, "I don't think I should come with you to San Francisco..."

Ben sat behind the wheel. Rey knew he had driven as much (and as fast) as she had the day before, but she gladly accepted the favor. She needed to let herself think for a while. BB8 sat in the back of the car, for once not growling in her little corner.

The first part of the journey passed in silence. The weight of their imminent separation hung in the air. The road was like their future: a desert blackened by flames, still smoking from yesterday's fire. A lifeless landscape. Rey took advantage of the quiet to call Poe and ask about Finn. His bruises had faded, his eye was less swollen; he looked better. But he was still unconscious, and on a ventilator.

She didn't call Jessica, knowing that her friend would be full of questions about the time she spent with Ben—something she really didn't want to discuss in his very presence.

Rey sighed dejectedly. Her plane was leaving in a few days; the trial was in two weeks.

What was her future then? Going back to her former life, prancing around London in one of her endless pairs of pumps, sipping  overpriced coffees that were mostly sugar and cream?

And what about his future? Facing his own mother in court, falling into trouble, going to prison?

Why did her former life suddenly seem so futile? She felt like a completely different person. Would her best friends, Jessica, Poe and Finn, or the others—her colleagues, her boss, and her clients—understand the new Rey? What if they no longer recognized her? What if they no longer saw last year's bubbly employee of the month in her?

She needed a hug. Her hand rested on Ben's arm, it slipped to his thigh. She loved his muscular thighs. She loved his body.

Heat pooled in her abdomen again and she sighed, she wanted him. Again. How many times had they made love this morning? She'd lost count. He looked at her in confusion when she slid her fingers across the front of his jeans and started to stroke him, looking both innocent and seductive.

"Do you want to stop?" Ben asked, surveying the landscape around them.

Nothing but flat desert as far as the eye can see. Certainly not the most fitting background for a tryst.

"Not necessarily," Rey grinned mischievously, undoing his seat belt.

She undid his fly, slipping her fingers inside as she leaned over his thighs.

Ben let out a long moan when she closed her lips around his cock. He had to stay focused until the next exit, unwilling to let an accident finish what Syed had started.

Damn, it was good. His hands were shaking. He couldn't, it was impossible. He turned on the safety lights and took the very next exit to Elko, looking for a place to park.

He was met with empty road, not a speck of shade or a soul in sight.

Ben drove around aimlessly a while. Rey sucked him off thoroughly, making his heartbeat skyrocket and his vision go white at the corners.

Silos in the distance, trucks. It didn't matter.

He pulled over at the end of a dusty driveway and killed the engiine. Finally he was able to cry out his pleasure as she reduced him to pure feeling with her tongue.

As the pressure built in his lower abdomen, he reached over her body to open the glove compartment. Rey, disturbed, uttered a stifled protest; her mouth was full.

“Condoms,” he explained. “Glove box.”

He managed to open the small compartment, grabbing the black cardboard box. There were three left. Rey released him with a loud "pop" that left a trail of saliva in its wake.

“We're going to run out. There has to be a pharmacy here somewhere.”

Ben nodded, but looked away. They were not going to have any more stops. If he left her with Rose Tico in Winnemucca, as she had asked him to earlier, this would be their last time.

The last time in...forever probably, given the storm that was coming. He had given up his reputation, his career and his money, for the fleeting pleasure of holding her in his arms.

If he could go back—no, he would do it all over again. Without hesitation, in the blink of an eye. Having the chance to love this beautiful, outstanding woman was without a doubt the best thing that ever happened in his life.

He got out of the car, his erection straining against his jeans, and Rey laughed. The dry Nevada air was quickly undoing the work of her lips, so with a mischievous look, she took him in her mouth again, kneeling in the dust. Ben couldn't resist the need to grab her hair and guide her movements. She let him.

He felt his pleasure go spike, leaning against the car, eyes closed. He didn’t want to come in her mouth. He wanted to make love to her again, one last time. So he slid one hand under her cheek, urging her to look at him. He motioned for her to get up.

She stood up, wiping her mouth. Her lips were swollen and wet. He kissed her, madly. She unbuttoned her jeans, slipping them down her thighs, twisting the fabric impatiently past her calves before jumping a little to allow it to slide all the way down. Ben watched, taking in everything about her. The flush of her cheeks which brought out her freckles; the curve of her hips, the lilt of her English accent as she cursed in her struggle to undress. The adorable way she was hopping from one foot onto the other on the dusty ground and—uh oh—he leapt to catch her when she lost her balance.

As he held her, he pulled her towards him and kissed her again. She ran her tongue against his lips and he opened his mouth to greet hers. With his right hand, he grabbed the elastic of her underwear and pushed it down.

There she stood, Rey, bare to the touch, turning her back on him to lean suggestively against the car.

He wanted to take her in missionary again, or maybe on her knees in the back of the car, so that he could kiss her from behind, caress every inch and feel her skin—but Rey was on fire and she had other plans. With a swish of her hips she grabbed Ben's hand and guided it down her slit, wet and swollen. He felt himself harden as he palmed her sex and couldn't resist the urge to kneel in the dust behind her and run his tongue along her folds. Rey let out a strangled cry somewhere between surprise and delight, followed by a content sigh. His tongue lapped greedily at her clit, rubbing back and forth.

Ben's hands squeezed her buttocks and she arched her back, moaning with pleasure. Her nails were scratching as the metal exterior of the car. She felt him move back, allowing the breeze to caress her damp skin, followed by the brush of his knuckles as he lined himself up and pressed into her.

It was so sudden and deep that Rey’s breasts collided with the side of the car. She clung to the feeling, arching her back as much as possible, up on her toes, as he buried his fingers in the flesh of her hips to make her bounce on his cock with each thrust. She was breathless and disorientated, her balance threatening to fall apart, eyes closed, mouth open. She reveled in the brutality of it, the uncouth way in which his fingers and his cock bruised her flesh. But there was something truly desperate in his movements, in his voice, and she turned around, suddenly worried.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He withdrew, grabbed her by the waist, lifted her like she was no heavier than a sack of flour and plopped her on to the hood of the car. She barely had time to react as he pulled her hips towards him, spread her thighs and entered again, all the way to the hilt. Rey gasped. She was looking for something to hold on to with her hands, but the surface was smooth and sun-scorched, her body rubbed painfully against the polished metal.

“Hey!” she yelled, but he didn't seem to hear her. “HEY!” She shouted angrily, at the top of her lungs.

He stopped abruptly. He had red eyes, trembling lip, hair stuck to his face, and his fingers had left deep marks on his hips from Rey.

His eyes were red, his lips trembling. Damp strands of hair cling to his face. His hips were bruised too.

“Hey, careful, you're hurting me. What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

He withdrew, wiping his eyes. She hopped off the car and approached him, brushing a lock of damp hair away from his forehead with her fingertips.

“Hey, baby, talk to me.”

He said nothing, but pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair. He kissed the shell of her ear, her neck, her throat, the tender skin under her chin, and finally her mouth.

“Let's take it easy,” she said. “I still want you.”

With her left hand, she opened the back  door of the car, and BB8 escaped with her usual enthusiasm. Rey paid no attention to the dog and motioned for Ben to come in and sit down. He followed.

She joined him, crawling between his open knees and gently settling against his thighs, leaving a trail of slick on the end of the condom. His arms encircled her neck, knees falling limply against the back seat as she sank down in a slow, sensuous rhythm. They sighed simultaneously and she kissed him again.

This was what he needed. A long kiss and a slow ride.

It was Rey who set the pace now, rolling her hips, undulating against him as she so pleased, and he devoted himself to being the object of her pleasure. Said nothing as she admired him and kissed him over and over. She could feel the tension building in her thighs, in her belly, slow and aching as her body clenched around him greedily in the height of ecstasy. She grabbed hold of his hair, pulling  forcefully, throwing her head back, eyes closed.

He never took his eyes off her. The way she used him for her own pleasure, the intense look in her eyes, flushed and heaving. His hands skimmed up her breasts under her cotton t-shirt. He pinched. She screamed, arching her back and yanking on his hair again. He rolled the nipple under his thumb teasingly before pinching it even harder.

"Fuck yes!" She cried over and over, her voice reverberating in the quiet. She leaned over him, sealed her mouth over his, and moaned against him as he continued to palm her breasts, nipping teasingly at his lips and tongue.

Her skin was scalding. Her face was bright red, her coordination an afterthought as she lost herself in bliss. So he untied their mouths, pressed his forehead against hers and didn’t hold back.

“I love you Rey Jakku!” He rasped.

“I love you Ben Sol-“ she said back, unable to finish the sentence.

Rey’s heart skipped a beat as her climax rolled through her body, she saw sparks erupt behind her eyelids. She felt it all the way down to her toes, her body contracting sharply against his. Her head fell back limply and Ben thought for a moment that she had lost consciousness, until a second orgasm had her clenching so tightly around him that he lost his own control.

His core burned with white-hot pleasure as he squeezed her breasts, pressing her body flush against his. He was lost in how good it felt, an electrifying, all-consuming wave that ignited his body, twisting wildly in his veins and making his mind go numb.

“Oh fuck,” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

“Fuck yeah!” Rey replied, kissing him again.

They remained entwined for a long time, skin against skin, soaked in sweat.  Rey lifted his knee to slide off of him and remove the condom. Ben was no longer smiling. He tied the condom with practiced ease and pulled up his fly.

Rey was still pleasantly warm and tingly.

“What was that, fireworks? It was like I saw a thousand candles!”

“Consider it a farewell,” Ben sighed, his voice broken.

[funsize-lucifer-hongjoong]

We Are Stars For Each Other Chapter 4: Live Alive

So here’s chapter 4 for We Are Stars. I’ve been getting so much love on it, that I decided to post another chapter here. Please enjoy. YOU CAN FIND ALL OF WE ARE STARS AND MY OTHER WORKS ON MY MASTERLIST. 

                                          Chapter 4: Live Alive

You didn't look back as you walked through the doors and out into the warm evening air. You hoped that by now Wooyoung had added your number into his phone, and planned on texting you or something.

"Ha, I highly doubt he will, but Minie says I should be more positive, so let's just roll with that", Then it dawned on you, "Oh shit I have to text Min Seo and tell her what San said before I forget."

You pulled your phone from your bag, hoping for a text, but there was nothing. You sighed and pulled up your chat with your dear Minie.

(7:13PM) - MINIE I JUST LEFT. San said he wanted to see you again, something about a lovely smile.

It was bookended with hearts and kiss face emojis.

Before you could finish the giggle that had escaped at the thought of teasing your best friend, the phone rang and you nearly had a heart attack.

Relief flooded your mind with the name on the screen, when you glanced before answering.

"You scared the shit out of me Minie!" you sighed out the breath you were holding, "You know I gave Wooyoung my number, I thought it was him."

"Aish, language Y/N. I'm sorry but I needed to know all the dirty details about my future husband." She sounded like she was more than excited.

"I told you everything, San asked me where you were off the bat. He Said you needed to come and see him as he missed your lovely smile." You smirked at that, knowing it would throw her into a fit of giggles.

"Y/N! Did you say anything to him?! Was he smiling?! WHAT HAPPENED?!" Min Seo was on the edge of her seat in anticipation. You assumed it was much like yourself in the presence of Wooyoung.

"That was all Minie, these fan events are short. There isn't much time for talking", You pulled the phone closer to whisper to her, "I'll tell you what, if Wooyoung texts me, I'll give him your number for San. Sound good?"

"Oh.MY.GOD. Y/N, if San texted me I would die. Just die." Her reply was laced with something other than excitement, fear maybe?

"It'll be fine Minie. I need to get back to the apartment, I have to clean up the mess I made getting ready."

"Alright, but you had better tell me if Wooyoung so much as sends you a smiley face, you hear me Y/N?"

You smile at her concern. "Yes, mother. I'll make sure to let you know. Miss you Minie, come home soon ok? Be safe."

When the call ended, you were getting onto the bus. You did genuinely feel sad at Min Seo not being around. Her advice had helped through so many situations at this point and no one knew the boys of ATEEZ better than her it seemed.

When you walked into the apartment, the mess greeted you. "Fucks sake, have I always been so messy?" You look around for the answer and just nod. "Well, let's get this done so I can spend my weekend hovering over my phone like a teenager waiting on her cheating boyfriend to message her."

The day passed, while you checked your phone every half hour to make sure the volume was turned up on it. Time was passing slower than normal, and the next day dawned with no calls or texts.

You were starting to lose faith now, but Min Seo should be home today. That thought made the world brighten up a bit. If the boy you liked wouldn't text you on such an open invitation, then you'd just hug Minie and it'd be alright.

Nearing 5 pm, the door the apartment swung open. Min Seo tearing through it with bags upon bags, and luggage.

"Y/N! I got you something!" Min Seo yelled through the entryway.

"Is it food?" You reply

"Pretty much, yeah." Min Seo knew you loved your snacks from home, and you hadn't been back since the day you stepped on the airplane.

You jumped up, jogging to the bags, searching through them to find your favorites. "Fuck yeah, Minie! Root Beers and flaming hot fries? You're an angel among women."

Once you were both settled on the couch, Min Seo's bags stowed in her room. The junk food was strung across the table. You were happy with her home but sad as you kept glancing at your phone.

"So, no word from Wooyoung yet?" Minie was trying to be gentle, she knew this particular crush had cut you pretty deep.

"Nah, no word. That's alright though. I've been through worse. It just stings." Your reply was directed at the floor.

You heard Min Seo humming softly to herself. She was scheming something up, and you never liked that. She got bright ideas, that normally backfired. You were always the one to get burned on those.

"Park Min Seo, don't you dare try to scheme up some mess, yeah?" You grumbled. Mostly trying to protect yourself from whatever it was.

She was scrolling through something on her phone at lightning speed. Her lip tucked soundly behind her teeth.

"I've got it Y/N!"She said so loudly, it startled you.

"What Minie? What did you dream up?" You replied without paying much attention.

"There's a special promotion here I remembered hearing about.", she cleared her throat before reading the text on the page she had up. "Ateez Concert, with limited backstage access."

You coughed out your drink you were in the middle of swallowing.

Min Seo continued, "Only 4 backstage passes will be sold for this event All proceeds will go to charity. Show your pride for ATEEZ." She stopped and looked at you, a sly smile painted on her face as she handed you her phone to read for yourself.

You gawked, "Minie, there's a few things wrong with this. Number one, it's on a Friday two weeks from now. and Number two, it's in FUCKING BUSAN YOU NERD!" You yelled at her jokingly.

"And?" Min Seo's reply ever aggravating

"And, I have a normal job. I'm not a gorgeous model who makes a bank paycheck off a two-week romp in the states like someone I know." You stare over at her to push your point home, "These tickets are WAY too expensive for me. That's half a weeks pay, I wouldn't be able to eat if I did this. I couldn't get to Busan by train in time even if I left work two hours early." You hung your head a bit.

By Min Seo's standards, it wasn't a terrible idea, but it wasn't practical for you either.

Min Seo eyed you from across the couch, "You're just trying to get out of it, Y/N. I think it's pretty sad that you're going to give up after all the trouble you went through already." She sighed.

"I guess I'll just have to let everyone know you're a big sissy that couldn't face your own insecurities." Min Seo continued on with her guilt trip, "Say you had a best friend, who would help pay for those tickets, and maybe even our hotel? It might just be that I know a model who got offered another big payday in the states."

When you looked over at her, she was pointing to herself with both thumbs smiling when she whispered, "It's this model right here, I got offered another job."

"Holy Shit Minie, that's amazing! They liked you that much they wanted you back? Wow." You rolled your eyes in her direction

"For your information, Y/N. I'm a very popular person, people like me." She retorted to your sarcasm

"Everyone, except San, then?" You quipped

"That's yet to be seen. He may like me, he asked you where I was last time." She looked over and stuck out her tongue at you.

You laughed before replying, "Alright Min Seo, I'll tell you what, there's 4 backstage passes for this so if you can happen to score us each one, I'll go. Good luck." You snorted at her and got up from the couch with a stretch and yawn.

"As for me, I'm going to bed, the tickets go on sale at midnight. May the odds be ever in your favor, FIGHTING!" You pumped your fist with a giggle as you walked into your room to slump onto the bed.

Tomorrow is Sunday, and maybe, you'll finally get that message when you get up. Being hopeful was never your strong point.

Sunday was here and yet no messages to call or speak of. You slept with your phone on your nightstand just in case.

"Maybe I was being presumptuous in thinking anything would come from this." Your sigh was deep, and you felt a new crack forming in your resolve.

While you were brushing your teeth a familiar sound called through the house, but you ignored it. Then again, you heard it. "What the actual hell is...OH HOLY HELL MY PHONE!"

Within seconds you were tearing through the house at a full run, toothbrush still in your mouth silently praying, "Please oh please.."

When you picked up your phone off the couch, your heart flew out of your chest. Two unread messages from an unknown number. Is this happening?

(10:43AM) Unknown Number - Hello, is this Y/N?

(10:49AM) - Yes, this is her. Who's this?

(10:50AM) Unknown Number - you gave me your number last week, can you guess who I am?

(10:50AM) - Wooyoung? Is it really you?

Your replies came with a cautious feeling. This could be Wooyoung, or maybe he dropped your number somewhere and some creep had found it. Suspicion ran through your brain.

(10:52AM) Unkown Number - Maybe. :) <3

Maybe? What kind of bullshit answer was that? Maybe? Now you were getting slightly aggravated.

(10:53AM) - Alright, Who is this? I'm going to block this number if you don't tell me who you are.

(10:55AM) Unknown Number - If it were Wooyoung, what would you say?

(10:55AM) - I'd tell him he's beautiful and so talented. I'd tell him he's my bias and just in general how much I think of him.

(11:02AM) Unknown Number - Ah, Well thank you. :)

(11:02AM) - Is this Wooyoung or not?

Your replies were getting a bit quicker as you were getting more nervous. Was this Wooyoung or someone else? Surely it had to be him and he was just messing with you, right? He loves to play jokes on people so that had to be the case. You were blinded by the fact that this could actually be him.

(11:05AM) Unknown Number - Listen Jagi, if I can call you that, I have to go. I've got practice in less than a half hour. I'll text you later. Save this number under an inconspicuous name. <3 <3 [Kissy face emoji]

The texts end there, and your heart is racing. He just called you Jagi. Wooyoung called you Jagi. It made you feel like you were flying. Warmth traced through your body as you giggled happily. Maybe this was all coming together.

You saved the number under Lucifer with two hearts. a heart-eyed emoji, and the eggplant for posterity. You laughed at that. You didn't know how big Wooyoung actually was, but a girl could dream.

You'd seen that video for Pirate King on Youtube, the one filmed for M2 here they lined up and danced one at a time. Those pants showed everyone all they needed to know and even though Wooyoung looked big, you think Mingi probably won that battle with his big dick energy and well, everything was out.

"Oh Lord help me, I'm talking to the Devil in disguise. I hope I can handle all of this, and him." You smirked at that last thought. You could absolutely handle Wooyoung, you'd fantasized about it enough.

You thought Wooyoung would make a great switch sub. He'd take a beating while saying "May I have another?" in a breathy voice. His ass a lovely shade of pink.

He could also be a dom, spanking you for not bending over properly when he asked, but always giving you the best cuddles after.

Oh what dreams you had, and you were ready to act all of them out. All this time with no physical affection from a man. You were wound up, just waiting to snap. Goosebumps formed all over you and warmth was spreading to your core.

"Hopefully this happens soon. I'm going to lose my mind if it doesn't." You were talking to the wall now, your head lying against it, trying to get your bearings and breath properly.

"Fucking Lord, he's trying to kill me." Your breathing finally slowed, now you just had to play the waiting game, you just hoped it wasn't going to be almost 3 days like last time.

Your day went by, slowly. Always keeping your phone nearby, maybe Lucifer would text you and you could start getting to the serious stuff, like if the eggplant emoji you put by his name was earned or not. You smiled.

It seemed strange when your text tone went off, at just after 7 PM. Your breath caught in your chest. It couldn't be Min Seo as she was asleep, trying to get over her serious jet lag, there was only one person it could be.

(7:13PM) Lucifer - My beautiful Jagi, bogoshipo. I hope you get this.

Your hands tremble, making the phone shake in your hands. He's using informal, sweet speech with you and it makes your heart flutter. Breathing deeply, you steady yourself to reply.

(7:15PM) - Hey handsome, I'm here. :) I'm a lil nervous tho. I've missed you too, did you have a good practice?

You pulled in your bottom lip between your teeth to worry it, waiting for his reply. You were nearly starstruck at the fact that Wooyoung was texting you right now.

(7:16PM) Lucifer - Aigo, it was tiring. I need cuddles Jagi. :(

(7:16PM) - Aww, poor Wooyoung, so tired and in need of lovin. I'd hold you if you were here with me. [kissy face emoji]

(7:18PM) Lucifer - Ah, Jagi. Pick a name to call me other than Wooyoung, I'd like you to call me something sweet and special.

At this point, Hongjoong was sweating bullets. He knew what he was doing wasn't right, but he needed to get to know you. It seemed like the only way to do it was to make you think it was Wooyoung on the other end. This had to work because if you found out, he was in big trouble with both of you.

(7:19PM) - OK, how about I call you wangjanim? I think it fits because you really do look like a prince.

(7:19PM) Lucifer - That's perfect Jagi. I love it. Now with that out of the way, how're you doing?

(7:21PM) - I'm fine honestly, was just waiting on your text. I'm so lonely here. Min Seo is in bed jetlagged, and I'm just wasting my day. :(

You would never tell Wooyoung that his name in your phone was Lucifer, not because he was awful or mean. It was because his body rolls would send you straight to hell with a snatched wig. You laughed at the thought, but then heat rose through your body at the thought of Wooyoung snapping his hips in your direction. Your brain clicked to something you remembered. You quickly typed out your next message

(7:21PM) - I almost forgot, Minie and I are trying to get those backstage passes for the concert in Busan. I'd love to see you again, and actually be able to talk.

Several minutes went by with no reply. Did you say something to make him mad? Maybe he was eating? Your mind raced with possibilities and most of them bad.

Hongjoong wasn't mad at all, he was scared. Scared of getting caught out in his little plan to make you fall in love with him. His idea was to make you fall, and then reveal himself so that you would see him instead of Wooyoung. Now with the possibility of you getting those VIP passes, he had to do it sooner rather than later.

(7:35PM) Lucifer - I hope you get them. I'd love to see you and wrap my arms around you for the best cuddles I could ever get.

(7:36PM) - Aww wangjanim, that's so cute I could just die! are you trying to make me blush?

You weren't lying when you said that, the color had already started to creep across your cheeks and down your chest. Warming everything it covered.

(7:38PM) Lucifer - I might even kiss you, I don't think I could stop myself. Or maybe I could run my hands through your hair, and nuzzle your neck softly. I bet you'd kiss me back if I did. ;)

That message made you stop in your tracks and your breath get caught in your chest. You had to reread it. He was going to kiss you? Oh God. The warmth that was throbbing in your core turned into a fire and it burned all the way to your toes.

(7:40PM) - Oh really? I might kiss you back, but getting near my neck might be a bad idea, sweet wangjanim. ;)

Hongjoong laughed at that, he could imagine you laying back on your bed, in your t-shirt with just panties on underneath it, giggling softly and blushing from head to toe. Maybe you'd be rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. He knew you were somewhat of a hardass, and stubborn, but he was positive he could turn you into a mess right now.

(7:41PM) Lucifer - Now I could use that against you. Want to tell me any more juicy secrets? I could tell you some of mine if you tell me yours. What would you want from me Jagi? Just kisses, or something more?

The fire that raged in your body throbbed deep in your core. Wetness coating you, nearly dripping down your thighs, as you moved to lay in your bed. You hoped this would go even farther than you thought.

(7:43PM) - Do you want to know a secret of mine? Something that turns me on? Well, my neck is one thing, but I'd really like you to spank me and maybe pull my hair a lil. I hope that doesn't scare you, I like things rougher than other girls I think.

Hongjoong read that message and had to bite his lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape his lips. His dick throbbed at your admission. You wanted it rough, he could give you that. He'd give you anything you wanted. His hand slid down to grab himself through his sweatpants, gently squeezing. His eyes rolled back as all he could see was you, naked on all fours under him your ass cheeks red from spankings. It was all he could do to not pull his dick out right then and stroke himself into ecstasy. He needed to write something back.

(7:45PM) Lucifer - Jagi, be careful you're playing with fire. Since you told me a secret, I'll tell you one of mine. I love the feeling of nails dragging across my skin. I want to hear your moans and whimpers in my ear. licking up your neck. Mmm, I bet you taste like heaven.

Your breathing hitched, one hand already sliding across your stomach and lower. fingers tracing along your panties, a whimper falling from your lips.

(7:46PM) - I'm so wet for you right now. Please, wangjanim. Give me anything you can, I'll take it all, just for you.

Hongjoong smirked at his phone. You were easy to play with, and he was going to make it rough on you if that's how you wanted to play.

(7:47PM) Lucifer - Jagi, stop. Don't touch yourself. I want you nice and ready for me when I see you. Can you be a good girl for me? ;)

Your brain swirled with thoughts of Wooyoung perched over you. His bottom lip bitten and red. Marks across his beautifully sculpted chest from your teeth and nails. It took all your control to stop yourself as a finger ghosted over your clit before pulling your hand away with a groan of frustration.

"Oh, what a dick move. He wants to play this game, alright we'll play but the rules should be even across the board I think." You say to yourself a smirk playing on your lips.

(7:49PM) - That's not very nice wangjanim. I'll be a good girl for you, but only if you be a good boy for me. Follow your own rules. I want you just as ready for me. ;)

The words good boy played over in Hongjoong's head. He'd never thought of himself as a switch before, but those words sent a spark of electricity through his body right to the head of his dick. He felt himself twitching under his groping hand, with one last soft squeeze he let go and licked his lips. "Alright pink cheeks, we'll both play and see who can last the longest." He said to himself a grin on his face.

(7:51PM) Lucifer - I'll follow the rules, but if either of us breaks them they'll get a spanking. Sound fair Jagi?

A shiver ran through your body, causing your clit to throb almost painfully.

(7:51PM) - I agree to your terms, Sir. Will you keep texting me until the concert? I'll miss you so much if you don't. :(

(7:53PM) Lucifer - Of course we can still talk. I just want you to save that orgasm for me. I made you feel that way, so it's mine. I want to hear you and taste you.

(7:54PM) - Oh God, please stop Wooyoung. I can't handle this anymore. My body feels like it's on fire, and I think you ruined my favorite panties. -_-

(7:55PM) Lucifer - I'm sorry Jagi, I'll stop. It's getting late, and I know you have work tomorrow. How about you take a nice bath, and relax the rest of the evening. If you need me I'll be here, alright?

When you called him Wooyoung it brought it all back for Hongjoong, he was going to have to tell you eventually. It was going to take some courage to do it, but he could. He bit into his bottom lip, silently cursing himself for playing this game as his dick throbbed.

"I need to tell her soon," Hongjoong laid his head back on his pillow thinking of how he could do this, "Just a few more days of talking, and then I call and tell her it was me texting her. Maybe by then, she won't be too mad."

Hongjoong smiled to himself, his plan should go off without a hitch, he hoped.

When you stood from your bed to run your bath, you could feel slick coating the tops of your thighs, sticking your panties to your core.

"Damn that Wooyoung and his Devil ways. I bet he's jerking off right now and not following the rules at all." You groaned in frustration, this wasn't going to be easy. Two weeks without any release. You could do it, but you might be pretty grumpy by the end of it.

About the time you were rounding the corner in the hallway with your towel and clothes, Min Seo popped out of her door with a smile plastered across her face. Her phone was turned so you could see it, a confirmation number was written in an email.

"I guess the odds were in my favor Y/N. I hope you'll be ready to see Wooyoung up close and personal. In two weeks we'll be in Busan, and you'll be spending an hour with the man of your dreams." Min Seo batted her eyelashes as if she were in a dream herself, smiling all the time.

Your heart stopped for a minute. A whole hour with Wooyoung, after the conversation you'd just had with him/ Oh you were in for it now.

"Good job Minie! I hope you're ready for an hour with San, your future husband." You stuck your tongue out in her direction.

You joked with her, but as you walked into the bathroom and closed the door, you felt anxious. An hour with Wooyoung was going to make you or break you, especially with the no orgasms rule in place. You sighed, undressing and sinking into the hot water.

"what the fuck have you gotten yourself into now, Y/N?" asking yourself as you leaned your head back in thought.

[softspideys]

Time After Time (Part XII) (Peter Parker x reader)

summary: peter parker is your worst enemy, but he’s also your soulmate. life is funny that way.

warnings: none

words: 1.7k

pairings: peter parker x reader

a/n: hello, there’s probably going to be only 3 chapters left of this if I can plan it right (key word being IF) but I’ve got some more ideas planned for the future yay

It seemed like with each passing day, the lines between you and Peter got blurrier and blurrier, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

School got out for winter break and you didn’t see him too much then, busy spending time with your families, but every now and then he’d swing by your window and stay the night. Sometimes he was hurt, other times he wasn’t. Either way, you were always glad to see him.

But on New Year’s Eve, he managed to coax you to the top of your apartment building, sitting on the edge with you and kicking his feet back and forth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal.”

“Well, I’m honored, truly, that Queens’ very own masked vigilante is choosing to spend his New Year’s Eve with me.” You fake swooned.

He rolled his eyes, knocking his shoulder against yours. You’d gotten used to seeing him in his Spider-Man suit by now, and had to admit you liked it. It made him look . . . older, somehow. All the hard lines and muscles of his body that were usually hidden beneath sweatshirts and flannels were now on display. He was becoming less of the annoying kid you used to fight with and more of . . . a hero, really.

“If you accidentally push me off this building I’m gonna kill you,” you threatened. You still hated heights, but slightly less so when he was there.

“For the millionth time, if you fall I’ll catch you,” he said. “Have a little faith.” But you noticed he put his hand behind you and leaned towards you, so his arm was almost, but not quite, around you.

For a few minutes you sat there in comfortable silence. Then you checked your phone and saw it was five minutes to midnight. “Almost the new year,” you commented.

“Yeah,” he said. “This one’s been a weird one.”

You laughed. “Yeah. It has.”

“This time next year we’ll be seniors,” he said, sounding almost in awe. “And we’ll be like, applying to colleges and stuff.”

“I know. It’s scary.”

“Do you think . . .” He hesitated. “Do you think you’ll leave New York?”

“For college?” He nodded. “I don’t know. My mom and dad really want me to apply to some Ivy Leagues, but I really love it here. So if I leave Queens, I’ll probably still stay close by. Columbia or Cornell or even Yale. What about you?”

“Yeah, same,” he said. “I mean, I still gotta be Spider-Man, and I gotta stay near Mr. Stark in case he needs me for anything.” You nodded. “And, you know, I don’t want to leave May. Or . . . or you.”

His last sentence made you look at him quickly, but he was staring straight ahead. Slowly, you smiled, and now it was your turn to bump your shoulder against his. It was a freezing cold night out, but you’d never felt warmer.

The 60-second countdown to the new year startled you both. You could hear the loud roaring and cheers from Times Square even all the way across the river, but being alone with Peter on the roof made you feel like you were separate from all of it, like you were in your own little corner of the world.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

Slowly, he turned to look at you, and the weight of his gaze made you nervous. Your faces were so close together, but neither of you moved.

Seven . . . six . . . five . . .

The air between you felt charged with electricity. You definitely didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes flickered to your lips and then back up.

Four . . . three . . . two . . .

It was now or never.

One . . . Happy New Year!

“Happy new year,” you said quietly.

“Happy new year,” he answered.

Peter slowly started to lean in, and you did the same. The noise of everyone around you faded out until all you could hear was his soft breathing and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

But just as your lips were about to touch, Peter pulled back. You swallowed, feeling your throat go tight with embarrassment, but then you realized he was looking at something in the distance. A building, bathed in orange and red.

“There’s a fire,” Peter said, scrambling to stand up. You did the same. “I—” He looked at you helplessly.

“It’s fine,” you said, thankful your voice didn’t give anything away. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, so softly you almost didn’t hear it. Then he turned and leaped off the roof, and you waited until the sound of his webs hitting the sides of other buildings had faded away to admit just how disappointed you were.

* * *

You and Peter never discussed what happened on New Year’s Eve. There was a part of you that so desperately wanted to, but you were afraid of what the conversation would lead to.

So, you didn’t talk about it, and when school started up again, the two of acted like everything was normal.

A few weeks into January, you were having one of the worst days ever. It seemed like everything that could go wrong actually was. You’d stayed up well past midnight studying for a Spanish test, only to oversleep and miss your train to school. You barely managed to make it before the bell rang, exhausted and frazzled.

You hoped that your Spanish test would be somewhat easy and make all of this worth it, but no such luck: you sat and stared at the paper for most of the class before winging it and guessing the answers.

Your teacher, who was a notoriously fast grader, had them posted just before lunch. You checked your phone as you left your history class and groaned, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

Farther down the hallway, you could see Peter standing by your locker, waiting for you. You trudged towards him, knowing he could probably feel the bad mood you were in.

“Hey,” he said as you approached. You didn’t answer, preferring to just fall into his chest, resting your forehead there with a sigh. You could feel yourself relaxing already, just by touching him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head down so his lips brushed the top of your head as he spoke. “What happened?”

“I didn’t do well on my Spanish test,” you mumbled. “At all.”

“Oh no,” Peter said, concerned. “I’m sorry. What’d you get?”

“An 81,” you said quietly.

There was a pause. You lifted your head and saw Peter was smiling at you in a bemused sort of way. “An 81?” he repeated. “That’s not even bad. That’s a B!”

“B minus,” you sniffed.

He laughed. “But that’s no big deal. I thought you meant you, like, failed or something. An 81 is great!”

“No,” you said, your voice rising a little. “It’s not great, not when I studied my ass off and thought I did really well on it. Especially since it’s one of my worst subjects.” You leaned back into him again, squeezing your eyes shut so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill over. “And I’ve had such a shitty day already.”

“Oh,” Peter wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brush it off. You’ll do better next time, I know you will. You’re so smart. This is just a minor setback, okay?”

“Okay,” you muttered reluctantly. 

“Would it make you feel better if I bought you some hot chocolate after school?” Peter said enticingly.

“Stop trying to bribe me,” you said, but you were smiling. You looked up at him and saw he was grinning down at you, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

“You know you want it,” he said. “And so do I, so please say yes.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Fine, sure.”

“Yes!” He did an over-enthusiastic fist pump, nearly clocking you in the nose. “Oh, sorry. I’ll see you after school then, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. Peter smiled at you, squeezing your hand for a brief moment.

“See ya.” He shouldered his backpack and walked away. You were used to the feeling of longing you got whenever he wasn’t near you, but it was still painful.

“Wow,” a voice behind you said. You turned. Your best friend was standing there, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Would you just admit you’re in love already? It’s sickening to watch.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“All that hand-holding and smiling at each other? Cheesy as fuck, by the way, and also a sign of being in love.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wrong. We’re just friends.”

“Friends. Don’t make me laugh,” she said. “The two of you should just kiss already.” You must’ve had a strange look on your face because she furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

You reluctantly told her about the events that occurred on New Year’s Eve. When you were finished, you thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. “Holy shit, dude! Why haven’t you guys talked about it?”

You shrugged lamely. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him for a few days after that, and then we both just sort of . . . didn’t mention it. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh my God.” She shook her head. “Listen, you know I love you, but you are so stupid sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like him. A lot. And he likes you. You’re soulmates, for God’s sake! I don’t know why you won’t just admit it.”

The two of you had started to walk down the hallway, and you stared straight ahead as you let her words sink in. Finally, you said, “I do like him.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Like, a lot,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Like, I think I care about him more than anything in the world. Should it feel like that?”

She didn’t answer, and when you looked over at her she was smiling. “Yeah,” she said. “It should. And I bet he feels the same way.”

Later, as you sat across from Peter at your favorite cafe and watched him get whipped cream all over his nose and mouth, you finally allowed yourself to wonder what would’ve happened that night on the roof if he didn’t have to leave so early.

tags: @tohollandback @what-the-heck-life @curlycals @rudegrungegirlxx @dontmeanlove @hufflepuffbitch @fanboyswhereare-you @hollandroos @twentyjuanwinchesterz @space1boy @peteparke @peterp-peterq @theguildenark @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia @thisisthetragicstoryofme @peteparkly @imaginingadifferentlife @infamous-webhead @1enchantedfantasy1 @spider-quackson @draqcnheartstrinq @ariii271 @artistic22dragon @sammy-holland @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @komunyska @acciomarvel @nycspidey @princess-shurii @avesagittarius @converseskyline @unicorn-sparkles123 @m4df4n @bluemaximoff @thebookwormfairy @hi-mishamigos @queenophelia @stephie-senpai @whystopkeepon @qtest-trash @onxybunny22 @prettygirlonatrain @im-meant-to-be-bi-myself @itsallthesame @xabihailx @4-a-m @embrel @thumper-darling @akigaskarth @lightrain-loudmind @1happygir1 @meoodle @spider-mendes @tinynlwt @rosegoldpavi @slfllester @cynicallystiles @kimcarcrashin @wallacetdog @alienadvocate @rosieredcheeks @stranger-marvel @iknowisoundcrazy @kawaii-girl-101

[lucianhuntress]

Love Colored Pens Chapter 2 - Midnight Party - Part 1

Heya, sorry for taking so long! My vacation ended and I’ve been dead after work every single day, not to mention that this is one damn long chapter. I had to split it into two different parts, but I’ve got the second part ready and I’ll post it soonish <3

Time for the first uni party with @glaive-eve!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Word count: 4300 Warnings: Alcohol. Lots of it. Pairings: Gladiolus x OC (Caitlin) and Nyx x OC (Eve), hints of Noctis x OC (Eve)

Eve was going through her dresser with almost unnatural speed, trying desperately to find an outfit that was both comfortable and enchanting enough for late night partying. The task felt impossible and after a moment, she sat down on the edge of her bed with her shoulders slumped in slowly skulking desperation.

Caitlin’s head peeked through the gap in Eve’s doorframe, left by the half closed door. Eve didn’t even notice her at first. Caitlin knocked on the door to notify Eve of her presence.

Eve lifted her gaze towards the door with a worried look slowly forming on her face. “What’s up?” she asked quietly.

“Do you have any idea what you are going to wear tonight?” Caitlin asked, biting her lip in frustration. She opened the door slowly, giving Eve the chance to shoo her away.

Caitlin had only seen glimpses of Eve’s room, because she had been quite busy with her work and moving in. Eve had a window with a nice park view and small plants on the window ledge, absorbing all the sunlight. Her lightly colored walls were covered with posters of famous bands and singers, and she had a bookshelf that contained psychology books and a few copies of some steamy romance novels, that were way too cheesy for Caitlin to read.

“Not really. I need to go shopping someday,” Eve sighed, digging into her pile of clothes. Caitlin eyed Eve’s room with great interest, observing every detail with care.

“I’ll join you, I need to upgrade my wardrobe,” Caitlin answered wryly. Her eyes fixated on a huge poster with a picture of a behemoth in it. “You like Imagine Behemoth?” she asked nonchalantly after giving a better look to the rest of the posters decorating the bedroom walls.

“One of the best bands I know of! I love their music,” Eve said and turned her head around to see the big poster Caitlin had been staring previously. “I even went to their concert once!”

“It’s alright, I guess.” Caitlin smirked and sat down on the clear spot on Eve’s bed. The rest of it was covered by a mountain of clothes.

Eve sighed and pushed some clothes to the side, so she would be able to sit too. She raked her fingers through her long hair, which was hanging loosely on her shoulders. Caitlin noticed that Eve had plenty of framed pictures on her bookshelf. One was obviously from her high school prom. She even had a small duck plushie sitting on one shelf, which earned a snicker from Caitlin.

“This is hopeless,” Eve frowned, throwing a piece of clothing away. She glanced at Caitlin in dissatisfaction.

“I know right. I’ve never been this nervous before, but at the same time I’m so excited!” she replied with a sad smile. They both mourned at their sudden loss of ideal clothing for a university student party.

An idea finally formed in Eve’s clouded mind. “Maybe I could borrow something from you?” she asked.

“Uh, you sure? My clothes are quite different style…”

“Let me just check them out, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll go through your wardrobe then!”

And they both went through the piles on each other's beds. Caitlin managed to find herself a green cocktail dress from Eve’s pile and Eve found a black cocktail dress, that wasn’t too revealing like most of Caitlin’s clothes.

“Honestly, I didn’t even remember that dress existed,” Caitlin said, nodding in approval, “You look like you’re ready to party!”

“I thought you are like ‘red-clothes-only’,” Eve giggled while she eyed Caitlin, wearing the green dress, up and down.

“Well, mostly. But I had to try,” she answered with a wide, proud smile, “This felt like shopping, so thank you Eve.”

“Just don’t let any random fluids on my dress,” Eve warned, but couldn’t hold down her small chuckle.

“Hey — my plan is to party all night!” Caitlin protested and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not ready to get my heart broken so soon again.”

Eve gave a final doubtful glance at her and quickly checked the time from her phone screen. “We need to start rolling soon. I need makeup and my hair done,” she sighed and dashed off to the bathroom.

After a moment of applying makeup, getting hair done and picking the right shoes, they finally started making their way towards the address Prompto had given. Caitlin had picked heels for the night and she was quietly cursing as she walked alongside Eve. Eve had picked heels too, but they weren’t nearly as high as Caitlin’s.

The night was still rather warm; despite the fact that it was already the beginning of autumn.

“Are you sure you can walk back home when you’re drunk?” Eve questioned. Caitlin was already drinking a can of cider on their stroll.

“I don’t think it will be a problem!” Caitlin answered and pumped her fist in the air, trying to sound convincing. She’d probably end up crawling back home, but she wasn’t going to admit it to Eve. “How about you?”

“I’m fine. Maybe I’ll find someone to carry me home,” Eve said with a rather dreamy weight on her words.

“Just let me get some sleep first,” Caitlin said dryly and took a sip from the can. Eve burst into a fit of giggles, earning a warning glare from her friend.

They finally arrived at the huge building in Tonberry Street. Caitlin followed the outlines of the building all the way to the top. It was a massive and tall construction, reaching to the already darkened sky.

“I thought you’ve lived in Insomnia for a while.” Eve sighed at Caitlin, who was admiring the building.

“Oh no. I’ve lived in Insomnia for like uh… three years?” Caitlin said, still staring at the top. “I’ve just never seen one of these huge buildings up close.”

“Three years? Seriously?” Eve asked, unable to hide her surprise, “I guess we need to go sightseeing someday.”

Caitlin lowered her gaze back to Eve, who motioned her to follow. She threw the can to a nearby trash can next to the front door and they entered the building, heading to the elevators located in the middle of the lobby. Eve felt the excitement speeding up her pulse slightly; she had been waiting for this party for a long time. A few more obvious partygoers joined them in the elevator, forcing Caitlin and Eve to squeeze themselves to the back of the elevator.

They traded looks mixed with worry and excitement, and silently admitted their defeat, backs against the cold, metallic wall. The ride to all the way to the top lasted longer than the girls wished.

The penthouse was decorated with dim lights of different colors, creating a party-like vibe, but still resembling a nightclub. There were balloons at almost every corner and the music was thumping loudly through the speakers across the massive apartment. Eve and Caitlin eyed the place with their jaws wide open.

A bouncer stopped them right after they had stepped into the apartment, expecting tickets from everyone attempting to enter the party. Eve dug her phone out of her bag and flashed him the tickets Prompto had messaged her. Caitlin and Eve got the nod of approval from the bouncer and they walked past him to enjoy the party.

Eve turned her gaze to the bar and noticed two familiar looking guys leaning against the counter. “They’re already here,” she groaned and glanced quickly at her phone to see what time it was. It was already 20:56. “Shit, we are late.”

“Damn I really need to get an apartment like this,” Caitlin mumbled loud enough for Eve to hear it through the electronic music.

“Maybe when you graduate,” Eve grinned, “My friends are here. Are you ready?”

“Not really, but do I have a choice?” Caitlin said, trying to pull a smile to her face. She followed Eve sheepishly towards the bar counter. She wasn’t sure if it was the music or the anxiousness that caused her heart to pick up on speed.

Noctis and Prompto were viewing all the pictures Prompto had apparently taken after the ceremony. They both had drinks resting on top of the counter in front of them.

“Evening boys!” Eve said louder than normal. Both of the guys jumped from the surprise and Prompto nearly dropped his camera.

“Finally! You’re late!” Prompto shouted and his eyes wandered on Eve’s dress, taking in the sight. “Damn girl, you look good tonight!” His shocked features changed into a bright grin unbelievably fast. Noctis kept his face on neutral and he took a sip from his drink, but his eyes were obviously taking in the view too.

“Aww thanks,” Eve said with a ravishing blush coloring her cheeks and turned to face Caitlin. “Guys, this is Caitlin!”

Prompto’s jaw dropped and Noctis nodded lightly. Noctis ripped his eyes off of Eve to quickly scan this ‘new friend’ and moved then back to Eve, eyeing her slowly from head to toes. He had never seen Eve wear a dress like that and it suddenly made the room’s temperature rise — or at least it felt like it.

“Hey,” Caitlin greeted Prompto and Noctis, smiling nervously.

“Damn. I’m Prompto,” Prompto said rising up from his barstool to shake hands with her. Eve wasn’t surprised to see Prompto drooling at Caitlin. Sadly for Prompto, Caitlin didn’t drool back at him. He could’ve gotten rid of his forever-alone status.

“Noctis,” Noctis introduced himself politely. His intense stare frightened Caitlin slightly and she felt like she should be hiding behind Eve.

“Nice to meet you,” Caitlin stuttered and flashed a nervous smile. She thought Eve would have had hotter friends and was slightly disappointed. “Well maybe there is a treasure in the crowd?” she thought. She had to shake off those thoughts. “Focus on having fun, Cait!”

“Where are Ignis and Gladio?” Eve questioned. Noctis and Prompto were always there for Eve while Ignis and Gladio handled their secretive businesses. Things had been so different back in high school, where they had done almost everything together.

“Ignis wanted to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture,” Noctis sighed, taking another sip.

“You have lessons tomorrow already?” Prompto laughed, enjoying Noctis’s frustration.

Noctis answered with a warning glare, instantly shutting him up. “Unfortunately, yes. Highwind wants to start early.”

“So Gladio is dragging him here? He shouldn’t miss this opportunity to party,” Prompto sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Noctis shrugged and sipped his drink again, his eyes glued on Eve. Prompto checked for their group chat if there was any update on Gladio’s status. “Ah, they’re soon here.”

Eve glanced at Caitlin who was nervously surveying the room; she wasn’t even listening to their conversation anymore. Eve poked Caitlin’s shoulder to gain her attention.

“Maybe we should get our drinks while we wait?” Eve asked Caitlin after she had jolted from the sudden pain in her shoulder. Caitlin nodded eagerly and they moved closer to the counter to make an order to the bartender. “So, what’s your poison?” Eve inquired from Caitlin.

“Uh, I think I’m gonna take some shots.” Caitlin said while staring at the bar counter.

“Already?” Eve chuckled, trying to decide her drink. She didn’t have too much money to spend on fabulous drinks, so she had a hard decision to make.

“Okay, fine. I’ll take a tequila sunrise,” Caitlin sighed at the bartender, who was apparently a 4th year student. He winked at Caitlin, who was leaning against the counter with her elbow, looking unimpressed.

“I’ll go with a strawberry margarita,” Eve told the bartender, who gave her a flirtatious wink too. Eve rolled her eyes and turned her face back to Caitlin. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing. I’m just not used to meeting lots of people and getting drunk,” she sighed. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. “But now is not the time to sulk!” she said trying to sound cheerful. Her eyes opened wide, almost as if she had just woken up to the reality.

“Well, if you’re going to do shots tonight — I’m pretty sure you won’t be sulking,” Eve chuckled, “Unless you have a sob story or two in your mind.”

“I guess I could make a sob story out of it, but I find my latest story rather… relaxing,” Caitlin said with a devious smile splaying across her face. The flirty bartender placed the drinks in front of them — with a wink. They paid their drinks slightly reluctantly, avoiding the desperate flirts.

“That’s a one nasty bartender,” Caitlin mumbled to Eve’s ear with a somewhat disgusted tone and Eve couldn’t help but to giggle.

They turned to show their drinks to Noctis and Prompto, but they were already gone. Eve searched for them and noticed them sitting on a sofa set, separated only by a coffee table between them. Eve motioned for Caitlin to follow her to the couch. They sat down on an empty sofa and laid their drinks on the table. Noctis and Prompto sat across the table, drinking their drinks.

“Oooh, what are you drinking?” Prompto asked the girls with deep interest. He even pulled out his camera to take material for the article he had promised to help write. He took a few shots of the untouched drinks.

“Tequila,” Caitlin sighed emotionlessly. Eve glanced quickly at her. Caitlin sighed and rolled her eyes, eagerly taking a sip from the drink. Prompto bit his lip with a slight disappointment, but then he snapped a photo of Caitlin elegantly tasting her drink.

“It’s a margarita,” Eve said and smiled at Prompto warmly.

“Looks tasty,” Noctis said taking a sip from his glass, “and looks like Gladio and Iggy are here.”

Prompto reached out his neck to see the people at the entrance. Eve and Caitlin turned their faces to the entry as well, Caitlin having no idea who they were actually looking for. She turned her face back to the drink she had in her hands. Everyone else was waving at their friends to notice them.

“Evening,” Caitlin heard a guy saying. She turned her towards the voice and noticed that Eve’s friends had arrived. The one who had greeted them wore eyeglasses and had green eyes. He wore a dark dress shirt and a pair of well ironed pants. He gave a small smile to the people around the table and was startled a bit when his eyes met Caitlin’s.

Caitlin moved her eyes slowly to the guy standing behind the one with the glasses. She felt like her heart started pumping some additional beats as her eyes carefully took note of his muscular arms. He was wearing a black tank top and white jeans, and his arms were covered in a huge bird tattoo. He had amber eyes and a long, vertical scar over his left eye. His dark brown hair was long enough to reach the back of his neck.

“Hey,” he said with a husky voice, smiling cheerfully and glancing at everyone at the table in turns. His eyes lingered on Caitlin for a bit longer than at the others. Caitlin either couldn’t take her eyes off him and she batted her eyelashes in astonishment, missing the straw in her drink and letting it hit her cheek a few times.

“Now is not the time to look like an idiot!” Caitlin raged to herself in her thoughts.

“Took your sweet time,” Noctis sighed, making more space on the couch.

“Ignis was in the middle of doing some business research, had to wait for him,” the muscular man chuckled, taking the seat next to Noctis. “So who’s this pretty lady you’ve brought here?” he inquired, winking slyly at Caitlin. She felt a sudden wave of heat washing over her body, making her unsure whether the cause was the alcohol or the unimaginably hot guy at their table.

“This is Caitlin Felineia,” Eve said introducing her to the new guys. “Caitlin, this is Ignis Scientia,” Eve said pointing at the glasses guy, “and this is Gladiolus Amicitia,” she added pointing at the muscular guy.

“Hey,” Caitlin said, her voice wavering from the sight. She couldn’t remember when the last time her face had been burning up so hard had been. “His tank top is so tight,” she moaned to herself, taking a long sip from her drink, trying to cool herself down. Her heart was suddenly aching to be torn apart again.

“So how do you know each other?” Ignis asked. Gladiolus leaned his back against the couch, stealing glances at the nervous lady sipping her drink and smiling invitingly. Eve rolled her eyes, unsurprised from Gladio’s way to approach girls.

“Oh, Caitlin is my new roommate,” Eve answered, smiling joyfully and nudging Caitlin with her elbow. She had totally forgotten to mention the boys about it. Noctis turned his gaze back at Eve with his brows furrowed.

“You know, I could have moved in with you,” Noctis said, sounding slightly offended.

“Hey, aren’t you happy living with me?” Prompto shouted. His cheeks were rosy pink from drinking alcohol and his voice was filled with hurt.

“You snore way too much,” Noctis jested with a mischievous smile on his face. Eve traded an amused smile with Caitlin, while the two boys argued about their living habits.

It didn’t take long for Caitlin to finish her drink, thanks to Gladiolus for making her extra thirsty. Her insides were coiling under his intense gaze and mouth drying up every time their eyes met. “I’m so smashed at this rate…” she thought, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“You need a drink?” Eve asked from her. Caitlin snapped from her thoughts and nodded slowly. She was eager to make her escape. It would be bad to be dragged into another hell so soon.

“Yeah, I need something really cold now,” Caitlin said. Her face was still on fire. She had a hard time resisting the urge to succumb to Gladio’s suggestive smile. She could feel his intense on her, making her keener on getting away from the situation.

Eve and Caitlin stood up to make their way to the bar counter. Ignis conquered the spot left by the girls; he had been politely observing the situation from the side.

“Aren’t you two going to drink at all?” Prompto asked from Gladio and Ignis, sounding slightly worried.

“There’s a crowd at the counter right now,” Ignis chuckled, pushing his spectacles up with his index finger.

“Someone has to keep the sofa taken while the girls get their drinks,” Gladiolus said, turning his head enough to get an eyeful of the people at the bar counter, waiting for their turn to order their drinks. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for and he started shamelessly undressing Caitlin with his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to forget about the 4th year girls,” Gladiolus mumbled. Noctis raised his head slowly and stared at Gladiolus.

“Did you say something?” Noctis asked.

“I have to admit it’s a good looking party,” he answered casually, slowly ripping his gaze off Caitlin.

“Agreed,” Noctis sighed. A small smile came across his face when his eyes found Eve standing in the line, chatting with Caitlin. She looked so pretty and happy.

“I’ll take five tequila shots,” Caitlin grunted at the busy bartender. The flirty one was serving a girl with golden curly hair, wearing an orange dress. Eve wondered where she had seen her before. At least they didn’t have to deal with the flirty bartender now.

“What? Five?” Eve gasped at Caitlin’s bold move.

“I need to get drunk. Now,” Caitlin said locking her eyes to the bar counter. It would have been so easy to see those muscles if she had turned her head back just a little bit. No. Bad idea. “I really need that tequila, now.”

“You’re acting strange,” Eve chuckled as she studied Caitlin’s blank face, “but I couldn’t ignore that eye flirtation you just had there with Gladio.” Caitlin groaned and her face suddenly gained some deep red shades, making Eve laugh even louder.

“There is an extremely hot looking guy in the party and I’m doing my best to restrain myself from doing anything stupid,” Caitlin muttered, licking the salt she had poured onto the back of her hand. “I just came here to party,” she added and poured the scorching liquid into her mouth, then quickly sucking the slice of lime she had been given by the bartender.

“That’s what we all say,” Eve noted, smiling impishly. Caitlin rolled her eyes while still gnawing the lime in her mouth. The bartender ignored Eve and moved to the other side of the counter to serve some party goers, leaving Eve to stand there dumbfounded.

“Seriously Eve— I can’t,” Caitlin managed to say, before pouring another shot down her throat. “Too soon,” she rasped, “too soon.”

“Okay, I see,” Eve sighed, her smile waning out. She glared after the bartender, feeling slightly annoyed of being ignored even when she had been waiting for her turn next. “I’m gonna get myself a drink, so enjoy the shots and stay away from trouble!”

“Trouble? Yay,” Caitlin said, letting out a tipsy giggle escape her lips. She threw her hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed. Eve smiled at her and walked over to the spot, where both the rude and the flirty bartender were serving.

She was calmly waiting for her turn, when someone poked her arm softly. Eve lifted her eyes slowly and her gaze met with a set of playful, lustrous, blue eyes. He was staring into Eve’s eyes with a smile that wouldn’t leave anyone unsure of its true purpose — to sweep Eve off her feet.

“Hey, I think there must be something wrong with my eyes, I can’t take them off you,” he said softly with a flirty smirk spreading across his face. Eve studied his face; he had dark brown hair, short on the sides and long in the back and a few fine braids here and there. His jaws were coated with thin, dark stubble and he wore a casual, dark grey t-shirt, showing that the man had been keeping his body in shape.

Eve felt a blush creeping over her face and the man noticed it, chuckling amusedly at her reaction. “I know it was cheesy, but I had to try it.”

“Well it’s definitely working,” Eve thought and smiled shyly. “A few more tries and you’ll have the whole room swooning at your feet.”

“Hmm... but maybe I don’t want them all swooning over me,” he said, letting out a delighted laugh. “Just you would be enough.”

Eve felt her heart skipping a beat, “Lucky me.”

“I’m Nyx Ulric by the way,” he said after a brief moment of silence. He held a bottle of beer in his hand, looking so casual in such a flashy party. Still he managed to steal Eve’s attention completely.

“Eve Leonis,” Eve said, batting her eyelashes and giggling with content.

“So what brings a girl like you into a crappy place like this? Shouldn’t you be back in heaven or something?” Nyx asked, taking a gulp from the bottle in his hands. Eve had a hard time holding back her giggles.

“Stop it or I’ll die from all of this giggling,” she managed to say, smiling widely. Nyx answered with a deep, gentlemanly bow.

“Apologies, my lady,” Nyx said, making Eve to lose her self-control. She burst into a loud laughter, earning a few annoyed glares from the other partygoers nearby. Nyx seemed remarkably satisfied with the outcome.

“Anyways, I came with my friends,” Eve breathed with a light blush coloring her cheeks. She pointed at the direction behind her without breaking eye contact with Nyx. “And actually my friend is somewhere there, we were going to get drinks, but the bartender ignored me.”’

“Seriously? That sounds almost like a crime!” Nyx said in fake dismay, but he broke into a wide grin after a moment. “Hey, make something nice for the lady here!” he shouted for the bartender who answered with a grumpy nod. Eve was surprised at how fast Nyx could get the attention from the ignorant bartender. A group of girls who had been waiting their drinks threw angry looks at Eve, but after noticing Nyx, they went all whispery into a tight group.

“Nyx! Get over here!” Eve heard a shout coming from behind Nyx’s back. Nyx turned around, his face forming a deep frown. “Stop getting into random girl’s pants and help Libertus!”

Eve noticed a girl with dark brown hair glaring at Nyx and apparently this Libertus was lying on a table. He wasn’t doing so good. Nyx cursed quietly and turned back to Eve.

“I’m really sorry about this. Maybe we’ll meet again,” he said smiling sadly, “Here— take these coupons to get some free drinks.” He planted a small bunch of free drink-tickets in Eve’s hand. Their hands brushed in the trade and Eve felt prickles lighting up all the nerves in her fingertips.

Nyx waved his hand as a goodbye as he walked over to his friends. Eve stood there bemused, staring at the back of Nyx, feeling sudden emptiness pouring inside her.

“Miss, your drink is ready,” the grumpy bartender shouted, waking Eve from her momentary freeze.

“Right.” Eve sighed and picked up her drink from the table, handing in a coupon in exchange. She kept stealing glances at Nyx, when she walked back to the sofa set where Noctis, Prompto, Ignis and Gladiolus were sitting. Gladio and Ignis had managed to conjure up refreshments from somewhere, while she was away getting her drink and flirting with the most handsome guy ever.

[beebuddyreviews-blog]

Title: Here in the Afterglow // Author: fondleeds (@fondleeds) // Rating: Not Rated // Words: 88,649 // Chapters: 3/3 AU // Completed: 12/8/16

Official Summary: “If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

-

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

Green’s Review: This fanfiction begins with the election of Harvey Milk and itt features an honest portrayal of the attitudes of that period. Louis is a closeted high school soccer player, Harry is new to town, and the two of them form a quick bond. Full review under the cut.

Fondleeds has written a few other fics for the Louis/Harry fandom including, I Could Dream All Night and a Rhythm in Rush. She is a diverse author with an incredible ability to depict and incite emotion and she continued this ability in Here in the Afterglow.

Here in the Afterglow is a shining star in a sea of Louis/Harry fanfiction. It captures your attention from the first sentence and does not let it go for three chapters. Fondleeds presents the issue of homophobia in the 1970’s in a raw and honest way. She creates characters that inspire anger, but also hope because you want to see them rise above their prejudices. The title is a great homage to the end of the fic when everything seems to fall into place for these two boys. They do get to sit in the afterglow of their experiences.

Here in the Afterglow is around 88,000 words. It is not an incredibly lengthy fic and yet it achieves just as much, if not more, as you would expect from a 150,000-word fic. Fondleeds manages to create well-rounded characters with understandable motives and a lot of depth. The characters are not just the villains and the good guys – there is much more to every single one of them. Louis is charismatic, as usual, and incredibly loyal to his friends and to his mom. He internalizes most of his struggles and wants to make everyone happy even if that is impeding his own happiness. Harry is a loveable and genuine kid who you begin rooting for as soon as he steps into the story. He and Louis together is something truly beautiful. They become best friends before anything else, care for each other deeply, and offer copious amounts of support to one another. This portrayal of them is one of the most vulnerable I have ever read and I wanted more than anything for them to have their happy ending.

Some villains of the story are Stan – it was interesting to see him in this light, Harry’s mother – who is not Anne, and Jimmy – an actual piece of trash. Stan’s character was very hard for me to reconcile with. He was the character I was rooting for and sadly, he does end up disappointing you. Harry’s mother, Lisa, is another character that I was hoping would surprise me and I think there is hope for her later. A few years past when this story ends, I think she could end up surprising them. In this story I was glad she wasn’t Anne and I think that was a perfect decision on the author’s part because I could never see Anne pulling half of what Lisa did.

Jimmy was always the bad guy and I am glad he got what was coming to him. One of the most powerful moments of the fic for me was when Louis enacted a little revenge on Jimmy. “I came back,” it actually sent chills down my spine and I fist pumped the air. I don’t know if I have ever been as proud of a fictional character as I was of Louis in that moment. I won’t spoil anything for the readers but it was a moving and beautiful moment.

One of my favorite types of fic is slow burn. I literally live and breathe for good slow burn fics. I’m pretty picky though, and I have a limit for how long the “slow burn” portion of the fic can last before it just becomes ridiculous. Here in the Afterglow was the perfect amount of build-up. The pacing was so solid throughout the entire story. No part of Harry and Louis’ relationship seemed rushed or too slow. It was the perfect amount of time between every stage of their relationship. AND THE TENSION. Jesus. It was brilliant. Honestly. I’ll include one of my favorite parts of the fic here, warnings for recreational drug use:

“Fuck, that’s smooth,” Louis says as he exhales, following Harry and leaning back against the tree.

Harry giggles, and his cheek is almost mushed up against the trunk, eyes bright. “Thought you didn’t do ‘this’ a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis inhales again, sticky and sweet. When he exhales, lips wet, he catches

Harry’s eyes. They’re dark in the hazy light. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s good and what’s shit.”

“I like your mouth,” Harry says suddenly, and Louis blinks, pulling back.

“What?” He says, too sharp, too bitter.

“I like the way you talk,” Harry says, lips quirking. “I like your words.”

“You don’t even know me,” Louis says. Harry holds his hand out and Louis passes the joint over, careful not to brush their skin together.

“I want to,” Harry says. “Gotta make friends, don’t I?”

“I suppose,” Louis says indifferently.

“Everyone else is…dull,” Harry says with a wave of his hand, like he’s explaining some great revelation.

“Oh?” Louis splutters a laugh. “We’re a dull bunch are we, down in Post Falls?”

“Everyone else,” Harry repeats with a purposed smile.

Their chemistry is so tangible and brilliant, even in this short preview. Their ability to work off each other just continues to improve as the story goes on. These two characters were perfectly crafted for each other. Here is another quote from a point in the story that I was very excited to get to:

But then Harry lifts a hand, his smooth, delicate hand, and runs a long finger down Louis’ cheek, coming to rest just by the hinge of his jaw. Louis stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as Harry touches him.

Harry rests their foreheads together gently, his thumb coming to rub at his jaw, his hand cupping the back of his neck and head. Louis’ body is covered in goosebumps, every inch of him shaking like a leaf, so nervous, so unused to this sort of touch.

I am completely here for characters being soft with each other and Louis and Harry are so incredibly soft in this scene. I think it was the perfect way for them to reach this point of their story.

Another thing I appreciated about this fic was that they bonded over great music as well. The author clearly did a lot of background research on the artists and the albums of that time and it was an amazing addition to her storytelling.

The only thing I have to say I was unsure of in this fic were the parallels between Harry’s back-story and Louis coming into himself. I do understand the reason the author took it into that territory but I’m not 100% behind it. I think she portrayed both of the instances perfectly and was able to get the desperation and hurt across amazingly, but it just didn’t completely work for me. Still, I understand the decision and I still support this beautiful fic. I recommend it to anyone in the fandom who needs a fresh story that is very well written and has well-rounded, compelling characters.

Finally, would you recommend it to Blue: Blue loves her fluff fic. She reads angst but it is usually per my suggestion – except for the Sweet Home Alabama fic, which she forced on me. However, she also loves fics that are well written and I know she would love this portrayal of Louis and Harry. Therefore, yes I would recommend it to her and warn her that the fic is a lot of angst but it’s not pointless and it does end. The ending is very happy and full of hope.

READ IT BLUE.

I have linked to the fic in the title at the top of this post. You can find the author on Tumblr at fondleeds. We always suggest that you leave the author comments and kudos because positive feedback is important! I hope that you have enjoyed my first review. If you have any comments or suggestions feel free to message me!

-GREEN.

[gymwrites]

Second Thoughts: A Fan Sequel to First Times

[Author’s note: My deepest apologies for the huge wait. Here’s Part I of the latest and longest ST chapter (it’s pretty much the equivalent of two chapters). I recently lost someone very close to me and have been going through the motions these past few weeks. It made finishing this chapter a real struggle, but I hope it doesn’t disappoint. I will post Part II within a couple hours. Thank you Anons and everyone for all your messages, it’s really amazing to feel the love from such kind and supportive readers. I have every intention of finishing ST :) As always, any thoughts, feels, songs or suggestions would be really appreciated. Love, Kai.]

Links to: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (Part I), Chapter 5 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part I), Chapter 6 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part III), Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (Part I), Chapter 8 (Part II)

Chapter 5: Impossible (Part I)

The second thought Aly Raisman has when the back and forth swinging of the gym door comes to a creaking halt... isn’t really a thought. It’s not quite a feeling, either. Rather, it’s the scary absence of both thought and feeling. A numbness that steals its way into the dull hollowness left by a sudden, ripping away of hope.

Her thought preceding this not-quite-thought-nor-feeling was just as dismal.

That’s that then.

Aly keeps still. Doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t breathe. As if staving off the next intake of air might somehow delay the fact that she’s standing in the dead quiet of a ghostly gym. Very much alone. She closes her eyes, feeling the blood in her veins slow to an uncomfortable, sluggish pace.

Thinking there was a way back to London had been about as crazy as thinking billions of years could be undone and the universe folded back into a single, infinite point.

The realization that some things when lost, are lost forever, seizes Aly with a suffocating force. She drops the now meaningless piece of paper to the floor and buries her face into her hands, taking in sobbing gulps of air. Each new ragged breath cuts her deep, each sharp as an obsidian blade’s edge.

None so sharp as the parting words the Russian had left her before walking out, without a single glance back.

-----

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Aliya trembles, hardly believing what she just heard. A confusing cocktail of dismay and joy explodes somewhere deep inside of her. She’s waited for those words for so damn long, dreamt about them so often, part of her thinks they’ve been cruelly conjured up by her imagination.

Yet there she is. Aly Raisman, holding out her heart towards Aliya, shining hazel eyes creased with uncertainty.

The Russian directs her entire willpower towards not throwing herself at Aly, partly in a wild rage - why did she wait until freaking Rio to do this to me?! - and partly in pure, unadulterated longing. Her hand automatically comes up to press down on the left side of her chest, where a throbbing pain is growing.

Gesturing towards the crumpled list still clutched in Aly’s nervous fingers, Aliya manages to stutter out, “You. Russian.”

Aly quickly lowers her eyes, her already flushed cheeks deepening to a dark wine red. She awkwardly scuffs her shoe on the gym mat.

“I know. I know it was really bad.”

“Aly.” Aliya utters a sound that’s halfway between a cry and a soft whimper. The self-consciousness in the girl’s tone makes her desperately want to draw closer and grab Aly’s hand and press it to her lips and tell her it was the most adorable, breathtaking thing ever. But the stubborn, rational streak in her forbids it.

“I meant what I said, Aliya,” Aly says, her voice trembling. “In Russian. In English. I’ll learn to say it in every other language if I have to. I would say it in Hebrew, but that might be just as bad as because I’m really rusty. Although to be honest, it’s probably impossible for anything to be worse than my Russian.” Her words, clearly not coming out as articulately as she wants them to, dies on her lips.

The American’s signature rambling is every bit endearing as it is distressing for Aliya. She waits, unmoving as a statue, pulse racing with the frightening velocity of a runaway freight train.

“What I mean is,” Aly swallows down a lump in her throat, “I love you. In every language. In every way.” The slow, fiery intensity of her words makes Aliya’s heart swell up to fill her entire ribcage.

“Would you give me another chance, Aliya? Will you have me?”

Yes. Yes times a million. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.

They’re the answers that sit, right there on the tip of Aliya’s tongue, begging to jump off of it. They’ve been there ever since she first caught the strangely captivating way the girl laughed with her eyes, the easy kindness she wore on her sleeve and charmed everyone with, without even knowing it. How could not being with Aly ever be right?

It’s true; Aliya had learnt to live the last four years without her. There started to be days where she wouldn’t hate the sun for peeking up over the horizon. At times, it even felt like she was beginning to enjoy herself again. But by every measure that mattered, she hadn’t really lived. Life passed her by without Aly searching her out like she was the only star in the sky. It didn’t count when she wasn’t wrapped in Aly’s arms, an impenetrable shield against everyone who ever judged Aliya and tried to tear her down. Her days dragged on without Aly’s kisses, especially the ones that felt like small drops of warm lava blazing a trail down her body...

Shivering, Aliya swallows back tears and watches anxiously as Aly takes a cautious step forward, the girl’s gaze unfaltering and deliberately reassuring, as if wary that Aliya might bolt at any second. Time stops being measured in minutes, instead surging forward in furious heartbeats and terse breaths.

Aly takes another step. Then another. The closer Aliya lets her get, the more she can detect faint stirrings of hope in the American.

Hope. 

Aliya involuntarily tenses up. A chill flashes through her, crawling up her skin and causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end.

Her naturally suspicious nature had always treated hope as a dangerous thing to hold onto. But it wasn’t until Aly cut her off four years ago that she was completely vindicated for doing so. Never in Aliya’s life had she been raised so high, only to be brought crashing back down by a dizzying disappointment that left her sick to the core.

Aliya is suddenly, jarringly reminded that little has changed. Some supernatural force would always draw Aly and her together. It was straight out of one of her favorite stories she had read as a child, about a couple Fate had mischievously joined together with an invisible red string. It didn’t matter where on earth they were born and died; they would always find each other again and again, in a never-ending cycle of reincarnations. In this life, though, she and Aly couldn’t keep meeting every four years, falling for each other again every four years, and breaking each other into pieces every four years. Sooner or later, they had to confront the fact that they were both tied to their home countries in ways they couldn’t or wouldn’t change.

What had changed was that they weren’t wide-eyed teenagers chasing their Olympic dreams for the first time anymore; the same ones who didn’t think through what would happen once the Games concluded. Aliya knew it all too well. If they didn’t get off this collision course, there would eventually be nothing left of them to break.

“Aliya.”

The nearness of Aly’s voice exhaling her name snaps Aliya back to attention. Only two or three tiny steps separate them.

Shit.

Her eyes still anchored on the girl’s perfectly framed face, Aliya takes in a deep breath. As she does, her heart sinks. “Raisman, we cannot.” Her voice catching in her throat, Aliya forces it out more vehemently. “I... cannot.”

Aliya watches Aly’s brown orbs cloud over in confusion, then comprehension, and finally hurt. She really wishes things were different, wishes her common sense and the fear and the memories and the pain weren’t so ingrained in her. But stumbling backwards, barely smothering the protesting parts of her begging she give into her raw emotions just one goddamn time, Aliya wrenches her gaze away.

“Take care yourself. Please.” Her last words come out colder than intended. They’re brashly polite, to the point of clinical. They had to be, if she was going to do this with any sort of decisiveness.

Before Aly can say anything to change her mind, Aliya abruptly wheels around and powers away from the girl she can have, but never hold.

Only when her back is safely turned, when she’s forced her way out of the building and is blindly careening down the concrete footpath under a dark blanket of stars, does Aliya allow the hot tears to rush down her face.

----- 

“You did it. You did it, Aly!”

Mihai’s usual contained self is gone, replaced by an unrecognizably ecstatic coach jumping up and down on the lime green carpet. Aly watches, a small grin curled at one corner of her mouth as he puts on a very public display of fist pumps and wild arm waving to celebrate her second chance at an all-around Olympic medal.

Soon, she finds herself wrapped in one of his giant bear hugs, the kind that sweeps her off the ground and constricts her breathing for a number of seconds. As soon as Mihai sets her down, she’s immediately swamped by her teammates; Simone, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes at being one step closer to Olympic hardware; Laurie, giving everyone high fives, still in shock over how the crowd - most of them not even American - had chanted her name the moment she stepped into the stadium; Madison, her enigmatic smile expressing tempered delight at finishing with the highest qualifying score on bars.

And Gabby.

As Mihai enthusiastically lifts her arm up in a gladiator salute towards the cheering USA section of the stands, Aly catches Gabby’s eye over his shoulder. The 2012 all-around champion flashes her a big smile. The sparkle in her look conveys something that sets Aly’s mind a little more at ease: Enjoy this moment. You deserve it.

Aly returns the smile faintly, a little relief spreading through her. All week, she had both anticipated and dreaded this moment.

Qualifications had turned out as good as Team USA could have hoped. Still, at the back of Aly’s mind lurked the unpleasant prospect that either she or Gabby would have to swallow the bitter pill of missing out on a spot. And now, she had to deal with being proud enough of her achievement so as not to seem annoyingly modest, but not so proud as to seem completely insensitive to how awful Gabby must be feeling.

Extracting herself from the flurried mess of hugs and congratulations, she makes her way over to Gabby, who has discreetly gone to the side and is bent over removing tape from her ankles.

“Gabby, I...”

Straightening up, her teammate turns to face her. As soon as she catches the turmoil on Aly’s face, Gabby reaches out and pulls her in for a heartfelt hug.

“Als, I know. I know what you’ve been worrying about. And I’m telling you now, don’t. I’m happy for you.” Gabby emphasizes the next word by giving her teammate a light squeeze on the shoulder, “Really. I know you would be just as happy for me if - well, if things had turned out differently.”

Aly winces. Clasping Gabby’s hand with her own, she says with a fierce certainty, "It could have just as easily been you. It was all luck.”

The girl shakes her head. “Hey. You deserve it. You were amazing today. There’s no luck in this. And there won’t be when you and Simone wipe the floor with everyone else at the final.”

A tiny smile finally breaks on Aly’s face, but the unfairness of it all still weighs heavy. Gabby had come in as the third greatest gymnast in the world, and she wasn’t going to get her shot at defending her Olympic title. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly, feeling the inadequacy of the question.

Gabby looks down, spreading her fingers and inspecting each one distractedly. “I’m okay, I think. Well, I will be.” Glancing up, she lets a bit of the regret holing up inside trickle through in her features. “I really wanted this. But then, we all did,” Gabby says in a resigned voice. Without warning, she shifts the direction of the conversation. “How are you feeling?”

The careful, searching tone in her voice lets Aly know she’s not just asking about the upcoming team and all-around competitions. Thrown by the question, Aly gives a near imperceptible shake of the head, her tongue feeling like it’s just become glued to the roof of her mouth.

‘Raisman, we cannot. I... cannot.’

Seeing the hidden pain surface in her friend’s eyes, Gabby wordlessly nods in sympathy. The girls share a quiet moment together, bittersweet that the incredible feat of making back to back Olympic teams had to come with such mixed emotions. Aly wants to express how grateful she is that Gabby’s there with her - out of everyone, she knew most why getting to Rio had meant so much - but they get hurriedly herded back towards the rest of the group.

Martha wants to debrief them right away.

It didn’t matter that they had finished almost a record-breaking ten points ahead of the next best team, China, and in all likelihood would take out the team gold even with several falls. There would be no time for resting on their laurels. A no-nonsense post-qualifications meeting would take place in one of the small backrooms. Martha would go over every tiny detail that went wrong (not much, really, but she was sure to find something), and they would get the same pep-talk they always did: You girls have done this a million times. Just treat the next competition as you would any other training session. Left unsaid was that the next competition will make or break the dreams of an entire nation, as well as the one you’ve had since you were five years old.

As Team USA prepares to march out of the stadium in formation, Aly can’t help wondering if Aliya had caught their qualifying round on one of the live cable channels. She wonders what she thinks of the fact that they’ll be competing in the all-around together. Most of all, she wonders if Aliya had noticed her not entirely coincidental choice of floor music.

Then she remembers the loud, scraping noises the gym door had made when Aliya stormed past it, as if she couldn’t bear to be with Aly for one more second. She recalls the way Aliya had told her to ‘take care’, the way you tell a distant second cousin you don’t remember the name of to take care as they board a plane to god knows where, because really, who cares?

The smile Aly has from seeing her teammates chatter excitedly about how they had totally dominated qualifications falls from her face.

She tries not to think about how there’s no reason for Aliya to care about anything she does anymore.

-----

Twenty minutes to go until warm-ups for qualifications begins, and Russia’s gymnastics team captain is nowhere to be seen.

Masha is frantically trying to pull the younger girls together, even as she fights down the familiar flood of nerves welling up within. Melka looks like she just ate a can of worms. Dasha, for her part, is facing the corner of the dimly-lit foyer muttering some kind of Orthodox mantra meant to help calm her down, but it’s only setting everyone else on edge. The only girl who doesn’t look like a walking catastrophe just waiting to happen is Seda. That’s because she’s wondering whether the eggs benedict from this morning’s breakfast will make an encore appearance on the menu tomorrow.

She really, really hopes it will.

Grebs, staggering under the weight of no less than five large red-and-white duffel bags slung around his neck, beckons for them to start making their way down the athlete’s tunnel. Frowning at the four girls milling around, he snaps his head automatically towards Masha.

“Where the hell is Aliya?”

Masha sighs exasperatedly. “I’m not her handler, I don’t know! She must have stayed behind in the locker room. I think she was having trouble adjusting her leotard.”

Grebs narrows his eyes. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nope. No, she’s fine. I’ll get her.” Masha gives him her best no-of-course-she-isn’t-pining-over-a-rival-team-captain smile.

“Well. You better find her right now. They don’t kid around with warm-ups. You get your thirty seconds at the exact time they say so, and then they literally bring out a firehose to make sure you get off the apparatus.” With an air of gruff impatience, Grebs ducks out again.

Muttering under her breath, Masha wraps an arm tightly around Melka, now staring into space with frightened eyes the size of watermelons. She grabs her own personal backpack sitting in the middle of the floor and slings it on her back.

“Seda! I have to head out with the others. You run and check the locker room for Aliya. Chyort, that girl could blow up the moon and still get away with it. Tell her to hurry!”

Nodding, Seda hands over the rolls of spare tape in her hands to the stressed out second-in-command and rushes in the direction of the mostly empty holding area. The other gymnasts were already congregating near the mouth of the tunnel, where they would be introduced by the booming voice of God and enter the imposing stadium to thunderous applause and more cameras than most of them had ever seen in their lives.

Breathing heavily, Seda reaches the wide hallway where the locker rooms are located. She pushes open a heavy wooden door to her right and pokes her head in. “Alka?”

No answer. Not that she was expecting one.

Once inside, Seda frantically scouts the locker room, her shoes squeaking on the gleaming white floor. Rows upon rows of puke-green storage lockers spread out in front of her like a regimented forest that’s been stripped of all its leaves and colors. Weak light filters in through the paneled windows lining the tops of the walls. There's the odd used towel strewn on the floor, and the chirps of a small sparrow unwittingly trapped inside somewhere.

Seda feels a line of sweat form on her brow. But before she starts to properly panic, she walks in on Aliya, seated alone on a narrow wooden bench wedged in between the very last row of lockers. An audible sigh of relief escapes Seda.

Dressed in the same sparkling red and blue leotard as the rest of the team, Aliya’s jacket is zipped up tight around her neck, her bun done up perfectly without a single out-of-place hair. She doesn’t appear to be doing much except staring at the ground, dense eyelashes obscuring nearly all of her velvety, unfocused gaze.

“Grandma, we’re warming up soon. We have to go. Now.” For some reason, Seda finds herself speaking very softly, the way she would to a frightened baby rabbit.

After a long stretch of unpunctuated silence, Aliya looks up at Seda. She briefly makes eye contact and acknowledges the girl’s presence, but then sinks back into her own little world, looking straight through Seda like she isn’t even there.

Worried, but familiar enough with Aliya’s moods to let her come around in her own time, Seda slows her breathing down. And waits.

Finally: “Can I ask you something, Seda?” Aliya is distant, like she’s speaking from a place far, far away.

“Da. Of course. Anything.” Seda steps towards her team captain and sits down next to her. A mental clock ticks loudly in the back of Seda’s mind, but she ignores it. Trying to force this conversation to go any faster would only have the opposite effect.

When Aliya doesn’t respond, Seda glances sideways to check if she had heard her. She notices how tightly Aliya’s hands are gripped together, tight enough for her knuckles to have turned completely white.

“Alka? Are you okay?”

“Why do we put ourselves through all of this?” 

The question catches Seda off guard. “All of... this?”

“This.” Aliya waves an arm in the space behind her. “Years of hard training. Just to come here. To compete.” Her sentences come out short and dulled, like she’s been drained of all the energy to speak in more complete ones.

Seda takes a moment to collect herself. Aliya usually asked these questions without expecting any kind of specific answer, since she almost always had decided for herself what the answer should be already. What she really needed was someone who wouldn’t pretend like they knew what she needed to hear.

Wisely, Seda chooses to keep her answers short and sweet. “Because we love gymnastics.”

“Isn't it to achieve something great, something that makes our country proud?”

Seda chews thoughtfully on her lip. “Both. Because we love it, and because we want to make our country proud.”

“So if we love something a lot, we’ll do anything for it?” Seda detects a faint hint of bitterness in Aliya’s voice.

“Yes...” Seda slowly begins. She’s unsure whether Aliya is still referring to gymnastics, or something - maybe someone - else. The Russian captain had returned to their suite late last night, without saying a word about what had happened between her and Raisman. Judging by how reclusive she had been since then, Seda guessed it hadn’t been good.

“And if what you love hurts you?” The bitterness is unmistakable this time. Almost accusatory.

In her mind, Seda silently replaces the ‘what’ with a ‘who’. “How do you mean?”

“We get hurt all the time. From where we are now, in Rio,” Aliya reaches out her right hand to mark an invisible point in the air, “all the way back to when we started training...” Her left hand travels in the opposite direction, as if drawing a horizontal timeline, until her arms are stretched out wide. “How many injuries have we all had in that time? How much have we sacrificed just to end up with broken bones and backs?” She sounds positively angry now, her sentences streaming out much quicker.

Seda hesitantly says, “A lot.” Even now, Seda knew that Masha’s back injury was giving her hell. She would eat a stick of burning dynamite before complaining about it in front of any of the coaches, though. It was the Olympics. You put up, you shut up, and you did what you’ve been trained to do.

“Then why do we keep doing it?”

“Because getting hurt is part of it.” Seda answers without thinking. She says it like she’s saying the sky is blue. There’s no moral tinge to her statement, no attempt to persuade Aliya that this was something she should just accept. “If it wasn’t worth it, we would have all become... I don’t know, accountants.” Seda wrinkles her nose. "I'm terrible with numbers."

Taken aback, Aliya stops to consider her answer. After a long pause, she lets out a low unexpected laugh. “Accountants.” Aliya repeats the word like an inside joke only she knows the punchline to.

Seda gawks at her with wide eyes. What had Raisman said to ruffle their normally unruffled team leader? Was this the part where Aliya walked out on them just before qualifications, to protest how ridiculous it was that gymnastics had taken so much of their lives, but seemingly given so little in return? Surely, she wouldn’t...

A crazy grin now on Aliya’s face, she suddenly pulls Seda in for a big hug, her chin coming to rest snugly atop the younger girl’s head. Aliya closes her eyes, heaving in a deep sigh and then exhaling it in a big huff.

“Alka?” Seda’s voice is muffled against Aliya’s jacket. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Oh Seda. You never say anything wrong.”

Releasing the girl from her embrace, Aliya swiftly gets on her feet. She unzips her jacket and stretches a muscle in her neck, before grabbing a still puzzled Seda’s hand and pulling her up. Like a switch has been flipped, Aliya seems to have suddenly returned to her usual, commanding self.

“Come on. We have a job to do.”

As she faithfully follows her unpredictable team captain out of the locker room, Seda decides - again, wisely - not to over analyze whatever the hell it was that just happened.

-----

Aly couldn’t have stabbed any more holes into the sad piece of lettuce on her plate if she had tried.

She’s slumped uncomfortably in one of the plastic seats in the huge cafeteria, lost in a hard-won moment of solitude after dinner. Very few other athletes remain, having retired early to their bedrooms, or gone outside to lounge on one of the many lawns to wile away the humid summer night.

The other girls had headed back to the apartment for a covert celebration of their success at qualifications earlier today. With two days to go before team finals - and despite Martha’s constant lectures about the ‘creeetical’ importance of a healthy diet - there was plenty of time to ingest a decent amount of smuggled chocolate and Doritos without serious consequences.

It had taken some wheedling and a little help from Gabby, but Aly had finally convinced her adrenaline-pumped teammates to go on ahead of her. Promising she would join them shortly to help restrain Simone from carrying out her vow to consume an entire party bag of M&Ms, she just needed some time alone to get her feelings in order.

Aly was caught in a fix, a weird twilight zone. She was still one hundred percent committed to winning - it was the Olympics, after all, the pinnacle of any athlete’s career. At the same time, she was fully one hundred percent demotivated, because no Aliya meant nothing. It all meant nothing. Didn’t it?

She taps her fork irritably against the food tray. The team final was coming up soon. She had to be all there for the girls. Her duty towards them far outweighed any personal issues she was dealing with. She just needed to get out of this funk. But how? How was she was going to get over the fact that Aliya -

“Hi. Did that lettuce murder your entire family?”

A cheerful, teasing voice with a lightly melodic accent - it sounds European, but not French or German, or any of the usual suspects and certainly not Russian - rings out from behind.

Aly twists in her seat to search for the source of the strange question. Her surprised eyes find Eythora Thorsdottir, the Dutch gymnast making waves in the gymnastics world with her impeccable sense of artistry and fresh takes on a fairly straitjacket code of points. The girl’s long, dark hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail that travels a good way past her shoulders. She’s wearing a snug, bright orange jacket with a stark blue zip. On anyone else but the infamously photogenic Dutch girls, the outfit would probably be unflattering, like a tanning job gone terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry?”

Aly thinks she heard something about the lettuce committing murder, but she’s not sure because no one really says things like that to a stranger, right? She finds herself shifting under the intensity of Eythora’s graphite grey eyes. They hold a sharp but friendly sort of intelligence, like they’re trying to figure out something complex. The high cheekbones and ivory paleness of her face bring out their shapeliness even more.

Eythora points a slender finger towards the tattered, hole-ridden lettuce. It does look a bit like Aly has been exacting some kind of gruesome revenge on it. 

“It’s something we say back home, but,” she shrugs apologetically with a tiny smile, “I think it loses its funny-ness - if there is such a word - in English.” The girl taps her chin thoughtfully. “Or more likely, no one else would find it funny, even in Dutch.” Her English is flawless. The precise way she pronounces and rounds each vowel is makes the language sound more charming, more soothing than usual.

Glancing at the lettuce, Aly laughs embarrassedly. “Oh no, that’s - you’re good. If anyone can appreciate a weird sense of humor, it’s me.” Her eyes widen in horror at the implication of the words she just uttered. “Not that your sense of humor is weird! Just... just mine.”

Eythora tilts her head to the side, a steady gaze fixed on the stuttering American.

Face burning, Aly hurries to leave behind the cluttered chaos of words tumbling out of her mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you before. I was zoned out, thinking about…” She pauses and flicks her eyes guiltily downwards, because she suddenly remembers all the times Martha had grilled into them not to interact in such close quarters with rival teams at this crucial point in the Olympics, “… team finals.”

Signaling her understanding with another smile, Eythora doesn’t seem at all fazed by Aly’s slight hesitation. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but could I join you for a little while? My girls are still out at some all-you-can-eat restaurant, but I decided to stay here. Annoyingly,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes, “I’m vegetarian. And they serve meat there like - how to say, water uit de kraan. Water, from a...” Unable to recall the word, Eythora makes a motion in the air with her hand, like she’s twisting a faucet.

“A tap?” Aly offers. Eythora gives a satisfied nod as Aly’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “Wow. Your coaches let you go out during competitions?” She might as well have said that dinosaurs still roamed the earth.

The girl chuckles, bemused by the question. “Of course. Training and stressing out twenty-four seven don’t really help us do well. Don’t you think?”

Nodding her agreement, without saying if Team USA went to an all-you-can-eat before their meets were over that Martha would personally flay them alive, Aly gestures towards the empty seat opposite her with a bashful wave of her hand. Eythora responds with a wide grin, but instead pulls the chair closest to Aly and settles herself into it.

“I’m Eythora, by the way.” They don’t really need a formal introduction, but ingrained manners and the realization that this is the first time they’ve spoken to each other one-on-one prompts Eythora to extend her hand.

Aly reaches out and gives it an awkward shake. “I’m Aly. You didn’t have to... I mean, I know who you are. Your gymnastics is amazing. I’m a huge fan.” As Eythora’s eyes light up at the unexpected compliment, Aly ducks her head shyly. “Although it seems I’ve been saying your name wrong this whole time.”

“Really? How have you been saying it?” Eythora angles forward, lips curled up in anticipation.

After a little coaxing from the other girl, Aly finally sounds out ‘Eythora’, with an extended ‘e’ and a rolling American ‘r’. It’s not terrible; it’s the way a lot of people unfamiliar with the elven-like intricacies of the Dutch language say it. Still, Eythora catches the trepidation in Aly’s expression and bursts into laughter, the kind that breaks into a thousand pieces and skips all over the place.

Aly turns bright red.

Noticing the flustered change in her complexion, Eythora hastens to add, “That’s pretty good. Most people find the sounds in Dutch really difficult to get right at first. It gets better with practice.”

Aly has half a heart to tell Eythora that based on her track record with new languages, she highly doubts it will get better. A stab in the gut, and then the fleeting memory of Aliya backing away from her like she might be contagious, reminds her of how disastrous the last time she attempted to speak a European language had been. She swallows hard and quickly changes the subject. “You and your team did really well today in qualifications.”

Smiling widely, Eythora thanks her. “It’s kind of crazy. We haven’t had a national team in the Olympic finals since 1976. The press is going a bit wild at home.” With the first hint of shyness since the conversation began, Eythora clasps her hands together and says, “Your team blew everyone else away, as usual. It was awesome just to compete with you in the same division.”

Aly looks at her lap. She’s never been good at dealing with compliments, other than to acknowledge them humbly and promptly throw the spotlight back onto the other person. “Thanks. I’ve always enjoyed the routines you girls come up with, though. There’s something about your choreography that makes it really exciting to watch.”

Eythora’s eyebrows draw together in a slight grimace. “We try. Today, I didn’t do so well with my floor exercise. I messed up my last pass.”

“Don’t worry, it happens to all of us.” Aly’s reassuring tone elicits a grateful grin from the other girl. “I know your national program is huge on dance elements and execution. It really shows. If I could do spins and turns as well as you all, I’d die of happiness.”

The corners of Eythora’s eyes crinkle in delight. “I like your choreography too.”

She says it so warmly, it makes the American blush again. Aly wonders why it is she’s blushing so much. Then she kicks herself for overthinking. This was a completely normal conversation between two gymnasts with mutual respect for one another. It was a welcome reprieve in such a nerve-wracking setting as the Olympics.

“It’s okay. I’m not really a great dancer, but I get by.” Out of self-consciousness, Aly reaches a hand up to smooth her hair down. “Sylvia, my choreographer, helps me out a lot.”

“Why do you say you’re not a great dancer?”

“Oh... just...” Aly flounders. Her hand stops mid-sweep, falling to her side. She struggles to come up with anything else besides, ‘because I’m not?’ No one’s ever really asked her that before. Nor is she used to having astute questions so casually fired back at her. It’s also odd that she doesn’t mind the probing, even though she barely knows the girl.

Aly twirls the fork contemplatively in her hand. “I’m super clumsy. I was definitely born with it, but it might also have something to do with growing up really self-conscious, I guess.” Reading the surprise on Eythora’s face, she continues quietly, “I got teased a lot.”

“Who would tease you?” Incredulity breaks through in the girl’s voice. “And even if there were people stupid enough to do that, what could they possibly find to tease you about?”

Aly laughs, touched by Eythora’s instant, wide-eyed indignation. “Trust me, the kids I grew up with said all sorts of things that got to me. About my body, about my muscles being too big, about my two left feet. But all of that made me stronger. And made me who I am today.” She looks reflectively down at the floor with a rueful smile. “Still, dancing’s never felt natural for me.” Her stint on Dancing With the Stars had boosted her confidence in that department, and she used her visibility to speak out against body shaming every chance she got. But underneath the layers of self-affirmation she had built up over the years, there would always remain a part of her that feels she falls short of the world’s idea of an ideal gymnast. Even if in reality, there is no such thing.

Eythora is silent for awhile. Her thoughts remain hidden from Aly, who’s concerned she might have said too much. The girl’s slight build, perfect bone structure and approachable demeanor make Aly wonder if Eythora has ever been seriously teased in her life. She looks like the girl that becomes class president by default, because she’s the only person practically everyone likes.

“So, are you good friends with Aliya Mustafina?”

It’s an innocent question, but the totally left of field reference to Aliya startles Aly. The fork clatters to the plate. Her pulse starts uncomfortably pounding in her ears. How does she know? Who else knows?

“We’ve known each other for some time. We compete a lot against each other... Why do you ask?” Aly rushes her words just a little too much.

“I saw the both of you walking together outside in the Village the night before. I waved, but I don’t think you saw me.” Eythora looks intrigued by the American’s reaction. “It just seemed like you two know each other really well.”

Feeling panicky, Aly blurts out, “No, we just - sometimes we run into each other, that’s all. Aliya was giving me a few pointers on um, bars. She’s really, really good at bars.” Aly plasters a weak smile over her face, kicking herself mentally. And suddenly catches a glimpse of the giant digital clock mounted on the wall behind them.

“Wow, I didn’t realize the time. I’m sorry, but I should go. My team’s expecting me.”

Aly gets to her feet reluctantly; she really does have to split, but the timing now makes it seem as though she’s dodging further questions about Aliya (in all honesty, she probably is). There’s another reason for her reluctance; she’s actually enjoyed chatting to Eythora. There’s a likeable quirkiness about her that had helped distract from the twinge of losing Aliya for good. Up until the last few moments, anyway. She just hopes all her awkwardness hadn’t left the girl thinking she’s some sort of neurotic mess.

Though they’re technically rivals, Aly wishes Eythora well with her whole heart. “It was great seeing you. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again. Good luck with the rest of the competition.”

Eythora stands to see her off. “I hope the bumping into each other will be soon. Very soon.”

At that, Aly leans in for a friendly hug, partly to hide the flush she feels rising on her cheeks again. Catching a sweet citrusy scent on the Dutch girl that reminds her of  early spring, she feels Eythora return the hug with a surprising familiarity, her hands coming up to touch Aly’s waist for the briefest of moments. The girl’s ease at striking up a friendship with someone she’s only talked to for less than twenty minutes makes Aly think Eythora might do really well running for Prime Minister of Netherlands one day.

Stepping back from the hug, Aly picks up her plate - still containing that fateful piece of lettuce - gives Eythora a last sheepish smile, and leaves.

-----

The second thought Eythora Thorsdottir has as she watches Aly Raisman make her way to the cafeteria exit causes an irrepressible smile to spread across her elegant features.

Her first thought was how adorably Aly had managed to trip over a chair on the way to a cafeteria bin. She had then clumsily tried, but failed multiple times to stuff the plate into the bin’s opening. It had been too full.

Despite her interest in Aly’s connection to Aliya Mustafina, particularly after the girl’s cute, bumbling explanation of their appearance together the night before, Eythora had chosen not to dig any further. She had only mentioned Mustafina to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic of childhood bullies, but it seems talking about the Russian had inadvertently caused even more discomfort.

Plucking up the courage to approach Raisman had paid off in a big way. Eythora still can’t believe that conversation, and that hug, actually happened. She had hidden it well, but it was surreal to have talked with the American she’s harbored a bit of celebrity crush on ever since watching the Fierce Five take out team gold in London.

She knows she looks like an idiot, standing there frozen in the middle of the cafeteria. All her suspicions had been confirmed. It was the natural glow the girl had, the way her teddy-bear brown eyes spoke kindness in more ways than words ever could, a tangible solidness in her character she’s never felt before in anyone else.

Aly Raisman is every bit as fascinating - and beautiful - as Eythora suspected she would be.

[datingadviceonreddit]

Two years ago, I (24 now, 21-22 then) dated a guy (21 then, 24 almost 25 now) from July 2016-December 2017 that I thought was the One. And I’m still struggling with moving on.Love. It is the most powerful emotion known to man. Apparently, according to God, it overcomes, thrives and prevails. Unfortunately, that is not always the case. Sometimes, love blooms like a flower in the spring, continues to grow throughout the summer, and, although attempts are made to provide it nutrient, the flower can wither and become lifeless by the early moments of winter.As much as I dislike being Negative Nancy – especially about love, of all things, I need to be realistic.When I reflect back on my first relationship, my first love; to the man whom I had my first kiss with, who I lost my virginity to, who I thought was my destiny, my end - all, until I realized that he was nothing but, I see a girl who was naïve and desperate to be appreciated by anyone, not just by a man. A girl that wanted to be seen beyond her disabilities and known for abilities, such as how she could make others smile and laugh and loved everyone that came and went in her life with all her heart. That her humanistic characteristics, from her beauty, her charm, her wits and her intelligence did not go amiss amongst the mess of countless illnesses, scars and pain.It may sound overly dramatic but what I experienced was the worst heartbreak, but the most beautiful chapter of my life that I will always be grateful for. Because the guy who I fell in love with, despite the negative moments that occurred later on, filled my heart with this joy that, at that age, I didn’t believe that I deserved. Even though there will come a day when I will find love again with someone else, I will never forget the first man who loved me like nobody ever did and that reminded me that I was more than those scars that indent my skin because they were signs of a survivor. That I was a powerful, beautiful woman who could do anything that I could set my mind to. That is why I write with the similar pain-stricken heart as I carried that day we said goodbye, nearly two years ago.May 2016Birthdays were my favorite time of year, besides Christmas. My parents say that it is just another day. To me, it is 24 hours of celebration of another year that I am alive. So, if that isn’t special, I don’t what is.When my 21st birthday rolled around, I was over the moon. I was at last a legal adult. Meaning, I could make personal decisions without my parents’ consent, I could vote and, medically, I could become my own guardian. It was so exciting! On top of that, I was a year away from graduating with my second associates. After that, I would, at last, transfer to university.That spring day, I sat down at the table in front of a row of bowling lanes, with a huge smile on my face. Closing my eyes, in front of a few of my close friends (at that time), I thought for a moment before blowing out the candle to make a wish.We were at the local bowling alley celebrating. I remember being asked by a girlfriend what I had wished for. Although I am not superstitious, I gave a small smile. “It won’t come true if I share it!”What exactly did I wish for?As cheesy as it may be, especially all these years later, I wished to find a love, or for love to find me, after unfortunate luck with crushes turning into guys leading me on and leaving me in the friend-zone. It truly affected my self-confidence and self-esteem.More so, as a majority of my friends were in committed relationships. It left me feeling quite lonely and questioning a lot of things about myself. I worked hard to push past those emotions since that they wouldn’t get me anywhere, nor was it attractive. Yet, I couldn’t shake it.Was I not meant for love or to be loved by someone? That is a question that ran through my mind the most. Pains me to this day to even write that out in words.Since I was young, I had dreams of meeting that “Prince Charming” who would sweep me off of my feet. He‘d be tall, handsome and compassionate; his heart would be kind, his mind smart and understanding, and his soul strong and loving. He definitely had to make me laugh, always, and be able to handle my weirdness and sarcasm (ha-ha). There were other standards, too, that I followed to the letter. (Or so I believed.)Two months later, I was finishing up my annual online summer classes when my best guy friend reached out via phone. He told me that he had a friend at work who knew a guy that was single and, potentially, would be interested in going on a date with me. At first, I thought it was a joke! Then, my birthday wish came to mind. No way. Could it be –? Although I was nervous, I agreed to chat with the guy over text, eventually calling him if he was comfortable, to chat before any date was finalized. I wasn’t the type to go on a blind date.By the end of the day, around 5:15pm, I received a sweet introductory text from “Marcus” (not his name, but for privacy reasons). Midway into our talk, he confessed to having a bit of anxiety since he had had some bad luck with dating. This comment was something I found not only cute but attractive, in the sense that I appreciated his honesty. In spite of my lack of history with dating, period, I knew what it was like to, also, be rejected and hurt. And I told him so, and I believe I had him blushing behind the screen at that.From there, over the course of the next two weeks, we got to talking beyond text message as to hear each other’s voices. Hours would be spent talking about our hobbies, our interests; what we did for fun, if we worked or if we went to school, where we were from, and anything and everything in between.Our phone calls would begin the same way each day, like clockwork. Once he left work at 5 o’clock, on the dot, “Marcus” would call me. Since he lived right down the street from the shop, we had about 20 minutes to give enough detail about how we were doing, what our day was like, in almost a breathless sentence. But it was special, just the same.“Marcus” and I would then text for about an hour until about 6:30ish. Then, he would call me, or I’d call him, and we’d continue where we left off over text. Laugh, share something new about the other that we hadn’t said yet, or just be okay with a few minutes of silence, enjoying each other’s company.By the end of the two weeks, I decided it was time that my parents know about “Marcus”. Trust me when I say I was so nervous, but mostly from a mixture of happiness and anxiety that they would freak out. I told them over dinner that I had met someone. At first, they were a bit skeptical, as most parents would be when it comes to their kid dating. However, after some questions about “Marcus”, and seeing how happy I was, my mom and dad said that they would be glad to meet him soon and agreed that I could go on a date with him if he were to ask me out. (Now, mind you, I wasn’t telling them for permission. It was for comfort and trust purposes only, as to reduce any parental anxiety, also avoid being dishonest. Being 21 now, I didn’t need their sign off signature on who I hung out with. Yet, they deserved to be aware that their little girl, now a young woman, was exploring the dating world.)Ironically, “Marcus” asked me out on our first date the very next day. He had found out that the closest mall, of which stood in between us, had a glow-in-the-dark mini golf place! Based on our past and current conversations about things that we yet to do for fun, one of mine being go mini golfing, “Marcus” knew that that would be the perfect place to go and spend time together. I was so happy! And as I said I’d go, I tried not to show any giddiness because the last thing I needed was for this cute guy to think of me as crazy. Yet, by my reaction of “Yes! I’d love to! Let’s do this – I’ll so kick your butt” he knew that I was very excited. To this day, I wish I could be a fly on the wall to see his, if in fact, like in the movies or TV shows, he pumped his fist in the air or something. Knowing “Marcus”, I have no doubt he had a huge grin on his face.That Friday evening, at exactly 6pm, “Marcus” came by my house to pick me up. When I opened the door, my hand shaking, I instantly blushed and gasped in surprise “Marcus” was holding the most beautiful bouquet of sunflowers I had ever seen. “I remembered that these were your favorite flowers. Thought roses were too cheesy anyway” he said with a smile. My heart was beating so fast. I was already feeling a certain way about “Marcus”, as in I really liked him, but now, seeing this handsome guy of 5’10”, wearing a vintage Hawaiian shirt that brought out his gorgeous brown eyes, holding out my most adored flowers in the world, I was immediately smitten.Before we left, he met my parents for the first time. He shook both of their hands, assured them both that he would watch out for me and that he’d call either of them if we needed anything. I looked at my mother, who smiled as if proud and satisfied with the young man that I brought home to them. After a couple questions regarding where we would be going and what time I’d be back home, and the exchange of phone numbers between my parents and “Marcus”, we were off to the mall.We had such an amazing night with together. And he enjoyed our time together, too. I didn’t have to ask. I just knew by our first kiss, which was my own, too, making the moment all the more memorable. It happened right at the 18th hole, after I scored a hole in one. When our lips met, I almost dropped my golf club on the floor. It was a few second kiss, but – my Lord, I was breathless. After parting the kiss, “Marcus” looked into my eyes and smiled this cheesy-ass smile that I will never forget. I knew by how we laughed together as we ran in the rainstorm that erupted the skies, so suddenly, as we made our way to Barnes and Nobles that was next door to the mall. How he stopped me under the tanner above the front doorway of the store to kiss me again, despite how wet we were. I knew because, as he drove me home, he snuck a peek at me now and then, as I did to him, with an adorable smile to hide his embarrassment. And I knew by how he walked me to my front door, said hi and goodnight to my parents who were just coming home from dinner, showing respect, and then, after shared a goodbye with a long kiss behind a closed door revealing that he didn’t want the moment to end,just as much as I didn’t either.I couldn’t stop smiling as I fell asleep that night. I knew it wasn’t love, exactly, since it was a bit early on. However, it was a serious crush and a strong fucking attraction that filled my entire being toward this boy of 21 with a great taste of classic rock, a touch of similar amount of geekiness, short wavy brown hair that fell perfectly around his chocolate brown eyes, and this smile that made me weak at the knees. This feeling exploded even more into fireworks when thinking of our first kiss, and then when he called me to say he was home safe, to wish me goodnight one last time and how much fun he had, that he couldn’t wait to see me again.And before long, we did. A second date happened the next week, on that Friday. This time, it was closer to home, at the bowling alley where I had my 21st birthday party. We had as much fun as we did mini golfing. As we played a couple of rounds, I felt my heart steadily beat in my chest as I looked at him or when he caught my eye, just before he went over to toss a bowling ball down the lane. There was even a moment where he peered over at me, not paying attention, ended up throwing his chance to win down the gutter! I laughed so hard that I had to stop myself from crying, or I’d ruin my makeup. But I didn’t care, honestly. “Marcus” always had me laughing and that is what I loved most about him. And what I wanted in a partner.After that, not even two days later, “Marcus” popped the question if I would be his girlfriend. I immediately said yes. To this day, as much as I fell so deeply in love with “Marcus” and he loved me, I would give anything to go back in time to that day w hen he asked and offered that we waited for the third date. Not that there were any serious red flags (yet) flying about his head, it was, knowing what I do now, I should have thought more logically about such a huge decision. Not respond with emotion. I cannot, though, so I must take this lesson with me into my next relationship. That is all I can do. Along with the other lessons “Marcus” taught me, about love, about life, about myself.For the next year and a half, we were a couple. Although “Marcus” and I did have so much fun together as we did in the beginning, there were many bumps in the road and a lot of storms that we fought through until we couldn’t anymore.If our love story was put out in forms of photographs, we would have hundreds of them. We documented a majority of our dates with our phones, to remember them, as if to have them last forever. From our first to our third (and last) Comic Con, where we dressed twice as Han Solo and Princess Leia; every Friday evening that we either played mini golf in, or Skee Ball or some random game at the arcade at the beach; to when we went laser tagging for the first time, and I sprained my ankle (ha-ha) and ended up in a boot cast for 6 weeks. Then, there was the day that “Marcus” surprised me by driving me to the sunflower field in early September, when we spent the day at the annual festival that June; every goofy grin to high-school-cheesy-kiss, and individual photos of each other, even if we had laughed and said “nooo” with a laugh, because we didn’t agree when the other said we looked great, or beautiful. There is so much more I could illustrate, but how can you write out into words so many memories?Overtime, by the 11th month we were together, that laughter that echoed off the walls of his car or his bedroom became sounds of arguing and my tears, his anger at the world, his job. Our time we spent cuddling resorted to a space between us on the couch; phone calls or text message conversations grew later in the evening, shorter – from an hour or more to about 25 minutes or less. “Marcus” became someone I didn’t recognize. No longer was he the thoughtful, kind, loving man that I had met all those months ago. How he childishly would joke around in public only to embarrass me, to the comments he made about my friends or anyone in my family, or anyone that we saw out in a crowd of people that were a bit different; the blame he would put on me, or anyone, really, during an argument, instead of owning responsibility or verbalizing that upset into communicative words – it would make me feel so uncomfortable, neglected and anxious.I was, also, going through some dark times in my life. From my maternal grandfather dying just a week before my birthday, to college being a boat load of anxiety. On top of that, I had to make sure my boyfriend was okay, that he was happy, when I knew he wasn’t. We both tried to care for one another, but our individual depressive minds built up this wall that neither of us could tear down. But to this day, that was the immaturity within us, being so young, not able to talk things through or process our thoughts in an adult manner.Very soon, the kisses became strained, too, and our intimacy felt forced or exhausting, instead of passionate as they once were. Our date night was cut back to only Saturdays and Sundays due to money issues on “Marcus”’s end, which I wasn’t bothered by, but it caused him a lot of anxiety. This led to a lot of stress between us both. Very soon, our time together became a chore and I hated that feeling so much. But what I hated more was how I was feeling and how “Marcus”, a man whom I believed was the One, treated me.My parents vocalized their dislike for how they overheard our fighting over the phone, or just, in general, how Michael had changed in a course of a few months. The only two things that they “approved” of was “Marcus”’s professional, dedicated work ethic, and how he cared for me – until his actions showed otherwise. I knew what I had to do. Not because of other people’s influence, it was because my mind was telling me that I had had enough and that I deserved better.Three days after Christmas 2017, with a heavy heart and a choked up throat from tears, I broke up with “Marcus” over the phone. I didn’t want to be that person who didn’t do it face-to-face, but there was no way that I could do it without crying and seeing him do the same, because he was an emotional guy – a quality I once admired, since not many guys were so comfortable with that part of themselves. I couldn’t risk him begging for another chance, because we would just be in the same loop of pain, arguing, stress, over and over. I was not only letting us go for the sake of my mental sanity, but for both of ours. We were not the same as we were, and I valued myself much more than to stay around with someone who struggled to value not only himself, but our relationship as he, long ago, promised to do.For the whole day afterward, “Marcus” attempted to contact me by text and by calling me, repeatedly. I hung up each time or didn’t reply to any of his messages. It hurt me immense, because I did love him so much still, but I couldn’t be drawn back in. By dinnertime. I texted “Marcus” and kindly, but firmly, told him to please stop trying to get in touch with me, that we were over. I wasn’t coming back. He then called me, like no matter what, he was going to convince me otherwise but I didn’t answer – my dad did. And, in the same tone as I did in text, my dad asked “Marcus” to, please, respect my wishes and stop calling and texting me. Without hearing “Marcus”’s voice, I knew knowing him for so long, he was broken hearted as much as I was. But our fairytale was over.Early to Mid-2018Months went by. The day of my 23rd birthday came and went, a day when I had loved more than any day of the year, but I didn’t care. For the whole year afterward, I stayed home a lot. I didn’t try to date anyone, nor show my interest in any man that I did come into contact with. I struggled so much mentally and spiritually. I was still so heartbroken over “Marcus”. Saddened that I had to let the potential love of my life go. But to avoid judgement, I would hide these feelings from my family and my close friends with a facade of satisfaction; that I was okay without him, when in reality, I cried nearly every night or whenever a small thing reminded me of him, a song or a place that we went together.I soon went into therapy. It was helpful but it wasn’t at the same time. The psychologist I went to was an older gentleman who was abrasive with his words and heavily opinionated. Not to mention, he didn’t listen most of the time. Whenever I’d come in for our next session, he’d forget something I had said last week that was significant. That drove me insane. Soon, I left him after 6 months, and remained without any therapist whatsoever, trying to deal with it myself.During this time, my mother pushed me into getting on antidepressants, because, apparently, drugs solved everything. I refused. She let go after what seemed to be the 100th attempt to persuade me, or more so, my primary doctor in to giving me the prescription for something that would “get me in line”. We have been strained ever since. And I don’t know when we will never not be.At the age of 24 years old now, I am still single, living at home. Currently, I am a part-time college student going for my bachelor’s degree with the long term goal of getting a master’s in social work. Wonderful friends and family, too. I am quite grateful.Yet, I must be honest: Mentally, I am not doing well. I haven’t in a long while. Not since the day I left “Marcus”.My depression and my anxiety has reached a point where I can control both, but they come back with vengeance if I don’t maintain a balanced mindset. Of which is not always simple. Being overwhelmed by new, abrupt health problems – Post Ovarian Cystic Syndrome (PCOS), IBS, Hypothyroidism and Hashimoto’s disease – all within 8 months of one another, if not longer, without knowing, it has affected my confidence more than ever.I, too, continue to fight against the tides that keep coming in about “Marcus”, after all this time. I continue to battle with an eating disorder and body dysmorphia that I had as a teen. I continue to struggle with the pain of losing my grandfather. I continue to wonder if I will ever be happy and, if not now, when.However, a small part of myself that clings onto whatever hope that was installed in me as a young girl remains alive. That this pain will end in time and that I will be okay soon.But last Tuesday, my phone rang - it was “Marcus”, after all these years apart, saying hi and hoping that I was well, that I was happy. Hearing his voice over that voicemail, then getting to talk with him over text a while later (I reached out to thank him, in a kind way, to somehow have a peaceful sense of communication) for nearly two hours, it opened up many doors to so many memories and feelings in my heart that I thought were almost closed. He and I shared a conversation that I will not be able to forget, for it was so mature, honest and kind. “Marcus” seemed changed in a lot of ways, compared to the guy that I left. But, this was over the phone - I had to see it to be true. Deep down, though, I had such a strong instinct that it was.Since then, I have been struggling to move on - all over again. The temptation to meet up with him somehow keeps kicking in, to have that in person closure, something we didn’t have then. Something that we deserved. However, I am not with a license yet. I have a few friends who said they’d help out if I did want to see him, which I found to be nice and I thanked them. At the same time, I don’t want to push anyone’s hopes up for a rekindling of something that ended long ago. How can I move forward and not be tempted to go back, even if for one day? As much as I do want to see those familiar brown eyes and that smile, to hear his laugh and my name being said by him, it’d hurt so much. And I can’t do that to either of us. That’s how much I care for him still, selfishly and undeniably so.Please. Any advice is appreciated. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. via /r/dating_advice

[takumithetankengine-blog]

A Cat and her Two Dogs Chapter Two is UP!

The saga of “dame mas Sophelina” continues. @dlartistanon

You can begin reading 1C2D on FanFiction.net here and on AO3 here. Chapter one on Tumblr is here!

Chapter Two: Let the Sleeping Dogs Lie | The Lost Button

The following day was a Sunday. Better yet, it was a Sunday with no plans.

For any self-respecting teenager, obviously that meant indulging in the simplest of pleasures: sleeping in, eating snacks, and wearing pyjamas all day.

The last vestiges of a steamy dream disappeared from her memory as she sat up in bed with a stretch and a yawn. Several worn mangas with library barcodes on their fronts dropped as she did so, clattering to the tile floor with pointed thumps beside other mangas.

'Wonder what time it is? That was a good rest.'

Nina grabbed her flip-phone from her side table. The display showed the time was 9:21, with orange text below it reading 7 New Messages. Nina absently flipped the clamshell to see what they could possibly say. The gist of it, beyond Ophelia's triple-texting theatrics and Soleil's bad spelling, was like this:

Ophelia (10:04pm) Good night, Nina!

Soleil (7:51am) Hey Nina, I have to tell you something. Can I come to your house later?

Soleil (9:16am) I'm on my way over now. I have chips.

'What? Way to give me no notice!' Nina didn't care that much about her appearance, not around her friends, but she still threw her blanket off of her, sending more mangas to the ground. 'Darn her! What could she possibly have to say that can't wait?!'

Nina retorted through text, "Fine. They better be good, I woke up for this."

And it was at that moment that the door downstairs was knocked. Considering Soleil usually stepped in, either it meant Ophelia was there too, or this was major.

'Kissing-one-of-your-best-friends-major?'

Nina pulled her blanket around her like a cape and went to answer the door. Soleil grinned awkwardly at her. "Sorry about the short notice. It's just really important. Can't stress that enough."

"Uh-huh. Where are those chips you mentioned?"

Soleil unzipped her padded jacket, and a bag of potato chips rolled to the floor. Nina picked it up and said, "Fine. Come in."

They settled in the simple living room, as neither of Nina's parents were home. They never were.

Nina deftly opened her chip bag and popped one into her mouth. "Okay. Cut to the chase."

"Um… Well, it's about the dance last night. I… think Ophelia might like me."

She was being shy, twiddling her thumbs and never keeping eye contact for over five seconds. 'Are you serious?' thought Nina. "Lemme explain! Umm… What I meant to say is, I want to give things a shot between us. And because, like, it'd change the entire group dynamic, you should give me your blessing before I try."

'It feels real. Last night, it was a dream, but now? Totally real. She's beating around the bush in a big way, too.'

"It's customary to ask for others' blessing before you snog someone on the dancefloor."

Soleil's cheeks lit up. "You saw that?"

"I see a lot of things. And to be honest, I saw this coming."

Soleil bit her lip. "Well… Let me explain. I've never felt this way about a girl before. I always really, really like them, and I really, really like Ophelia too, but I think this is love." Her eyes began to twinkle. "I know her so well, and even though I see her everyday, I get a warm feeling in my heart. Everything she does makes me feel so happy I can't lose… And I promise, I'll never break her heart. I-I might've dated around a lot, but I'd never cheat on her or be a jerk." Her gaze met Nina's, nervous. "So, d-do you say yes?"

'But asking me is already moot point, isn't it? She expects me to say yes. And how could I say anything else?'

Nina crossed her arms, grinning wryly to the best of her ability. "You don't really need my blessing. But you have it - go ahead and try pursuing her heart."

Soleil's gaze lit up. "Thank-"

"But may the Gods help you if you break it. You better not try to get in another girl's pants. Don't so much as look at them."

Soleil's posture straightened even more. "I'll never, ever, ever break her heart. Not even close. If you think I'm even close, snap me out of it."

"You better not. And you bet I will."

'She's acting serious for once. Maybe this'll really work.'

"You're the best friend ever, Nina!" Soleil was all smiles as she threw her arms around Nina in a hug. "I'm so happy - thank you so, so much!" It felt strange to be there - Nina never was much for physical contact - but it was even weirder when Soleil pulled away and said, "I won't let our friendship wall to the wayside either, Nina. And I'll never, ever, ever hurt Ophelia. I promise."

Nina closed her eyes and sighed, pulling the . "You better not."

'Only time will tell.'

XXX

"Nina! I have excellent news!"

The next time Nina saw them, it was the next day before class. They were approaching together hand-in-hand, Ophelia waving to Nina as she led Soleil ahead. For her part, Soleil was smiling, more flustered than usual but otherwise overjoyed.

Nina snapped the manga she was reading shut. Ophelia came to a stop and said, "The rehearsal and the practice have been cancelled for today. Such means that I'll be spending the entire afternoon in the presence of my beau!"

'Beau?'

"We were thinking it could be our first date," Soleil explained. "Our first date as real-life girlfriends."

'They've been dating for, like, a day, and they're ALREADY have nicknames? How sweet. And LAME.' "That's fine. I need to sink some time into my fanfics anyway."

"I shall be the first to read that update," Ophelia replied, pumping her fist into the air. A necklace that wasn't there before bounced as she did so, drawing Nina's attention to it.

It was a simple silver chain with a white button attached as a charm. She glanced over at Soleil… and, surely enough, there was a necklace that wasn't there before replacing her usual choker, concealed mostly by her popped collar.

"Should be pretty good," Nina replied absently. 'Curious…'

"Anyway, we should probably get going to breakfast. The line's gonna get long if we don't get in it. Today's Muffin Monday… today's flavor is raspberry!"

"Then let us go onwards!" Ophelia exclaimed, turning to her. "To see to it they are eaten by a chosen heroine!"

Ophelia dashed off. Soleil stared after her for a second before she pursued her with a laugh. "Hey! Save one for meeee!"

'Playing like puppies, chasing each other to get food. Shouldn't have expected anything else.'

There was a tradition back at their middle school: if someone fell in love, they would gift the second button on their school shirt to the one they loved. The reasoning was that the second button was the closest to someone's heart.

'Melodramatic and sappy. Obviously Soleil would love it. Wouldn't pin Ophelia as the type to eat it up, though.' Nina crammed her hands into the pockets at the front of her red hoodie jacket. 'Whatever. Soleil better not screw this up.'

XXX

Homecoming's hype passed at an alarming rate. The school had been racked by a flurry of breakups, first times, and rumors of cheating for a grand total of about two weeks before it faded to the background.

To Nina's slight surprise, Soleil and Ophelia were lasting. Now, that surprise wasn't a slight against Soleil's character - Nina trusted her very much - but she had a reputation for short relationships. A week passed into a month and there was no sign of that famous wandering eye.

There was a time that she thought the wandering eye was totally gone. And that was at hockey practice one early December afternoon.

Ice hockey wasn't really a major-league sport at most schools around the nation - in most districts, basketball, or a form of soccer or American football overtook it in importance. But Rexcalibur high was in the northern part of the country. The higher north you went, the more serious you were about hockey.

Of course, at major sports, there were cheerleaders. Even when astroturf was ice and balls were pucks.

That begged a little explanation. The huge red and gray-emblazoned hockey stadium of the school was big enough to sit a thousand, all elevated above the action. There were two big platforms across from one another. One was for a referee or announcer, who kept non-sporty fans posted. The other was larger and covered with red astroturf. That was where the cheerleaders were.

Soleil would show off, do as well as she always did - maybe score a goal from a yard or two further back. Then she'd skate close enough to the platform to catch a glimpse up their skirts… And other times, after a particularly good practice, Soleil would take one of them on her back and do a victory skate around the rink.

It'd been so embarrassing to watch that Nina kept a hand over her eyes at all times, trying to focus on something, anything else. Even when Ophelia was there she'd been a scalawag.

Now, though?

"You smell so nice today, Ms. Captain," said one the cheerleaders, hand running across her arm. "And you're just as strong as ever…"

Soleil grinned, slight blush on her cheeks. "Thanks! Having cute girls like you and my lovely, chosen girlfriend around always helps me be at my best." She shot a glance to Ophelia, who was sitting beside Nina. Ophelia blew a kiss at her and then returned to reading her book.

"You have one? I'm sorry, I thought I heard you were single."

"I do! She's the greatest, most beautiful, most wonderful girl ever. But thanks for the compliments!"

Now practice was just annoying. Nina growled. 'Shallow bitch. She didn't give a care when she was single.'

"Are you sure you have no weekend plans? Because me and some girlfriends are going to a bowling club this Saturday night, and we'd really like someone strong like you there…"

Nina stormed over on the outer edge of the rink, eyes blazing. "Leave her alone. Or didn't you get the memo that she's taken?"

An ugly glare came at her. "What's it to you, weirdo? Why do you give a care?"

"Hey! Don't call me best friend a weirdo!"

Nina crossed her arms. "You can step away from 'Ms. Captain' right now, or you might find your reputation ruined tomorrow. I have your dirt. I have the pictures."

Cheerleader-girl's eyes narrowed. "Fine. You can have her. I have better things to do."

Then she snootily left. Nina kept glaring daggers at her even when Soleil said, "Gee, Nines, that was scary! You didn't have to bust out that scary stalker knowledge on her over that."

"Like heck I'm gonna let her tempt you," Nina retorted darkly. "I can't stand people like that. Absolutely shallow! She wouldn't have given you a second glance if you weren't already seeing someone."

"It's not illegal to look. And I'm so cute that she couldn't be able to help it, sooooo…"

"...You're kidding, right?"

"It's true. Besides, I wasn't-"

A shrill whistle blew somewhere behind them. Coach Keaton called, "Positions!"

Soleil turned back to her with a grin. "Thanks for trying to keep me in line, Nines - I appreciate it lots! Stay on my case, and with both of us trying and there's no way I'll fail. Just keep up the good work."

Then Soleil skated away.

XXX

Time seemed to go at a quick rate as the winter holidays came upon them.

Had time ever gone so fast in middle school? It felt as if it was rushing past, an unstoppable river. Back then, the years had felt so fast compared to those of elementary school, of juice boxes and recess time. Back then, the time before the holidays seemed to be special and exciting, wrought with coloring pages, cutting paper fir trees, or even Santa-decorated sheets of times tables.

Now it was a time of holiday gossip, the first play of the year, the first big hockey game of the season in the final week, and midterms.

'Not to mention, it's fanfic season. Huddling for warmth, mistletoe, sharing winter sweaters… heheheh, so many juicy situations to write.'

Nina's fingers were deft over fabric as she organized accessories. The backroom of the theatre wing had a ton of stuff, hanging from shelves like bats in a cave; the whole place had the unsettlng feeling of claustrophobia all over it. Each accessory was dirty and probably hadn't been washed for years.

The sound of a sewing machine buzzed in the background. Her fellow first year and a theatre friend Forrest Nohr threaded ornate pink fabric through it, focusing intently on the stitching. Just looking at the boy brought about waves of inspiration. 'Boys making passes at him, believing him to be a girl… falling in love what was on the inside… scrumptious.'

"Hey, where do the pig noses go?" Nina asked him, having found three of them knotted together.

Without even a glance from his work, Forrest replied, "I'd put them with the animal parts. The actors will find them tonight for the farm scene."

Nina did as she was told and threw them into the large, clear container filled with furs and fangs, not even bothering to untangle them.

The play would be a rendition of Alice in Wonderland, with a modern twist. The wonderland would be New York city, where Ophelia would star as a girl from the countryside in a brand new land, guided along by family friend and love interest, who would be played by Shigure Hoshido. The opening night was the next day, and that night was the final one of full rehearsal, four hours of being in full costume for actors.

'Four hours and midterms next week… Geez.'

Just then, the door flew open. Ophelia was there, wearing a simple, yet puffy blue and white dress. "Come! It's nearly stage time!"

Nina ditched a cape in the appropriate pile and went to her side. "Good luck fixing that," she remarked to Forrest before following after Ophelia. Her steps were a lot less bouncy than usual. "You okay, Oph?"

"The chosen star is never phased," Ophelia replied. "But I do have a few problems."

"I'll take care of them. Name the problem people."

"It's nothing like that, not even people!" Ophelia looked briefly panicked. Nina had been told before that she could get a bloodthirsty look in her eye when she got fired up.

She muted her expression and Ophelia continued, "I don't have enough time for anything. After tonight, I'll still have to study for my Biology exam, my very worst subject. I haven't read a book in days. I haven't even eaten since this morning."

Nina frowned. "You didn't eat lunch?"

"I wanted to get more studying in with the Science Guru," Ophelia murmured.

They brushed past a set of sophomores who were pushing a staircase onto the stage. Now they were on the black-topped stage that overlooked the auditorium. "Are you for real? That sounds awful. I'm sorry."

"I'll be fine despite feeling fizzle and flop. As Soleil would say, I should keep my chin up and a smile on my fair face."

"You do that. Just forty-five minutes until break, and then I'll find you something to eat." 'Even if the vending machine's out, it'll just take a quick lunch box raid. Some of these kids are rich.' Nina flashed two thumbs-up, "You can do this."

Then she jumped off the stage and walked up the ramps and steps of the auditorium aisle to reach the sound and lights room at the very top. She took a few moments to get things in order for the first scene of the play (with dim lights and a spotlight over three people, it'd be a bit complex).

'Poor girl. She's hardly even been herself lately. Hasn't seen anyone who isn't in theatre in almost a week, I'd wager.'

'It's putting a serious drain on her, and it's not even close to over. After tonight, there are three performances, and perfection is the rule.'

While his back was turned, Nina grabbed a bag of chips from his lunch box, and hid it under the table.

Nina hadn't promised she'd get them legally, after all.

XXX

"Hey, Ophelia? Close your eyes and open wide."

Somewhere, deep down, there was an ember of a hope that the status quo would return. The days of adjusting ruffled scarves, having little homework, and knowing everybody's name.

Ophelia's cheeks lit up a bit as she did as Soleil instructed. Soleil gathered some yogurt on the tip of the spoon and slowly put it into her mouth.

'Though, if my previous experiences were any indication, they lost their buttons back then. Was there ever a status quo after all if this was happening this whole entire time and I just didn't notice?'

Ophelia swallowed and opened her eyes once more. "That was delectable, like a supernova of raspberry flavor in my mouth!"

Soleil grinned affectionately, meeting her gaze directly. "I don't even know what that means, but you are it."

'Why is it I think about this while just hanging out with my friends? This'd make a great fanfic but now it's just weird!' Nina interrupted the cheesiness with, "'Delectable' means delicious. But when talking about a person it means attractive and likable."

"Thanks, Nina! See? You're both, so I'm two hundred percent accurate. You're so cute."

Ophelia smiled back, blushing. "As are you, chosen partner." Then she yawned.

"You look tired," Nina remarked. 'Compensating for lost time with their sappiness, it seems.'

Soleil gave a nod, giving Ophelia a concerned look. "We're all tired. Oph and I're gonna skip sixth hour together to take a nap."

"That's not a bad idea, and I can spoof the attendance for you," Nina commented. Then she double took. "Wait a sec, you, Soleil? You never skip."

Soleil grinned ruefully. "I don't like it, but Oph can't get canned for not paying attention again in math. If she sleeps on the job she might get detention, which would mean an earful from the theatre peeps."

"You realize that if you get caught you could be suspended from the team, right? I love shirking society through minor disobedience, but there's a reason I'm on no team."

"Oh, that's the one thing I'm sure of. You can tell us where to go to avoid being caught."

"...Fine. Go to the media center. If you go to one of the back couches, the librarian won't care. Stick to the green one in the very back, and security cameras won't even see ya."

Soleil grinned. "Got it! Thanks."

"You never asked my consent for this," Ophelia replied, a hint of a whine in her voice.

"You need it, my Dusk, trust me. 'Sides, it's math." Then Soleil leaned in and kissed her forehead.

'She's talking the talk, but she's never skipped class before. Like, ever.' Nina looked pointedly away as Ophelia softly replied, a blush on her face. 'It's reassuring she's willing to do it to make this relationship work.'

"It'll be fine. Now, close your eyes and open wide. The raspberry train's back."

Nina's stomach squirmed when she left them to their own devices, heading to sixth hour at the end of lunch. Soleil's willingness to do anything for Ophelia, with the honeymoon phase of their relationship seeming to stretch for so long, pointed to at least one fear of Nina's quelled: that Soleil's free heart would cheat.

When Nina came to check on them again after sixth hour, she did so from behind a bookshelf at first. Soleil was sleepily playing with a bit of Ophelia's hair, gazing at her lovingly. Ophelia herself was asleep, her head in Soleil's lap.

Her heart throbbed. 'Damn it. I really am lonely.'

'The thing is, things are too simple, too happy. The happier they are, the harder they'll fall. If they don't argue early on, it's gonna be harder when they do.'

Nina grimaced, but forced herself to smile again as she turned the corner to the other side of the shelf. Soleil didn't look up until she cleared her throat; when she noticed Nina, she regarded her with a smile and a casual wave. "Is class already over?"

"Sixth is. As far as attendance records read, you were there for every second."

"You have outdone yourself, Nines. You have everyone here so under control that it's scary."

Nina smirked. "Someone in this group has to know the system. Are you guys going to seventh hour? Oph and I aren't going to be doing much in theatre. Being showtime tonight and all."

Soleil looked down at Ophelia's sleeping form. "If she won't miss anything, I'd love it more than all the bunny blankets in the whole wide world."

She sounded so genuine that even Nina couldn't find it in her to snark. "Then I'll tell your teacher. You two have a good time resting, okay?"

Nina made to get out, but then Soleil exclaimed, "Wait a second!" Nina turned with widened eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Soleil opened and then closed her mouth for a second, then she said, "I dunno. You've been working real hard lately, too. Gathering information to work the system, updating your fics, studying, theatre. Aren't you tired?"

Nina stuffed her hands into her pockets. "I can deal."

"Okay. That's a bit of a shame. This couch has space for three, y'know."

"Maaaan. I thought the day you'd encourage me to skip would be the one pigs flew."

Soleil giggled. "Well, why don'cha consider it? I miss you too, Nina."

'That'd be nice. Really nice.' Nina grinned, about to consent, but then she noticed Ophelia. "No thanks. We can't really do much with her here sleeping, right? Three's a crowd."

Soleil blinked, then chuckled. "Sorry. If you don't want to spend time with me right now, just tell me this. Do you want to talk about anything at all? Are you sure you're okay?"

'There's plenty we could talk about. Ophelia, extracurriculars, just as friends.' She thought of the squirming sensation in her stomach whenever she saw them being romantic. The loneliness in her heart.

Nina hesitated for a long time. Then she said, "What a stupid question."

"Huh?"

"I'm fine. As I said, I can deal. Don't worry about me."

Soleil looked very worried, though. Her smile was gone. "Nina…"

Nina softened. "Sorry. I'm a bit loopy and tired, is all. I'll nap when I get home. I have to get to class. Oph might not be doing much, but the tech team has a load to do."

"Dohhh, come on. We don't have to talk if you don't want to. You're my friend, too. And I can take a period absence, trust me."

Nina searched her face. Genuine concern, of course. The girl couldn't fake it if she wanted to. Those puppy-dog eyes were a bit hard to resist, though. Nina sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Only because I'm tired."

Then she settled herself on the couch, putting a good bit of distance between her and Soleil… or, more specifically, between herself and the happy couple. The happy couple who was too happy to last, or so Nina thought.

Soleil side-eyed her for a moment, as if baffled at the distance, but soon just sighed and leaned her head back.

Nina grimaced and ignored her, trying her best to drift into a dreamland of her own.

'Even if Soleil's would be faithful, It's gonna happen. They'll argue, and it'll be big. Maybe they'll get past it, or maybe not, but no matter what, it's my job to pick up the pieces.'

The closest Nina got to sleeping was a doze, enough to refresh but not relax.