#keith is full of seriousness

[tinderbox210]

Dorks 🥰

x

[eggsdrawings]

Cosmic Constant, pre-orders open Oct 14-Nov 10! Buy now HERE!! 💗💗‬

mini klance to hypnotize u guys into buying our zine

[waugh-bao]

“When we're on stage Ronnie Wood is one of the Rolling Stones. But if you wrote it all down on typewritten paper and took it to court, then they would say he's an employee. I've fought against that over the years. I think Ronnie's levity overshadows his musical abilities. And I know Charlie Watts hates the idea of Ronnie being employed by the rest of us.”

Keith Richards, early 1994

[missmullet]

soooo, I'm a little a lot obsessed with a certain fic at the moment and just had to draw something inspired by it... it's the wonderful Part Time Soulmate, Full Time Problem by @still--kicking

seriously, I can't stop thinking about it, it's so good haha. my highest rec to anyone who hasn't checked it out yet. GO. READ IT. NOW.

this is not specifically a scene from the fic, but after the haircut, Keith being unable to stop thinking about Lance's fingers combing through his hair? Perfection. And I imagine Lance feeling much the same, yet less traumatized lol

(I may or may not have more sketches in my WIPS... this fic is honestly full of amazing scenes to pick from)

[hedwig221b]

Fake/pretend relationship sterek fics 🥹

Here you go!

Waiting In The Wings by stereksterek

Melissa folded her arms and stared at Stiles, “I’m still having a hard time believing that Derek Hale, of all people, is your boyfriend now.” “Yep! Derek’s my boyfriend! We’re totally rocking the whole relationship thing. I mean, we’re no Scott and Allison when it comes to PDA, but we’re both very affectionate behind closed doors. It’s kind of hilarious actually, because some people think that Derek doesn’t even like me when we’re in public, just because he growls or glares at me from time to time. But we’re just a misunderstood couple, y’know… Kind of like other star-crossed lovers out there. We’re basically this generation’s Romeo and… Miguel.” Melissa was grinning so wide that her face almost hurt. Stiles had wildly overcompensated, and now she knew he was lying. “If you and Derek are boyfriends, you won’t have a problem inviting him over for dinner then.” Stiles malfunctioned for a full second before squawking like a dying bird, “Dinner?!”

Let’s Play Pretend (For A Little While) by greenleaf

Derek asks Stiles to pretend to be his boyfriend for his sister’s wedding. It doesn’t go as Derek expected. It turns out better.

Best Laid Accidents by disast3rtransp0rt

Stiles was halfway down a perfectly lovely doom spiral when Derek said a series of words in such an uncannily chipper tone that Stiles was pretty sure he’d paused the panic attack to stroke out: “That’s wonderful news, Keith. Congratulations on the internship. You’ll have to swing by our place sometime for dinner while you’re in town. Right, babe?” “Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Derek moved his hand from bracing Stiles’ shoulder to resting over his hip, pulling him gently sideways until the gap between their bodies disappeared. “Stiles is an incredible cook.” “I look forward to finding out.” The lines of Keith’s posture had tightened significantly since Derek started talking but Stiles could barely take in all the little details like he generally would. His brain was working overtime to go at half its usual speed. Had Derek just– Did Derek really mean– Was he seriously–

An Omega for Christmas by AnotherSigh

Derek is a successful alpha, has a good job, a nice house and a stable pack. But Chritsmas and his birthday are coming. He is going to be 32 years old and his family is expecting him to bring someone home. He doesn’t need an omega to be happy. But he might have told a lie that he has a boyfriend and he would take him home for this Christmas party. Maybe he was lucky that a certain hyperactive omega told the same lie.

Sometimes It Takes a Misunderstanding To Know Where You Stand by gryvon

"Stiles!" Oh, that was not a good tone. Stiles froze, then remembered Derek was three hours away and couldn't strangle him through the phone. "Do you want to explain why your father thinks we're dating?"

The Wedding Date by Renmackree

Stiles Stilinski has a problem and with his cousin's wedding coming up, he may need to swallow his pride and tell the truth. Laura Hale has a better idea.

He's Not Mine by Sunnee

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

smells like nirvana and lasagna by haybelle

“Derek, I agreed to be your fake date, not be smothered by you. What are you doing?” Derek lifted his head slightly from Stiles’ neck, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I’m scenting you, you idiot. If my family is going to believe we’re dating, then we need to smell like it.”

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

The Rental Boyfriend by EvanesDust

It wasn’t part of Stiles’s plan to actually get a rental boyfriend just to experience a first date. It also wasn’t part of his plan to stumble upon Derek Hale’s page and hire him for a few hours every week. And Stiles definitely hadn't meant to actually start falling for the guy. …or the one where Stiles hired Derek to be his boyfriend and promptly fell in love. Oops.

According to Plans by eldee

Five times Stiles and Derek pretend to be boyfriends, and the one time they didn't have to pretend at all. (Or: in which Stiles' plan for senior year is completely ruined by a supernatural creature stalking him.)

part-time soulmate, full-time problem by Renmackree

Stiles had seen it all in his five years of supernatural shenanigans, but never in his life would he have guessed returning to Derek's old stomping grounds in New York, especially under the guise of Derek's magical Mate. It was going to be an exciting summer.

Like it or Not by Halevetica

Stiles works as the editorial assistant at Vogue. He loves everything about his job except for his boss, Derek Hale. Derek Hale is the worst and Stiles hates him. But when Derek drags him to the yearly awards dinner within the company, he is forced to play boyfriend for the night to make Derek's ex jealous. Things couldn't get much worse…or so Stiles thought.

I Would Fake Forever With You by Halevetica

Derek Hale is the black sheep of the family, always has been. That's why he moved to Seattle. Now he's got a job he loves, a nice apartment with an incredibly hot and endearing neighbor, Stiles Stilinski. One night when Derek's overly large and demanding family shows up early for their yearly visit, they run into Stiles, who is accidentally introduced as Derek's boyfriend.

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

The One Where They All Go to New York for a Wedding by Chioces

Derek is invited to New York for a wedding, of corse it is customary for an Alpha to bring his entire pack to such an event, and Stiles somehow becomes his fake date. Oops!

Mates and Mushrooms by mikkimouse

Derek's not that excited about spending three days at a conference getting propositioned by every Alpha with a single pack member. Stiles has a plan to make it stop. It might be a great plan…if only Derek weren't head over heels in love with him. It might be an even better plan if someone at the conference didn't have a vested interest in Derek staying single.

The Newlywed Game by Captain_Loki

Stiles is (still) single when the pack's getaway to the Caribbean comes by (oh misplaced optimism); lucky for him Derek is committed to being uncommitted and even after all these years is still powerless against Stiles' unique forms of persuasion. Cue a romantic getaway for two: sun, sand, and sarcasm abound…and the two roped into competing in the Resort's version of the Newlywed game. Only it's completely obvious it's going to end in disaster. Probably homicide. Most probably homicide. Plot twist: It doesn't.

Relationship Status: It's complicated by kellifer_fic

Okay, I know this is a huge stretch for you, but can you please pretend you're like, into me?

El Corazón del Lobo by heartsdesire456

Derek drove back into Beacon Hills on a Tuesday morning seven years after he had left it last with one single thought: “Why am I doing this?” But in his heart, Derek knew exactly why. (In which Stiles suffers temporary memory loss and any serious emotional trauma could give him permanent damage so Scott calls Derek to come back and fake like he and Stiles are still together so that Stiles can heal)

pretty in tents by kellifer_fic

Even though he’s making fun of it, Stiles thinks the whole thing sounds awesome and, like most stuff these days, the experience is going to be totally wasted on Scott.

Wear Me Down and Wear Me Out by HakeberHooligan

The Ninth Decennial Greater Northern American Werewolf Symposium has arrived, and Stiles is dead set on going. Derek thinks he holds the trump card when he explains to Stiles that as a human, the only way he'd be safe is if he was Derek's mate. Of course, that deters Stiles approximately zero percent, and that's how he ends up parading around as Stile's (fake) mate. He should know better by now that where Stiles is involved, things have a funny way of never going according to plan.

A Challenging Puzzle by emsmittens

Stiles was a puzzle, one that Derek was desperate to solve but then, a new werewolf showed up in town. A new werewolf who was hell-bent on making Stiles his mate, which led to Stiles and Derek pretending to be mates. Was it too late for the pining alpha or could he claim Stiles as his real mate just in time?

I Smell Just Fine..! by PaigeRhiann

Derek sighed again, “There’s something Stiles needs to understand” he said “It’s a known fact that Werewolves are very possessive. That’s why Lydia and Allison haven’t been targeted because they smell like their mates – like pack” Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed “Why don’t I smell like pack” he was clearly offended. “It’s quite hard to smell like pack when you’re not a wolf or sleeping with one” he answered.

Kiss Me on the Hood of Your Car by cigamfossertsim

When Stiles needs a quick get-out-of-jail-free card to get him and Derek out of a jam, he claims the other man is his boyfriend. After a bout of necessary PDA to prove their story, Stiles’s mind is rife with fantasies about the broody werewolf that he’s largely suppressed up until now. Fantasies including Derek’s car. During the long, awkward car ride back to Beacon Hills, Stiles tries to hide his growing attraction from Derek’s keen senses unsuccessfully.

Bean Howlin' For You by MadMim

Stiles is an omega who has been crushing on his boss, Derek, for the last year. When Derek approaches him asking for his help to be his fake boyfriend as a buffer during dinner with his parents Stiles can't find the words to refuse. It makes Stiles realize how intense his feelings for the Alpha are; a realization that leads to unforeseen consequences. Luckily he isn't alone in his attraction and when his heat hits him unexpectedly he doesn't have to suffer through it alone.

[masterlist link]

[barabaraoranges]

weird date everything nsfw questions that have come up

these are conversations that i've had with friends on discord. below the cut

these are entirely silly btw, don't take them seriously. happy day before release!

on what level does objectification (kink) become real? is this even a possibility, since it's technically their baseline?

if you stick a hand in your HVAC unit, is that considered fisting? (personal opinion: if it's a few fingers, it's fingering. if it's a full hand, it's fisting)

can you hotbox hector? is this a speedrunning option to have airyn just straight up kill you?

are repairs a form of foreplay, or straight up sex?

if i use, say, tony the toolbox on abel the table, does that mean they're hooking up now? what does keith and dorian's dynamic look like?

is unplugging an appliance a form of edging?

cont. if you unplug and plug something back in, is that ruining an orgasm?

if i decorate stuff for the holidays, is that considered a form of lingerie

if i use like moving ropes to move furniture, is that considered shibari and/or bondage

is a personified pocket pussy considered a free use kink

if i physically write something or print off my smut and bind it, does that count as body writing, foreplay, or dirty talk for lyric? can i manipulate lyric's body this way?

if i clean or polish my dishware or my trophies, is that a form of body worship?

[caffedrine]

Golden Week 2025 - April Fools - Ricci Corporation - Fan Translation

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this fan translation, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

Ricci Corporation

A month had passed since I joined Ricci Corporation—a world-famous giant that oversees the distribution of all things.

Emma: "Haaa..."

Rio: "Emma, what's with that cute little sigh?"

Emma: "I was just thinking… you're really amazing, Rio."

Rio: "...Emma complimented me. I could die right now and have no regrets in life."

Emma: "You're not allowed to die… But today again, you went out on sales visits and brought back several deals, right?"

Emma: "And from that famous Dompteur Holdings group, no less."

Rio: "It was just luck. Apparently, someone over there knew me from Prista."

Emma: "As expected of the ultra-popular Pristagrammer who rivals actual celebrities..."

Emma: "Didn’t your follower count just pass 5 million the other day?"

Rio: "Wait—Emma, you follow me too?"

Emma: "I do. Your posts always feature stuff I like, so I look forward to your updates."

Rio: "Really!? That’s great. That account’s actually for you, you know."

Emma: "...What?"

Rio: "Becoming well-known means I get access to all sorts of new info…"

Rio: "So no matter when we go on a date, I’ll be fully prepared."

Rio: "And if I have money, I can shower you with gifts…!"

Azel: "Shower with gifts… What a lovely phrase."

Rio: "You just jumped in out of nowhere!?"

Azel: "Apologies. I couldn’t help but overhear such an amusing—ahem, fascinating conversation."

Azel: "I was listening from the beginning, but back to the point—what was that sigh about?"

Rio: "Oh, right. Emma, if something’s bothering you, I’ll listen."

Emma: "Mm… It’s not really a problem. I’m okay."

Azel (mimicking dramatically): "Why can’t I land deals like Rio…? Everyone else is so competent, I feel like I’m the only one falling short… Waaah…!"

Emma: "How did you know!?"

Azel: "I'm a god—I mean, a top-tier consultant."

Rio: "But Emma, didn’t you land that deal with the GVO Group the other day?"

Emma: "That was just one deal. I don’t have as many connections as you, Rio."

Rio: "Landing a deal from GVO is a major achievement, you know?"

(He says that, but compared to the other star recruits in sales, my numbers still fall short...) (No, it’s not just Rio.) (This company is full of highly competent people, so I’ve got to work even harder.)

Silvio: "What are you guys talking about?"

Rio: "Ugh—it’s him."

Silvio: "Huh? Watch your tone when talking to the CEO, punk."

Rio: "Oww, oww—don’t grab my head, it’s gonna crack!"

Keith: "Emma, it’s been a while."

Emma: "Mr. Keith! It has been a while. I didn’t realize you were here."

Keith: "Yeah. I came to pitch an idea to Mr. Silvio."

Keith: "Are you getting used to the new company?"

Emma: "Well… sort of…"

Azel: "She seems to be struggling with a slump in her sales performance."

Silvio: "Huh? Didn’t she just land that deal with GVO the other day?"

Silvio: "I don’t know how you talked that eye-patch guy into it, but that deal was a major win."

Azel: "Wow, that’s exactly what Rio said."

Rio: "Ow, ow, ow! Why are you squeezing my head so hard!?"

Keith: "To get a result like that after just one month—that’s impressive. You’ve got talent for sales, Emma."

Emma: "Thank you. I still have a long way to go, though."

Emma: "Everyone at Ricci Corporation is so talented—it really keeps me on my toes."

Azel: "Hard to take you seriously when you say that with such a gloomy face."

Silvio: "...Hey, girl. Then why don’t you take on that project Mr. Gloom-and-Doom brought in?"

Emma: "Eh...?"

Rio: "Better not be throwing her into something impossible."

Silvio: "Oh, it’s high difficulty for sure. The client is that stuck-up conglomerate."

Azel: "Ah, the Michel Conglomerate. A veritable treasure chest—I quite like them."

Emma: "The Michel Conglomerate!? Isn’t that the one led by that famously ruthless CEO who runs everything with brutal efficiency...?"

Keith: "Yeah, that’s the one. Apparently, the CEO is looking for partners for a new business venture."

Keith: "I heard from a friend—Mr. Clavis—that they’ll be holding a logistics competition soon, so I came to give you a heads-up."

Silvio: "The CEO’s supposed to be attending the competition in person. I want you to pitch our plan and land the deal directly."

Emma: "You're assigning such an important role to me…? Are you sure?"

Silvio: "I said you’re doing it. You need another reason?"

Azel: "Don’t worry. As long as I’m compensated, I’ll help out."

Azel: "As long as I’m compensated."

Rio: "Of course I’ll help too, Emma! If you’re ready to take this on, I’ll support you all the way."

(Honestly, just thinking about it makes my legs tremble.) (But this is a job the CEO personally assigned to me. I won’t let this opportunity go to waste.)

Emma: "Thank you. I’ll win this project—no matter what it takes."

Silvio: "Hah! At least you’ve got guts."

(Alright, time to get started on preparations—!)

—Two weeks until the competition.

(The materials should be here somewhere…) (But there’s just too much to go through—I can’t find it.)

Azel: "Looking for these documents?"

Emma: "Mr. Azel! How did you know—"

Azel: "I’m a god—I mean, a top-tier consultant. How many times are we going to have this exchange?"

Azel: "I’m also Silvio’s errand boy, so I know where everything is stored."

Emma: "A top-tier consultant and… an errand boy?"

Azel: "Is that a problem?"

Emma: "N-no, not at all! Thank you so much, Mr. Azel!"

Emma: "Wait—why are you holding the documents up like that…?"

Azel: "Surely you didn’t think they were free."

Emma: "...There’s a charge?"

Azel: "Of course. I have a strict no-free-labor policy."

Emma: "I’m sorry… I don’t have any cash on me right now…"

Azel: "I happen to know you're hiding a delicious-looking homemade bento."

Azel: "Not just one—for lunch and dinner. Enough for two people, yes?"

Emma: "...Would you like to share it with me later?"

Azel: "How agreeable. In that case, here you go."

Emma: "Thank you—for real this time!"

Azel: "If you need any other materials, I’d be happy to assist... for a fee, of course."

Emma: "Ugh… At this rate, I feel like you’re going to strip me of everything… You wouldn’t happen to know where the previous competition documents are, would you?"

Azel: "I expect my own personal bento tomorrow."

Emma: "Y-yes! I’ll make a formal offering—please look forward to it!"

—1 week until the competition.

(If I don’t finish preparing the documents by today, I won’t have time for review.) (I might miss the last train home... but if that happens, I’ll deal with it. Time to buckle down.)

Rio: "Hey Emma, I’m feeling this overwhelming urge to work right now. Got anything for me to do?"

Emma: "It’s already past office hours, you know?"

Rio: "It’s always been a dream of mine to work overtime alongside my beloved Emma."

Rio: "But I’ve finished all my tasks, and I’ve got nothing left... so, I thought maybe you could share?"

Emma: "...You’re doing this for my sake, aren’t you?"

Rio: "Sorry, this time it’s for me."

Rio: "If it’s data-related work, it’s something anyone else can handle, right?"

Rio: "I just want to work late with you. Please?"

Emma: "...You’re always so kind, Rio. Thank you."

Emma: "Okay then, I’ll take you up on your offer. Could you handle these pages?"

Rio: "Gladly! Ah, our first joint task together..."

Emma: "I’ll have to thank you somehow. Rio, if I made a bento, would you eat it?"

Rio: "Eat it? Absolutely. I’d love to! Please let me eat it!"

Rio: "Emma’s homemade bento... Uh-oh. Just imagining it is giving me a nosebleed..."

Emma: "Fufu, you’re being dramatic. You like pain perdu, right?"

Emma: "I’ll make sure to include it in the lunch."

Rio: "Thank you, Emma. I’m so glad to be alive...!"

Rio: "I’ll work even harder! I’ll be your loyal dog for life, so feel free to work me to the bone, Emma!"

—3 days until the competition.

Keith: "Emma... are you okay?"

Emma: "Hello, Mr. Keith. I wouldn’t say I’m ‘okay’ exactly..."

Keith: "Yeah, when you got into the elevator just now, you looked like you were about to collapse."

Emma: "Oh... I guess I just let my guard down a little. The competition’s getting close, and I haven’t been sleeping well from the nerves."

(Wow... I must really be a mess if someone from outside the company is worried about me.) (At this rate, I might mess everything up on the big day. I need to do something about this...)

Keith: "I know. Emma, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to have this."

Emma: "An energy drink?"

Keith: "Yeah, it’s a new product from our company."

Keith: "It’s specially formulated for recovery and meant to be taken before bed."

Keith: "This product is meant for hardworking women like you, Emma—so I’d love to hear your feedback."

Emma: "If that’s the case… thank you very much, Mr. Keith."

Emma: "...Huh? ‘You can do this. I’m cheering you on.’ …This writing—?"

Keith: "Ah, so you noticed."

Keith: "Azel told me that you’ve been working yourself to the bone day and night..."

Keith: "So I’ve been carrying that around, hoping to give it to you when I saw you."

Keith: "...Sorry if that came off as creepy."

Emma: "Not at all! I’m really happy... truly."

Emma: "Thank you so much. I’ll do my best so I can bring you good news."

—The day of the competition.

(Whoa... there are so many people here…) (And... that must be the head of the Michele Conglomerate, Lord Chevalier.) (This pressure… It’s intense. I feel like my heart might leap out of my mouth.)

Silvio: "Hah! What are you getting scared for?"

Emma: "...President Silvio."

Silvio: "Don’t start sounding like you're gonna cry. Chin up, walk tall, and get in there."

Silvio: "You didn’t bring a half-baked presentation, did you?"

Emma: "Of course not. I... I’m confident in it."

(Azel and Rio helped me. Mr. Keith encouraged me. I can’t afford to lose heart now.)

Emma: "I’m just... a little fired up, that’s all."

Silvio: "Don’t walk onstage like you’re flailing all your limbs at once, got it?"

Emma: "I—I won't… probably…"

Silvio: "Where’s all that confidence gone?"

Emma: "Wah—President! Please don’t ruffle my hair! It’ll ruin the style!"

Silvio: "Then get it together. No one will fault you for giving it your all, no matter the outcome."

Silvio: "And if someone does, I’ll deal with them. The only one who’s allowed to complain is me."

Emma: "So you will complain."

Silvio: "Of course. In my position, I can’t just say ‘failure is fine.’"

Silvio: "You didn’t want someone soft on you from the start, did you?"

Silvio: "I’m putting my trust in you. Just focus on winning."

(…It’s strange. Hearing him say that actually makes me feel like I can do this.)

Emma: "Thank you, President."

Emma: "Even if I trip over my own feet—I’ll make sure this is a success!"

~Later~

Rio: "Emma! Congratulations!!"

Keith: "I heard you landed the project at the competition."

Azel: "Now would be the perfect time to offer me a generous cooperation bonus, wouldn’t it?"

Emma: "Everyone... You already heard, huh?"

Silvio: "Tch. You guys are so noisy. Don’t all barge into my office at once and start squawking."

Rio: "Ouch, ouch, ouch—why am I the only one getting hit!?"

Emma: "I was planning to visit each of you later, so this actually works out perfectly."

Emma: "Thank you so much for all your support during this competition."

Emma: "I truly don’t think I could’ve done by myself."

Emma: "Azel and Rio helped me… Mr. Keith and President Silvio pushed me forward…"

Emma: "This win was only possible because of all of you."

Silvio: "Now you’re getting it. That’s your talent."

Emma: "...My talent?"

Silvio: "A company is a team effort. If you’re the kind of person others want to help or cheer on, you’re bound to go far."

Silvio: "Your abilities are different from this mutt’s. Comparing them is pointless."

Silvio: "I’m the one giving you that evaluation, so quit beating yourself up already."

(...Oh no, I think I’m going to cry.) (I kept thinking I wasn’t pulling my weight compared to everyone else...) (But at least President Silvio doesn’t see me that way.)

Azel: "By the way, President, how about we hold a dinner party to celebrate Emma’s success?"

Azel: "I’ve already made the reservation."

Silvio: "You just want a free meal, don’t you?"

Azel: "Exactly."

Keith: "You’re refreshingly honest, as always, Mr. Azel."

Silvio: "Fine. I’m starving anyway—let’s go eat."

Silvio: "I’ll treat everyone except the mutt. Eat whatever you like."

Rio: "You cheapskate!"

Silvio: "Huh?"

Emma: "President Silvio, please stop—if you hit Rio again, his head will split open!"

Keith: "I’ve got medicine."

Emma: "That’s not the point!"

Azel: "Now, now—the car is already waiting. Let’s be on our way."

Silvio: "...You really don’t miss a trick."

As laughter echoed, the lights of the executive office were turned off.

(I want to keep doing my best at this company, from now on, and always.)

[left4gospels]

“UNTOUCHABLE”

Short story

✟ ✟ ✟

(Drawing by me, I hated the full version but i liked how I drew Ellis so this is what you get.)

First time writing something and posting it publicly so uh i hope you guys like it. Was just an idea I had. I dont like this it could be better.

TW: Death, violence, Keith is sort of a douche, mid story.

╔══•●•══╗

“Ellis and his best buddy Keith were driving on the road, heading to the nearest evacuation station with no idea what would happen to them. With rumors of an apocalypse, neither of them were taking it seriously. Keith always had that invincible energy that nothing could touch either of them when they were together, so why would Ellis doubt him? They were fine, everything would work out in the end.

That is, until they run out of gas. Then everything starts to get a little too serious for Ellis.”

╚══•●•══╝

The chevy sped down the empty backroad, gravel crunching under the tires and trees blurring by. Ellis kept one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the shifter, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of ‘Don't fear the reaper’. Keith sat in the passenger seat, his worn boots propped up on the dash like he owned the damn thing, tearing into a stick of jerky he randomly found in his pocket. They’d taken one of the many backroads of Georgia to avoid the crowd towards the evacuation station– a hotel Ellis hadn’t been to since he was a kid– leaving the road clear for him to step on the gas.

“Man, this don’t feel real, does it?” Keith said, his mouth half-full, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he looked out the window. Ellis turned down the radio to hear him. “Remember that ramp off of White Bluff? I was drivin’, and I hit that shit goin’ like 120! Dave nearly shit his fuckin’ pants. You puked all over my dash, I was fuckin’ pissed.”

Ellis glanced at him, laughing at the memory. “Dude I know! I was just thinkin’ about that! Oh man, that was so funny. I’d do it again, ‘except last time we weren’t dodgin’ zombies n’ shit.”

“Hey, we ain’t seen no zombies yet? If we do, just run them fuckers over. Nothin’ but a speed bump.” Keith grinned, the kind of grin that made him look like a kid trying to get away with something. It was that grin that normally got Ellis into trouble. Keith had a way of turning bad ideas into brilliant ones, and Ellis had a bad habit of going along with them. Like the time Keith got it in his head to make homemade fireworks, or the bumper cars, or the gators. Keith always liked the thrill of having one foot in the grave.

Even when Keith’s ideas blew up in their faces—literally, in the case of the fireworks—Ellis always trusted him. Keith just had this way about him, this dumb kinda confidence that made you believe nothing could ever touch you in his presence. And until that day, Ellis believed him.

“Man, that would be so cool. Use em’ as a ramp, oh– like the Dukes of hazzard!” Ellis cheered with a gleaming smile, both of them laughing.

“Just the good ol’ boys…” Keith sang the tune to the opening. “That used to come on every mornin’ after the news. You remember as a kid, playin’ as them? Man, we were stupid. I’d watch it again though.”

Ellis smiled and swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. He didn’t want to think about the news– how all those people died in Macon, or how they might never see another tv show again. Now that the evacuation was mandatory, it all seemed different. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Ellis didn’t like to think about shit like that. So he avoided those thoughts for as long as he could.

“Y’think this hotel’s gonna be as fancy as it used to be? Hell, I ain’t been to The Vannah in a fuckin’ dogs age. Last time I was there, I think I was with Cindy,” Keith asked, breaking the silence. “That bitch that left me at the tunnel of’ love'?”

“Ha! Yeah, I remember that.” Ellis snorted, adjusting his hat. Who’s he kidding? They’re gonna be fine. “Oughta be paradise with all this shit goin’ on. Bet there’s gonna be a shit ton a’ people. Hope they ain’t zombies like on the TV.”

Keith laughed, that wheezy, half-choked sound that always got Ellis laughing too, and for a moment, the world didn’t seem so bad. “Pft, I wasn't payin’ attention to that. That news lady they got on channel 7 is a fine piece, I can tell ya that.”

Then the fuel light dinged, Ellis groaned. They should’ve fueled up before, but everyone was in such a rush to leave, they figured they might as well be too.

“Goddamn, already outta gas,” he muttered, hitting his steering wheel. “This is some bullshit. I told you we should’a gassed ‘er up.”

The gas station came into view a mile or so down the road, a lonely convenience store from when people worried about gas prices and not whether they’d live long enough to pay for it. Ellis pulled the truck into the lot, the tires crunching over broken glass and debris.

“Where the hell are the people? They already left? Man, I better not get a flat from all this glass, I'm serious.” Ellis said, shaking his head as he turned into one of the pumps.

“Shit, this place looks like a scene outta a horror movie,” Keith said, leaning out the window to get a better look. “Betcha there’s bodies in the back.”

“Shut up,” Ellis grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ain’t funny.” He said, despite his smile.

He killed the engine and stepped out, the heat slamming into him like a wall. Goddamn the Georgia heat was relentless. It was quiet. No birds, no wind, just the sound of his boots on the pavement as he walked to the pump. He glanced around—two empty cars, both with busted windows, but not a soul in sight. I mean damn, he didn’t think it would be all peaches and cream, but he definitely didn’t expect nothing like this.

“Hey, you think they got snacks inside?” Keith called from the truck, stepping out and shutting the door.

Ellis smiled and looked over his shoulder, Keith’s words distracting him from reality– like they always did. “Oh, that’s a good idea right there. Man, I could go for a slurpee– or a beer.” He shook his head. “You think they make beer slurpees?”

Keith didn’t answer, and Ellis figured he ran off somewhere to find some food. He was silently wondering if he still had to pay or not, gripping the pump handle, his fingers trembling just a little. He hated how quiet it was. Hated how weird this whole thing felt. He started getting wrapped up in his head again, something he never does. Maybe this whole flu thing was a bigger deal than he thought.

“El,” Keith called again, catching Ellis’s attention.“You see that?”

Ellis turned, following Keith’s gaze to the corner of the lot. A shadow darted between two cars, quick and low, like an animal.

“Prolly just a dog or some shit,” Ellis said, though he didn’t believe it himself. Just ignore it, he told himself, get the gas and go.

Keith snorted. “Yeah, a dog the size of a goddamn linebacker.”

Ellis laughed at that, setting the pump back in its cradle and turned toward the truck. “C’mon, we’re leavin’. Not a man here, so I ain’t payin’. And I sure as hell ain’t killin’ no dog.”

But Keith wasn’t in the truck. He was a good twenty feet away, crouched beside an overturned box, squinting at something on the ground.

“What'd ya find? Hurry your ass up, man.” Ellis smiled, approaching him. Ellis usually didn’t mind the way Keith treated all this like it was just another story they’d laugh about later, it kept his mind from wandering to the parts of this whole mess he wasn’t ready to think about. He didn’t know if he ever would be. Now, Ellis was starting to get a little worried. But he’d never let Keith know that.

Keith looked up, grinning like an idiot, waving the yellow cylinder in the air. “Found me a box of Twinkies! They ain’t even opened!”

“Awh, yeah! Get some and let’s go man, cmon. Move your ass.” Ellis said, beckoning him with a little more insistence in his words. The hairs on his neck stood up, watching as Keith shoved a couple more in his pocket.

“Alright alright. Damn, don’t get your panties in a twist–”

And then it happened.

The “dog” from before launched itself at Keith, moving faster than Ellis blink. Keith barely had time to scream before the thing was on him, its claws ripping into his chest, its weight slamming him to the ground. This wasn’t a dog, this was a human– or it was at one point– as wild as an animal

“Keith!” Ellis yelled, his voice cracking, pulse skyrocketing. “Holy shit!”

The thing snarled with gritted teeth, blood already dripping from its mouth from God knows what. Keith thrashed and yelled, using all the force he could to push the thing off, but it was no use. It’s hands– almost clawed, tore into Keith's ribs, jabbing into his organs again and again and again. This thing wasn’t like the zombies in movies. It wasn’t looking for brains or running on hunger– it was looking to kill.

Ellis grabbed the crowbar he kept in bed of his truck and ran, his legs moving on instinct. The first hit connected with a sickening crunch, sending blood and bits of bone flying. The Hunter reeled, its claws twitching, but Ellis didn't stop. He brought the crowbar down against its skill– feeling every hit– until the thing was a lifeless heap of infected flesh on the ground. Ellis stared in disbelief for a second, panting with burning lungs, before he heard a babbling cough beneath him.

“Keith!” Ellis gasped, forgetting the crowbar and dropping to his knees beside him. Blood pooled on the asphalt under Keith's body– his shirt and flesh shredded to pieces. Keith’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his side, coughing up more of the red liquid from all the internal damage. Ellis reckoned it must’ve hurt something fierce, but the sheer shock and adrenaline must’ve kept Keith from feeling a thing.

“Ellis,” he choked out, his voice weak, looking down at himself in complete disbelief. “Holy fuck, man– holy fuck!” He repeated, his mouth gaping open in surprise. “What the fuck was that thing?!”

“Shit!” Ellis yells, shaking his head. “Holy shit, man! No, it's alright. You’re always fine. Remember the fireworks? The gator?” He tried to chuckle, but it just came out as a choked sob. “Keith, c’mon man, get up! You’re alright…”

Keith tried to smile weakly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Man, this ain’t the same, Ellis! I’m all– I'm everywhere…” The corners of his lips turned downwards. His hands trembled as he attempted to sit up, he couldn’t seem to look at anything but his organs pooling out of his body. Keith gurgled, more blood rising from his throat and out of his teeth. His breath was ragged and thick, the thing must’ve hit one of his lungs.

Pressing his palms to the wound, Ellis tried to stop the red stream from spurting out as best he could, but it only stained the back of his hands. Keith began to choke, and cough out another gush of blood onto his shirt. His wide eyes settled onto Ellis’s face, tears streaming slowly down them. Keith never cried.

“I think I'm gonna die, man…” He whispered, voice quivering as his hand reached for Ellis, fingers weakly gripping his shirt. “That thing knocked the life outta me.”

“No,” Ellis whispered, his voice breaking, shaking his head in denial. “Shut up, man. No, no, no. No, man you’re not gonna die.” He pleaded, silently praying, repenting for every sin they’ve ever committed. Not Keith man, he couldn’t lose his best buddy.

“Shit, Ellis man.. I don’t wanna die…” Keith said, his panicked voice dropping low, words slurring. “I’m– You’re my best friend, man…” His eyes grew big for a few seconds, so full of fear, looking up to the sky at something Ellis couldn’t see. Ellis shook his head, his lips beginning to move, begging for him to keep holding on. Begging for God not to do this to either of them. Keith took a few more ragged breaths, and one last sticky heave, before his eyes shut. His body went slack, head lolling to the side.

“KEITH!” Ellis yelled, shaking him now. “No, no no no. Man, c’mon man!” He said, gripping hard on his shoulders. It was then when he realised he was crying himself. Keith was dead. Keith just died in front of him, in his arms. “Shit!”

Ellis abruptly stumbled to his feet, sticky with his best friend's blood. He studied his muddy hands, palms up, palms down. He could feel his pulse in the tips of his fingers, his hands sore from gripping the crowbar so hard. Staring at Keith and the zombie's lifeless body, a numbing despair settled over him. It all happened so fast… so fuckin’ fast.

He had to get out of here.

Ellis climbed into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and staring at his hands. He found a grease rag in the compartment of his truck, desperately scrubbing his best friend’s DNA off his skin, though it didn’t do much but dry them. His blood was in the beds of his fingernails. He started the engine and pulled onto the road, hands trembling on the wheel. He didn’t look in the mirror, he didn’t dare look back.

He was going to the evac station– he’ll meet Keith there.

Keith wasn’t dead. That wasn’t his body dying in Ellis’s arms. He was back in the truck, laughing about Twinkies or pools or something stupid. Or better yet, somewhere at home with a beer and a shotgun, safe as can be. Yeah. He’s alright.

Keith was fine. Ellis never saw anyone die.

He had never seen a zombie before.

Nothing could ever touch him.

✟ ✟ ✟

[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

[otomehoneyybearr]

Ruby's Lucky Bag

A Ruby-Style New Years: Sweet First Training!

Heads up: Lots of confectionary and Matcha-making terminology, but Professor Chevalier comes to save the day!

It was the New Year, and I found myself in Ruby, a country where the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

Kagari: “Happy New Year. I’m glad you all came.”

Kagari: “Now, draw your swords.”

Yves & Licht “What!?” “……”

Keith: “Emma, stand back.”

Emma: “O-okay—Wah!?”

Chevalier: “Finish this quickly.”

(He picked me with one arm to distance us from Prince Kagari and the others, but shouldn't Prince Chevalier be joining the fight too!?)

Licht: "Chevalier, that’s easy for you to say."

Kagari: “If you fight with all you’ve got, you might stand a chance."

Licht: “He’s moving faster than before. Yves, don’t get any closer, it’s dangerous.”

Yves: "Ugh, it's heavy… my hands are going numb…"

Keith: “It’s 3 against 1, and he’s even holding back, yet we’re the ones struggling…"

Yves: “Wouldn’t a one-on-one with Prince Chevalier have been better?”

Licht: “If it were just the two of them, then the castle would collapse, and starting the year with an international incident would cause Sariel to collapse from the opverwork.”

Emma: “W-Why are we doing this the moment we arrive…?”

Kagari: “This is a common New Year’s greeting in Kogyoku.”

Emma: “This is a greeting!?!”

(The reason I came here was because Prince Kagari sent me an invitation to the first training of the year...)

(Could it be that the first training starts off with this New Year’s greeting?)

(But why was I invited? I can barely handle a kitchen knife, let alone a sword!)

(What if they tell me that I’m next and I get thoroughly beaten up...?!)

Chevalier: “That won’t happen.”

Emma: “Huh...?”

Kagari: “Did you take me seriously, Princess? That's a good expression.”

Yves: “Then why did you suddenly attack us?”

Kagari: “Don’t you also feel the urge to fight when a strong opponent appears before you?”

Yves: “That’s way too broad of an assumption… Most people don’t feel that way.”

Licht: "I get that feeling. I want to fight strong opponents too."

Yves: “What?”

Keith: “I kind of get it too… Maybe because of Kagari’s influence."

Yves: “Wait, am I in the minority here!?”

Kagari: "It was brief, but I enjoyed sparring with you all to start the New Year."

Kagari: "I hope you will join in next time, Chevalier."

Chevalier: “I wasn’t aware that keeping guests waiting was Ruby’s custom.”

Kagari: “You’re as cold as ever, despite that pretty face.”

Kagari: “Come in. An enjoyable training awaits.”

(What kind of training will it be?)

Kagari: “First, however—you’ll need to change, Princess.”

Emma: “Huh? Change…?”

.....

Yves, Licht, & Keith:

“…....”

Chevalier & Kagari: “......” “Gold Star”

Emma: “Um… I-I’ll go change back!”

Yves, Licht, & Keith: “No!” “Why?” “That’s…”

Emma: "But everyone looked so taken aback except for Prince Kagari."

Yves: "Of course we'd be shocked if you showed up in a kimono!"

Keith: “Yeah. Emma, you looked so beautiful in the kimono that we were at a loss for words. Your hair is done up so elegantly—you look adorable.”

Keith: “Right, Licht?”

Licht: “You’re supposed to ask that to Yves at times like this… But, I do think it suits you.”

Licht: “Right, Chevalier?”

Chevalier: “Don’t involve me in this.”

Licht: “Clavis told me to make sure your occasionally included in conversations,

Licht: "Or else my room will be filled with traps. Help me out.”

Chevalier: "How utterly ridiculous."

Emma: “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t that I didn’t look good… Thank you.”

(I never expected to be whisked away to another room by the servants and stripped of my clothes, only to then be dressed in a kimono…)

(But I’ve always wanted to try wearing a kimono, so I’m happy!)

Emma: “Whoa…!”

Yves: "Careful, are you okay?"

Emma: “Yeah. Thanks for stopping my fall, Yves.”

Yves: “It’s understandable since it's your first time in a kimono. Just don’t walk like you would in a skirt."

Yves: “And be careful not to mess up the outfit!”

Emma: “Got it. But…”

Yves: “W-what?”

Emma: “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Yves: “Wh—, I-it’s not like your kimono looks so cute that I can’t handle looking at you up close, okay!?”

Kagari: “…? But he just admitted to it.”

Licht: "Don’t mind him. He’s always like this."

Kagari: “I see. What an amusing brother you have.”

Keith: "Kagari, since Emma changed into a kimono, does that mean the first training is actually a tea ceremony?”

Emma & Yves: “Tea ceremony?”

Kagari: “Correct. In Ruby, the first tea ceremony of the year is called the first kettle or the first training.”

Licht: "I see... That’s confusing."

(Licht’s expression—he was probably expecting sword training...)

Kagari: "Since this is everyone's first time aside from Keith, I don’t want to make it too formal. Just join in and enjoy yourself."

(So, it’s not a physical training session after all.)

Emma & Yves: "…That’s a relief."

....

Kagari: "…"

(Wow, this tea gathering is completely different from Rhodolite's.)

(What Prince Kagari is about to prepare... or rather, whisk, is matcha, right?)

(I remember the owner making it for me a long time ago.)

(What’s that cloth Prince Kagari just picked up?)

Chevalier: "That’s a fukusa. It’s used during the tea ceremony to purify the utensils and handle the kettle lid."

Licht: "The way he’s folded into triangles and long strips makes it look like a magic trick."

Emma: "Oh, so that stick-like thing he’s holding now is..."

Chevalier: "A chashaku. It’s used to scoop matcha from the natsume."

Emma: "Natsume...?"

Chevalier: "It’s the black cylindrical container."

Emma: "I see. And the item next to it...?"

Chevalier: "That’s a chasen, used for whisking the matcha."

Emma, Yves, & Licht:  "Ohhh…"

Keith: "It’s amazing how naturally you turned Prince Chevalier into a guide."

(Prince Kagari’s precise and elegant movements during the tea preparation are so refined—it’s mesmerizing...)

Servant: "Pardon me... Please, enjoy."

Emma: "Thank you."

(How cute... It’s shaped like a cherry blossom. This type of sweet is called nerikiri, isn’t it?)

Kagari: "Go ahead and eat, Princess."

Emma: "Alright then... Thank you."

(It’s so pretty, it almost feels wrong to ruin it, but...)

(Mmm, it’s moist and smooth with a gentle sweetness... So delicious.)

Yves: "Hehe, look at that smile. You always look so happy when you eat something delicious."

Keith: "I get that. I can’t help but watch too... Wait."

Keith: "Being stared at by a big guy like me must make it hard to eat comfortably. Once again, I’m totally ruining the mood."

Licht: "You’re making it even harder to eat."

Emma: "Oh, um, please don’t worry about me. Let’s all enjoy these together! They’re really delicious!"

Kagari: "Chevalier, you drink first."

Chevalier: "……"

Kagari: "…No reaction, huh? How boring."

(What does he mean by that? ….Hmm?)

(The matcha Prince Kagari prepared looks a much darker green than the one the owner made for me before.)

(And there’s less of it. Maybe it’s a different type of tea leaf.)

Chevalier: "Hold out your hands."

Emma: "…! O-okay."

(He handed me the bowl of tea. So this matcha is meant to be shared? This is my first time trying it.)

(Here goes…)

Emma: "......?!?!"

(I-It’s so bitter! This is completely different from any matcha I’ve ever had.)

(Ugh... Haa... Somehow, I managed to drink it. I didn’t know matcha could be this bitter.)

Kagari: "Princess, you’re making quite the face."

Licht: "Look who’s talking."

Keith: "You look like someone who’s just succeeded in their prank…"

(So Prince Kagari’s comment earlier must have meant he was hoping for Prince Chevalier to react to the bitterness.)

Emma: "Alright, Yves, you’ve got this!"

Yves: "…? I’m not sure what you mean, but alright."

Yves: "Guh…!?!!"

Yves: "…Alright, Licht, your turn."

Licht: "Is it really that unusual a taste?"

Licht: "………"

Licht: "...Keith, you seem like you’d be used to this stuff."

Keith: "Licht, you're not thinking I’m some kind of herb enthusiast to roam around at night chewing on random plants, right?”

Licht: "I’d actually like to know how you reached that conclusion in the first place."

Licht: "I just thought you’d be used to it since Jade has been close with Ruby for a long time."

Keith: "Oh, that’s what you meant. Yeah, I’ve had thick matcha before."

Kagari: "Keith’s reaction was predictable. You two, however, had great reactions, just like the Princess."

Kagari: "It was worth preparing the finest matcha."

Licht: "You’ve got a wicked personality."

Kagari: "This is nothing compared to Clavis’s pranks."

Yves & Licht "That’s true." "Agreed."

Kagari: "Don’t worry. There’s another round coming up. This one will be usucha—a lighter tea, easier to drink."

Servant: "Excuse me."

Yves: "Oh, are we getting more sweets too?"

Kagari: "Of course. Sweets always come before matcha."

Licht: "They just melted away in my mouth."

Yves: "They’re called rakugan. I’ll make some for you when we’re back in Rhodolite."

(Ah, the servants are back... This time, each of us gets our own cup of matcha.)

Emma: "Oh!"

Licht: "What’s wrong?"

Emma: "There’s a rabbit drawn on my matcha!"

Yves: "I have a cat on mine. What about you, Licht?"

Licht: "A wolf. Keith’s looks like a deer?"

Keith: "Yeah. So then, Prince Chevalier’s is..."

(A tiger! The stern expression even resembles him a little.)

Keith: "Is this drawing made with matcha?"

Kagari: "Correct."

Emma: "It’s so cute, I almost don’t want to ruin it."

Kagari: "I’ll let the person who drew it know you said that."

Kagari: "Now, drink up. Tea loses its flavor as it cools."

Emma: "Alright, thank you."

Emma: "Mmm… It’s delicious! And not bitter at all."

Yves: "That’s true. It's probably because the sweetness from the snacks lingers in our mouths."

Licht: "So that’s why those snacks were so sweet."

Kagari: "Traditionally, we don’t do this, but I wanted to show some hospitality since you went out of your way to visit Ruby."

Keith: "K-Kagari... To think you could offer such wonderful hospitality…"

Licht: "How bad was it before…?"

Yves: "It must’ve been something worthy of his title as Demon."

(When we first arrived, we were met with a rather ominous greeting that made me nervous. But now, I feel so warm and at peace, both in body and mind.)

(I’m so glad I came to Ruby with everyone.)

(Starting the new year, spending such calm and serene time in a foreign land, it feels like this year is going to be a good one.)

(Now that I think about it...)

Emma: "Um, Prince Kagari, may I ask you something?"

Emma: "Why did you invite us to this first training?"

Kagari: "Just on a whim."

Kagari: "...Though if I had to give a reason, it’s because the water used in today’s tea is wakamizu."

Emma: "Wakamizu?"

Chevalier: "It refers to the water drawn for the first time on New Year’s Day."

Chevalier: "In Ruby, tea prepared with wakamizu is believed to be good for the body, ward off all illnesses, and dispel misfortune for the year."

Kagari: "You're well-informed. That’s exactly right."

(So the reason Prince Kagari invited us to the first training was...)

Kagari: "Saying goodbye right after getting to know someone is dull and boring."

Kagari: "Consider this my New Year’s gift to you—a hidden charm of sorts."

Kagari: "I wonder what kind of year this will be for all of us. Exciting, isn’t it?"

Achroite | Tanzanite

▼・ᴥ・▼

[catsushinyakajima]

voltron paladins and my personal takes on their diplomatic skills

Lance: Season 1 & 2 Lance? Terrible diplomatic. I feel like early show Lance just blurts out whatever he thinks is funny which...a lot of people/aliens might not. Definitely offends some planets with his jokes and flirting. However, I think Lance grows into a good diplomat.

Keith: It's a toss up. He's quiet during diplomatic events, so he doesn't have the chance to say anything offensive. However, his silence can be taken as either seriousness/attentiveness or rudeness/standoff-ish. It depends on the culture of the planet.

Pidge: She's a good diplomat on planets that respect science. Because that means they respect her and will talk to her about things she's interested in. On other planets, she's the same as Keith.

Hunk: I think he's the best diplomat so far. Hunk is a good listener and he's empathetic. He's skilled as an engineer (science), a voltron pilot (fighting), and cooking (culture), which gives him a wide base of things to discuss with others. I think his empathy would truly resonate with planets affected by the war.

Shiro: Is a good diplomat, not because of natural traits, but because he acknowledges diplomatic missions as a part of his full time job as paladin. He's constantly clocked in at work. Everytime he's at a meeting he gets possessed by a broke student working a 9-5 who desperately doesn't want to get fired. This man will definitely hate fake pleasantries and meetings but he will suffer through them.

Allura: Has all the skills to be a good diplomat. Is generally a good diplomat. However, I feel like she'd be the most likely to get offended by a dignitary as the war is very, very personal to her. Some bozo would make a comment about Altea's downfall and she'd be fighting for her life not to deck them. She generally has restraint.

Coran: Thinks he's an extraordinary diplomat. In reality, he is simply a good diplomat. He can talk well and captivate an audience but bro has no TMI. His guests will go from "HAHAHA" to "oh..." within seconds of a story. His passion wins people over.

[maybe-moonchild]

CH1 summary: you might have won but you’re still the biggest loser. WC: 5.7K

⋆˙𓋼𓍊 ⋆⭒𓆣˚.𓍊 ⋆𓆙

“The fuck was that Kaston?” you called out the moment your feet touched the grass. You had a white knuckle grip on your broom in one hand, storming across the pitch towards your teammate. Not even the cheers and screams from the Slytherin section could remedy the crackle of anger in our chest. 

Elias Kaston lolled his head in your direction over his shoulder, a smirk only growing at the sight of your pink cheeks and clenched teeth. Alder and Jordan snickered behind him as they folded their arms over their chest in an attempt to play his groupies. 

As Slytherin’s captain, you should’ve been ecstatic over the win. You had been the one working your ass off all year to secure the 1976 Quidditch House Cup. 

Except you had spent the entire game trying to score while also dodging the bludgers Kaston had intentionally sent your way.

It had been intentional in order to- what? Knock you off your broom? Kill you? At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been hoping you would snap your neck before halftime. 

You’d managed to evade most of them, still going after the quaffle and shooting at the goals as they whizzed past your head at the very last second. All of them, aside from one that you hadn’t seen from behind, whipping around at the last second as it connected roughly with your shoulder. The momentum sent you flipping over your broom and nearly plummeting fifty feet. Thank Merlin you managed to keep a grip on the handle and haul yourself back on over the cheers from the crowd. 

“Got a problem?” Kaston barely put any effort into feigning innocence. Why would he? He wants you to know that he’s so determined to get rid of you that he’s willing to sacrifice his own team's win to do so. He stands a bit straighter to emphasize his lack of fear. 

“Yeah! You.” You closed  the distance without hesitation, coming to stop at his feet. If you weren’t seething, all consumed how disheartening this season had been even with the frequent wins. 

A few heads turned in your direction but most of the Gryffindor team was reconvening around their captain. The students in the stands were too busy shuffling towards the stairs, disappointed in the outcome of the match, and not even interested in staying  to cheer while others outright booed. 

You didn’t care. Not when you’re practically boiling under your uniform in animosity for the slimy asshole that has a head on you in height. 

“Seriously Kaston,” Keith scoffed, jogging to catch up as back up in the form of his fists. “Someone could’ve gotten seriously injured.” 

At the sound of his voice, Lance glanced over from his spot with the Gryffindor team, frowning wearily at the scene unfolding. You were sure the last thing that Lance wanted was to break Keith up from a fight right after Keith had been one to catch the snitch. 

This time, you would happily and personally punch Kaston himself. 

You’d been fighting with your teammates all year since Slughorn had named you captain at the start of sixth year. Things had never been particularly warm between you and your team, but you had always made it work the best you could. The other chasers eventually would give in and pass you the quaffle during a match to prevent losing. 

This year, it seemed that they didn’t mind losing at the expense of undermining everything you did. Half the team showed up on a given practice; those that did barely listened to you.

Your clothes had been stolen from your locker multiple times following a morning practice which made you have to return to your common room to shower, therefore were late to class. You’d received some broom handles to the ribs, quaffles to the head, and the occasional full on body slam. 

It didn’t matter that you were captain or that you had managed to get your team to win the cup, all you would ever be reduced to was your blood status; muggleborn. 

“What?” Kaston pouted, head cocking to the side. “Would’ve thought you’d be able to handle yourself.”

Stiffening, you barely let him finish, “You almost threw the match!”

 If you weren’t so pissed, you would be impressed at how you don’t back away, standing chest to chest and unrelenting in holding his eye. You were done being intimidated. “If you would've just played like you were supposed to, then I wouldn't have had to do your job out there."

"Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are," Elerin cut in, shooting you a pitiful look that made your face even redder. You were as good as you thought you were, maybe even better. You had spent the entire game scoring the most points and evading bludgers without assistance.

"Maybe you should back the hell off," Keith snapped. His shoulder bumped yours as he stepped forward, a reminder that you had backup from one of your best friends that had also been your only teammate to listen to you. 

You were quickly gaining the attention of the players on the field. One of those players was Lance, who sighed at the realization that resolve wasn’t going to magically appear. He shook his head in disappointment, tearing himself away from his own team, jogging towards the altercation. 

“What? Can’t fight your own battles?” Kaston smirked. “Gotta have the blood-traitor fight them for you?”

You didn’t miss a beat as you stepped into his space. “Want me to show you just how well I can fight my own battles?”

"Woah, woah, woah," Lance attempted to satiate as he approached. Given Keith’s more ‘hot-headed’ tendencies, Lance placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to snap him out of it. All Keith did was shake him off. 

You didn’t even pay attention, refusing to break under the leering look Kaston was ecstatic to give. Clearly he had been waiting for you to snap all year. 

"That so?" Kaston didn’t back down either as he leaned even closer, making sure you didn’t miss the amusement in his eyes as yours were set hard. It was a challenge. 

One you weren’t backing down from.

“Absolutely.”

You willed him to hit you. To lay one single finger on you which would let you punch that arrogant little look off of his pinched face. You didn't start fights, but you’d sure as hell finish this one.

"What's going on?"

"Kaston sucks at quidditch,” Keith chirped to Lance's question, making sure it didn’t fall on deaf ears. 

"Don’t forget that he's also an asshole," you spit back. Something lit up in Kaston’s eyes, something that would've seemed like excitement if it didn’t seem tinged with poison. It seemed as though everything had become more and more tinged with poison each ear. 

"You think you're better?" His friends snickered behind him as he barked out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. "Maybe you're not as good as you think. Maybe you're just a filthy little mudblood."

The word cut through the air. 

Your shock showed in the way your eyes widened a fraction of the inch and your face softened. You weren't the only one, most of the students that had moved closer to watch, seemed stunned at the bold use of the word. 

For six years war had plagued the wizarding world, the same year you began at Hogwarts. The peers that had been sorted the same day you had become more opinionated as they neared adulthood. Their parents' ideologies shaped their offspring's opinions to bring hatred towards muggles into the castle. 

People were getting bolder. It was one thing to hear ‘mudblood’ whispered behind your back, hissed in your ear from someone sitting behind you in class. 

This was… something just seemed to change right then and there. 

Kaston, seemingly satisfied at your reaction, straightened and you could no longer smell his sweat still clinging to his jersey. The blood rushing in your ears drowned out the sounds of the few whispers making it around the players, some of the lingering students in the stands taking note of the scene. 

Everyone would know about what happened within the day. 

Keith recovered first, stepping up so he was standing at your side. Yet again, Lance tried to cool him down with a hand on his shoulder. That was all he did, opting to keep his mouth shut because of his own blood status and not even you could blame him for that. Maybe you would’ve said something if you could have thought of anything to actually say. 

Just one thing, one word to pretend you didn’t feel like the bludger had successfully knocked you from your broom, sending you to land in a heap of crunched bones and flesh. That would’ve been less mortifying. 

Luckily, Coach Weaver shouted from where she was hurrying to break up a fight before it could begin. She had been the keeper for the Holyhead Harpies for years before retiring after a successful career, becoming Hogwarts’s current quidditch coach and professor. 

"Hey! Hey, what's going on here? Kaston and- Oi! Back it up. Both of you!"

Neither of you moved but it didn’t seem to matter when she was pushing both of you away from the other. You bumped into Keith, his hand wrapping around your upper arm to steady you. You didn’t forfeit the stare down. 

Alder nudged Kaston who stepped back. The smug smiles on both of their faces were enough to make you wish you had said fuck it and decked him right in the face anyway.

“I’m serious you two, deal with it after you’ve cooled down.” Glancing between you two, it was clear Madam Weaver chalked it up to being a petty fight about a play or a missed goal.

When it was clear that Kaston did not plan on leaving the pitch first, Lance tugged at Keith to move, which in turn, made him tug at you. You stayed rooted to the grass, wanting so badly to stand up for yourself or shove the asshole just so you could relieve some of the pressure of the emotions building in your chest. 

Instead, you begrudgingly let Keith pull you a few steps until your feet worked. You pushed past your friends, letting them hurry behind you towards the locker room. The feel of everyone's staring at the back of your head made your eyes sting with embarrassment. 

Yet again, you were humiliated by the very same people you had just carried to winning this years cup. 

Lance worriedly chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding directly making eye contact with either of you as you put away your things. His elbows rested on his knees in an attempt to keep himself from hanging his head. Everyone knew that it would only be a matter of time before something like this happened again, making him a target. 

"Such bullshit," Keith grunted as he yanked open the door to his locker. He was fuming, body all rigid and tense as he yanked his jersey off. Keith had plenty of his own problems that involved being a Slytherin blood traitor from a family openly in support of The Dark Lord which was why he spent his summers running away from foster homes. 

If you opened your mouth, you might've yelled. You kept it clamped shut and opted to shove you padding and broom away. It was easier to pretend you weren’t absolutely mortified at being called…that in front of everyone. To pretend that you were just pissed at spending the whole match playing a bludger target.

It might have worked too if James Potter wasn’t so... James Potter.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You found solace in the kitchens.

At least, you really truly hoped to. 

Your shower had been quick in an attempt to avoid bumping into any Slytherin girls. Actually, it had been in an attempt to avoid anyone. You’d managed to duck out of the common room, damp hair still soaking into the collar of your sweater, before Keith could intercept you. Of course you loved your friends with your whole heart, but you didn’t feel like pretending not to notice their wary glances checking on you the rest of the night. 

They would understand when you saw them tomorrow at breakfast. 

House elves had proved to be better company; after they dropped a mug of hot chocolate in front of you, they didn’t pay you much mind as they returned to cleaning up dishes from dinner. Eventually, you would have to leave if you wanted to continue to avoid students who came looking for a late night snack. 

You looked like the picture of defeat, ice pack pinched between your cheek and shoulder so you could prop your head in one hand. The other traced the wood of the table and occasionally pressed too harshly into the surface when a flash of Kaston, his smug face and leer, invaded your thoughts.

One more year. All you had to do was finish out the last month of sixth year, spend your summer at home with your family, and then finish out seventh year with your head down. 

James hovered in the doorway, debating whether or not his company would only exacerbate your foul mood. 

Here was the thing, you and James, while not exactly friends, did spend a significant amount of time around each other. 

The sixth year Gryffindor boys dorm was home to Remus, Sirius, Peter, James and Lance, one of your closest friends. Neither you, Lance, nor Keith were very fond of hanging out in the Slytherin common room (for obvious reasons). That made the Gryffindor common room, or sixth year Gryffindor boys dorm room, the frequent hangout spot. 

It was never uncommon for The Marauders to stumble in their room while you and Lance were sprawled on his bed, trying to finish the DADA homework without Keith’s help. The four boys usually came in tripping over themselves, exuding an air of nonchalance and laughing until they were breathless. You didn’t mind their company when they were at least able to keep things entertaining. 

You actually enjoyed Peter’s company when he asked to join you in the company, usually looking so stressed that you couldn’t not help him with his homework. He was good at drawing, doodling little pictures on the corners of his parchment and turning beet red when anyone complimented them. Occasionally you hated the way it seemed that Peter was always tagging along, trying to catch up with the others so he didn’t get left behind. You went out of your way to make him feel included when he was sitting near you in the dining hall even after you realized that he was just as much of a Marauder as the others. 

Remus was dryly funny, making times you were seated next to him for class much more entertaining. He was more reserved at first glance, seemingly more mature and above his friends' pranks when he was constantly instigating things to go one step further. While he was less likely to ask to sit next to you out of nowhere at the library, Remus could remember a comment you had made in passing weeks later and maintained scarily impressive eye contact. Three seconds later, he could also kick James’s chair out from under him at the last second without so much as turning his head. 

You found Sirius’s company less enjoyable but he did have redeemable moments. He was flirty, obnoxious, and a bit invasive, whether that be throwing an over your shoulder out of nowhere to lean his weight on you or take the butterbeer right out of your hand for a sip. There was the time in third year that Alder kept pulling your hair when he passed you in the halls. When Alder took a sip of his pumpkin juice one morning, screaming when his hair would not stop growing, you almost hadn’t noticed Sirius trying to meet your eye from across the room. When you did, he gave you a wink which you returned with a grateful smile, Alder tripping over his hair that dragged on the floor as he ran to the room. 

If James Potter was the sun, no one at Hogwarts could be deemed worthy of a comparison to the moon. 

That was it. James just glowed.

If he ate shit and wiped out, tumbling down an entire flight of stairs, he had the ability to laugh and make an onlooker embarrassed for witnessing it.

That had actually happened in fifth year.

You faltered at the top of the stairs, staring at the way he threw his head back and laughed. His glasses had still been askew on his face where he laid in a heap on the snow covered pavement. You had to blink a few times before scoffing out a laugh. The whole thing had been mesmerizing.

He’d been attempting to convince you to let him and the others into the Slytherin common room later that evening. You’d barely managed to turn him down after witnessing that. 

Normally, the two of you maintained a witty banter that bordered on bickering. Well, a better description would be you bickering with James for being annoying, while he easily turned the conversation into banter with his quick mouth and smooth talking. 

Your head raised at the sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor, watching him warily as he sunk into the seat with a grunt. It was a familiar sight, something he had done frequently when he had no one else to bother. “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order, I suppose you were right after all about demolishing my team this year.”

You raised an eyebrow which didn’t deter the cool look he wore. With an ease no one else seemed to possess, he shoved back his dark hair, even darker from his own shower and gorgeously messy. While red tended to be his signature collar, he looked stupidly good in navy blue, the sweater loose on his frame while still managing to show off his shoulders and strength. 

He flashed you a cheeky smile that seemed softer than usual, tentative in a way he normally wasn’t. It satiated you enough to relax and not be entirely on guard. 

“Thanks,” you sighed without any excitement. “Demolishing seems like a bit of an over exaggeration. You guys did good too.”

James's gaze softened as he took in the sight of you, the evidence of the game still present on your face in the little bruise on your cheek. You could’ve gone to Madam Pomfrey’s for bruise cream but the pain was a nice distraction for the squeezing feeling that had been occupying your chest since Keith caught the snitch. 

He shrugged, “Maybe… but I don’t think that’s the most pressing issue.” 

You didn’t bother to put any effort into your voice to seem convincing. “What issue? There’s no issue. We won. What could possibly be an issue?” 

You knew that he had seen it, been right there watching a few feet away with everyone else on the pitch. Even if he hadn’t been there, news of Kaston and what he called his own quidditch captain without shame had certainly circulated around the school by now. 

“Come on, I’m not that unaware,” he snorted, a finger pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Kaston was gunning for you all game. Nearly sent you into the dirt with how he was sending those bludgers your way on purpose.” A conflicted look crossed his face, studying you carefully as he tried to navigate the elephant in the room. “Or what he said after…”

Well.., he certainly had the subtlety of a erumpant. 

“Oh.” You sounded disinterested as you sank lower into your seat. “That issue.”

Of course you had known what he was talking about, you just didn’t want to talk about it. 

James raised a brow at your response, but didn't comment on your reluctance. He waited in silence, his gaze unwavering as you dropped the ice pack onto the table. His eyes raked over your form, taking in the mess of your hair, the slump of your shoulders, the disheartened look in your eyes. 

For once, he couldn't think of a witty jab or sarcastic comment to make.

So he didn't. Instead, he glanced at where he’d watched the bludger connect with your arm during the match. 

"How is your shoulder?"

Instead of answering right away, you just shrugged again, regretting it with a wince. You were certain that there was no break of your collarbone but purple had already begun blotching your skin when you inspected the area during your shower. 

“Normal match injuries I suppose.” After a long moment of quiet, you kind of felt like an ass for being so sullen. “No broken collar bone though.” 

You tried to smile at him for emphasis but gave up quickly when not even you found it to be remotely convincing. Fire crackled in the hearth, licking the cauldron that held the stock for tomorrow’s meal, making the entire room feel like a blanket. James could be much worse company at the moment considering it could have been Sirius- it could have been James and Sirius. 

Merlin, the pair of them together at this very moment would have driven you to serve detention every night for the next month until the school year ended. 

"No broken collar bone," he repeated, eyes brightening in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "You're lucky I'm not Madam Pomfrey, or you'd be spending the night in the infirm.”

Your attempt to hide your amusement was futile when you no longer were inadvertently scowling. You stared at him for as long as you could before smiling somberly. 

“Lance already checked it after the game,” you lied. “Just bruised and sore. Not much to do about it without a broken bone.” 

What had really taken the hit was your ego, splintering under the force of the word Kaston had spit at you. Quidditch had been everything to you the past five years, working your ass off each day to prove that you deserved the spot as captain of the Slytherin team. It wasn’t just about skill, which you clearly had, it was about leading, making plays and executing them; getting others to execute them. 

Each year, younger students replaced the older ones, shifting the ratio of those with mild prejudice regarding blood status with those that were extremists. 

Professor Slughorn had seen your determination and awarded you appropriately at the start of this year, the little pin you got to wear on the front of your jersey feeling like it took all of the weight off your chest. It just didn’t take long for the first practice to be a disaster which continued to snowball each day. 

His eyes found yours, and he gave you a hopeful look. "Well," he said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant, "I guess that means you'll be back out there in no time, ready to beat me once again."

The words made you wince; the idea of repeating your captain's experience is difficult to play off as you look away. 

“Maybe… I don’t know,” you shrugged as dismissively as you could manage given your injury. Your brows pinched together and you opted to fidget with the ice pack to look unbothered. “Maybe quidditch isn’t as for me as I’d thought.”

James nearly fell out of his chair with how quickly he sat up straighter. You stood, ignoring his usual flair for dramatics when his mouth hung open. A house elf appeared in your path, holding out their hand to collect the warming ice pak and scurrying away as you thanked them. 

"No way!" He exclaimed, unable to hide his shock and indignation at the idea of you no longer on the field. His hands braced the surface of the stable as he pushed himself from his chair, earning an eye roll from you.

“Might be good to just focus on classes next year, figure out life after Hogwarts.”

James’s narrowed eyes followed you when you collected your mug and brought it towards the sink. Something seemed to be working in your favor because no one stopped you, allowing you something to multitask with. 

He just followed, "Seriously? You don't mean that.”

“How do you know that I don’t?”

His eyes darkened, “Is this because of Kaston?”

“No,” you shot back, scowling as you dumped the drink out, letting the remnant of chocolate that hadn’t quite dissolved slowly drip out. Looking at that was a lot easier than looking at him directly. A part of you was certain that the lie was obvious on your face and you opted to keep your back to him. 

“It’s not just about him.”

His expression softened, matching the new defeated tone of your voice. 

All of Hogwarts loved James Potter,  most of all his Gryffindor house and his adoring team.. Not only did they listen to him as their captain, but they wanted to be victorious together rather than simply win.

It wasn’t fair. There was nothing fair about any of it. You didn’t mean to resent him but it was inevitable anyways. His obnoxious pranks, obnoxious friends, and obnoxious personality still made him loved; not even you could truly hate him when he was so stupidly bright like the sun. 

You were probably nicer, certainly much less distracting but anyone who saw the green tie was still wary after six years of classes together. So maybe you were destined to not fit in anywhere here, neither in your house or out of your house, but rather in the space you and your two friends had made. 

Maybe you had come to terms with the fact that your spot as captain had been injudicious on Slughorn's part.

He approached you slowly, well aware of his chronic habit of putting his foot in his mouth.

"Well, who cares what they think?” He urged with confidence that came as naturally as breathing. "You shouldn't care what they think of you. What does it matter if they don't like you? You're good at what you do. You've done well, you've won a lot, and you've led the team. Why give that up over something petty like what they think of you?”

You didn’t respond, facing forward and setting the mug into the sink. His optimism was tangible, nearly suffocating. You gripped the edge of the counter in frustration. 

“Who cares what your team thinks of you when you’re the one leading them to the win?”

“I care, okay? I care what they think of me!”

The admission snapped out before you could stop it, whipping around with a throw of your hands in the air. You press your lips tightly together to keep you from speaking anymore deep, dark insecurities into the heated air of the kitchen. 

James seemed caught off guard, his conviction faltering enough that he isn’t quite sure what to say. His empathetic look started to feel more like pity, making the pressure in your chest grow sharp shards that were difficult to swallow around. 

You shook your head and scuffed the toe of you shoe on the stone. “No one listens to me. No one gives me credit for the wins but they make sure it’s clear that that it’s entirely my fault if we lose. I spent half of today’s match dodging bludgers because my own teammate was trying to send me plummeting fifty feet into the ground.”

Hearing it out loud hurts more than you thought it would.

Being angry was better than being fearful, something that you were more and more each year. The war raged on, muggleborns and their families vanished, and opinions were more vocalized in the walls of Hogwarts. Chalking the whole thing up to Kaston just being an asshole rather than an asshole with a powerful family with strong ideologies about blood purity and the ability to do something about it, that was easier to stomach. 

For a moment, you leaned back against the counter, picking at the edge and letting your confession hang there. He watched you carefully, eyes wide and concerned beneath the frames of his glasses. He wanted to get it, to under stand; he really did but, how is a boy that grew up a Potter supposed to understand anything of what it means not to have everything. 

Without the egregious inheritance he sat on, privilege was in his blood. 

Both literally and metaphorically. 

Adrenaline and privilege pumped through his veins each time he played a prank on someone like Snape. It was as vital to who he was as magic or his last name, acting like a shield that kept anyone revenge on the mild side. If you or Lance would have played a prank like James and his friends then it would be your names in the paper, followed by the names of your family members and the word missing. 

James got to keep his head held high because he didn’t have to continuously look over his shoulder. 

Hesitantly, he stepped closer, ducking his head in a desperate attempt to catch your eye. “I… I didn’t know it was that bad.”

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to scoff or roll your eyes. If you tried, you knew the sound would crack on the way out of your mouth just at the feel of your eyes burning. So instead you just shrugged so you could have a moment to collect yourself. 

Crying in front of James Potter? You would never live that down. 

“It’s just the way things are right now.” The way things were sucked. As you ran a hand down your face, your thumb brushed against the  bruise on your cheek and reminded you all over again about how shitty of a day you’d had. 

James had never been particularly good with words in these kinds of situations, so he went with his next best idea.

In hopes to console you, he stepped forward again, ignoring how you stiffened when his arms wrapped around you.

There was a timidness in the way his head settled on yours, his muscles all stiff as he held his breath. Your first instinct would have been to shove him off if you weren’t so gob smacked. 

You opened your mouth to scoff, fingers twitching at your sides to shove him off because this was so weird, but you couldn’t seem to do either. Maybe that was why you’d truly been avoiding Keith and Lance the past few hours. That the feeling cracking around in your chest has become so convoluted so you could pretend it was not the urge to cry.

And you knew that you really couldn’t control it as you gripped the bottom on his sweater. Your face pressed into the fabric of his sweater, the softness of the material a subtle reminder that it likely cost a ridiculous amount even as your tears soaked in. 

As you leaned into his embrace, James felt a wave of surprise wash over him. He relaxed first, the tension slipping as he readjusted his hold on you. Part of you expected him to crack a joke but you were glad that he didn’t because you didn’t think you’d manage to make yourself laugh. Your shoulders didn’t heave, you didn’t let out loud sobs against his chest or collapse in his arms because you didn't quite have that in you.

This was just... a moment of succumbing to the weight of everything that had been occurring since you received your Hogwarts acceptance letter in the mail years ago.  

The two of you stayed like that.

Time passed as house elves paid you little to no attention, moving around you to continue prepping meals for tomorrow and clean the kitchens for the day. If you had told yourself that golden boy James Potter would ever be the one to comfort you, you would have laughed so hard butterbeer could have come out your nose. 

It wasn’t so bad in the moment, working the tangle of emotions out of you and releasing some of the pressure. All you knew was that you felt a little better. Not great, but it was something. You wished you could’ve placed why a silly hug from a boy that you barely considered a friend did the trick. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, the sound watery in your throat as you pulled away first, using the sleeve of your sweater to swipe at your eyes. You hoped that you could dismiss the moment as his hands seemed to hesitate between falling to his sides. Smoothing your hair, you hoped it made you look more put together; or maybe your fingers just itched for anything to do. 

“Sorry. Normally I’m…”

‘More collected? Too clever to be crying to a pretty boy in the kitchens? A bit more off putting to others?’

You settled on, “Thanks, I, uh… appreciate it, Potter.”

A faint smile appeared with the relief that you at least seemed a bit better, making him brighten with pride at what he had managed to accomplish. 

“Yeah, yeah,” James teased, “you’re a real badass that never cries.” 

James managed to convince you to leave the kitchens eventually. The afternoon had trickled away to evening while you’d been hiding, darkness pressing against the glass of the windows. Straggles filled the halls, most students already beginning their Saturday evening plans. Some would be attending the celebratory party in the Slytherin common room or opting to drink in the Ravenclaw dorms instead. 

At least you knew the mood in the Gryffindor common room would align with your own, wallowing in their loss of this year's cup and you wallowing in your own self pity. 

“You nearly took my head off with the quaffle-”

“Oh please, I absolutely did not.”

“-did a corkscrew and just whipped it at the goal, didn’t even care if you killed me. There would be hell to pay.”

“Such a drama queen.”

James placed a hand to his chest, mouth hanging open comically in offense. “There would be an uprising. I am Hogwarts’s sweetheart, you know that right?”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled to yourself as you kept instep with him. He seemed oblivious to the occasional glances sent your way, thankfully not malicious but  just as embarrassing at the reminder that clearly news had spread quickly. You’d be getting curious looks for the next few days until the buzz died down. 

“You, James Potter, are something alright.”

story page here

[sweetbillwriting]

Way Out of Line

TEN

Character: Keith Toshko from Barbarian (2022) played by Bill Skarsgård.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

Two Months Later…

Farah stood with her arm around me in the line to check into the hotel in Paris. It was a modest hotel because it was paid for by the university and shouldn't be a too expensive trip. It was organized by the French department, and Farah and I had read the course in French architecture. She knew some French, while I knew it almost as well as English. 

She hugged me because of the tall guy standing in front of us. He wasn't alike Keith at all, more in his height and body shape, but it was still enough for me to feel a stab in my stomach. Farah, who now knew everything about my relationship with him, saw my reaction at once and gave me a comforting side hug. We smiled a little sadly towards each other, and silently I wished to find some sort of distraction from my grief. What I didn't know was that it was on its way over to me just at that moment. 

Ludwig read the course with us, and I had noticed his eyes linger on me many times. Actually, I had seen his other two friends' eyes had done the same thing when we all read the course a year ago. It was uncomfortable and odd to have three boys looking at me like that, and I had chosen to ignore them all; it was easiest that way, but now Ludwig came up to me alone with a big smile, and with boyish charm he said hello. 

Farah said hello back for me when she noticed me looking down at the ground awkwardly. He reminded me of my ex, Tim, and I didn't know if I liked it or not. I couldn't put my finger on what made me think about Tim, but it was something with his way of moving his lips when he talked and the wrinkle between his eyebrows. He wasn't like Keith at all; maybe some guys could look like him from behind, but his face was too beautiful to even compare with someone else. My heart did a sigh before I gave Ludwig my full attention. 

“I kind of had a feeling you would be here,” Ludwig said to me with a little smirk and crossed his arms. 

“Really?” I tried to smile my sweetest smile but swallowed hard when I felt my cheeks ache. 

“Yeah, you've always seemed good at… culture.” Ludwig laughed, embarrassed. Farah looked at us a bit amused and gave me a sign with a finger that she would go up to the reception to get our key to the room. I gave her a fast smile but then turned to Ludwig again, even if I had felt better with Farah by my side. 

“Maybe we can have a coffee tomorrow or something? After that tour?” 

For a short second I tried to imagine myself kissing him, him sleeping in my bed, and even having him between my legs. It wasn't easy. If Ludwig knew what guy I had been with a couple months ago, he would probably even understand me. 

“Sure, sure…” Awkwardly, I nodded a bit too many times and gave him a small smile. My uncomfortable ways could be interpreted as blushing interest, so Ludwig just smiled like he had won the lottery. 

“Can I get your number? Then we can decide something?” 

I licked my lips while he pulled up his phone and gave it to me. My heart wanted me to write the wrong number, but I let my head decide this time and gave Ludwig the right one. He was cute, seemed like a good guy, and was in my own age. It was a smart move in my attempt to get over Keith. 

××× 

“Maybe you just need another dick?” Said Farah when we were in our room. She smirked when she saw me cringe. She really liked making me embarrassed, and even if Keith taught me some things, I was still uncomfortable talking so casually about sex. I shrugged my shoulders. 

“Okay, Ludwig is probably not as big—” 

“Farah.” 

I looked at her seriously. I didn't want to talk about Keith. Especially not in that way. It was an old chapter. 

“Sorry,” she said regretfully and made an uncomfortable grimace. 

“I'll have that coffee with Ludwig, not as something serious but to get someone else to… think about.” 

Farah nodded while we put up our clothes in the wardrobe. 

I was unsure I would find someone else to think about. And Ludwig? He played ice hockey and had too much product in his blonde hair. I had gotten used to a musician, a creative, with that perfectly messy, slicked-back hair and a stubbly top lip. Many times during my months without him, I had thought about calling him, telling him everything my mom had said about him, and forcing him to deny it all, but I didn't have anything to win on that. I wouldn't be able to be with him anyway because then my mom would tell his wife about our relationship. I had asked my dad carefully about Keith's divorce a couple of times when my mom didn't hear and knew it wasn't solved yet. It had just become uglier when his wife searched everywhere for a mistress or hidden assets. If my mom just said even one little thing to her, it would affect Keith immensely. My dad had told me his cousins would force him to sell his part of the company to them so his wife could just take his money. It was suddenly obvious Keith was an only child and the others were his cousins, not seeing him as important as each other. Even if everything about him my mom had told me about him was a lie, it would never happen. Never ever. 

“Hello? Are you listening?” Said Farah, shaking my arm lightly. I had gotten stuck with a floral dress between my fingers, thinking about Keith. I looked up at her, not realizing how sad I looked because she sighed sadly and gave me a hug. 

“I'm sure you will find a great guy. Give Ludwig a chance. He might surprise you.”

××× 

I listened to Ludwig talking about his architectural studies. Opposite of me, he actually studied to become something, not just attend loose subjects. In front of me lay a big bouquet with pink roses. It was sweet of him to actually make an effort and had softened me a bit. 

“But what do you want to do after college?” He asked with a bright smile and took a sip of his coffee au lait. We sat in one of Paris' many cafes’ outdoor seatings with the sun in our eyes and a light breeze playing with our hair. Ludwig didn't move though, while my long hair flew in waves around my shoulders and chest. I could see Ludwig look at me dreamingly when my hair moved sensually around me. 

“Ehm… I think, translator?” 

“Oh, but the drama? I thought you would be an actress?” 

Once again I could hear Keith's voice from my chest; this time it was every time he had called me an actress. He said playfully, like he wanted to make me blush, but there wasn't anything surprising in that; he always wanted to make me blush. 

“Jaqueline?” 

“Hm?” I looked at Ludwig, confused, until I realized I was the one who hadn't answered him. 

“Oh… I don't know. It's hard work, and it demands a lot from you. I don't know.” I shrugged my shoulders. I hadn't thought about my eventual career much the last time. Ludwig still smiled at me even if I was the worst date. I smiled back at him and looked into his blue eyes. He felt like a genuinely good guy. 

“Can't we take a walk?” I asked and took my small white handbag that stood on the picnic table. I smiled sweetly at him, and he nodded eagerly. It was obvious he liked me more than I liked him. 

We walked through Paris' dreamy small alleys and big squares and looked at gorgeous buildings and sculptures. We talked lightly about everything, and I could see how people looked at us with a smile. We looked like the perfect young, middle-class couple, and when for the sixth or seventh time it happened, I took his hand in mine. A big smile spread on his face, and I smiled back. It wasn't hard at all to do such a thing with him. Not at all like with Keith, where I had been nervous and blushy just to look him in the eyes. It was just as easy to kiss Ludwig in the hotel lobby before saying goodbye to him. I wondered if maybe Keith had made me more brave by challenging me sexually or if this was how it should be. If everything with Keith was unhealthy and weird. Maybe I shouldn't have felt such intense feelings around him.

The only thing I knew was that I had actually liked kissing Ludwig and looked forward to seeing him again. 

××× 

It was a bit hard for us to have somewhere to be alone. I shared a room with Farah while Ludwig shared his with his friend Dan. After a week of seeing each other in public, the natural step was to see each other alone. I couldn't say that I looked forward to having more privacy with him. It felt more like a thing I needed to get over. Even sex felt like such a thing. Farah probably was right in that I needed to sleep with someone else to get over Keith, so she and I had created a plan for me, and sleeping with Ludwig was the goal for the week. That's why she also accepted to live with two other girls for a night so Ludwig could mount me. Her only demand was that I would make the hotel staff change the sheets after. 

Ludwig and I lay close together on top of the sheets with our clothes on. We had shared some innocent kisses while his hand lay awkwardly on my shoulder like he didn't dare to touch me anywhere else. I tried to not think about Keith, but it was hard when I knew how good kisses could feel and how his hands had moved confidently and caressed my skin. He didn't have a problem holding my cheeks while he kissed me deep, dragging his fingers sensually over my back or even spanking my ass so it burned. I tried to remember that Keith was seventeen years older than Ludwig and probably quite much more experienced, but it wasn't worth much when I could feel Ludwig's hand move like a dead fish over my naked thigh. When I gave his hand a look, he interpreted it as me being offended and pulled it away, but I was frustrated. I wanted to sleep with a guy who would make me forget Keith, but it would be impossible with someone as awkward and nervous as Ludwig. I needed a man who could take control, own my body, and call me baby girl. Still, I continued to kiss Ludwig and hoped he would take the next step. With sweaty fingers he opened the zipper on the back of my lilac dress but then let me push it down so he could see my naked chest. He stared at my breasts a long time before he laid a hand over one. It really felt like I was with Tim again, just that I wasn't nervous now. 

“Can I turn the light off?” I asked, sounding bored. I didn’t mean to, but I didn't really care either. He was a guy; he would sleep with me anyway, and I knew then that it was the only thing I wanted from him. I needed someone older. This was just embarrassing. The blind leading the blind. I needed a man. 

“Sure, okay,” said Ludwig after a pause, but he also sounded relieved. Clearly, he didn't like to be observed either. 

His kisses were too wet, too much tongue. His touch was fumbling and without purpose. His body was… I knew his body actually was good. He wasn't that short; he was fit, and he smelled of minty soap, but it was still wrong. Everything was wrong. 

He didn't even try to keep himself up a bit when he lay on top of me. He just lay there, like a toad, with his whole weight pushing me down on the mattress. He didn't get why I moved uncomfortably under him. I did because he had locked my hips under him in a painful position. It was just too much. 

“Stop! Just… move!” I said angrily and pushed him. Ludwig moved but looked a bit irritated. His erection strained against his white boxers. Even there he couldn't compare with Keith. I covered myself with the cover and looked at him apologetically, mostly because it felt like I should when he looked so irritated. 

“Can't we just sleep?” I asked with a small voice. That voice would have always worked on Keith, always making me get what I wanted from him, but Ludwig wasn't as impressed. He sighed, irritated, and stood up, like I had promised him my body. Even if I felt offended when he dressed, humiliated that he didn't want to stay if he didn't get sex, I tried to remember that he was young. He might never even have had a serious sexual relationship at all. Never understanding sex was more than just penetration. I needed to feel something more; I knew that now. 

Ludwig took his phone from the nightstand and gave me a shoulder shrug. 

“Maybe we can see each other tomorrow?” 

I nodded even if I knew I didn't want that. It was already destroyed. 

He walked out from my hotel room and closed the door carefully. At the exact same time he closed it, my phone screen lit up, like the sound woke it up. I looked at it expecting a message from Farah, but instead it was the number I had seen in my head over and over for two months. 

The number ending at 78. Keith's. 

××× 

I miss you so much. I don't know how to survive anymore. 

His message said it all. It said everything he needed to say. I didn't really need more to know what he felt. My chest glowed with both warm feelings and anxiety. I wanted him so badly; I wanted him to pour all those feelings on me, but believing his feelings was not the hard bit. The hard bit was everything around us. Whatever I wanted it to be, it was an affair, and his divorce seemed to be as messy as a soap opera. My mom, threatening to expose us. His porn addiction, the question of if he would get tired of me when I couldn’t please his fetish anymore, or when a woman more like him would strut into his life.

But here were his feelings. Black on white. Nothing complicated. He wouldn't write that if it weren't what he felt. Then he would have let it be, found another young girl, maybe even younger. 

A new message landed on my screen from the same number. 

I love you. 

-

I love you too. 

I loved him with my whole heart. I didn't care about the other things. I could be his mistress for the rest of my life. He didn't just own my body but also my heart. 

×××

Both of us giggled into the phone. Heavy tears run down my blushing cheeks. I wasn’t sure if he cried, but it actually sounded like that; I could hear him snort with his nose. 

“But Paris? Shit, I thought it would be easy for me to meet you up and catch you in my arms forever!” 

I giggled again at his cheesy comment, but I loved it. 

“Then I would lock you into the basement. I have a little creepy room down there.” 

As I laughed I asked if he had his own place now. 

“Yeah, I got the house back. For now it seems like I will win this. May will get a sum…” 

He sounded a bit uncomfortable talking about his divorce, so I decided to leave May in the dark. 

“And the house has a creepy basement?” 

Keith laughed. 

“Yeah, total Fritzl feeling!” 

“Keith! That's not funny!” But still I laughed. 

“Okay, okay… But when will you get home? Can I come get you at the airport? You can stay with me for a while?” 

For a short second I saw my mom sitting on the sundeck in her puffer jacket, and I thought about her threat. 

“It's two more weeks.” 

“Two weeks? What the fuck… Paris isn't that nice,” he said with humor but then sighed. 

“I'm sorry…” 

I felt stupid for being in Paris, even if I hadn't promised him anything, but could also feel my own heart sigh. I needed him now. 

“Can I come?” He asked after a moment of silence. 

“Hm?” 

“Can I come to Paris?” 

I was quiet, not because I didn't want him there, but because I was stunned he actually said that. 

“But… can you?” I asked because it was a lot to take in. No one could just come to Paris like that. 

“I’ll take the jet.” 

“The jet?” I didn't understand the word because no one had actually used that word seriously with me before. 

“It's not mine; it's my cousin's, but he probably just wants me to go away anyway,” he joked, but I still didn't understand. 

“The jet?” 

“Yeah,” Keith laughed. “A private plane.” Now I laughed too because I understood what he meant. 

“You're insane!” 

“Yeah, totally. But fuck it, Paris is just some hours away. Can I come?” 

In my happiness I kicked my legs and made a little scream. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” 

Keith laughed.

“Oh fuck, I've missed those sounds…” 

××× 

Farah was dressed in an oversize hoodie I suspected was her father's with baby blue pajama pants, while I was dressed in a matching Snoopy pajama with short shorts under my white coat. We stood alone in the elevator after I had gone to get her in our friend's room. There wasn't any reason for her to stay there when Ludwig left, but I also desperately needed to talk with someone. Keith was on his way, already packing so he could be with me the next night. 

“What happened? Did he come too fast or something?” Farah asked with a smirk. I just thought about Keith and didn't understand at all until I realized she was talking about Ludwig. 

“Oh. Yeah, he got kinda irritated because I didn't feel like sleeping with him.” I said it bluntly, but Farah made a face with big eyes. 

“I didn't think he was that guy! But I thought you wanted to sleep with him?” 

“No, it didn't feel good at the moment. But that isn’t what I wanted to talk about.” 

“Okay?” The elevator door opened while Farah waited for an answer, so I held the suspense until we were in our room again. The sheets weren't changed, but Farah didn't say anything about it. She continued to look at me confused, especially when my face broke out in a big smile and I covered glowing cheeks with my hands. 

“Jaqueline? Come on! Talk!” She said it a bit annoyed, even if she smiled because I did. 

“Keith is coming…!” I whispered, but in such an excited way it could just as easily have been a scream. 

“Here? To Paris?” Farah looked confused and sat down on the bed, even if I had shared it with Ludwig just hours ago. 

“Yes! He’s taking his cousin's jet plane and will be here as soon as he can!” I almost jumped up and down, too high on my emotions to see Farah’s smile fall. She didn't look amused at all. 

“Is that the reason you didn't give Ludwig a chance?” 

“No, no. Keith messaged me after. It was damn luck I didn't sleep with Ludwig before Keith came here. I would have died of a bad conscience!” I sat down by my suitcase, where my lingerie was still lying, and looked through to see if I had brought something cute to wear when I would meet Keith again; otherwise, I needed to do an emergency visit to Agent Provocateur the next day. 

“Why,” Farah scoffed. “He had probably slept with several during this time.” 

I looked up at her hurt where she sat with crossed arms. 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Don't be so fucking naive, Jaqueline! He slept with you, his friend's daughter! Of course he has slept with others. I'm sorry, but you said it yourself. He likes younger women; he has a fucking daddy kink; he likes licking your ass-” 

“Stop!” I stood up with angry tears in my eyes. “I told you that in confidence! Not as something you should throw in my face later!” 

Farah sighed and dragged her hands through her hair. 

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry, but… Christ, Jacqueline, he's like forty years old. He's a porn addict. He will hurt you. Maybe he's here because he believes he has feelings for you, but I think he's just here to finish what he started. A dildo and lube? He's using you for sex, and now he wants to give it to you in the ass! Men aren't more complex than that.” 

I wiped away my tears while I shook my head. 

“He has feelings for me…”

Farah looked at me with pity, then she crawled down on her side of the bed. 

“I haven't changed the sheets, you know…” I said, continuing to wipe away tears. 

“I'm too tired to care. Come to bed now. I'm sorry for being so honest… I might be wrong, okay?” she said, giving me a sympathetic look. I sighed and wiped away the tears again but then crawled down next to her and turned the light off. 

“He loves me,” I said after a while in silence and the darkness surrounding us. 

“If you say so, Bunny.” 

×××  

I could feel Ludwig's eyes on me when Farah and I sat together with some of our other friends eating breakfast in the hotel's big dining area. Me and Farah hadn't said much to each other that morning, even if I texted with Keith and wanted someone to talk about it all with. I really wanted her opinions, as long as they weren't too harsh, but I could also see it was hard to know where the line was, especially if she doubted Keith's sincerity. 

Keith had sent me several sweet messages: how much he looked forward to seeing me, that he missed me, and what we would do when he had arrived in Paris. He hadn't written anything dirty at all, and I wanted to tell Farah that, but something told me she wasn't interested in knowing. Instead, it was she who waved to Ludwig and made him come over to us. I looked at her angrily while she gave my hand a pat. 

“Give him a chance,” she whispered. I swallowed hard before I said hello to Ludwig, who stood at the end of the table where Farah and I sat on each side. He looked handsome in a lilac button down shirt, similar in color to the dress I wore the day before, and a pair of beige chinos. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” He asked after our awkward hellos. I had the plan to make myself ready for Keith's arrival the whole day: fix my nails, style my hair, buy some new panties, shave every part of me, and plan every outfit.

“No,” said Farah, and I gave her a look because I thought she would get that I would want to prepare for Keith. 

“Will you go on the tour about the restoration of Notre Dame?” He asked, looking at me. I looked at him with split feelings. I really wanted to go on that tour, and it was the one tour I had looked forward to the most, but I also cringed at the thought of not being baby smooth under Keith's hands. 

“Oh, was that today? I've really looked forward to that one!” Farah looked towards me because she knew I had too. 

“Nice, so you will go?” Ludwig directed the question mostly to me even if the answers came from Farah. 

“Totally! Right, Jaqueline?” Farah looked at me with a bright smile, just like Ludwig did. I looked at them both with a strained smile. 

“I don't know; I have some things to do…” 

I met Ludwig's disappointed eyes, but he smiled and nodded in a polite way. I could feel that Farah looked at me in another way, but I didn't even turn to look at her; I didn't have the need to see her tired eyes. 

××× 

I was nervous. Stupidly, insanely nervous. The clock was 8 pm, and I waited for Keith outside of our little hotel in the rougher part of Paris. I could see people, especially men, look at me where I stood in my thin white dress and golden heels. I normally didn't use heels because I couldn't walk in them for a long time, but going in and out of the elevator wasn't a problem. I had fixed myself to perfection and done my eye make-up darker and more smoky than he was used to now that my mom wasn't around. I felt pretty, sexy even, and so ready to see my prince charming again. Even if he wasn't the typical prince charming. In a Disney movie he would probably get the role as the villain more than the prince, but it was also what I liked about him. He wasn't as bland as Ludwig; he had something darker over him that breathed of sex and mischief. 

I saw the taxi car coming towards me and stopped in front of me. I held my breath in waiting for him to climb out of the taxi. When he opened the door and climbed out on long denim-dressed legs, I realized it was the same old Keith I was used to. I didn't know what I had expected, but I breathed out in relief, and in pure luck I threw myself around his neck. Keith. Keith Toshko. My Keith. My D… Yeah, you know what I called him. I wouldn't stop using that nickname because it was imprinted in my brain in ink. 

Keith laughed and lifted me from the ground, so I laughed too. 

“Aw, baby, baby girl… Baby…” He said lowly and put me down on the ground so he could take my face in his hands and look me deep in the eyes. “Fuck, honey… I've missed you so much.” 

I giggled with a blush and stood up on my toes to show him I wanted to kiss. He gave me just what I wanted, that sort of kiss Ludwig would never be able to give me. It was soft but deep. Determined but sweet. A perfect kiss in the City of Love. I looked at him with big eyes and laid my cheek in his hand like I wanted to lay there for the rest of my life. 

“I love you so much…” I whispered and kissed his palm. Keith smiled warmly, and I could see a light shine in his eyes that made my own eyes tear up even more than his. 

“I love you too, Jaqueline… And I'm sorry if I ever made you doubt that…” 

Keith looked down at the ground, and I could see that my big man might break down in tears. I didn't want him to feel sadness or remorse at that moment, so to stop him from crying, I stood up on my toes so I could kiss his beautiful face over and over until he laughed at my silly behavior. 

We didn't notice the taxi driver putting down Keith's luggage next to us or that he asked for payment over and over from Keith. He needed to give Keith a clap on the shoulder for us to stop laughing together. Both of us looked at the chauffeur, and in French he asked for payment. Keith looked confused, and was ready to say something to him in English, but I took over, even pulling up Keith's wallet from his back pocket so he would pay him quickly and easily. Keith smirked at me when I dug in his wallet, but I tried to conceal my smile, wanting to play cool. When we finally were alone, I stretched out my hand with his wallet. 

“Oh, you can put it down where you found it,” said he with a smirk, and with a similar face, I laid my arms around his waist and then stretched down my hand with the wallet to his jeans pocket. While standing so close to him, Keith took the moment to lay his arms around me, then lift me up so my dress probably rode up and gave the drivers of Paris more to see than they had expected. I just laughed and laid my hands on Keith's smooth cheeks. 

“I caught you now. And I will never let you go,” said he with a playful voice.

×

[erithel]

Hi Erithel,

I’m the girl who wrote to you some time ago, wishing you well after your burnout and everything. I took your advice to heart and decided to try being an artist—or at least give it a go.

Today is a really special day for me, and I’m so excited because it feels like the start of a new era: I just drew my very first klance fanart!

I’m super proud of it. I know it’s a really simple drawing, and I realized Ketih's scar is on the wrong side—it should be on the other one—but I think that also shows how much I love this ship and how much I admire all the people who create art.

It means a lot to me because you were the one who encouraged me to try becoming an artist, and I listened to you.

So, without further ado, here’s my little klance illustration. I really hope you like it!

Sending lots of love from a tiny fan. 🩷🩷

This was so nice to read!

I'm so glad you decided to take this step, and moreover that you are proud of your work! You absolutely should be. This piece is adorable and sweet and tender. And it looks like you used traditional mediums (paint? markers?), which is so much fun!!

And don't worry about Keith's scar. I feel like every artist has done something like that. It's a rite of passage to only notice a "mistake" after you've completed something lol I once made a full comic ("Date") with Lance's jacket drawn incorrectly.

Thank you so, so much for sharing this! I hope this will be the beginning of a path that will bring you little joys and pride in yourself and your work. :)

And seriously, I genuinely like the art. I'm not just saying that to be nice. :) Thank you for sharing!

[lovebugism]

for your fall prompts! what about “why are your hands so cold?” with the love of my life, steve harrington?

autumn, my love! ty for requesting! i hope you like it!! — steve makes fun of your cold hands but only as an excuse to hold them (mutual pining, friends to lovers, 2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Family Video always smells like Robin’s morning coffee, crisp autumn air, and warm nostalgia this time of year. It’s quiet and homey and liminal — as orange as early autumn itself. 

The empty store is filled with the sound of your rushed scribbling as you jot down a load of cursive nothingness in your journal. Your hand smears the wet ink across the page. It stains the paper as much as the side of your wrist. 

Your other hand is curled into a fist to prop up your lolling head. Expelling your racing thoughts into the leather-back book is the only thing keeping you awake.

The stale air glows suddenly with a newfound life when a cozier, more familiar scent engulfs you — like pine, musk, and vanilla. You feel Steve’s visceral warmth surrounding you. Before you can blush about the unexpected proximity, he snatches your journal out from under you.

“Hey!” you shout before you mean to, perhaps the loudest he’s ever heard you.

“What’s this?” this beautiful boy muses, honey eyes sparkling. The dull store blooms with its radiance. You can’t believe he’s looking at you with it and with his rosy, lopsided grin.

“Give it back,” you demand, quieter now and smiling wider.

Steve meets your playfully arched brow with a sunny grin. He thumbs through your journal with golden hands from a leftover summer tan. His biceps are all but bursting from his vest and too-tight polo.

“Keith said you’re not allowed to write in your diary on the clock, you know?” he reminds with a feigned seriousness, scrunching his nose when his twinkling eyes flit back to yours.

Keith did actually say that. A few days ago now. He also said he’d dock your pay if he caught you doing it again, the absolute asshole.

“It’s not a diary!” you argue with a beam on your face.

You briefly wonder if you’re smiling a little too wide, and the fleeting thought makes the bright expression flicker. 

You cross your arms over your chest and pretend to be more serious. Something about Steve stirs a deep sensuality in you, though — like a wolf innately drawn to a full moon. The corners of your lips quirk with an emotion you couldn’t conceal if you tried.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he singsongs with raised brows. 

Strands of honey hair hang over his wrinkled forehead when he turns to the book in his hands. He swipes his fingers through them to push them back again, but they fall into place a second later.

You’re too enamored by the boy in front of you to stop him when he starts flipping through your notebook. You know he knows it isn’t a diary. You also know he wouldn’t be going through it if it were. He’s too nice for that. Too sweet on you, anyway.

He finds a random page and lingers there. His eyes flit over every inch of the ink you’ve scribbled inside — miscellaneous lists, doodles, and song lyrics. He figures it must be the music you’re humming all the time, tunes you can’t get out of your head.

Every time I see you, all the rays of the sun are streaming through the waves of your hair, the words read in clumsy cursive. And every star in the sky is taking aim at your eyes like a spotlight. The beating of my heart is a drum, and it’s lost, and it’s looking for a rhythm like you—

Steve’s heart flutters. He feels like a kid again. His stomach swirls with the thought that you might’ve been thinking about him in between the lyrics. It’s as unlikely as it is childish. He knows this, so he frowns.

“Oh,” he monotones playfully, brows pinching and lips jutting. “That’s boring.”

“Exactly. So give it back—” You reach for the book, but Steve’s too quick. He jerks it out of your reach and leaves your hand grabbing at air.

“Ooh, sorry, sunshine,” Steve lilts. “Looks like you’re not tall enough for this ride.”

Your cheeks speckle with heat. You wonder if he’s flirting or if he’s just being friendly, and you’re too in love to know the difference. Your terribly hidden smile is wide and impossibly giddy, anyway.

“Steve,” you bite, though it comes out much happier than you intended it to. “Give it back.”

He purses his lips to the side and furrows his brows. “Hmm… No.”

Your smile broadens, and your eyes widen at his blatant defiance. You giggle like a child as you walk the short distance towards him. “Give it back,” you laugh and stand on the tips of your toes in front of him. 

He chuckles boyishly in return and lifts it further out of your reach.

You jump slightly off the ground to grab it. You fail the first time and try harder the second. You just narrowly miss it. The tips of your fingers brush his wrist as your torso presses too intently against his ribcage. 

Your chest scrapes his vest and jostles his Hi, I’m Steve name tag. You stumble back in mortification. 

With a red-hot face and a gaping gaze, you try to stammer out an apology. Nothing comes out. Your mouth opens and shuts like a fish as you pull the hem of your sweater down from where it had ridden up.

Steve has his own look of bewilderment. His honey eyes are aglow with something short of amusement. You’re briefly worried he’s about to mock you until he starts to laugh. “Why are your hands so cold?” he wonders with squinted eyes.

Your stutter hasn’t quite left you. “I— I don’t know. My hands are always cold.” 

You curl your fists into the sleeves of your sweater on instinct. If only to hide how they shake for him.

“But that’s like… ice cold,” Steve insists, crooked smile widening. “Like, we live in Antarctica cold.”

Less embarrassed and more playful, you roll your eyes and turn away from him. “Okay…” you mumble under your breath as you sit back down in your chair. Steve can’t stand you being too far away, so he follows you.

“Like, you just got done shoveling snow with your bare hands cold. Like—”

“I get it, Steve. I’m a freak of nature,” you concede, spinning in your swivel chair to face him again. 

He’s much closer than you expect him to be. His long legs are all but inches from your knees as he stands before you. You flush but smirk up at him in attempts to keep cool about how fervently he makes you tremble.

“I’m just teasing,” he assures with a pretty laugh.

You already knew that, though. He’s too kind to be mean. He’s a dumbass sometimes, but he always means well.

“Here, look,” he starts, laying your journal back on the counter with a quiet thud. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

Your brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

You find out a second later when he turns back to you and takes your hands in his larger ones. 

His fingers are long and golden as they curl around your knuckles. His palms aren’t soft, but they aren’t rough either — like they’ve been used, but not too ardently. And he’s warm. He’s oh, so warm.

You tense at the sudden action but relax a second later, melting into him like you’ve always been destined to. 

“Oh…”

“Right?” Steve nods with raised brows and quirked lips. “I’m practically a space heater.”

Your heart’s fluttering too aggressively to stutter out an intelligible sentence, so you just nod back at him. “Yeah…”

It makes a little too much sense that the ray of sunlight that always calls you Sunshine feels so golden warm.

Steve gives your hands a squeeze. “See? You’re getting warmer already.”

He doesn’t know it’s because you’re blushing so intensely you feel like your entire body has been set on fire. You’re happy to let him keep on not knowing.

“Thanks, Stevie…” you murmur quietly, gaze trained on your entwined hands.

“Stevie?” he chuckles.

Your eyes dart up to his sparkling ones, and you freeze. You hadn’t meant to call him that. That nickname was usually reserved for your too-elaborate daydreams. “Oh. Shit. Sorry. It just— It just slipped. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” Steve assures with the shake of his head, giving you another reassuring squeeze. “Seriously. I liked it.”

You exhale a nervous laugh through your nose, ducking your gaze away from his. “You always hate when Robin calls you that…”

“Well, yeah. ‘Cause she’s Robin.”

Your laugh is more genuine this time.

“And it sounds a lot prettier when you say it, anyway.”

He must notice how hard he’s making you blush with how warm your hands have gotten — from frozen solid to fiery hot. But he holds them, anyway. Even when they get all clammy. You want it to mean more than it probably does.

“Yeah?” you press, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah,” he nods like it’s obvious, then gets as sheepish as you a moment later. He tries to act cool through his shyness, tilting his head and shrugging as he smirks. “How about you call me that tonight?”

Your eyes go wide at the unintended insinuation.

His gape matches your own when his own words dawn on him. “I meant at dinner!” he follows quickly. “At Enzo’s. Seven o’clock. You know, if— if you wanna go with me or whatever.”

You do. Most desperately so. In fact, you’re pretty sure you dreamt about it one time. Maybe you’ll tell him that if you’re brave enough — over pasta and breadsticks.

“I don’t have a car,” you confess with a forced laugh. “Or a pretty dress…”

“I can pick you up!” Steve assures immediately, then grows visibly shier. He shifts his weight on his feet but doesn’t try to let go of your hands. It feels too right to hold them. “And, you know, I’m sure you’ll look nice in whatever you decide to wear, sunshine.”

You purse your lips to the side as you nod, lest your beam blinds him and makes your cheeks burst.

“Okay… Enzo’s. Seven o’clock,” you repeat quietly.

“I pick you up,” he says, squeezing your hands.

You squeeze him back. “You pick me up.”

“And we spend an hour eating breadsticks and making fun of all the wine snobs.”

The imagery makes your stomach swirl, a dream so real you can taste it — red wine and garlic and cherry chapstick. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you affirm with a sheepish giggle.

He nods, having no idea he’s grinning like a lovesick idiot down at you. “Cool.”

“Cool,” you repeat.

You watch his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. For a fleeting moment, you think he might kiss you. You want him to kiss you. You might melt at his feet if he did, but you need it like you need air.

Ding! 

The door chimes at the front of the store. 

Autumn air rushes in, leaving you bitterly cold all over again. Or maybe that’s just because Steve’s stepping away from you. Both of you know that Keith will have a fit if a customer complains about PDA.

“Hi! Welcome in! Can I help you find anything?” Steve greets as kindly as always, smiling just the same. 

He only says it because he has to say it. He’s secretly hoping for a negative response, just so he can keep on talking to you.

The man in big work boots and a thick canvas jacket squints around the store. He rubs his scruffy face with a hardened hand and turns to Steve. “Yeah, actually,” he says in a gruff, gravely voice. “I was looking for this movie for my wife. It’s her birthday and…”

He rambles on about her favorite movie, a cartoon from her childhood he’s gone two towns over to find. It’s sweet enough to give you butterflies, though it doesn’t match the zoo that erupts in your stomach when Steve turns to look at you again.

He departs from you with a honey gaze. You smile back at him as he goes, watching him intently as he helps the customer with a pretty pink smile.

Your hands are cold again. So much that they ache with you curl them into fists. 

You can’t wait for Steve to hold you again tonight. Over a white-clothed table, warm yellow candlelight, and wine-slicked lips. 

Enzo’s. Seven o’clock.

[chaifootsteps]

people keep using keith david's praise for hazbin hotel as an excuse as to how great working under vivziepop is without taking into consideration that keith david is a wildly successful veteran actor who is probably being treated great by her because her whole goal with hazbin was to rub elbows with famous voice/broadway actors and not appreciate that some poor unknown spindlehorse animator is not being treated like keith david is being treated and it's driving me nuts

Seriously though. Do these people think that Keith's getting the full Viv experience, that she's going to scream at him and refuse to credit or pay him?

For that matter, Keith's an actor getting paid to work on a gig. Do they think he's going to say that this show's garbage, that Viv's a hack, and that no one should watch it?