#like the time that i used so much nail polish remover that i got mildly high off the fumes

[stabbedthrutheeye]

i wish i could paint my nails without having a nuclear meltdown from sensory issues

[deliquescentnightmare]

Easy Come Easy Go~ CH 2

~A degree in not taking anyone's bullshit~

As they walked towards the house, the group was approached by a blue-clad man.

“Anderson, here we are again, '' Sherlock said sarcastically.

“This is a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear?”

“Quite clear, and is your wife away for long?”

“Don’t pretend you worked that out. Someone told you that,”

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men,”

“Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it,”

“So is sergeant Donovan,” Sherlock proclaimed dramatically and Delila sighed, rolling her eyes, “Phew, and I think it just vaporised, may I go in?”

“Now, whatever you’re trying to imply,”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came ‘round for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over,'' Sherlock brushed by them, pausing at the top of the stairs to look down his nose as Anderson, face barely hiding his triumphant joy, “And I’m assuming she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees,”

“I-“ Donovan and Anderson were both rendered speecess by this. Sherlock vanished inside and John sidled past them, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment of the encounter, limp extremely pronounced as he struggled up the stoop. Delila glided past the adulterous duo, amusement clear on her face as she followed the two men inside. They’d gone further into the hallway and Delila took her time to take in the surroundings, and she could hear them talking in the hallway.

“Who’s this?” Lestrade’s voice floated down the hallway.

“He’s with me,”

“Yeah but who is he?”

“I said he’s with me,”

“Is this a bad time, boys?” She asked from where she leaned in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Ye- Delila?!?!? What on earth are you doing here?” Lestrade looked as if he’d seen a ghost- mildly panicked and extremely confused.

“Ah, hello again,” the tallest of the group remarked as he turned to look at his blonde companion again.

“But… You’re not due until the 16th!!’” Lestrade exclaimed

“Doctor Watson, what is today’s date?” Delila asked the blonde, turning to him as well.

“February 17th,”

“…oh,” Lestrade looked sheepishly to the side, “I- uh..”

“Missed picking me up from my flight? Missed most of my calls? Left me alone in a city I didn’t know?” Delila asked amusedly before crossing the room to kiss him on the cheek, “Apology accepted. Now, onto the other reason I’m here. Do you need some help?”

“...We might, actually. Um, Sherlock, this is-“

“Your daughter, Delila Lestrade. Yes I am aware. Now, where are we?”

“Upstairs. Delila, you can tag along. Do you have gloves in that little bag of yours?”

“Always,”

“Wait, does she even have jurisdiction here?” John asked.

“Well, do you?” She remarked, not looking at him as they climbed the stairs.

“Erm, I don’t think so,”

“I can give you guys 2 minutes,”

“May need longer,”

“The name’s Jennifer Wilson, according to the credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long, some kids found her.”

“Did she have anything with her? She looks to be dressed for travel, and rain. Umbrella or a purse maybe?” Delila asked, taking in her surroundings as they came to the top of the stairs.

“Not much, she had her wallet, and an umbrella in her pocket,”

“That’s odd….” Delila murmured. They fell silent, and Delila reached into her small blue purse to retrieve a pair of black latex gloves. She pulled them on, sanitised her hands, and then watched as Sherlock started to inspect the body. It was silent for a long minute.

“Shut up,”

“I- uh nobody said anything!”

“You were thinking, it’s annoying,” Sherlock remarked and Delila scoffed in amusement. He looked up and narrowed his eyes, brows slightly furrowed.

“Something funny?”

“Nothing, you’re just… different than I expected,”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re peculiar, can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing yet,” Delila replied, not breaking eye contact. He huffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and typing away at it.

“Well, what have you got?”

“Not much,”

“She’s German, rache, German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-” Sherlock shut the door before Anderson could finish.

“Yes, thank you for your input,”

“So she’s German?”

“You’re kidding,” Delila gave her father a deadpan look.

“What?”

“Of course she’s not German.” She replied with a sigh.

“She is from out of town though. Planned to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious,”

“Sorry, obvious?”

“But the message-” Lestrade insisted.

“Dr. Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?” John asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Of the body, you’re a medical man,”

“What? No! I’ve got a whole team outside,” Lestrade broke in.

“They won’t work with me,”

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here,”

“Yes, because you need me,” Sherlock leveled Lestrade with a serious stare and the latter let out a disgruntled sigh.

“You’re right. I do. God help me,” he admitted after a moment.

“Well I’m not quite god, but you did bring me along for this reason, no?”

“Oh... uh-yeah. Sherlock, Delila has a degree in forensic science,”

“I’d be happy to offer my expertise, Mr Holmes,”

“I suppose you’ll do, Miss Lestrade,” Sherlock replied dismissively.

“Doctor, actually. I didn’t waste away amongst the religious southern zealots at Duke university for nothing,” Delila approached the body and set to work.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes,” Lestrade disappeared and John leaned closer to his companion.

“Well what am I doing here?” John whispered.

“You were supposed to be helping helping me make a point,”

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay rent,”

“Well this is more fun,”

“Fun? There’s a woman lying dead!”

“Perfectly astute observation, Dr. Watson,” Delila remarked, peeling off her gloves, “But there’s more to it than that. Asphyxiation, fell unconscious and choked to death on her own puke… Likely one of those suicides that the Yard’s been investigating, based on the timing and the fact that there are no outward signs of drugs or alcohol. Citrus smell around the mouth is exceptionally strong, likely going to be stronger when her stomach is opened,” Delila pushed her glasses up on her nose, “I’ve got more to say, but I’ll leave the rest to Mr. Holmes and his- what did it say on the website again..? Oh yes- deductions,”

“Alright. What’ve you got?” Lestrade asked before the smartass brunette could comment.

“The victim is in her late 30’s, a professional person going by her clothes, something in the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Married for at least 10 years but not happily, she had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married,”

“Are you just making this up?”

“Her wedding ring, dad. Her jewelry is clean but her wedding ring is dirty and beaten. She cleans everything but the ring, so obviously it doesn’t mean much to her-” Delila explained, “Or...uh it didn’t mean much to her,”

“Not just that. The inside of her ring is clean. It’s regularly removed but not for polishing. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Look at her nails, she doesn’t work with her hands. So what or who does she take it off for? Certainly not one lover, she’d never be able to sustain the illusion of being single for that long. Simple really,”

“That’s brilliant!”

“Agreed, Dr. Watson,” Delila tilted her head to the side, “The fact that you can perceive all of that in a matter of minutes. Have you officially tested your IQ or-?”

“Delila, focus!” Lestrade snapped and Delila flushed slightly.

“Sorry, continue,” She said sheepishly, looking away, balling up her gloves and putting them in her purse.

“You said she’s from Cardiff,”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“Not to me..”

“It has to do with her jacket, yes? Like I said earlier? She’s dressed for travel. It’s wet along the underside of the collar and along the back. I’ve been around London all day just wandering and there hasn’t been a drop of rain.”

“You’re not as dumb as everyone else. Yes. Her coat is still wet so she can’t have travelled more than 2-3 hours. Because the inside of her collar is dry it means she’s turned it up against the wind. Strong wind that had to be over 15 kilometers per hour, otherwise she would’ve used her umbrella. Strong wind, heavy rains, 2-3 hour travel time. Cardiff. Simple,”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Do you realise you say that out loud?”

“Sorry I’ll shut up,”

“No.. it’s fine,”

“Cardiff… Media. Shouldn’t she have a suitcase? She seems fashion forward,” Delila asked

“Overnight bag maybe?” John suggested.

“Suitcase, yes she had one. Where is it then? What have you done with it?”

“How do you know she had a case?”

“Small splash marks along the heel and calf, small bag going by the spread. Wouldn’t get this pattern any other way.”

“Well, hate to break it to you but there isn’t a case,”

“Say that again?”

“There wasn’t a case, sherlock. There was never any case,”

“Suitcase! Has anyone seen a suitcase?!? Was there a suitcase in this house?!?”

“Sherlock there wasn’t any case!”

“They take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves. Clear signs- even you lot couldn’t miss them!”

“Yeah thanks, and?”

“....Murder?”

“Don’t know how just yet, but they’re killings. All of them, serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer; god I love those, always something to look forward to. Serial killers are hard though, you have to wait for them to make a mistake,”

“We can’t just wait!”

“We’re done waiting. Don’t you see? Houston we have a mistake,”

“What mistake?”

“Her case! Where is her case? Did she eat it?”

“Oh. Someone else was here, took her luggage. That means the killer had to have driven her here! Forgot they had it?”

“-oh! OH! Phone to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were! Find Rachel!”

“What mistake?”

“Pink!”

“Well, isn’t that clever?”

“What is?”

“They’re abductions, obviously,”

“Obviously,” Anderson sneered, “Great, another one,”

“Shut up, Anderson,” Lestrade snapped and Anderson gave an offended look to the Detective Inspector. John stared after them for a long moment after the two men disappeared.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up over him, John. Shall we?” She gestured down the stairs.

“I guess we shall,”

“Would you happen to want to grab a cup of coffee or something? I don’t drink, so that’s the best I can offer you,”

“That sounds nice, actually,”

“Was he your ride?”

“Well, a cab was my ride, but he’s the one who called it,” John replied and Delila laughed. As they left the building a voice called out.

“He’s gone,”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off, he does that,”

“Likely he’s not coming back then?”

“Doesn’t look like it,”

“Right… erm-”

“Well, we’re in Brixton, yeah? Any idea where we could hail a taxi?”

“Try the main road,”

“Thanks,” Delila held the tape up and john ducked underneath.

“But you’re not his friend. He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan said to John, “So who are you?”

“Nobody, I’m nobody. I- uh- I just met him,”

“I assume the same goes for you, whoever you are?” she asked Delila.

“I’d say it’s none of your business, but obviously you have something to say so go ahead”

“Just a bit of advice, you both. Stay away from that guy,”

“Why, exactly?”

“You know why he’s here?”

“It’s his job?”

“He’s not paid or anythin’. He likes it, he gets off on it, The weirder the crime, the more he gets off,”

“Says the officer in the homicide division,”

“-as I was saying. Be careful, because one day showing up just won’t be enough for him. One day we’ll be standing ‘round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there,”

“You’re telling us this, why?”

“Because he’s a psychopath, and psychopaths get bored,”

“Bravo. Stunning psychoanalysis, Sergeant,”

“Excuse me?”

“Bit of advice for you too, Sally. Stick to the dead people. Obviously the living ones are too complex for you to wrap your head around,”

“Delila! You’re- um- still here?”

“Yes, sorry. I was suffering through your Sergeant’s cookie-cutter judgements,”

“...Right. Do try to be nice to my officers, Delila. They’re the best I’ve got,”

“You could do better. Anyways, I’m going out for coffee with Dr Watson. Call me if you need me. Or actually, just remember to actually call me period.”

“I will, I promise. Donovan, come on,”

“Coming,”

“So then, coffee?”

“I think I saw a small café on Baker street. I know the owner,”

“I have zero idea where baker street is, but lead the way,”

[mochalattea]

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything.. but I’ve “come home” to dl again recently, and in reviewing some of the stuff I’d written in the past, I wanted to write a response to something I wrote a few years ago.. as choppy as it is, I’m trying to get my creative gears turning again.

Winter whipped up around her, in violent gusts of relentless snow and ice that pelted her frigid body. She’d gotten her wish: to succumb to the cold and watch the inky black figure of the being accompanying her vanish in the white-grey distance. Her fingers curled weakly in her gloves, feeling hot enough to burst under the pressure and cold. The storm quieted in her ears as her senses dulled and eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

There was hardly any reaction at all when a tall creature encroached on the tree-lined path. A faint flickering up of her eyes came when she sensed it, but over the rim of her glasses with her consciousness already slipping, she couldn’t make out the long white hair which elegantly whisked around. Nor could she see the golden eyes that were so inhuman. No—this entity shrouded in billowing maroon robes was hardly perceived at all. A mildly intrigued snap of his fingers sounded and got carried off by the winds; lost, now. He disappeared just as inexplicably, leaving her stuck in time, slumbering through the storm.

                                                            ❈

There was no dawn, nor midday, nor dusk, nor night when she awoke to the oddly gentle sound of glass—ice?—shattering. The snow and ice that built up on her back weighed on her, now that it was no longer suspended over her in a delicate, timeless cocoon. There was only stormy winter and ambiguous white-grey that blurred the division of land and sky.

When she looked up, it appeared that there were eyes in the sky. Dozens of single, unpaired gold eyes blinking at different intervals; what would have been surrounding skin and eyelid blended in with the expanse of cloud. Fear jolted through her spine as these eyes began squeezing shut and popping, audibly, until the illusion broke and sky returned to normal. Dizzied and repulsed by the sight, she coughed hard enough to expel blackened bile, rolling slightly from her front onto her side, and gasped against the cold snow as the snow that had encased her crumbled off of her.

Her clothing crunched as she moved, stiff like cardboard with the slightest bit of give. She had no sense of the time that had passed. Had it been moments? Her brain reeled wildly. Days? That’s impossible. Years? Even more so. Suddenly, it came back to her—those fading memories of a black coat drifting over the banks, being peppered with white snow, freshly falling. Her stomach churned again, and she wretched once more, but nothing except strings of saliva came up this time. Tears pricked her eyes. Terror gripped her, as hot as an iron pressed into the small of her back.

   …I don’t want to fade away and disappear!

Shakily, she began to move. Her fingers stung, ballooned and swollen from the conditions that they were dumb, and hardly braced against the ground beneath her as she struggled to rise to her feet. The trees shuddered; sheets of snow collapsed from branches and landed thickly on the banks below. The howling of the winds were sick laughter. The bare branches chattered against one another in the wind, mocking her.

                                                           ❈

It was unclear how long she ran in the winter. The winds hushed her cries, muting her until her voice was hoarse and dry. So thoroughly oppressed by the weather, it played with her relentlessly. Frost creeped into the bridge of her nose and tears froze on her cheeks as quickly as they fell from her eyes.

At last she stumbled upon her destination and threw herself against the heavy oak door, the closest one she happened across, up an abundance of stairs. A newly installed one that must have been a renovation completed during her undetermined absence. Her arms were paralyzed and uselessly fell to her sides. Again and again, she hurled her shoulder against the door, uncaring as to how bruised and battered she became, until it opened, and in through the doorway she fell.

It is a wordless encounter. She only sees the fine tailored dress pants and polished shoes before black begins to eat at her vision.

Reiji’s eyes fix on her. His lips press into a thin line. He gives a wry laugh, bending down to clutch the collar of her jacket and drag her up on her knees. “Oh? I see. So on the brink of expiration, you thought of nothing other than returning to my side.” His voice is measured, but the words sound unmistakably barbed to her ears. They are neither whispered nor hissed.

The door shuts firmly, hitting her feet in the area it sweeps across. She doesn’t flinch.

His hands worm their way under her armpits and lift her until her feet dangle freely with no ground beneath them. He chuckles against her ear, nose pressing through her hair—matted from the wind and overgrown since she’d last been in his presence. Fear, too, was something the cold has numbed her to.

“Did you think this would please me? I know not whether to praise you for returning to your senses,” his nails dig through the layers of fabric nearest to her flesh, “or to wring your neck the rest of the way myself.” He drops her. “I have absolutely no need for an expired vessel.”

Her legs fold in on themselves and she collapses under her own weight. She pools onto the now-wet carpet of his study. She breathes choppily, still unable to muster words, but finds the sights and smells familiar comforts that make her weep. Reiji leaves, going into an adjacent room after muttering that her reaction was so undeniably human, giving her time to collect herself some. The study is blurry through her tears, but she can tell it is much like she remembers it. A fire burns in the fireplace.

“Stand on your feet and come along, you unbecoming thing.” He stoops some once he returns and helps her along to the bathroom. The process of shedding her winter wear is a painful one, and he scolds her, speaking of the very real possibility of the fabric bringing her skin off with it. Perseverance prevents this, and a new set of dry clothes are swapped out for the wet and weathered ones. The warm knits crunch faintly as he brings them around her shoulders, the threads not used to being stretched after sitting unworn for so long. Reiji removes her glasses, polishing them with a square from his pocket before placing them back on her face.

He next sets about working through her hair. “Well, I suppose even at its best your hair tangled easily, but this…” Starting at the crown of her hair is futile, and so he changes tactics, swiftly bringing the comb through the matted ends. He speaks few words otherwise, aside from the reminder for her to keep her head up, occasionally slipping his gloved hand under her jaw to level her head as it tips forward from fatigue. Once he finishes and can see her hair cascade in limp waves past her shoulder blades, halfway down her back, he readies the scissors.

Locks of her hair fall in coils onto the floor. Slowly, her head feels lighter as her former hairstyle is restored, the ends of her hair narrowly kissing her shoulders. She’s shaking, from the cold and exhaustion, as he brings his fingers down the short length of her hair and curls the side pieces in to frame her face.

“It is finished,” he says, “your appearance is as it should be.” His smile is somewhat pleased—but who’s to say that it’s more of a matter of admiring his own handiwork or the final result itself. He ushers her back into the study and into his armchair as he retreats back into the bathroom.

                                                           ❈

The fire is warm, almost too much so, as she finds herself sitting more at an angle to protect her legs from the immediate heat coming off of the hearth.

She looks around the room, languidly surprised at its abnormal state of disarray. Books are off of the shelves and sit in thick piles. Skimming some of the titles on the spines, she recalls them as having been recent additions to his ever-growing collection not too long ago, yet now they are in need of repair. She averts her gaze, not wishing to question how much time has passed and how it’s even possible that it’s been long enough for her to witness such decay. At Reiji’s desk are more books at various stages of being restored and rebound. Stained pages being aligned and pressed between wooden blocks, ready for glue to be applied. Another book has a threaded needle sitting atop of it, ready to be bound by hand. There’s paper and card used to stabilize covers, and odd bottles and jars of glue.

Still finding her at a loss for words upon his return, he accepts her silence. It’s a return to normalcy. Before, he’d grown accustomed to her company. Something about it is nostalgic to him. He readies another kettle of water so that he can remove the glue from the loose pages soaking in a shallow container on a side table.

Once the kettle starts whistling and he removes it from the burner heating it. A nice aroma fills the room as his tea steeps. After he tends to his work, using the rest of the boiled water on the pages needing glue removed, he turns towards her and starts across the room, cup and saucer in hand. “The temperature is less than ideal for drinking, so I no longer need it. You, however, will not protest to drinking it, I trust? Your tolerance for hot beverages was always quite low.”

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble…” Her first words.

He sighs. “Good grief, must you make me repeat myself?” He sets it down on the table beside her chair. “You have increased my workload plenty with your reappearance. This is simply not allowing my previous efforts to go to waste, understood?”

She nods meekly.

“Speak of your gratitude in a way that is acceptable. Open your mouth; use your voice.”

She thanks him, taking the cup and saucer to her lap before bringing the cup to her lips.

“Very good,” he praises. He swiftly returns to his desk again, beginning to handle the wet papers and scrape the seams clean.

                                                           ❈

Time passes. After she’s had her fill of warm tea, she begins to doze, and finds herself slouching in her chair. She’s never out for very long, and once she’s up again, she watches how he is always switching tasks, seeming to make quick work of the array of books that are repairs in progress. He pulls thread through perforated pages in slow, strong motions. She nods off again.

Eventually he finds himself at a standstill, waiting for glue to set, letting wet paper dry, and weighing down a leather cover that he retouched the gold lettering of. Only then does he bring his attention back to her, still seated in the chair he set her in. He notices that some colour has returned to her cheeks. Her lips and eyelids are no longer an icy purple either.

He saunters over, bringing himself to her level. “Well, how are you feeling? Your condition looks noticeably improved. Come now, sit up properly. You are a lady, after all.”

She’s easily coaxed into shifting in her seat once his words stir her.

He’s so close to her now; the hand she’s had on the armrest is where his falls to, covering it delicately. “Your temperature, now…” He brings his other hand to her hair, smoothing down the back of her head so that her forehead presses against his, and his fingers and palm settle against her neck. “…Could be improved.”

She musters a half smile.

His voice falls to a whisper; softer, gentler. The tone she was hoping he’d greet her with. “Warm yourself soon, for cold blood is as unappetizing as cold tea.”

[artificialqueens]

Off Limits, Chapter 4 (Bitney/Adorney) - Veronica/Albatross

A/N: Hey guys! This is the companion story to “No Strings Attached.” Both ships are in both stories, but generally, “No Strings Attached” is Willaska-focused and this one is Bitney-focused. (Link to all chapters in order.)

Chapter Summary: A girls’ night at the local gay club just might change everything. With Special Guest Star Adore Delano.

(Special thanks to the wonderful @opalescent-cheetah and her dad for being our Australian slang consultants. XOXO!)

***

Courtney really couldn’t figure out why she was so anxious. She hung out with gay people every day. Why was a gay bar so intimidating, so much that her stomach was in knots? She supposed the idea of looking or feeling out of place was a bit disconcerting, as she’d explained to Willam earlier when they were getting ready, before Willam had tossed a dress at her face and ordered her to calm down. Now, she sat squished between Willam and Alaska in the back of the uber, leg bouncing nervously until Willam gave her thigh a pinch.

But once they got there, her nerves settled almost immediately. It was a lively, crowded club—flashing lights and thumping bass, people packed onto the dance floor. Easy to blend in; nothing to be afraid of.

And then, to her delight, a live band took the stage. (Bianca and Willam, on the other hand, weren’t so happy about that, groaning and taking the opportunity to get drinks for the group.)

The lead singer was amazing. A sultry voice, with full lips and hazel eyes, dark hair dyed a vivid emerald green. Even her name was sexy. Adore.

Courtney was enchanted, watching in breathless excitement throughout her whole first set, barely noticing when Willam slipped a drink into her hand. When they paused for a break, she turned to the others, eyes wide.

“Omigod, she was amazing! Wasn’t she amazing?” Courtney gushed.

“Yeah, she was really good,” Alaska agreed, an amused look on her face.

“We should find out if they play here often!” Courtney continued. “I mean, she’s totally worth coming back for, right? I mean they. The whole band.”

Courtney barely had time to blush at that, turning back to the stage to wait in anticipation for the next set, pretending that she didn’t notice Willam and Bianca rolling their eyes like slot machines. If they wanted to be killjoys, that was fine. Courtney was still going to enjoy the music.

The band did another short set—too short, if you asked Courtney, who felt like Adore’s eyes were boring right into her soul at one point. She watched her, absolutely transfixed, letting Adore’s smoky voice wash over her in tingling waves. When they were done, Courtney cheered loudly as Adore gave an awkward little bow. She was incredibly talented, but clearly a little insecure, and it made Courtney’s heart go soft and fluttery.

“Finally,” Willam said, as the DJ took over again. “Now we can dance!”

She dragged the girls into the dance floor, and they followed, laughing. After a song or two (honestly, Courtney couldn’t keep track—unlike Adore’s band, all the thumping house music sounded the same to her), she noticed that Bianca had slipped away, probably to get a drink. She decided to go and join her at the bar, get another drink herself.

But as she made her way towards the bar, she saw that Bianca hadn’t made it that far. She stood at a cocktail table, just past the dance floor. She was in the midst of what seemed like a riveting conversation with an unfamiliar girl. A busty redhead in a flower crown, leaning in with a hand on Bianca’s arm. Whatever she whispered was apparently hilarious, because Bianca burst out laughing.

Courtney wrinkled her nose, feeling a bit offended. They were supposed to be having a fun night out together. Girl bonding and all that nonsense. So why Bianca decided to chat up this random girl was beyond her. She kept walking to the bar, sure that Bianca hadn’t even noticed her. Not when she had such a clearly experienced girl in front of her, Courtney thought bitterly.

As she tried to wedge her way through the crowd to get the bartender’s attention, Courtney felt her heart stall for just a moment when she spotted Adore at the opposite end of the counter, ordering a drink of her own.

It was only when Adore’s eyes shifted in her direction that she became all too aware that she was staring. Shell-shocked, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She was certain she had a deer-in-headlights expression on her face but her body felt paralyzed, unable to even form a small smile, just something to make her seem like less of a total creeper.

A knowing smirk appeared on Adore’s perfect red lips and soon a little wink was sent Courtney’s way.

She cast her eyes down in embarrassment, pretending to be deeply interested in the grain of the wood on the bar, when by some miraculous chance, the bartender turned her way.

“What can I get you, sis?”

“Oh, uh...gin and tonic with lime?”

He nodded, and only then did Courtney realize that the arm sliding in beside her belonged to Adore, the chipped black nail polish and fingerless gloves a dead giveaway. She looked up, meeting her piercing hazel eyes and this time, managing a small smile.

“Hey,” Adore said.

“Hi,” Courtney replied breathlessly. “You were amazing tonight. I wasn’t expecting-um, to see such a great performance. I know these places usually just use DJs all the time. But it was really so good...”

Realizing that she was babbling, Courtney clamped her mouth shut.

“Are you British?” Adore asked, head tilted.

“No, Australian.”

“Ahh. I love girls with accents,” Adore remarked, taking a swig of her beer.

“I mean, technically, we all have accents,” Courtney couldn’t help correcting, cringing inwardly at how basic and bratty she must have sounded.

But Adore simply laughed, a throaty laugh that Courtney found lovely. Once again, the bartender had perfect timing, sliding her drink over to her. A welcome distraction from her awkward babbling. She pulled a card from her little purse, but Adore stopped her, covering Courtney’s hand with her own.

“Put her drink on my tab,” Adore told him, and Courtney was grateful for the dim lighting that masked her hot red cheeks.

“Thanks,” she said softly, barely audible over the pounding music.

“Don’t worry about it, cutie,” Adore assured as she leaned in with an inviting smile on her lips, “Just tell me your name and we’ll call it even.”

A sense of familiarity washed over Courtney as she vaguely recalled the number of times men had tried similar lines with her. Back then it always felt cliché or just mildly pathetic yet when those words fell from Adore’s lips? Plump, cherry-red lips that Courtney couldn’t keep her eyes off of?

It was strangely appealing this time around.

“Courtney.”

“Courtney,” Adore repeated, imitating her accent, lips curling around the syllables in a way that made Courtney shiver. “Do you like shots, Courtney?”

“Mmm...when they’re sweet?”

Adore grinned again, ordering two lemon drops. While the bartender got to work, Adore draped an arm across Courtney’s shoulders.

“So...I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to the area?”

“No, I’ve lived here for a couple of years,” Courtney told her, adding coyly, “It’s just...my first time here. Tonight.”

“Mmm.” Adore handed her a shot, toasting her gently. “To first times.”

“Cheers.”

They tossed back the shots, giggling.

“So, uh, I have a confession to make,” Adore said.

Courtney turned toward her curiously, causing her arm to slide off her shoulders. But instead of removing it all the way, Adore merely adjusted, fingers sliding across her shoulder blades, making her shiver.

“When I was singing...I uh, kind of noticed you.”

“You did?” Courtney’s eyes grew, the idea of Adore picking her out of the crowd giving her a thrill.

“Yeah. Couldn’t you tell? I was singing right to you.”

“I assumed everyone thought you were singing to them,” Courtney said, twirling a lock of hair in her hand as Adore slowly shook her head. “Well...I’m flattered.”  

Mustering up every bit of false bravado she could, Courtney offered a confident smile, practically daring Adore to make another move. Time seemed to slow down as Adore put one finger under her chin, tilting her face up, then leaning in, eyes falling shut…

***

What the fuck was she doing?

Bianca spotted her immediately from across the bar. Flirting with that random green-haired singer, the one with the stupid name...Adore...gazing up at her as if she was the best thing since sliced fucking bread. It was strangely unsettling, seeing her act that way, and Bianca wondered how much she’d had to drink. Better keep an eye on her...just to make sure she’s okay.

She was about halfway through her own drink when she chanced to look away for just a moment to see if her other roommates could be spotted somewhere in the mass of people still crowding the dance floor. Failing that, she turned her attention back to Courtney to find Adore tilting her chin up and hovering only an inch or two above her lips.

Bianca damn near marched herself right over but in less than a second, Courtney closed that gap herself and almost instantly the pair was making out at the bar for everyone to see. Her jaw actually dropped at the sight and not too far behind it, so did her stomach.

It was awful watching Courtney kiss someone else, even worse knowing that Courtney had initiated it herself and Bianca was left to watch it all in a helpless, paralyzed state of shock. She couldn’t tear her eyes away for anything, no matter how much she wanted to. No, instead her focus remained zeroed in on Courtney, until, to her sick relief, they finally broke apart.

There was dark red lipstick smudged overtop Courtney’s own light pink but that was only a thin thought in Bianca’s mind. What caught her attention was that glassy, hazy look in Courtney’s eyes. One Bianca had come to recognize as she spent more time in bars in the late hours of the night.

Shit.

Not that Adore seemed to have any qualms about that fact—if she’d even noticed, that is. Even from the distance Bianca kept, she could see that smug smirk on her stupid face, particularly as her head jutted in the direction of the bathrooms.

Courtney’s response was delayed, as if she were trying to figure out what Adore was trying to imply, but to Bianca’s dread there was a distracted nod of the head and soon the two disappeared into the depths of the crowd.

Well, not if Bianca could help it.

Downing the rest of her drink and slapping some money onto the counter, she bolted from the bar and followed after those drunken idiots like a woman on a mission.

***

The thing that struck Courtney about Adore, more than anything, was how normal it felt to be with her. The ritual of a few flirtatious smiles and heated looks, some light touching to feel out the temperature.

She missed this simplicity, she realized. The obvious mutual attraction, the flirting with the intent of pursuit...basking in the simple knowledge that she was wanted.

There was no second-guessing, no wondering if it was just a long-winded joke or worrying that it would be called off in just a minute or two.

It was like returning home after a long vacation and finding everything still in the same place as you left it...it was just...comfortable.

Even kissing her...it felt easy and natural and fun. So when Adore suggested that they move from the bar to a location more private, she’d been delighted to follow her.

In the bathroom, Adore pressed her up against the sink, plush lips kissing her deeply, as if to devour her, wandering hands making Courtney’s heart race with excitement. They were so caught up in one another that they didn’t even notice someone else had entered the room until Bianca quite loudly cleared her throat, heels clacking on the tile floor as she approached.

When Courtney raised her eyes and spotted the intruder, her stomach dropped straight to her feet and she gasped softly. Bianca’s arms were crossed in front of her chest as she glowered deep into Courtney’s soul, filling her with shame. She gulped, fingers untangling from Adore’s messy green waves to wipe her sweaty palms on her sides.

“Hi Bianca,” she said, offering a sheepish smile.

Seemingly unconcerned with the new development, Adore moved her attention from Courtney’s lips down to her neck. Grazing her lips along the skin, there was just a hint of a mocking undertone as she asked, “Girlfriend?”

Feeling her cheeks flush from both Adore’s brazen gesture and the judgemental arching of Bianca’s brow, Courtney was forced to admit as her mouth went dry with embarrassment, “Um, no...roommate.”

“Ah,” Adore murmured between the series of light kisses she’d been placing along the expanse of Courtney’s neck. She was acting rather nonchalant, as if this weren’t the first time she’d been caught in such a situation. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable right now, almost pleased by the turn of events. Nuzzling into Courtney’s neck with her soft cheek, Adore shifted her gaze to Bianca and asked teasingly, “So, you watching or joining?”

Courtney’s laugh was immediate and loud. She was all but cackling at the question but Bianca looked far from amused. Courtney clapped a hand over her mouth as Bianca answered through gritted teeth.

A simple, disgusted, “Neither.”

Brushing off the reaction, Adore resumed marking Courtney’s throat with her lipstick. Her hands, which had been resting on Courtney’s hips, moved down to her thighs, finding the hem of her dress and working their way inside.

Courtney wasn’t sure if the rapid pounding of her heart was from Adore’s fingers, now tracing the edge of her panties, or from Bianca’s continued harsh glare, eyes black as midnight as she spat out, “I think you’ve had enough. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go,” Courtney replied, voice sounding small and petulant.

“Courtney…” Bianca’s voice was tense, almost a growl. “I’m just trying to look out for you, okay? You’re drunk. You need to come home.”

“Dude…” Adore turned her head toward Bianca, brow furrowed. “Are you her roommate or her mother?”

Courtney bit the interior of her bottom lip as she tried to think of something to say. Her hands slipped from Adore’s hair and landed on her shoulders, but whether that was for comfort's sake or to push her away, it was hard to say. She felt small and unjustifiably guilty as she remained trapped between Adore’s warm body and Bianca’s harsh, unhappy scowl.

Truth be told, she didn’t feel very drunk at all. Certainly not enough to be escorted home like a child. But something about Bianca trying to protect her, even in the cold and disapproving way she was doing it, softened her desire to be defiant. And wasn’t that what she wanted all along anyway? To spend some quality time with her roommate?

“Well?” Bianca snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

It was her tone, more than anything, that made Courtney’s decision for her. Maybe Courtney was being stupid and irresponsible. But she was also an adult who was having fun, and Bianca had no right to judge her and scold her like that. Hell, her own mum had let her traipse off to a new continent for university without the slightest bit of concern. So why on earth did Bianca think she could intimidate her into cutting a great night short?

“Nah,” Courtney said simply, eyes narrowing slightly as she stared Bianca down. She felt Adore smile into her skin, teeth grazing her neck.

Bianca watched her for a few more moments, expression hard as stone, before turning on her heel with a scoff and storming from the bathroom in a fit of anger.

Courtney turned back to Adore, capturing her lips in a deep, messy kiss, adamant to keep enjoying herself.

But after all that, her heart wasn’t in it anymore. No matter what she did, all she could see were Bianca’s angry eyes flashing in the dim light. Even the sweet taste of Adore’s lip gloss turned bitter in her mouth. She pulled back, struggling to catch her breath, surprised and embarrassed to find tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Shit, are you okay?” Adore asked. She grabbed a bunch of paper towels, running them under the water and handing them over.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Courtney sniffled, wiping her eyes. “It’s not you, I don’t know why I’m…”

After studying her for a few moments, Adore ventured softly, “You like her, huh?”

Courtney bit her lip. Was she really gonna admit it, out loud? She’d barely admitted it to herself yet. But in a way, this was probably the safest place to do it. After all, Adore didn’t know her, or Bianca, or any of their friends.

She nodded, whispering, “Yeah.”

Confessing felt better than she thought it would. Cleansing.

“I guess I have for awhile, but I just...I don’t think she feels the same way.”

Adore laughed at that. Almost too hard, and for a second Courtney felt the indignation rising in her chest. Until Adore leveled her gaze back down at Courtney and said definitively, “Yeah, she does. She absolutely does. I would literally bet my mom’s life on it. And like, I love my mom.”

“Why do you...think that?” Courtney asked, a surge of hope running through her.

“Because, she barreled in here like a jealous girlfriend. And that whole thing about you being too drunk? We had one shot. And you had a couple sips of a cocktail. You’re fucking fine.”

Courtney had to admit that Adore had a point. But what about all of the times Bianca had made it clear that she wasn’t interested? Her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“Look, she’s obviously a bit of an idiot, for making you feel bad and doubt yourself instead of just telling you how she feels. So you’re probably gonna have to be the one to bring it up,” Adore said. “I mean, I assume. Maybe she’s a gigantic idiot who will deny it even after that. Only one way to find out.”

Courtney nodded, still not quite sure that Adore was right. Bianca had spent so much time adamantly stating why she would never want to be with someone like her. Someone inexperienced. And she had to know how Courtney felt. She had to. So if she felt the same way, why would she have done that?

Either way, Courtney knew that her fun in the club was over for the night. She gave Adore a hug and started making her way back through the club, checking the bar, the back room with the pool tables, the booths along the side. She spotted Willam and Alaska on the dance floor, oblivious to the drama, and decided to leave them be. But where was Bianca?

She stepped outside, into the cool night air, pulling out her phone. Only then did she see the brief message in their group text.

B: Tired, on my way home.

Courtney heaved a deep sigh, tears filling her eyes once again. She had no desire to return to the dance floor with Willam and Alaska; in that moment, she felt overwhelmingly alone.

“Hey,” a voice said, and she looked up to find Adore standing behind her, cigarette in hand. “No luck?”

Courtney shook her head, brushing the tears away with the back of her hand.

“Well, I’m about to take off. Do you want a ride?”

“You’re driving?!”

“No! I mean like share my uber. I might be a little drunk, but I’m not a moron.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Courtney smiled.  

In the car, Adore put her number into Courtney’s phone, instructing her to text the next day with a full report.

“So listen...she didn’t seem that stupid to me,” Adore said. “But if it turns out that she’s a huge, giant idiot? Then I owe you lunch.”

“Deal,” Courtney agreed with a laugh, already feeling a bit better about the whole thing.

***

Very softly, just in case Bianca was in fact asleep by now, Courtney pushed open her bedroom door and peered inside. It was dark and Bianca’s form was perfectly visible lying beneath the sheets but it was impossible to tell if she was awake or not. Thinking it best just to leave things alone for now, Courtney started to back away until she heard a gruff, “What?”

“You’re awake?” she asked stupidly.

“Clearly,” Bianca replied, undoubtedly rolling her eyes as she sat up. “What do you want?”

“I...Can we talk for a minute? About the club.”

Bianca was silent for a moment, eyeing Courtney up and down as if searching for something. With each passing second it seemed more and more likely that she’d refuse but to Courtney’s relief, she relented with an unfriendly, “Fine. Make it quick.”

Swallowing back her nerves and clumsily flipping the light switch, Courtney began with an apologetic, “I’m sorry you walked in on that. Probably not what you were-"

“I had an idea,” Bianca interjected with a little huff, “Saw that show of yours at the bar. Everyone saw.”

The tone stung. More than Courtney wanted to admit and more than she allowed to show. But if Bianca’s intent was to get her angry too, she failed. Courtney knew coming into this that she had to stay level-headed and no matter how good it might feel in the moment just to vent out her frustrations and storm off, it’d only end up doing more damage later on. Instead, she took a moment to collect herself, taking in a calming breath to clear her clouding mind and began reproachfully.

“If you knew, why did you-” As the words fell from her mouth something occurred to her. Bianca’s eyes had hardened and her lips pressed into a tense line as she bit back more of what she wanted to say. It was in that moment that everything clicked and Courtney felt a wave of clarity washing over her. “You wanted to interrupt,” she accused.

Her head was spinning with questions but she knew she was right the second Bianca flinched. She was glaring at Courtney, almost as if trying to intimidate her into giving up this line of questioning, but after a short pause, Courtney was shocked to hear a firm confirmation of, “Yes.”

Exasperated, Courtney demanded to know, “Wha-Why?”

There was another delay in response but what exactly for, Courtney could only hazard a guess. Bianca’s glare had yet to lighten as her eyes bore deep into Courtney’s soul. Her voice was cold and nearly emotionless as she stated, “You were drunk.”

“I wasn’t. But I was having fun.”

A flash of something appeared on Bianca’s face but in an instant it was gone. It was too quick for Courtney to recognize what it was but she knew she had seen it. She had to convince Bianca to be honest with her, even if it was uncomfortable.

Slowly crossing the room, clearly not trusting her own shaky legs any more than she had to, Courtney sat on the edge of Bianca’s bed. She ignored the way Bianca leaned away from her as if she didn’t care. She understood all too well by now that this whole act just wasn’t the Bianca she knew. It was just a front for something else and she had to find out what.

“Bianca,” she inquired gently, “Why'd you want to ruin that?”

There was no answer, only a judgemental glare as Bianca remained silent and stared her down. But Courtney refused to let this go. She knew she was close to some kind of answer and nothing was going to deter her from that.

Daring to place her hand over one of Bianca’s, she again asked, “B? Talk to me. You can tell me anything, I promise.”

There was a roll of Bianca’s eyes as she scoffed at the statement. It hurt but not enough to push Courtney away or weaken any of her resolve. All she did was wait patiently, running her thumb against Bianca’s until she got a response. Just some kind of answer to explain Bianca’s behavior.

And finally after a few moments, Bianca relented enough to give an unwilling and rather confusing reply of, “Cause it shouldn't have been like that.”

Tilting her head just slightly, Courtney probed for more of an explanation and it was there that Bianca’s restraint finally ran out.

In one long huff she blurted out, “Okay, fine! You wanna fuck a girl? Go right ahead, I don’t care. Hell, go fuck a hundred girls if that's what you want! But damn it, Courtney...your first time, it shouldn’t be some drunken hookup in the bathroom of a sketchy-ass nightclub. You know that,” she stressed. Her eyes finally grew soft as she admitted, “You deserve better than that, you know?”

Quickly defending herself, Courtney began with, “Well, she offered to-” then thinking better of it, she soon cut herself off. “Um...yeah...I guess I get what you’re saying.”

Darting her eyes away for a moment, Bianca reluctantly added, “I wasn’t sure how much you drank with her...And maybe I misjudged that. But like, I didn't want you regretting it tomorrow morning, okay? You’re not like Willam. This kind of shit means more to you.”

Though she wasn’t sure she agreed with Bianca on everything, she was still touched by the reasoning. Bianca was just trying to look out for her, it seemed. She went about it horribly but the intentions were good. Giving her roommate a grateful smile, she murmured, “Thanks,” and pulled her in for a tight hug.

At first, Bianca froze at the gesture but in just a second, she recovered and returned the embrace. A soft sigh was released into the air but even still, she just couldn’t let herself feel entirely relaxed. She had so many questions left on her mind but none of them she felt comfortable asking...even after this tentative truce.

*

Bianca pulled away from the hug to look into Courtney’s face, one burning question she just had to know.

Without daring to look directly into Courtney’s eyes, she carefully asked, “So...uh...did you two…?”

It took Courtney a second to catch on to Bianca’s train of thought but once she had, she gave a slow shake of her head. Instantly it felt like a weight had dropped from Bianca’s shoulders and she could truly relax. A large part of her felt immense relief at the answer but another small part was beating herself up for it.

Regardless, Bianca wasn’t going to press for any more answers, so she let this particular conversation die with a soft acknowledgment of, “Okay.”

“I couldn’t really have fun after you fucking blew your top,” Courtney said.

“Oh...sorry.” A smile began to grow on Bianca’s lips and the longer she looked at Courtney, the bigger it got.

Seemingly confused by the sudden shift in attitude, Courtney let out a small, laughing, “What?”

“You got some serious clown mouth going on,” Bianca told her, her grin now barely contained, “Looks like you were fucking making out with Pennywise.”

“Shut up!” Courtney squealed, giving her a playful shove to the arm.

Trying her best to keep herself from fully laughing, Bianca slipped out from her bed, shaking her head as she muttered, “Hold on.” She immediately made her towards the bathroom caddy she left on the corner of her desk. After rifling through it for a minute, she found her makeup wipes and returned to Courtney’s side. Holding out the jar with a slight smirk, she teased, “Can't take you seriously with that mess.”

Rolling her eyes, Courtney snatched up the wipes and made quick work of running them over every inch of her ruined makeup. Giving Bianca a patient smile, asked sarcastically, “Better?”

Shaking her head once more, Bianca pulled out a wipe of her own and muttered distractedly, “Fucking Christ. All over your fucking neck, too.”

She leaned in close with it and began gently running the cloth pad over the expanse of Courtney’s skin. She ignored the tense swallow beneath her fingers and focused instead on removing every last bit of cherry red lipstick she could find. The position felt oddly intimate, especially with the way Courtney watched her with curious, considering eyes.

Trying to distract herself and Courtney from this suddenly awkward moment, she commented, “You sure that bitch wasn't trying to suck your blood out or something?”

A snorting laugh ripped through Courtney’s body as she pulled away just slightly. Finishing her work, Bianca stepped back and moved to discard the soiled wipes. When she turned around from the trash can, she found Courtney spread out across most of her bed and damn near cuddling into the sheets.

She looked to be enjoying herself, at least, as she all but rolled around and wrapped herself up in the bedding. Noticing Bianca’s amused grin and arched brow, Courtney defended herself with a sincere, “Your bed’s really comfy.”

“It’s the same hand-me-down mattress you have, Court,” she pointed out, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Courtney’s smile stretched just a little wider as she relented with a dreamy, “Your sheets, then, dingus...They’re soft and silky.”

“I know,” Bianca retorted, poking her roommate lightly in the arm, “That’s why I got them.”

Ignoring the feeble attempt to annoy her or get her to move, Courtney simply nuzzled further into the sheets and affirmed sleepily, “Comfy.”

“Oh, my God,” Bianca muttered in an amused state of disbelief. She could see she wasn’t winning this without a fight and far too tired for any of that, she merely gave in and asked, “You want to sleep here tonight?”

Courtney tilted her face up towards Bianca, catching her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes and saying softly, “Is that okay? You’re not still mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad. But...you’re gonna sleep in that?” Bianca inquired skeptically, gesturing to Courtney’s dress.

There was a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders but ultimately Courtney seemed unbothered at the prospect of sleeping in the skimpy sequined number she had borrowed from Willam. Rolling her eyes once more, Bianca withdrew from the bed in order to retrieve an oversized, worn-out Mardi Gras T-shirt from her dresser.

Carelessly tossing it onto Courtney’s face, she grumbled, “Here.”

With great effort, Courtney pushed herself into sitting upright just enough to remove the flashy dress, flinging it to the floor to replace it with the T-shirt.

“Want shorts or anything?” Bianca asked quietly, averting her eyes.

“This is fine,” Courtney assured her even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Holding aside the blankets, she murmured, “Come cuddle.”

Bianca switched off the lights and worked her way between the sheets. She barely had time to properly settle down before a very soft body was pressed up next to hers. Burying her face into the pillow just inches away from Bianca’s neck, Courtney gave a partially muffled reasoning of, “Warmer over here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bianca teased lightly, even as she slipped her arm around Courtney and pulled her in just a little closer. “Come here, you fucking brat.”

Courtney giggled, snuggling against her, lips grazing Bianca’s neck, near her ear, sending a shiver down Bianca’s spine. On purpose? Bianca couldn’t be sure, but she cleared her throat and turned her head away slightly.

“Bianca?” Courtney whispered, breath warm against her, fingers wrapped around her waist.

Bianca should have realized the danger of sleeping intertwined like this. She hesitated for a moment before grunting out, “What?”

“Um…” Courtney giggled again, letting out a sigh, and Bianca relaxed, realizing that her lack of boundaries probably had more to do with residual drunkenness than anything else.

“Goodnight, Court,” she said definitively.

“Night, B,” Courtney whispered.

The night’s exhaustion coupled with alcohol made Bianca fall asleep quickly. Unfortunately, she didn’t stay that way for long. Some time later, she was roused by Alaska stumbling around. Her bedding was bunched up in her hands, just barely visible in the moonlight. Odd, Bianca thought.

“Hey,” she called out into the semi-dark room.

Alaska twitched at the sound of her voice, offering an awkward excuse of, “Hey, uh, sorry, I’m just grabbing some shit and then I’ll get out of here-”

Confused, Bianca shifted around to get a better look at her roommate and inquired, “Why? Where are you going-”

“I mean, you’re obviously in the middle of some-” Alaska hurriedly interjected, sparing a quick glance to Courtney’s oblivious sleeping form.

Of course she had the wrong idea, Bianca quickly realized. Shaking her head, she tried to explain the situation, “No, it’s nothing like that! We were just talking and she fell asleep. You really don’t have to go, my guess is that she’ll be passed out until noon.”

But as Bianca spoke, Courtney began shifting in her sleep. Her arms tightened, unwilling to lose their most comfortable source of heat, and a soft little sigh echoed into Bianca’s ear.

The pair of roommates stared at each for a moment in total silence, until Alaska’s resolve broke and she made her way towards the door. As she slipped past the door frame, Bianca heard her mumbling, “Yeah, it’s cool. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

She tried calling out for her roommate but it was all in vain. In mere seconds the door was shut again.

“Whatever,” Bianca grumbled, settling back comfortably beneath the sheets. She’d tried to explain; it wasn’t her fault Alaska refused to listen. She’d just have to try again tomorrow and maybe then she’d have some better luck in clearing up whatever misconception still lingered in Alaska’s mind.

[antiadvil]

Night In

summary: Phil feels bad after a five second fight with his boyfriend. He is extra soft to make up for it.

rating: PG13

wc: 2k

notes: for @filisaceaf​ (go read her YOI au it’s good)

read under the cut or on ao3

Dan’s nail polish was chipped. It wasn’t really something Phil would normally notice, but he had been making an effort to notice those things more, and he guessed it was paying off.

“Your nail polish is chipped,” he said.

“Your nail polish is chipped,” Dan immediately shot back, even though Phil was not currently wearing nail polish and, in fact, had never worn nail polish in his life.

“I’m not wearing nail polish,” Phil said mildly.

“Yeah, so shut up about mine,” Dan said.

“I didn’t mean it in, like, a bad way,” Phil reasoned. “I just- noticed, that’s all.”

“Why’d you have to notice so critically?”

“I wasn’t!” Phil insisted. “Really, it’s fine. I just noticed.”

Dan looked at Phil warily. “Good,” he finally said.

“Good,” Phil said, relieved.

It wasn’t a bad fight- by a lot of standards, it wouldn’t even be considered a fight. But Phil felt bad, so he was determined to find a way to make it up to Dan that night. When they cuddled on the couch while watching anime, Phil held him extra tight. He got up to get the remote so Dan wouldn’t have to. He kissed him just a little harder than usual.

If Dan noticed anything, he didn’t say anything, just gave into Phil’s gentle ministrations. He was tired, Phil knew. They both were.

“How about we just stay in tonight?” Phil asked, tracing a pattern on Dan’s shoulder, as if they didn’t stay in almost every night.

Dan nodded. “Takeout?”

“I thought we might try to cook something. Have a date night kind of thing. You know.”

Dan laughed. “You know how we are at cooking.”

“It’ll be fun,” Phil persuaded. “We can’t eat takeout for the rest of our lives.”

“Bet,” Dan said.

Phil rolled his eyes. “I think we have the stuff for spaghetti.”

“Fine,” Dan said.

Phil stood up from their couch, regretfully untangling his limbs from Dan’s. “Coming?”

Dan pouted, reaching for Phil. “Come back.”

“Come with me,” Phil said.

Dan gave Phil his best puppy dog eyes.

Phil tried really hard to resist. He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dan’s pleading face, but Dan wrapped his arms around Phil and tugged him closer.

“Someone’s needy today,” Phil said, but he let Dan pull him in, let him hug his arms around Phil’s waist and rest his head on Phil’s stomach. He stroked Dan’s hair, hugging him back as best he could from his current position, before pulling Dan up. “Get up, we can cuddle and cook at the same time.”

They’ve attempted that before, and it never ended well. But there’s a first time for everything.

Dan grumbled but stood, padding sleepily into the kitchen after Phil. Phil started hunting through their cupboards for a pot. “Can you grab the noodles?”

Dan grumbled some more, but came back from their pantry with a box of angel hair noodles. “Here,” he said, putting them on the counter by the stove. “Anything else?”

Phil had found a pot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. “Not yet,” he said. “Just waiting for the pot to boil.”

“Perfect,” Dan said, pushing Phil back against the counter and kissing him.

“Ow,” Phil muttered as his back hit the hard, granite counter.

Dan giggled, grabbing Phil by the hips and boosting him up to the kitchen counter before stepping between his legs. “Better?” he murmured.

“Better,” Phil said breathlessly, tugging him closer and wrapping his legs around Dan’s waist before kissing him. He was interrupted by a hissing sound from the oven.

“Fuck,” Dan said.

“Homophobic,” Phil agreed, regretfully pushing Dan off. He had filled the pot with too much water, and it was starting to overflow as it boiled. “Well, I guess it’s ready for the pasta,” he said.

“Probably,” Dan agreed.

Phil removed a completely arbitrary amount of angel hair spaghetti from the box and dumped it into the pot. “Fuck,” he said. “Do we have any spoons?”

Dan opened their silverware drawer and handed Phil a metal spoon.

Phil looked at Dan.

“What?” Dan said. “It’s a spoon.”

“Dan, you idiot,” Phil said, grabbing a wooden spoon from the same drawer. “You can’t use a metal spoon to stir something in a metal pot.”

Dan blinked. “Oh, that’s why you wanted a spoon?”

“We need to cook more.”

“Or,” Dan suggested. “We could just cook less and then it wouldn’t matter that I don’t know how.”

Phil rolled his eyes, stirring the noodles. “Can you set a timer?”

“How long?”

Phil shrugged. “Check the box.”

Dan checked. “Five minutes,” he said, pulling out his phone to set a timer.

Phil checked the time. That meant dinner should be on their table by seven, which was a very normal time to eat. He was proud of himself.

“Timer set,” Dan said, and immediately went to stand behind Phil. He tugged at Phil’s waist, trying to turn him around.

Phil resisted. “I have to stir the noodles,” he insisted.

Dan sighed, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. “I wanna make out though,” he said. Phil could hear the pout in his voice.

“Me too,” Phil admitted, “But if I burn this spaghetti I will never live it down.”

Dan’s hand slipped under his shirt. “I’m the only other person here. I’m not going to judge you.”

“But I’d have to wake up every day and look myself in the mirror and say to myself, ‘I let spaghetti burn because I was too busy making out with my boyfriend to pay attention to it,’ and I don’t think I can live like that.”

“You’re forgetting important information. Your boyfriend is very hot.”

“He is,” Phil agreed.

“Also,” Dan said, turning his head to nip at Phil’s neck. “You could just not look in the mirror.”

Phil laughed, trying to ignore the shudder Dan’s touch sent through his body. “How would I get myself ready?”

“I’d just tell you if it looked good or not.”

Phil laughed again. “Because you’re so reliable about that?”

“Are you insulting my sense of fashion?” If Phil didn’t know Dan so well, he’d say Dan was actually hurt.

“Yes,” Phil deadpanned.

“Oy,” Dan said, stepping back from Phil.

Phil scooped a bit of pasta out of the pot and stared at it. “It looks like it’s done,” he said.

Dan checked the timer. “It only has like thirty seconds left.”

“Perfect,” Phil said. “Can you get me a strainer?”

“Fine,” Dan said, as if Phil had asked him to cut off his own hand to feed to a starving child.

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Phil said.

Dan returned a few moments later, stomping his feet just the tiniest bit. “It isn’t even possible to burn pasta,” Dan muttered, handing Phil his strainer.

Phil smirked. “Oh, really?” he said. “Because I seem to remember-”

“Oh my god,” Dan said. “That was one time. It wasn’t even your microwave I fucked up.”

Phil laughed. “I’m just saying-”

“Well, stop saying,” Dan said, pouting.

“No,” Phil said. “Go get the spaghetti sauce.”

He was done setting the table by the time Dan got back. Dan sat down across from him, struggling with the spaghetti sauce for a bit before finally wrenching it open. “There you go,” he said.

Phil handed a serving spoon to Dan, who started to scoop the sauce from the can onto their plates. “I’m proud of us,” he said. “We cooked an entire meal.”

“I cooked an entire meal,” Phil said. “You tried to make out with me while I cooked an entire meal.”

Dan blushed. “Hey.”

“Am I wrong?”

Dan looked slightly wounded. “I helped,” he said. “I got you the spoon and the strainer, Phil, I opened the spaghetti sauce.”

Phil just rolled his eyes.

After their meal, Dan started to clean up their plates, but Phil stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He ducked inside their bathroom, opening the cabinet and looking at their bottles of nail polish. His eyes skipped past the black and glittery gold Dan normally went for. He grabbed a bottle of blue, for no reason other than it was bright and pretty and if Phil was going to paint his nails they were going to be bright and pretty, goddamnit. He also grabbed a pack of nail polish remover wipes so Dan could take off his old black polish before repainting, and then he headed back to their kitchen.

“Here you go,” he said, handing the wipes to Dan.

Dan looked up in surprise. “Nail polish?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “I thought we could paint our nails together.”

“You never paint your nails,” Dan said.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Phil said.

Dan shrugged. “Okay, then.” He led Phil to their living room, sat down, and patted the seat on the sofa next to him. “I’ll do you first.”

Phil smirked.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Shut up, rat.” He unscrewed the cap of the nail polish, took Phil’s hand in his, and started painting with slow, careful strokes. When he was finished, he gingerly set Phil’s hand down. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, picking up Phil’s other hand.

“I would never,” Phil said.

Dan just rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “I don’t want you to get it all over the place.”

“I won’t,” Phil insisted.

“Uh huh,” Dan said, sitting back, his work done. “The polish shouldn’t take too long to dry. Just give it a few minutes.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “What should we do in the meantime?”

“Put on a show or something,” Phil suggested.

“I think I’d rather not,” Dan breathed, surging forward, kissing Phil, sliding his hands into his hair.

“Hey,” Phil whined when Dan pulled away, “Not fair.”

Dan leaned back in, kissing him harder. “Why not?” he whispered.

Phil pressed his hands firmly into his jeans, doing his best not to move them. “Wanna touch you,” he said, pouting. “Please.”

Dan sat back. “Give me your hands,” he said. Phil did. Dan poked at Phil’s nails until he was satisfied that they were dry. “There,” Dan said, satisfied. He handed Phil the bottle of nail polish. “Your turn.”

Phil sputtered.

“What?” Dan asked innocently.

“I hate you,” Phil said quietly.

“I know,” Dan said. “Now paint my nails.” He was already wiping them down to remove the black polish. He finished scarily quickly.

Phil did his best, painting them and then trying to wipe off the excess globs of nail polish that were running down Dan’s fingers. It was difficult when Dan couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard he tried to stay still, body shaking, hands curling around Phil’s.

“You’re so fucking bad at this,” he said, still shaking. “Oh my god, Phil-”

“Shut up,” Phil said, also giggling. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Try harder,” Dan said.

“Harder?” Phil smirked.

Dan stared at him.

Phil smirked.

“If my nails weren’t still wet I’d fucking slap you,” Dan said.

“To be fair,” Phil said, “I’m not sure why you won’t. Are you worried that you’ll mess them up?”

“I still have hope,” Dan said, snatching the bottle of nail polish away from Phil. He wiped his nails down with a tissue and started painting them again, using quick, broad strokes. He finished in a fraction of the time it had taken Phil, and when he finished, he blew on them in satisfaction. “There we go.”

They still weren’t perfect- Dan had gotten a few bits of paint on his fingers, and he’d missed a spot or two- but Phil had to admit they looked a lot better than they had when he tried. “There we go,” he repeated.

“Oh, shut up,” Dan said fondly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Phil pouted. “I did some things.”

Dan snorted. “Like what?”

“I got the nail polish out.”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“I made dinner.”

“I helped,” Dan insisted.

“You distracted me.”

“You liked it.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”

Dan wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe? Just maybe?”

“Just maybe,” Phil confirmed.

“So you don’t want me to do it again?” Dan’s eyes glimmered with mischief.

Phil groaned. “Shut up.”

Dan smirked. “Make me.”

So Phil did.

[wrathofthewind]

x. Iris

“You. Thing. Leave.” Luka said succinctly.

Marius, who had been crouched all this time, appearing like a remorseful dog with his tail between his legs, slowly stood up. He didn’t respond, but he also didn’t leave.

Arnalt thought it was brave and stupid. Mostly stupid. But his heart warmed. Because that’s what anyone with honor should do. In that, he’d taught him well.

Marius shook slightly, clenching his fists, but stood his ground and even leveled Luka with a stare, as if daring to remove him.  

Luke walked over and without so much as glancing at him, extended his finger and stained Marius’s forehead with something that looked like paint, a green mark. Marius’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground unconscious.

Luka rubbed his fingers, spreading that substance on his thumb as well, but he remained unaffected.

Of course, this wasn’t Marius’s memory, so the scene didn’t suddenly fade.

“Iris, it’s time. Don’t you want to see him?”

The young woman took a kitchen knife and pointed it at him. “Don’t you dare come closer. Don't you dare speak about him.”

Luka glanced at the unconscious Marius on the floor. “He’d be about his age now, hm?”

The young woman’s eyes welled up instantly.

Luka grabbed hold of Marius’s hair and lifted his body with one hand, raising him above the floor. It was painful to watch, his scalp would probably smart the next day, but luckily Marius was unconscious at the moment. “I can’t use this one, he’s under Arnalt’s mercy. But, I can break his legs, his arms, his spine… Death need not happen for a boy to wish it… one can be alive and unable to live…”

“Don’t! Don’t! I’ll go! I’ll go! Leave… leave that poor boy alone, you can’t keep doing this!” The young woman wailed as if overcome with far more grief than her body could handle. She dropped the knife and kneeled on the ground. She bowed. “I’ll go. I’ll go meet him. I won’t run away anymore.” Her voice shuddered. “Take me to my son.”

This time the kitchen door opened, a gust of wind rushed in and Arnalt looked in that direction. When he turned back, the kitchen was empty. The illusion was done. Only the key remained on the table. He grabbed it and stepped back into the hall.

A sense of unease overcame him. He had the key in hand already, he could go straight into the room behind the painting but…

He looked into more rooms.

He wouldn’t admit there was a small part of him that wondered if more of Marius would suddenly be revealed to him. He was, so far, everywhere. Why?

At the very least, as his guardian, gaining all the facts was reasonable. Expected.

Necessary.

Her son. She had a son. She looked so young?

Arnalt felt a bit embarrassed. He made haste, encountering a particular room with the needle and thread set laid on a table, a small bed next to it. He recognized that bed. This was Marius’s room. He immediately went in.

The two figures materialized instantly.

“You really don't need to do this.” Marius’s voice was youthful, clean and firm. He was polishing shoes for some reason.

“And you don’t need to be polishing shoes for pocket money, why don’t you just ask your master? I’ve heard he’s got the face of a machete but quite a soft heart for you.”

Arnalt felt blood shoot up to his face. The nerve.

Marius smiled faintly. “I won’t trouble him, he’s already done too much.”

Silly child. If you needed money…

“This is no big deal, and they leave me well enough alone in the kitchens if I procure my means elsewhere. Meals are money. Money isn’t that hard to come by if you’re healthy. This is the least I can do for him. I won’t add to his worries.”

“Worries… you mean, which frock he’ll wear to the next ball he attends?” The young woman giggled. And if it wasn’t because Arnalt was in a bit of a panic over her whereabouts at the moment he would’ve been quite so offended he’d just waltz straight out of the room. As if balls weren’t as political as wars. But what should he expect from the ton? He brushed his hair back only mildly vexed.

“I can take care of myself. I did it as a child, I can certainly do it as a grown man. I just resent this weak body.” Marius said simply.

The woman laughed, the needle and thread had been dancing in her hands, whatever she was working on was outside of Arnalt’s sight.

Just. How. Intimate. Were. They?

Come to think of it, this was Marius bedroom.

Bedroom.

Bed.

Room.

Surely they weren’t…

“You’re barely older than my son would’ve been…” she sighed, then smiled at Marius. “Hardly a grown man. What are you? 14? 15?”

“I certainly look that young don’t I?” Marius spoke, as if she hadn’t hit the nail on the head.

“Hmm, right.”

“Right.”

They exchanged a knowing smile.

Hm?

“Has it been hard for you? Catching up after spending such a long time in the Jungles?”

“It’s not that long really, not for someone like me.” Marius went to the next pair of shoes. “And in a few years… or maybe even months… I can finally—“ he trailed off, pausing and staring at the wall. “Did I mention I really hate this body? I can’t do anything to help you either.”

“You don’t need to. Besides, it’s not like I don’t want to see my son again. Just promise me you’ll do as you said, that’s enough for me. When the time comes, I just want to know I can count on you.”

Marius suddenly held her hand. In a moment that felt extremely odd to Arnalt, Marius’s glance looked heavy with burden, with years, with unknowable depth and mystery. Arnalt was shocked, unaware he could make that kind of face, have that kind of look… the slight roundness in his youthful face felt inappropriate, as if Marius was naturally suited for hard lines and sharp angles. Nothing in his eyes held gentleness, nothing mirrored the softness of his hair, the delicateness of his skin, or the shortness of his frame.

“Iris. I will never break my word. I wouldn’t be here if not for my word. It’s the same with Arnalt.”

At that she laughed slightly, “if only he knew.”

“I’d rather he never found out to be honest.” Marius lowered his head slightly.

Arnalt was even more confused, and a little angry. Why were these conversations so vague to begin with? Speak. Plainly. Explain. Yourself?

The young woman named Iris squeezed his hand back. “He will though, once those years… those months you mention… once they pass, there will be no denying what you are Marius.”

“What we are… Iris.” He squeezed her hand back also. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you, for my people… but, in time, I will fulfill my promise to you, to him, and to them. All of it. I will never lose sight of what’s important again.”

She lowered her head. “Marius Di Aena, Blood of the Kur… you’re our last hope.”

“Am I not the so-called hellhound?” Marius seemed to grin, and Arnalt thought he saw a flash of fangs. But just as quickly, that wolfish, youthful grin, turned a shade of dark he wasn’t prepared for. “They will know the true meaning of hell once I’m done with them.”

“Good.” Her eyes brightened and she raised her face. “It’s what they deserve! It’s what they deserve! May all those fucking Azurians fall! May their bloody fucking stupid line end forever. MAY THEY SUFFER LIKE WE SUFFERED. MAY—”

Marius squeezed her shoulder, quieting her with his gaze. “I know. I know.”

She said nothing more, nodding weakly and lowering her face to cry. The tears falling heavy and thick on the young, 15-year old Marius’s lap. His eyes, held no hint of that age.

Another gust of wind. Another vanished mirage.

Arnalt felt he had more questions than he had answers.

And…

And…

He hadn’t realized he was shaking.

He…

What the…

What…

What the fuck?

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to hear.

Marius. Marius of the Kur.

Promises.

End of the Azurian line.

Just what the fuck had he saved that day in the Jungles of Tahr?

The last clue was was that horse-shaped kite. But Arnalt couldn’t stand it anymore. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear anymore. Something inside of him felt like a whirlwind of sand, invading every crevice and choking the oxygen flow. 

He made his way straight to Luka’s chambers. Slid the key into the lock, pushed the door open, and went inside the hidden room.

[killervibe]

Cold Sub Zero Heart Breaker (By Your Own Design)

So, of course, I had this giant big Valentine’s Day fic planned for killervibe that did not go the way I had wanted it to. So here’s my last-minute new fic to fill in for the months of planning I wasted. Oops. 

Killervibe fic for Killervibe Valentine’s 2020! 

I highly recommend listening to Frozen Heart by The Hawk in Paris. The fic title comes from its lyrics! 

Rated: M

Summary: Halfway through his Korean fried chicken, Cisco licked the sauce off his thumb and acknowledged the elephant in the room.

“...Did you get….heartbroken?”

Frost scowled. “No.”

~.~ 

“Hey.” Cisco dropped a bag of food in Frost’s lap. “Got you something.”

She stared down at it, stunned. “I didn’t order anything.”

“I know.” Cisco shrugged, dragging a chair over.

He pulled out the takeout carton from his own bag, and the two ate silently together, their legs propped up on each other’s seat.

Halfway through his Korean fried chicken, Cisco licked the sauce off his thumb and acknowledged the elephant in the room. “...Did you get….heartbroken?”

Frost scowled. “No.”

Cisco blinked, taken aback. “—No?”

It seemed like it. Cisco wasn’t around Central City last Valentine’s Day, but he had heard the story from the rest. Frost was all over the holiday, dressed up in reds and cutting out paper hearts with crazy glue. He rose his eyebrows at Barry when he'd explained it all, not exactly able to say he’d seen that coming.

Today he’d gotten to witness it with his own eyes. Frost had begged Caitlin for the day, wearing red nail polish and handing out snarky valentines to their friends in Star Labs, humming The Beatles.

Or at least, she was.

In a quick turnaround, Frost had lashed out, tearing down the decorations and audibly gagging at Barry and Iris’ lovey-dovey cuteness.

Ralph tried to approach her a little over an hour ago, only to quickly retreat, telling Cisco her mood was beyond sour.

She had mellowed out after their meta fight, seemingly needing to have gotten her hands dirty, but refused to even talk or hear about anything to do with love. Now she was quiet, sitting at Caitlin’s chair in the Cortex. Sad, almost. It was a new look for her. Cisco had thought something must’ve happened.

“...Are you sure?”

Grant it, Cisco wouldn’t have a clue who Frost would be heartbroken over.

She threw her used napkin behind her.

“You missed the trash,” Cisco pointed out.

“So?”

Cisco swallowed. He had to choose his battles.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Fine!” She stood up, already ready to rant. Cisco’s eyes widened, not expecting to be given a front-row seat to a Frost lament. “I’m at Jitters, and they’re doing this 30% strawberry syrup special for all of their drinks. I order the Killer Frost with it—”

“Of course you do.”

“—And as I’m mixing it evenly into the drink, it hits me. It freakin’ hits me!”

Cisco leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “What does?”

“I have no business participating in this heteronormative commercialized holiday bullshit! Screw February 14th! It’s a sham! Hot garbage!” Her hands misted at her sides. She paced the room. “You know what—Oh my god.” She stopped abruptly, as Cisco tried his best to follow along. “Here I am trying to live a life. Like, I’m fricken’ trying, right? Caity says I’m doing okay but I’d give myself a D on a report card.”

“Oh come on,” Cisco interrupted. “That’s not fair.”

“It is,” she snapped. “Because I realized the most—Ugh, stupid Debbie.”

“Wait.” Cisco frowned. “...Ralph’s mom?”

She nodded, rolling her eyes and threw an ice dagger at the wall. Cisco watched with growing concern, his plastic fork still hanging from his mouth as she closed her eyes and exhaled. She breathed, and the frost receded back into her palms.

“I’m chill,” she said.

“You good?” Cisco squeaked.

“Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine. It’s cool.”

“...Okay.” Cisco smiled at her, a little uncertain. “I’m glad I could help.” He looked down at the rest of his meal and popped the second to the last piece into his mouth. He glanced back at her, noticing the sudden silence on her part, and immediately stopped chewing.

Frost was looking at him. Like, right at him. Intimate eye contact. No break.

Cisco squirmed under her intense scrutiny. “What are you staring at?” There was still chicken in his mouth.

“Let’s have sex.”

Cisco almost choked. He heaved as chicken skin scraped down the wrong tube of his throat, banging his arm against the table as he scrambled for water. “—Why?”

“I want life experiences. Sex is usually an important part of life—”

“—Not for everyone!” he gasped out.

“And I’m trying to have some life experiences and Caity seems to like you so I don’t think she’d be too mad.” She paused, checking him out. “You’re not bad to look at either.”

Cisco has forgotten how to breathe, frozen still like a deer in the headlights.

Frost hesitated for the first time since bringing it up, her confident tone cracking. She wrung her hands, biting her lip. “Also, like. You like me, right? I mean you tolerate me, so.”

“Of course I like you,” he said automatically, a touch incredulous, and it came out softer than the volume in which he was thinking. His brain rebooted. Or maybe his heart. Something integral to his body reacted in defence mode whenever Caitlin had the slightest doubt of his love for her. Frost included. But this was a whole other level, holy frack. Cisco was going to have a heart attack. Like seriously. Those were heart palpitations.

He got up stiffly, excusing himself.

He breached to a quiet beach in Barbados, looked up at the blue sunny sky and screamed. A startled crab scurried away from the sand underneath his running shoes.

Cisco let out a breath, muttering to himself. “Okay. Okay. Okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay.”

He breached back into the hallway, flicking back the hair from his eyes and casually walked back in, only mildly sweaty. He hoped she couldn’t hear his heart thumping away.

“Heeeey,” he gave her a pathetic wave.

“‘Sup.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “So are we doing this or not?” She finally picked up her litter, stuffing it into her bra. “Look it doesn’t have to be you. I can ask Norvock. He’s my backup plan—“

“—Hell no!”

She seemed taken aback by his vehemence. “What?”

“You’re not allowed to ask anyone else, okay?” Cisco stepped closer.

“I’m not allowed?”

“Not Chester P. Runk. Not Norvock,” he spat out the name, mouth twisting in distaste. “Or that guy at the candy store you like from across the street.”

His fear was gone, the panic was over. Unexpected? Yes. Nerve-wracking? Oh, definitely. But he was so doing this.

Good lord, Cisco could feel the onset of a migraine at the thought of all the things that could go wrong if she said this to anybody else. What was Frost thinking? Snake eye? Ralph vouched for him last time he last appeared, but he remembered the way he leered at Caitlin in that bar. There’s no telling she’d be treated right.

If Frost wanted sex then by god Cisco was going to give her some good sex and she would not be getting it from any other means. Because Frost’s body was Caitlin’s body, and he could only guess Caitlin was taking a very deep nap to not be awake right now and intervene. So yeah. Screw that.

He jammed his finger at her, raising his voice. “If you’re going to be asking anyone for sex around here on Valentine’s Day, no less, it’s going to be me.”

Frost blinked down at his pokey finger for a moment, dumbfounded as Cisco seethed. She met his steely eyes, a pleased smirk pulling up at her lips. She had no idea how she managed to rile him up this way. She knew he was protective over her, but there was that and then there was this. Killer Frost may be a flirt, but she had no real experience with men. Even then, there was no denying this.

This was the exposure of Cisco’s layered jealousy over Caitlin or herself or both—who the fuck cared. It was amusing.

“So that’s a yes.”

“Yes, that’s a yes,” he shot back. He rolled back his shoulders. “I’ll see you at 8.”

Frost licked her lips. Somehow, Cisco was only a breath away. Their eyes had yet to look at anything else than each other. “Make that 9. I watch Wheel of Fortune.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

  ❄️❤️❄️

 It’s nine on the dot and Cisco had brought a basket of anything and everything romantic he could get his hands on. Roses, candles, chocolates, strawberries, condoms, wine, his Bluetooth speaker, bubbles, lingerie, breath mints, a mini radiator. Everything.

Frost pawned through the basket and took out the bubbles. “Why?”

Cisco yanked them out of her grasp, stuffing it back into the basket. “Forget those.”

She pulled out the thong. “Was this Kamilla’s?”

“No.”

She shrugged and ripped into the heart candy as he struck a match, setting down flickering flames around the room.

She watched as he scattered the roses around Caitlin’s bed. “Is this necessary?”

Cisco blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Do you want the Valentine’s Day experience or not?”

Frost didn’t really have a response to that. After a good amount of setting up the scene to look straight out of a Netflix romance, Cisco queued up a playlist and appraised his work.

“Dim the lights,” Frost said. The candles wouldn’t have much effect otherwise. Cisco did, and it became dark but for the glowing candlelight.

Frost removed her sweatshirt over her head and waited expectantly for Cisco to strip.

He took off his shoes and toyed at the button of his cardigan.

Frost climbed over to where he sat gingerly on the bed, unbuttoning the rest of it when his hands failed to continue. She removed the clothing from down his shoulders, and he shivered when her skin moved over his bare arms.

“Are you okay?” she asked him. It was gentler than he was used to hearing her talk. “How are we starting this?”

Cisco gave her a look. “I’m going to kiss you. We’ll start from there.”

Frost laid down, her silver hair flattening against her pillow as she stared up at the ceiling. “Okay.”

Cisco hooked a leg over her, still maintaining a considerable amount of space between them.

He thought it would be best to ease into it. Some touching, first. It was hard to just jump right in. It was weird how receptive Frost was being. Cisco’s mind floated away, thinking back to this afternoon. What did she mean exactly, when she had said he was not bad to look at. Did she like him, this entire time? It was...Weird. To think about. 

Was that what this was? Frost has had her moments. She’s blunt, sarcastic, cold-blooded by nature. But she’s not unfeeling, either. There’s always been something about her motivations that had struck Cisco odd. She thought of things most people didn’t. She followed her gut and didn’t seem too scared to die. Not like the rest of them, at least. But even that was untrue. She was the flightiest of them all, the most explosive and unpredictable. And what was that from, if not from the unrest of her own self? It made Cisco wonder. And what the hell happened with Debbie? Should he even ask?

Frost’s eyes popped open. “If you're just going to hover over me like that can you at least change the playlist?”

Cisco frowned, interrupted from his internal monologue. “Do you not like Michael Bublé?”

She twitched her nose. “Not really.”

He sighed and got up, changing the playlist to an R&B track suggested by Spotify’s romance playlist. “Better?”

“I guess.”

They resumed their positions, Cisco taking the time to drink her in. There were so many ways she resembled Caitlin. Especially with her eyes closed. Caitlin would never wear the bold blue lipstick, but her face was all the same. Kind, soft. Gentle. Beautiful. He thumbed the side of her cheek, lost in reflection, running his finger over her lip. Frost stilled under his touch.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmured, leaning in.

He stopped millimetres from her mouth just as memories of Earth 2 suddenly bombarded his brain. He had prepared himself up to this moment the best he could that he’d be sleeping with Frost. But somehow it had slipped his mind that this was the same woman who could kill with a kiss.

“What?” she mumbled at his stalling.

“Frost…”

“What?”

“Have you ever kissed someone before?”

Her silence was concerning.

He pulled back, alarmed.

She sat up. “Once.” She winced. “When I tried to kill Barry. You threw me off of him.”

To quote John Mulaney, now they didn't have time to unpack all that.

“So you’re saying you cannot say with confidence this won’t kill me.”

“I won’t kill you,” she said. But she was lacking the confidence. Frost swore lightly. “This is ridiculous.” She grabbed his arm and pressed his wrist to her lips. Her mouth was cool, wet. But there was no ice in his veins. She raised an eyebrow as if to say see?

Cisco’s next words died on his tongue, eyes wide as she peppered kisses up to the crook of his elbow, almost aggressively.

He pulled his hand away and inspected it. Yeah, it was cold. The sensation tingled. But it wasn’t that bad.

“If it makes you feel better, you can avoid my mouth. We don’t need to kiss to have sex,” she said wryly. “I’m not a virgin.”

Cisco’s right eye twitched. “—Okay.” Compartmentalize. He frowned at himself. “Didn't you just say…?”

“It was never any good,” she muttered defensively. “Never with anyone who ever cared about me.”

Cisco softened, playing with her hair. He worried he was way over his head. “Then don’t you want to be kissed?”

Frost worried her lip, turning away. “I don’t know. Sure.” She tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to undress him. “If you think it’ll be good.”

“Wait,” Cisco said. Something about this was off. Really off.

“What?” she whined.

He studied her. She stared back like it was just another ordinary spat in the Cortex at Star Labs. Cisco sighed, changing his mind. Frost seemed to be wanting to get over the chatting and move onto the next step already.

“Fine, let’s do this,” he said, and unbuckled his belt, helping Frost out of her t-shirt. He offered to help with her jeans but she waved him off, yanking her skinny light wash by the ankles herself until she was only in her underwear. He rolled over, thinking that this might work out better if Frost felt more in control. She straddled his thighs and reached into her bra to remove the used napkin from their lunch.

Cisco made a face. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” He was lucky he could even manage the snark. 

It was hard to keep his breathing even. He’d never seen this much of her before, obviously. Her pale skin, her stomach, her creamy thighs. Silvery hair cascading down her back in waves.

She was paler than he’d thought. Her eyes had lost the spooky glow they used to take some years ago, and her voice no longer went two-toned, something Cisco was somewhat thankful for. He couldn’t imagine hearing her words bounce and echo off these walls. It made him uncomfortable, back when Frost first appeared. The overlapping layer, like Caitlin was trapped inside when Frost took over, speaking over her louder, colder, with more command.

Now, Cisco closed his eyes and he heard her voice. She was saying something, but Cisco wasn’t listening, Reevena’s Still Dreaming floating in from his speaker in low pulses. Her hands roamed down his shoulders, and chest as she explored and his goosebumps unsheathed.

He lost himself in the first kiss and grabbed onto her hair. It was kind of better than he’d ever imagined. Caitlin sighed into his mouth, moving closer. Cisco tipped his head back against the backboard, cupping her neck as he drew her to him. Caitlin’s lips and her body and her skin and her perfume tickling his nose. It was better than he’d imagined. It was everything he’d secretly dreamed.

Caitlin.

“UNCLE!” Cisco cried, shimmying out from underneath her. “Oh my god. I’m sorry, but, uncle. Frost. I’m sorry. I can’t.” He reached for his shirt, hastily pulling it back over his head.

Frost ran a hand through her tangled hair. “...Why not?”

She didn’t seem hurt. Confused, maybe.

It was hard for Cisco to explain it because he hadn’t been able to articulate the thought himself properly until only a few seconds ago. But the truth was simple.

He couldn’t do this.

“Look,” Cisco stared at the duvet cover. Ralph Lauren sheets, high thread count. On discount from the last Cyber Monday sale. He knew that because he was beside her when she added it to her cart on the website.

“Dreamy,” he had said with a tease. “You’ll sleep well.” She had laughed at the time. “I think we’re kidding ourselves thinking we’d be getting any actual sleep nowadays.”

This was Caitlin’s bed. Caitlin’s room. Caitlin’s apartment. And he knew Frost was a part of Caitlin. But, when it came to this? It didn’t matter —His heart panged. Frost deserved to be looked at when he said this. “I’ve imagined doing this before. More than once...The rose petals, the music. Valentine’s Day…”

Frost shot out a candle from her fingertips, listening.

“With Caitlin.”

“You do realize we’re basically two sides of the same person.”

“To you, maybe.” Cisco gave her a small, stiff smile. “Except you’re not. Not to me.”

He grabbed her hand. “I love you, Frost. I do. But it’s because I loved her first.” He searched her eyes. “And I have to know. I really need to know.” He bent down and scooped Frost’s red sweater from off the floor, tugging it over her head, mussing her hair. It stuck out all staticy, and Frost glared at his insistence of returning her to a modest state of dress. “Because you seem unsure of this yourself. What do you get out of this? Do you want me? And you never told me for sure, if Caitlin is okay with this. Like really okay with this.”

“She would’ve stopped me by now if she weren’t.”

Cisco tried not to think too hard about that. “And what about you?”

Frost didn’t reply.

“Because I can’t just do this,” he continued. “Have sex with you. If it’s not with her. And I can’t call it making love to you if it’s because you have no better option. This wouldn’t just be some holiday romp for me. And I don’t want you going elsewhere for this. But I think you’ll have to if it’s what you really want.” There was no more saliva in his mouth, but he said his piece.“Just please don’t tell me about it.”

She bunched the covers around her waist, covering her bare legs as she retrieved his basket. She broke into the wine, pouring out a glass silently and handed it to him over the messy sheets. He took the drink silently. Taking a careful sip. It was like she could tell he needed the drink.

“I think you're right,” she confessed after a long time. "It’s not what I really want." 

“Oh?”

“I like the idea of Valentine’s Day.” She heaved a big sigh. “I like the concept of having this one great person, that means the world to you. But I like it for other people. It works for them.” Her shoulders drooped. “And I thought—maybe if I threw myself into it...I’d get it. Barry and Iris, Sue and Ralph. Joe and Cecile. There’s just you. And me….” She tilted her head, considering. “Norvock?”

“Please don’t bring Snake Eye into this bedroom.” It was almost a growl.

Frost snorted at the green in his eyes.

“Stop worrying about him. Really there’s just you. And it’s you because—Because it’s what Caitlin feels. And I can feel Caitlin. So I thought maybe...If I tried it, too…”

“Frost.” Cisco squeezed her hand. “It’s okay to not be interested in sex or romance. It’s okay if that’s just not you.”

She sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it is.”

“That’s okay.”

“Okay.”

"Okay." 

Reevena crooned on. 

Frost began to giggle.

He frowned at her, worried. Insulted? “Um.”

She covered her mouth, turning away to muffle her laughter into the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I just— I don’t know what I was thinking. Sex!? Making love!? With you?! Oh my god.” She sobered immediately at the look on his face. “I’m sorry, there’s a reason why I’m laughing. I’m not trying to be mean.”

He smiled at her awkwardly, he wasn’t sure why his heart was breaking. “I promise it’s alright.”

“No, because. I was feeling something. And I was acting on it. But it’s not my attraction.” She met his curious gaze and lowered the wine glass from his lips, putting it on the bedside table so that he’d have her whole attention. “It’s hers.”

Cisco’s mouth parted, but nothing came out. His face felt horrendously warm, and he could tell by Frost’s amusement that he was mad red. “Can I speak to her?”

“Yeah,” she said breezily, pausing for what Cisco could only guess is to talk it over with Caitlin telepathically or however. “I think I’ll be absent for every Valentine’s Day from now on.”

Before he could get another word out, Caitlin was blinking at him. Cisco wanted to very kindly melt into her floorboards. “Uhhhh….Hi.”

She stretched, digging her fingertips into the soft sheets, looking particularly unbothered for finding Cisco cozied up in her bed.

“Hi.” She tucked her brown hair behind her ear, eyeing the rose petals and bubble machine.

He knew it looked bad, but he had to excuse himself before this could continue.

The warm salt air of Barbados greeted him once again. He stood in his haphazardly thrown on cardigan and boxers in front of the stretch of the Caribbean Sea. Cisco assumed the crabs did not take his scream any better than the first time, but it was too dark to tell. The seagulls, however, were displeased, shrieking right back at him.

He breached back into her room, kicking at the overkill rose petals, and shutting down the bubble machine once and for all. “Sorry about that.” His voice was hoarse.

“Wow,” Caitlin said with a growing smile, glossing over his little disappearing act altogether. Maybe she could tell how desperately he needed it. “You did a number in here.”

It took a moment for Cisco to realize. “You were awake this entire time, weren’t you?”

“You’re crazy to think I’d have let this actually happen.”

He climbed back onto the bed, and Caitlin moved to make room. It was already so much better, easier. To be half-dressed and making a fool out of himself. As long as it was with her.

“Why?” He stretched back to lean against the pillows. He was aiming for sexy, but he’d take anything above cute. He winked at her. “Want me for yourself?”

Her eyes raked down his body appreciatively. It was slower, more deliberate than Frost had ever done. “Yes.”

Oh.

“If that’s okay,” she added. A bit shyer.

Cisco couldn’t speak. Except he had to. He had so many questions. And the way she was smiling triumphantly at him should be illegal. She held his face in her hands, smoothing out his gobsmacked expression until he smiled at her, helpless but to melt under her touch. The effect, she had. It was dangerous. So dangerous.

“Why?” he said again, his mouth working in contradiction to his brain, that had all but given up on asking. He turned his cheek into her palm.

Caitlin sighed and let him go. “I couldn’t just tell Frost. I had to let her come to her conclusions. And I trusted you. She trusted you. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go down either.” She blushed for the first time that evening, looking away. “And to stop and explain meant I’d have to tell you why she was so confused.”

She meant that she’d been suppressing her feelings for him so hard it leaked. What a fact. Cisco forced his brain to assemble back enough to think properly, setting that tidbit aside for later. “...Is Frost going to be okay?”

Caitlin nodded. “More than. She’s relieved, I think. And glad she discovered this with you. I’ve always suspected she was asexual. With her impulse control, she would’ve gone after someone by now if it weren’t the case.”

"What would've happened, then?" 

Caitlin was slow in answer. "I guess we would have had to talk about it. I'm not sure." 

“What happened with Debbie?” Cisco couldn't help but ask. 

Caitlin made a clueless face, shrugging her shoulders. “Hey,” she said, tapping at his knee. “We can talk about Frost at some other time. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

The music and wine glasses and candles still scattered around had yet to serve as nothing else but a constant reminder to them. “That it is.” Cisco smiled at her. “I actually got you a card.”

“Forget the card,” Caitlin surprised him.

She scooted forward, dragging him upright to drape her arms around him in a hug. But it was intimate and warm, his heart beating against the thick material of Frost’s sweater. Caitlin tangled her hand into his hair, much like he had done with Frost, raking her fingernails gently along his scalp. He tried his best not to get drunk off it.

“Tell me what you told Frost,” she whispered against his neck.

There was a lot of incriminating stuff he’d said. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

She snuck her hands underneath his sweater, tugging it back over his head. He was sure by now he looked like a wreck.

“Mhm.” She was busy kissing his collar bone. It seemed they wouldn’t be leaving the bed anytime soon. Cisco was pretty okay with that. “Something about loving someone first.”

He laughed, flushed. “Oh, that.”

"Yes, that." 

“I love you, Caitlin,” Cisco told her.

She stilled in his arms. Cisco drew back so he could see her face. 

“I love you. Caitlin.”

It must’ve been different—Hearing it now compared to when she was under. Because she held her breath, and curled her fingers into his sweater, pressing herself against his chest. He lowered them back down slowly. Caitlin was practically on top of him, soaking him in. The weight was nice. He could get used to this. 

“How opposed would you be to making good use of your little sex kit?”

“It’s not a sex kit!” he blurted out with a gasp, scandalized.

Caitlin laughed. Loud and freely, wonderful. Cisco would make a thousand sex kits just to hear the sound again.

“Not opposed,” he promised and made good on it. “Not opposed at all.”

❄️❤️❄️

“Say it again,” he whispered in the morning.

“I love you.”

It was Caitlin’s voice, and her words and it was her lips he kissed thereafter. It was Caitlin’s breath that stuttered against his mouth and Caitlin’s lace bra that Frost had borrowed that ended up on the floor. It was Caitlin’s eyes, watching him adoringly and it was her smile that lit him up. It was her cheek, with pillow lines and it was her laugh he got out of her time and again.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (119/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[9 April, 233 Before Age.   Planet Travigar.]

Luffa needed help.    Seltiss just needed to get her to admit it.    

It wouldn't be easy, but nothing worth doing ever was.   Their people, the Saiyans, were a stubborn lot, and Luffa was a Super Saiyan, which probably made her even more stubborn than most.   Seltiss was a princess of the Rehval Dynasty, which ruled the Saiyan kingdom.   Luffa came from a family of anti-monarchists, and she bore a personal grudge with Seltiss' father.    

But the war changed all of that.   The Jindan Cult, led by the mysterious Trismegistus, posed a threat to the Saiyan species, as well as the rest of the universe.   As powerful as Luffa was, she couldn't defeat them all by herself, and neither could the Saiyan Free Company, which Seltiss had formed in opposition to her father's kingdom.   Their only chance was to join forces.    Luffa hated the idea, but couldn't deny the reasoning, and so she allowed Seltiss' mercenary bands to operate within Federation space.    Seltiss had set up a base of operations on the Federation world of Eetii.    

Most of the fighting took place along the frontier of the Federation, as the Jindan strategy was to invade planets along the borders to spread the defenders thin.   Eetii was fairly close to a group of worlds near one end of the periphery, and Seltiss had kept an eye on things there while Luffa handled things on the opposite front.   And yet, some new offensive had forced Luffa to approach Eetii.    Early reports had said something about a "rock creature" that kept appearing on one planet after another.    Whatever it was, it had led Luffa on a merry chase along the border worlds, only to vanish after being defeated on  Planet Travigar, less than twenty light years from Eetii.    Luffa sent a subspace transmission on a Saiyan Free Company channel, for Seltiss' eyes only.   The message was simple: "Need a lift.   Come alone."  

It was a perfect opportunity.    Seltiss had hoped to spend some time with Luffa, to forge a peace between them that could ensure the survival of the Saiyan Free Company beyond the war.   Seltiss had plans, and none of them would amount to much if Luffa could swoop in and topple them without warning.    Her father had tried to manipulate and destroy Luffa, and failed.    But a little soft power-- friendly gestures, kept promises, healthy respect-- could go a lot further than brute force or palace intrigue.    Even if a lasting peace wasn't possible, Seltiss could hopefully convince Luffa that the S.F.C. could be useful in the future, and therefore worth keeping around.  

Besides, Seltiss enjoyed traveling alone.    It reminded her of the stories she read about space exploration.   There was no beguiling outer space.   No negotiation or manipulation.    There were the laws of physics and one’s ability to work within them.    As she descended through the Travigarian atmosphere, Seltiss quickly located the starfighter Luffa had been traveling in.   The scanners confirmed that the vessel's engines were inoperable.   Her ship's sensors could detect Saiyan life readings well enough, but it was simpler for Seltiss to handle that part herself.   Seltiss was an average fighter by Saiyan standards, but she still knew how to sense the battle power of other strong warriors.    In Luffa's case, it was hard not to notice Luffa’s mighty ki signature.   All Seltiss had to do was focus on that power and follow it like a beacon to Luffa's location.    She was mildly surprised to find that she wasn't with the ship, but Luffa was the restless type, and the little starfighter was useless to her in any case.  

Instead, Seltiss found Luffa on a grassy plain, surrounded by soldiers.   Seltiss didn't recognize their uniforms, and her sensors only indicated that they were molluskoid aliens.   She landed in an empty space nearby and flew directly to Luffa.  

She looked terrible.  

"It's about time you showed up," Luffa said.    "What the hell are you dressed like that for?"

The alien soldiers probably had no idea that Seltiss and Luffa were of the same species.    Luffa had a long tail covered in brown fur, which was now matted with blood and grime.    She normally wore a black sleeveless shirt with baggy yellow pants that were tucked into black combat boots.    These were now so badly torn that they now barely qualified as clothing.    The left pant leg was shorn off completely, leaving a rag hanging out of the rim of her boot.   The right leg wasn't much better off, as only a strip of fabric ran all the way down from the waist to the ankle.    Luffa's modesty was mainly preserved with various bandages and medical tape, most of which had been scorched or stained with blood.    Her short black hair was ringed with a strip of fabric around her head.

Seltiss, on the other hand, had no tail, as her father had it surgically removed at birth.   The only evidence that she had ever had one was a hint of scar tissue mostly covered by the waist of her pink-and-black checkered sarong.  Her heeled boots were Montalban originals imported from Camelia, and her black bandeau had pink straps that wrapped around one shoulder and criss-crossed down the length of her arm.    Her hair, piled in a messy beehive style, was dyed a vibrant shade of pink, which matched her eyeshadow, nail polish, and lipstick.

"Excuse you?" Seltiss asked, forgetting the greeting she had rehearsed to try to curry Luffa's favor.  She had put a lot of thought into her appearance, after all.      

"Never mind," Luffa said, pointing at the soldiers.   "These guys are from Planet Oat," she explained.     "Thousands of years ago, they were at war with Travigar, back when it used to be called Planet Bob.     Something about soy milk, I didn't follow that part of the story."  

One of the soldiers started to speak up, and Luffa held out her hand to stop him from explaining their backstory.    "Look, let's not go over that again.    We'll be here all day."    

"Luffa, what does this have to do with that rock creature you told us about?" Seltiss asked.  

"Not much," Luffa said.    "These Oatians got trapped in a mystical fissure during the Oat-Bob War, and they've been in suspended animation the whole time, until the Jindan cultists came here and summoned that rock creature.   My guess is all that magic disrupted something and set them free.   But they still want to conquer Travigar, and that's where you come in."  

"Me?" Seltiss said.    

"Yeah, I told them it was pointless to fight an all-out battle from an old war, but they have their pride, so I offered them a contest of champions.    Their best ten guys against my handpicked warrior."    Luffa pointed at Seltiss, then jabbed her finger at Seltiss's chest.    "And my hand just picked you, little girl."

"Wh-why?"  Seltiss asked.   "Are you hurt?   I mean, I've got Saiyans working for me on Eetii that are totally stronger than I am, but your message said to come alone, so...?"

"Hah!" Luffa scoffed.   "Your idiot father always ran his mouth about how he planned to breed the Saiyans into a mightier race.   I thought his own brat would have a little more confidence in her skills."

"Is that what this is?" Seltiss asked.   "Like, a test?"

"It shouldn't be," Luffa said.   "I think you can handle ten of them without too much trouble.    I just want this to be a decent fight.    These guys have waited long enough to see some action.   Do a good job, and they might even agree to join our side in the war."

Seltiss sighed and began limbering up.    In spite of everything, she was a halfway decent fighter, at least for her power level.   "Okay, okay.  I'll play along, I guess.   Just promise me something, will you?"

"What's that?" Luffa asked.  

"When we get back to Eetii," Seltiss said between leg stretches, "you have got to let me buy you a new outfit."

*******  

[9 April, 233 Before Age.   Planet Eetii.]

The Eetiians had a near religious regard for plant life, so they allowed it to grow freely throughout their cities.    Their shopping malls weren't all that different from others Seltiss had visited, except that the view from every window and skylight offered the same view of a thick tangle of weeds.  And yet, the Eetiians seemed to genuinely appreciate this.    Passers-by would often stop and stare out the windows, as if they were gazing out upon some majestic mountain range.

What mattered was that their clothing stores had the right colors and styles to approximate Luffa's signature look.    Seltiss would have preferred to give Luffa a full makeover, drawing upon fashion resources from the rest of the galaxy, but there was a war on, and Seltiss had to work quickly with the resources that were on hand, before Luffa was called away to another battle.    As it was, Seltiss barely had time to assemble a new outfit for herself, to replace the ensemble she had worn into battle against the Otians.   She would miss that sarong, but she liked the black sequined pants and pink suit-coat she had found to replace them.    Seltiss would have preferred to wear something very revealing under the jacket.    The models in the magazines always did this, teasing their bare skin from underneath the crisp angles of the coat.    But a stern glare from Luffa had persuaded Seltiss to go with a white blouse instead.  

As for Luffa, Seltiss had found a black racerback swimsuit to serve as the top of her outfit, and a pair of nylon windbreaker pants for the bottom.    Luffa normally wore fingerless gloves, but there had been  no sign of these on Travigar, and Seltiss assumed they had been lost.    The best she could find in the mall were black gloves that had fingers, although Luffa made a approving grunt when she tried them on, so Seltiss supposed they would do.  

"You look amazing!" Seltiss cheered as Luffa stepped out of the fitting room.   "Way sleeker than the old gear you used to wear."

"What did you do with my boots?" Luffa asked as she began looking around the room.

"Oh, those.   I threw them out," Seltiss said.    

"What?"

"Okay, first of all, I’m on your side, so chill out," Seltiss said,   "Second, I took one whiff of those old clogs and yuck," she pinched her nostrils shut for effect.    "I tried holding them upside down, but that actually smelled worse."

She reached into a shopping bag and produced a pair of black cleats.     "So I found these while you were changing.       You don't have to keep them, but you can at least wear those until we find something you like.    Preferably something in the non-barfing section of the store."

Luffa took the shoes and examined the thick treads that stuck out from the soles.   "Hmm," she said.   "I could get used to something like this..."   She took a seat on a bench and began to try them on.    

"So what's with the yellow pants, anyway?" Seltiss asked.    "The black I get, black goes with everything and it never goes out of style, but the yellow..."

"It's a family color," Luffa said without looking back at her.   "My mother liked it because it wasn't royalist blue.     Isn't that why you wear pink?   To piss off your old man?"

"Well, not exactly," Seltiss said.   "At first, it was to stand out as my own person, separate from the royal bloodline, but then it became kind of my thing, you know?"

"Then I guess we have something in common," Luffa replied coldly.

That should have been a good sign, but something about Luffa's tone was less than encouraging.    Seltiss wasn't sure what to say that could improve the situation, and then Luffa stood up and started kicking into the air.    

"Yeah," she said as her left leg moved almost too fast for Seltiss to follow.   She switched sides and did the same motions with her other leg.    "Yeah, the balance is good.   Nice traction, too.     Not so sure about leaving my ankles exposed like this, but I can deal with that.    Let's go."

She started walking straight for the exit, not even waiting for Seltiss to settle her bill.    Seltiss groaned and went to the register, figuring that it was enough to have Luffa on Planet Eetii.   It wasn't like she would be hard to find.

*******

Seltiss eventually found Luffa standing on a mesa overlooking one of the S.F.C. encampments on the planet.    Below, Saiyan mercenaries ran through training drills, while Federation technicians provided maintenance to their ships and weaponry.    They occasionally glanced up at the mesa, each of them well aware of Luffa's presence, even though they couldn't see her.    Seltiss was grateful that she had told her officers about Luffa's visit in advance.    As it was, there was still a chance her troops would panic, but at least they had been given a fair warning.  

"I was hoping to give you a tour of our camps," Seltiss said as she alighted beside Luffa.    "I'm sure you could provide some valuable insight.    From what I've seen of the Federation's military, I can tell you run a tight ship."  

"The Federation military runs itself," Luffa said.   "Well, Marshall Booth runs it.    I try to stay out of their way."

"Oh.    Well, I guess that's a good call," Seltiss said.    "They're a very efficient operation.   My generals have already learned a ton from them."

"That's not too surprising," Luffa said.   She uncrossed her arms and waved one hand toward the camp below.    "Saiyan mercenaries aren't exactly known for their discipline.   Must be like herding cats."

Seltiss made an insincere chuckle.    "It's, ah, it's a major challenge, that's for sure."

That was an understatement.   Seltiss had inherited her father's talent for statecraft, and she had a galaxy-class education to fall back on, but most of her ideas and plans were founded on textbook theory, rather than real-world experience.   Her followers weren't used to working within such a large and diverse group, and so they incessantly came to her to solve all their organizational problems.   She suspected that the only reason they weren't pestering her now was because they were so unsettled by Luffa looming over them.  

In a way, Luffa’s visit made for a pleasant distraction.   It was another challenge, perhaps even more difficult, like rolling all of the unruly Saiyans under her banner into one.   But at least it was a change.   Luffa's grim silence gave Seltiss a moment to enjoy the warmth of desert sun on the back of her neck, and the slight odor of her new suitcoat as it mingled with the scents of the native flora.  

"I'm curious how you got this many Saiyans together without my finding out about it," Luffa finally said.    

"Oh, it wasn't that complicated, really," Seltiss said.    "I set up a base of operations on an obscure planet, and then I started contacting embassies, mercenary contractors, and all the other usual places you'd go to find Saiyan activity.   I also had some copies of, like, my father's records.    He had a lot of contact information.    E-mail addresses, subspace comm frequencies, stuff like that."

"I tried searching Rehval's embassies," Luffa grumbled.  "I never found anything useful like that."

"Um, duh, that's because all you had to offer anyone was a violent interrogation," Seltiss said.    "I didn't go anywhere in person.   I just sent messages with an offer of safe haven.   I got a lot of takers, but I made it a rule that you had to contact at least one other Saiyan before I let them join.   They didn't have to get the next guy to say 'yes', but it helped spread the message quickly and quietly.    Turns out, there's a lot of Saiyans out in the galaxy who wanted an alternative to running from you, or waiting for my father to come out of hiding."

Luffa shrugged.    "Serves me right.  Maybe I should have taken a more subtle approach."

"Well, it's not really your style," Seltiss said.   "Besides, the Saiyans who joined my group never knew anything about my father's whereabouts.   Even if you had found them all, they wouldn't have been able to tell you anything."

"Still, to hide a whole population of Saiyans from me... that's something," Luffa said.   "That must be a really backwater planet you found.     I’ll bet it’s tough for you to maintain supply lines."

"We manage pretty well," Seltiss said.  

The truth was that Seltiss' base was on Planet Shenia, an inhabited planet she and Xibuyas had conquered several months ago.   The S.F.C. lived quite comfortably there, as they relied on the Shenian people to serve their needs.     Seltiss considered herself a benevolent overlord.    The Saiyans generally stayed out of the natives' way, and Seltiss permitted the Shenians to live and work mostly as they had done before her invasion.    As long as their leaders provided the food and materials she ordered, she would leave them alone.  

But Luffa didn't need to know that.    Seltiss knew very little of the Super Saiyan's personality, but it was clear to most observers that she had a soft spot for aliens.    Luffa had liberated numerous planets in her career, and she seemed to go out of her way to defend weaker peoples from aggressive powers.    Seltiss doubted that Luffa would actually turn against the S.F.C. over an insignificant planet like Shenia.    Their alliance was too important to jeopardize over a backwater planet full of weaklings.  Even so, there was no need to strain their relations by bringing it up.    The less Luffa knew about it, the better off they would be.

"Must be difficult wrangling all those Saiyans without anyone revealing the location of your headquarters, though," Luffa said.  "They seem to respect your authority well enough."

"They know my father is no longer fit to rule," Seltiss said.    "They also know what a massive control freak he is.    I knew if he ever found out about what I was doing, he'd try to meddle with it, one way or another.     A lot of my guys only want refuge, either from your or from my dad.   They like the secrecy even more than I do."

"Sure, but it's a big universe," Luffa said.    "Plenty of ways to hide without turning to a teenage girl for help."    

Seltiss smiled.    "True, but most of them know that the Saiyan people need a ruler, and as the heir to the throne, I'm the best candidate."  

"Is that right?" Luffa asked idly.

Seltiss began floating into the air, and she waved for Luffa to follow her.    "Come on," she said.    "I want to show you something."

*******

There was a palpable tension in the public areas of the Saiyan camp.    The mercenaries did their best not to show it, but Seltiss could tell they had been on edge ever since Luffa arrived on the planet.   Now that Luffa was walking in their midst, Seltiss could practically feel their discomfort like the heat from a radiator.   Even so, they went about their business, milling about, swapping tall tales of past battles, arguing about repair work for their ships, and giving lessons to their children.

"They're usually more enthusiastic than this," Seltiss said.    A little Saiyan boy ran past them, and they could hear his mother yelling for him to stay away.     "Well, I guess the kids are about the same," Seltiss added.   "Everyone's just nervous because..."

"I get it," Luffa said.    "They were like this on Planet Saiya, only there's a lot fewer of them here.    If I decided to play with them a bit, they wouldn't stand a chance, and they know it."  

"Okay, then why are you, like, enjoying it so much?" Seltiss asked.   "I tried to calm these guys down, and you're grinning at them like you want them to be afraid of you."

"Oh, please," Luffa said.   "You've spent time around aliens.   Don't tell me you've never gotten a kick out of being strong enough to defeat them all in a heartbeat."

"Well... yeah, sure," Seltiss said.   "But we're not aliens... unless you..."

"Oh, I'm as Saiyan as the rest of you, little girl," Luffa said.   "But we're not equals, so don't pretend a few chromosomes put us on the same level.   When I was your age, I was a lot weaker than you are now.    Pretty sure if that Luffa was standing here today, you wouldn't even give me a second look.   I didn't ask to become this strong, but now that I am, I won’t pretend I'm not just to make you feel better about yourself."

Seltiss nodded.    "Like, fair enough, I guess.     We're just not used to being so low on the pecking order."

"And that's what's wrong with our whole species," Luffa said.   "Most of us are chumps who think they're a big deal just because they can knock over a planet.    We call ourselves warriors when most of the time we're just bullies who don't know what to do when someone stronger comes along."

Seltiss took some solace in the word "we".   A lot of Saiyans claimed that Luffa was an alien posing as a Saiyan.   To Seltiss, that just sounded like a crackpot conspiracy theory.    And yet, despite Luffa's outward appearance, there was something very unnatural about her.    Seltiss could finally see how the 'alien' rumor got so popular.    The truth was perhaps more horrifying: that Luffa used to be a normal Saiyan and somehow evolved into something... else.    At last, Seltiss finally understood why Xibuyas was so worried about the possibility of being her son.   But at least Luffa still considered herself a Saiyan, even if she looked down in disapproval at her brethren.

Seltiss led Luffa to the command center, which was constructed out of a special material Seltiss had discovered during her occupation of Planet Shenia.   It resembled cloth, but when connected to a device Seltiss didn't really understand, the fabric stiffened and became like a thick sheet of strong metal.    The Shenian military could carry it easily and set it up like a tent, but then activate it to make a shelter strong enough to withstand a bombardment.  Seltiss expected Luffa to take an interest in the building, but she never said a word.     Perhaps she had seen something like it on other planets.  

She introduced Luffa to some of her generals.   Each of them was a Saiyan man at least fifty years of age.    They briefly discussed their own impressions of the ongoing war, but all Luffa was concerned about was tracking down the Jindan Cult's base of operations.    None of them could offer any solutions to that problem.  

Seltiss then took her to the mess hall, and barely managed to convince Luffa not to go into the kitchen and "help".    

"I guess it would be dishonorable to just barge into their place and take over," Luffa said as she gnawed on the barbecued rib of some large animal.    "It's just that I live with aliens, and it forces you to get very protective of cooking spaces.   You can't trust them not to make a mess of things.   But these guys here, they seem to know their stuff."  

She passed a bowl of stew to Seltiss's side of the table.    "Here, try some of this," she said.    "It'll put some meat on those arms of yours."  

Seltiss shook her head.    Like all Saiyans, Seltiss had a ravenous appetite of her own, and her side of the table was stacked with her own share of animal bones and empty plates.    Even so, she didn't seem to eat enough for Luffa's liking.    Seltiss wasn't sure if this was some sort of motherly instinct, or flat-out body-shaming, or something else entirely.    

"Your, ah-- your wife," Seltiss asked, desperate to change the subject.    "Is it difficult to cook for her?   When you had me over for dinner on your ship, I only ever saw her eating from one plate."

"Oh, you have no idea!" Luffa said, still chewing on a piece of bread.    "She *says* she's a survivalist, but she hardly eats at all.   Honestly, I got used to her eating small portions.    What's *creepy* is how she doesn't even act hungry at all for *hours*, even though she barely ate anything.   Like, how does she do it?"

Seltiss relaxed a little.    For the first time, it felt like Luffa was opening up, however slightly.   She was worried that her alien wife would be a sensitive topic, but it looked like she had been dying to talk to another Saiyan about it.  

Luffa pointed a fork at Seltiss and raised an eyebrow.   "As far as cooking goes," she said,  "the trick is to remember that you only have one shot, so you need to make it count."   She reached into the pile of bones next to her and pulled one of them from the bottom of the stack.    "Now this one was a little overdone, but so what?    You cook this much meat all at once, you're bound to have a few pieces on the fire too long.    It happens.    But for some aliens, this one rib might be enough to feed three people, so you have to get it right, or they'll think you don't know what you're doing."

"I see," Seltiss said, not sure if she actually understood.    

"You have to focus your effort on very small portions.   And you can't just serve one dish and call it done.    Aliens have to eat some vegetables, just like the rest of us.   So the portions have to get even smaller so you can serve more than one in the same meal.   So you end up spending all this time and energy on something a normal person would gulp down without even noticing."  

"That sounds way challenging," Seltiss said.

"It is, but my senses got sharper after I--" Luffa held her free hand next to the side of her head and waved it upward to signal what she meant.    "That helped, believe it or not.    There was a time when I couldn't handle a spoon without bending it in half, but eventually I managed to control my other form enough where I could cook that way.     Then I got to where I could make those improvements work in base form.    Now, it's kind of fun to cook at microscale."    

"That's great," Seltiss said.    She had no idea what sort of alien Luffa's wife really was.   She looked humanoid, with blue skin, green eyeballs, and blood-red hair.   Seltiss half-suspected that the creature didn't need to eat whatsoever, and only played along to salve Luffa's culinary pride.    But Seltiss certainly wasn't going to suggest that out loud and spoil the mood.    

So instead, she tried to steer the conversation towards her own agenda.    "You know, what you're talking about feels a little like what we've been trying to do with the Free Company," Seltiss said.   "I'm hoping that this war will be a chance for us to show the galaxy a different side to the Saiyans.    This might be, like, the only shot we have.   Like those meals you cook for aliens, we only get one chance to get it right."

"Yeah, I figured that's why you said you wanted to show me something down here, Seltiss," Luffa said.    "What was it you wanted me to see?"

"Uh... really?"  Seltiss had to fight to suppress her frustration.    She had hoped that she wouldn't have to spell it out, but it seemed that Luffa hadn't even been paying attention.    "I mean, you saw everyone outside.    Working together, respecting the Eetiian population.   A lot of the Free Companions still have their tails, and they brought their children along to train them for full-scale wars.    I'm not forcing them to assimilate or put their embryos in tanks like my father, or anything gross like that."

"You want a medal?" Luffa asked.    "I didn't turn this camp into a smoldering crater, but I don't see anyone throwing me a parade."

"You met my generals," Seltiss said.   "That proves something, doesn't it?   That I'm not just some ditzy teen playing leader.   They wouldn't have joined me if I hadn't earned their respect."  

"They joined you because you have something going for you," Luffa said.   "Generals need troops to command and kings to give them authority.    You might have some credentials, but let's face it, this is just a convenient arrangement for all of us."  

"Doesn't it feel even a little comfortable to be around other Saiyans?" Seltiss asked.   "I know they're all afraid of you right now, but we can work on that.    You don't have to be alone--"

"Your old man tried to make the same pitch last year," Luffa said.     "Then he tried to kill me."

"Yeah, I know," Seltiss whined.    "I'm trying to show you that I'm not like him."

"I've noticed," Luffa said.   "You've been very eager to impress me, Seltiss," Luffa said.  "Why is that, exactly?"

"I need your support," Seltiss replied.  "A lot of Saiyans have joined me because they want to get away from my father's oppressive policies, and because they don't want you harassing them to get at him.  If I can get along with you, it proves that I'm a leader who won't make more trouble for them."

Luffa sneered.  "Spoken like a true politician."

"You saw me fight those Oatians," Seltiss said.  "Are you telling me I lack passion, just because I'm pragmatic?"

"You fight like you talk," Luffa said.  "Very precise, very calculated.  It slows you down, though.   You think too hard about what you're going to do before you do it.  When you finally commit to a course of action, it's a smart play, but it slows your reaction time."

Her words stung.    Seltiss had always prided herself on her ability to stay cool under pressure and examine the situation.    She had assumed that Luffa made her fight the Oatians just to see what Seltiss could do.    She had tried to end it quickly, so she would have fewer chances to make any mistakes.    And yet, in that short battle, Luffa had not only analyzed Seltiss' entire fighting style, but had deconstructed it.

"I... no one's ever told me that," Seltiss finally said.  "I usually get complimented for my quick reflexes.  Xibuyas even called my style 'poetry in motion'."

Luffa snorted.  "Katem is a teenage boy," she said.  "He'd probably watch you slip on a fruit rind and tell you how  graceful you are.  The worst part is, he would  probably mean it."

"I guess you're right," Seltiss said.  "But I thought that his speed would allow him to notice flaws in my moves, and if he couldn't see any, then..."

Luffa pointed at her own eyes.  "He's fast, but I'm faster, kid.  Take my advice.  Sometimes you have to let your instincts take over.  A hasty punch can be more effective than a well-considered one."

"Heh.  All right.  I like you, Luffa.  Not many people are willing to be so direct with me."

"Good, then I'll keep going," Luffa said.  "I think you're a walking example of why monarchy doesn't work.  People follow you because they're fed up with your father, and yet they still think you're qualified just because you're his daughter.  That's ridiculous.  You're a child.  I don't care how smart you are."

"That's another reason I want to impress you, Luffa," Seltiss said.  "I have a lot to prove.  If I can convince you I know what I'm doing, then I can convince anyone."

"And then what?"

"Huh?"

"Let's say you succeed.  You become the Queen of the Saiyans.  What would you do with that?  Where would you go from there?"

Seltiss was beginning to realize that Luffa was an even greater challenge than she had ever dreamed.   She was used to her followers accepting her vision very readily.   But then, what choice did any of them really have?    Even Xibuyas, for all his power, had nowhere else to go.   She cleared her throat as she tried to think of some way to make her dream as compelling as possible.   Then she gave up, as she knew Luffa was too straightforward for anything less than direct honesty.

"I'd want to shape the Saiyans into a nation, just like my great-grandfather wanted," she began.  "But I'd want to undo the failed policies of my father.  The secret police, the cultural reforms.  His obsession with you.  The strange experiments... Why are you laughing?"

"Because you don't get it," Luffa said.  "Did it ever occur to you that all that of your father's dirty tricks were the only thing keeping him in power?  That without all his backstabbing, his precious kingdom would have flown apart a long time ago?"

"Are you saying I have to embrace his wicked ways to hold power?" Seltiss asked.

"No, I'm saying the Saiyans can't be united under a single ruler," Luffa said.  "Not for long, anyway.  Not without abandoning what makes our kind great.  You and your dynasty are just spitting into the wind."

"Then... then I'll never convince you that I'm a great leader," Seltiss said.   "At best, we can only agree to disagree."

"Now that's the most mature thing you've said all day," Luffa said.   She rose up from the table and began picking up the dishes.  

Seltiss wasn't sure what to make of that, but she hoped it was a good sign.   She had hoped to get some sort of truce with Luffa, some kind of formal promise that she wouldn't intrude on Free Company affairs, but maybe this was good enough.   She might not believe in Seltiss now, but if she was willing to give her a chance, if she was prepared to wait and see, then that was something.   At least it implied that Luffa would back off and let Seltiss run things without interference.    

She was sure Luffa would confront her about her base of operations.    But she didn't seem to know about Shenia, and there was no indication that she had any interest in finding out.    As long as the occupation was a secret, then there was a chance.   There was only one other loose end she needed to tie up.    As she considered how best to broach the subject, Luffa had dropped off all of their dishes at a receptacle on the far wall of the mess, and she was already heading out the door.    

"There was one other reason why I wanted to impress you," Seltiss said as she caught up to her.      "I'm, uh, dating your son," Seltiss said. 

Luffa made a mocking show of surprise.    "You don’t say?" she asked.    "I had no idea..."

Seltiss ignored her sarcasm.    "Depending on how things go, you and I could wind up as in-laws, right?"

"You're sixteen," Luffa grumbled.  

"I like to plan ahead," Seltiss said with a smile.   She needed Xibuyas, not for any romantic reasons, but for his power.    He was probably the strongest Saiyan in the universe after Luffa.   The problem was that Luffa claimed to be his mother, and he vehemently denied it.    She needed to find some way to keep that conflict from exploding in her face.   One of these days, Luffa might come to take custody of Xibuyas, or he would take it upon himself to kill her, or die in the attempt.     Neither outcome was favorable to Seltiss.   She needed to get a handle on Luffa's intentions towards the boy.   Would she even allow him to marry?   Would she let him be his own man?    Her entire timetable depended on having loyal Xibuyas wrapped around her little finger for at least another five years.    Unfortunately, Luffa was more concerned with the short term.  

"Can you cook?"    Luffa asked.    "Because I can almost promise you he can't."

"Why does matter if we can cook?" Seltiss asked.

Luffa threw her hands up in the air.    "What do you two lovebirds plan to eat?"

"We'd have servants for that," Seltiss said.    

Luffa stopped along the path they walked and turned to face her.   "Hah!    You actually think it's that simple!    Just get someone else to cook the meals?    Launder the sheets?   That's no marriage, girl.    That's a stay at a hotel.   What do you have to offer a mate, besides your title and bloodline?"

"Well, Xibuyas finds me attractive enough..."

Luffa shook her head.    "Useless.    Boys his age... There's a few hundred million women in the universe who'd turn his head the same way if he ever saw them."

Seltiss couldn't help but admire Luffa's ruthless appraisal.    As much as the young princess prided herself on her detachment, she supposed that she had let Xibuyas' flattery go to her head.    Around him, it was easy to think there was something special about herself that he could never find in anyone else.    He probably believed that, but she couldn't risk letting herself believe it too.  

"Let me ask you this," Luffa went on.  "What do you see in him?"

"He's very sensitive," Seltiss said.    "Well, he puts up a lot of barriers, but he lets them down around me.   I'm the only one he can truly confide in."    

These were facts, although they didn't actually answer Luffa's question.    Seltiss had long ago crafted a response for what she liked in Xibuyas.    It sounded a lot better than saying: "He's easy to manipulate, and he's nice to look at."

"So what?" Luffa asked.    "That isn't practical at all.    It sounds to me like you're in love with being in love.    That won't get you very far.   Trust me."

Perhaps, Seltiss thought, her pat answer needed workshopping.    

"Then you're saying all that matters is doing chores?" Seltiss asked.

"Marriage is a partnership," Luffa said.   "It's one thing to share the pleasures, like sex and war and listening to the same music.    But what really counts is being able to take care of the little things.   The boring parts where no one else is around.    If you two can handle that, then you don't really need my approval, or anyone else's."

"So I should learn to cook,"  Seltiss said.   "Is that what you're telling me?"

"Hell no," Luffa snorted.    "Get him to cook.   He'll be better at it, since he should have inherited my talent for it.    When's he coming back here?"

"Tomorrow," Seltiss said.   "He had some mopping up to do on Penticede, but his last transmission said he'd be arriving on Eetii in the morning."  

"Fine.    I need to fill him in on the rock creatures.    He should be strong enough to defeat one on his own, as long as he knows where to strike."

"Oh!   Wow, that’s a relief.   I was wondering why you hadn't told me anything about the rock creatures until now," Seltiss said.   "I was starting to think you didn't trust me."

"I don't trust you, Seltiss," Luffa said.    "You keep trying to get on my good side, like we're buddies or something, but you keep your secrets, don't you?"

"Secrets?" Seltiss said.    "I... I don't know what you're talking about.     If you mean our home base, that's a matter of security.   I can't just--"

"I'm not talking about Shenia, kid," Luffa groaned.   "I already know how you took over the government so you could use it for your own plans.    Federation intelligence tracked it down for me three weeks ago."

"You... you knew?" Seltiss suddenly felt her throat going dry.  

"You'll order your forces to withdraw from the planet immediately," Luffa told her.   "If you don't comply, my spies will report that back to me.    The jig is up, Princess."  

"Now hold on!" Seltiss said, her voice sounded a little higher than she would have liked.    

"Don't get me wrong.    I don't like having all these Saiyans of yours operating in Federation space, but I have to admit that Marshall Booth was right.   We do need this alliance to hold off the cultists.    But you personally?   Well, that might be another story.

Seltiss couldn't believe this.   How could it all go so wrong so quickly.    "You knew, this whole time?" she sputtered.    "But you let me go on and on, trying to be friendly towards you... Why?"

"I'm no diplomat," Luffa said.   "Ask anyone on the Federation Council.    They'll tell you that I negotiate like I fight.   And there's nothing quite as satisfying as letting your opponent waste their energy while they think they have a handle on the situation.   Then you tell them how things really are, and you catch them off balance."

Seltiss took a step back from Luffa, and nearly stumbled.    "You can't be serious.   You'd kill me over Shenia?   You've never even been there!     I made sure to pick a planet you've never been to."

"What difference does that make?" Luffa said.   "I've seen enough planets conquered by invaders.    I think I've got a pretty good idea what it's like.    You want me to believe you're some kind of genius leader?   Stop acting like a pirate.   Try building a country from scratch, instead of on the backs of someone else.    Or I can kill you here and now.   Your choice."

"Now hold on!" Seltiss gasped.    "You can't kill me.   You just said you needed our alliance.   Without me, the Free Company falls apart!"

"Maybe," Luffa said.    "But something tells me a lot of your guys might decide to stick around and see the war through without you.   Once they get a look at those rock creatures, they'll see things my way."

"What do the rock creatures have to do with it?!" Seltiss demanded.    

"Your daddy's face, that's what!" Luffa shouted.  

Her outburst was loud enough to be heard by Saiyans who were passing nearby, though none of them could have understood what it meant.   But Seltiss understood.    The shock of it was like a chill through her entire body.   Her knees gave way, and she nearly sank to the ground.

She surely would have, except Luffa caught her by the arms and held her upright.  

"No, that won't do," Luffa said, looking down on Seltiss with wide eyes.  "You're the Princess of the Saiyans, aren't you?   The iron lady should face this on her feet, shouldn't she?"

"T-trismegistus..." Seltiss stammered.    "The alchemist who trained my father.   He could just be using dad’s likeness to--"

"Get real, Princess," Luffa said.    "Rehval is Trismegistus.   He stole the real guy's name, just like he stole the name 'Rehval' from your uncle.   Did you know about that?    Nobody knows your dad's real name.   Not even you.   He thinks it's cute or something that no one knows."

Seltiss wanted to say she couldn't believe it.    That wasn't true.    She didn't know the full extent of her father's machinations, but she knew enough about him.    Jindan, the cult, the war, the rock creatures.     Was any of it truly beyond his abilities?     There was no escaping it.    Unable to retreat into denial, all she could do was look away from Luffa's steely gaze.    

"Huh.  You really had no idea, did you?" Luffa said.    "I thought if I played along, let you talk long enough, you might betray yourself, give me some clue that you were secretly in league with the cult.    But no, the tears are real.    Maybe you did know about all this, once, but your old man altered your memories."

She wanted to angrily deny this charge, to insist that her father had never used any of his mind-altering potions on her.    But... how could she ever be sure of that?    If he was behind the Jindan Cult, enslaving his own people, then was there any depth he wouldn't sink to?    

"I so wanted to believe he was dead," Seltiss said.   "It would have easier that way.   So much easier.    I could lead the Free Company into war and avenge him, instead of trying to compete with him for however long it took for dad to realize he was obsolete."  

"Avenge yourself, girl," Luffa said.   "Your father is the lowest kind of scum, but you can restore your honor by helping me find him.    But first, you withdraw your soldiers from Shenia.    You'll never rise above your ancestors by wallowing in the same kind of filth."

There was something oddly comforting about Luffa's grip on her shoulders.     Seltiss vaguely wondered if this was the sort of thing she had missed out on from her own mother.    Brutal as Luffa's words were, there was a ring of truth to them.    

"I'm not with him, Luffa," Seltiss said angrily.    "I don't expect you to believe that, but I'm saying it anyway.    I'll do, like, whatever you ask, but I have to see this through.  I can't rest until he dies."    

Luffa smiled.   "Very good, Seltiss," she said.    "My father betrayed me once, too, you know.    Maybe you'll get a chance to kill him, the same way I killed mine.    And then... Well, we can have something else in common."

She shoved Seltiss to the ground, then turned and flew away, leaving the daughter of the Rehval Dynasty to wish that she could be anyone else than who she was.  

NEXT: Method to the Madness.

[basicallyimqueer]

party poison

summary: Dan wants to get properly drunk on New Years to celebrate the end of a decade, things don't go exactly to plan because he's kinda dumb

words: 2532

Read On AO3!

It’s been a long time since Dan has been properly drunk. 

Eyes glazed, speech-slurred drunk. Falling over furniture drunk, hanging onto Phil like a lifeline. It reminds him of a younger self, one huddled in the woods with a group of teenagers that he wanted so badly to impress; downing liquids that burned his throat and caused full-body shivers to shake his spine.

That type of drinking is such a juvenile thing now, in his mind, though at the time it seemed so grown-up. The summers that he spent playing spin-the-bottle with his emo friends were a nice break from the taunts and bullying that accompanied him like leeches within the school halls. Those words couldn’t touch him, though, when he sat by a bonfire and his numb tongue got to taste the vodka on each of his friend’s lips. 

There was no judgement in that group, not even when his mouth lingered on the other boys’ for longer than the girls. The lack of judgement may have been due to everyone being absolutely pissed, but it still counted. 

Then there were the university months, before his inevitable dropping out. Being in the law program and not being equipped with better coping mechanisms for it, he let himself go to way too many house parties with people he barely knew. The difference with those gatherings was that he had Phil, who was a voice of reason even if only via text. The most trouble he ever got into then was the occasional party being shut down by the hall staff or having to pay way too much for a cab to get back to his room. He doesn’t have much to regret from those times, besides being grossly hungover on exam mornings. 

Looking back from the present day, he thinks he hasn’t been fully drunk since their TATINOF party. It was the last occasion where he really let himself loose, sending out a nonsensical tweet with shaky fingers and even pulling Phil out onto the dance floor without checking for vlog cameras. The consequences of that night, as small as they were, put him off it for a while. That, paired with their stupidly busy schedule in the following years, made for quite the sober Dan. Phil hasn’t been drunk since then either, but Dan thinks that might have something to do with him being a nice, sensible man in his thirties. He usually respects and even envies the soft kind of reservation Phil holds about these things, but tonight it’s not going to do. 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and he’s going to be entering a whole fucking new decade with the man he loves. If that isn’t cause for celebration, Dan doesn’t know what is. It isn’t totally his fault that he got an early start on the night and now he’s seeing double at only 10 p.m. – the bottle of red wine he had been nursing while watching Youtube had emptied out with no warning. When the last few drops hit his tongue he was mildly confused, and when he stood up to put it away, his feet seemed to belong to another body. 

Phil wasn’t ready to start drinking until later, when tipsy, wine-fueled Dan thought it was a good idea to sneak a shot of their salted caramel flavored vodka. Even with the added sweetness it still made him let out a strangled cough as the nail polish remover aftertaste hit the back of his throat. That’s how Phil found him, standing in the kitchen with his face screwed up in disgust. 

“Getting started already?” Phil asks, grinning as if he’s in on some secret.

Dan tries not to let it show on his face that he just tossed an empty, kind of expensive wine bottle in the trash – however, he’s unsure what his face is showing. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. 

“Guess so. Join me?” 

His hands shake a bit as he pours another shot and hands it over, and Phil only looks marginally suspicious as he accepts. He doesn’t take it immediately but leans against the counter and holds the glass delicately between his fingers. 

“You look traumatized, is it that bad?” 

“Yeah, you suck at picking flavors. And alcohol in general.” 

Dan leans forward to poke him in the chest, miscalculating a bit and getting him sharply in the collarbone. He blinks slowly as he rocks back onto his heels, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Ow. I’ll be the judge of that. Your taste buds aren’t right.” 

“Okay, cheese-boy,” Dan snorts. 

He watches as Phil tilts his head back, barely hesitating as he takes the shot. The long expanse of his throat is weirdly appealing, Adam’s apple moving ever so slightly as he swallows it down. Even when he finishes it and his face scrunches up in the same way Dan’s had, he’s still weirdly pretty. His face is clean-shaven from his recent Christmas painting video and his blue eyes are bright, the way they always are after a nice trip to the Isle to see his family. Dan wants to kiss him very badly. 

“Don’t gloat about it, but you’re so correct. My love for sugar has failed me this time.” 

They end up pulling out a couple of Coke bottles to chase away the taste, and Dan makes it to his second shot of the night before he’s caught out. Half of it splashes down onto his Star Wars pajamas and when he disregards that to drink the other half, the glass rim hits his teeth in a way that makes his shoulders hunch up in a harsh cringe. The next thing he registers is a wad of paper towels being dragged across his leg and Phil’s other hand dragging through the hair on the back of his head. 

“Don’t gotta clean me,” he mumbles, letting his head fall onto Phil’s shoulder – he feels like he’s in the middle of the ocean, being rocked by insistent waves. 

“How much have you had?” 

“I’m okay, really. Doing good good great.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Phil laughs. 

Secretly, Dan thinks it’s his fault for not knowing – if he hadn’t spent all day in the office working on that comic thing, they could have shared that wine bottle and it would have been a romantic start to the New Years festivities. Instead, Phil is entirely too sober, and the floor is swaying even though they are grounded firmly on their barstools. 

“Worry about you, you need to catch up. I’ll wait.” 

“I have all night to catch up, it’s hardly half ten. Let’s go to the lounge, yeah?” 

“Or the bedroom,” Dan winks, but Phil only stands up and hoists him up from under his armpits. 

His legs are jelly, but eventually he maneuvers them to the sofa and collapses onto it. Phil disappears again into the kitchen, and he’s comforted by the sounds of him puttering around in there. 

“Take another shot at least! One shot is basically nothing!” He yells, probably a touch too loud. 

There’s the sound of clinking glass and he knows that Phil listened, which is nice. That reassurance doesn’t last forever because then there’s nothing – no Phil returning and little to no noise happening all throughout the flat. Dan sinks down into the sofa cushion and pulls a pillow to his chest; the decision to wait out the nothingness fails him as his eyelids start to weigh themselves down. Sleep has almost taken him by the time his shoulders are being shaken, jostling him back into reality. 

“Drink,” Phil says from somewhere above him. 

Dan reaches out, half-expecting his grabby hands to be met with the small glass from before, but it turns out to be a cold, larger one. He opens his eyes to see the water splashing around inside. 

“Not thirsty.” 

“You have to have water, Dan. I found the wine bottle in the trash. You’re sneaky, and you’re way drunker than I thought. Now take a sip.” 

Phil’s voice isn’t harsh, but there’s no wiggle room to argue with him. If he wasn’t incapable of feeling anything other than weird and sloshy, Dan would probably find it kind of hot. He opens his mouth when Phil guides the glass to his lips and drinks it down, not caring when some of it misses and dribbles down the side of his neck and onto the sofa. They can deal with that later. After what feels like a lifetime, Phil takes the cup away and sits next to him on the sofa. Dan immediately rests most of his weight on him, running his hands over Phil’s chest in little circles. “

I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to have all the wine, wanted to share. You were busy, though.” 

“I told you I’d stop working before eleven. I just have a lot of deadlines looming in the distance.” 

“Please don’t be mad at me.” 

Phil laughs a bit at that, grabbing at Dan’s chin so he can kiss him from a better angle. The stupid salted caramel nightmare flavor is vividly present, lingering on his lips after Phil pulls away. 

“I’m not mad. I just need you to sober up a tiny bit before midnight.” 

“I’m plenty sober, bub.” 

“You sure are.” 

“Why should I be sober by midnight anyways? Don’t need to think to kiss your dumb face.” 

Phil huffs in amusement, then reaches for the bottle on the coffee table and pours another shot. It’s only half full, but Dan can’t tease him for it when he’s stuck trying to figure out when it was brought in here from the kitchen in the first place. Maybe he would like to be a little more aware of his surroundings for the start of a new decade. 

“You’ll feel better in the morning, for one. Secondly, drunk kissing is only good if both of us are unaware of how bad it is. We need to be on the same level so that I don’t have to deal with your sloppy mouth, mister.” 

“Whatever, drunk-Dan is sexy. Now excuse me so I can go piss for three minutes straight. I had a whole bottle of wine.” 

“Very sexy,” Phil quips. 

Despite his obvious slight annoyance, he hops off the sofa and helps Dan stand up by holding onto his arms and stopping the gentle sway that came from being vertical. They hobble off to the bathroom and bicker the whole way – midnight feels lightyears from now.

Midnight comes sooner than either of them could have kept up with. In a non-shocking turn of events, Dan had peer-pressured Phil into getting past buzzed and into flat-out drunk territory. It was a victory for no one, though, because that meant Phil spent about half an hour lying on the lounge floor with his eyes closed, trying desperately not to be sick. Dan couldn’t help him much, in his state, so he just played one of his Spotify playlists on the speakers and hoped that the chill vibes would drown out the whining. 

Phil tried to distract himself from the nausea with a game of I Spy, but from his place on the floor he could only see the white ceiling. Dan guessed it correctly every time, each round sounding more dead inside. 

Some more time passed with reluctant snacking on microwave popcorn and leftover Domino’s straight from the refrigerator that kind of helped them sober up some. Dan was sitting at the dining table with his head resting against the cold surface when he heard a sharp gasp from the lounge. 

“Whaaat?”

“It’s 11:58, Dan!” 

“Ugh,” is all Dan could muster, turning his head to the side so that his cheek would get some of the coolness instead. 

He squints his eyes, watching Phil climb off the floor and stumble way faster than he should be moving into the dining room. His cheeks are flushed, and his stupidly pretty eyes are suddenly all wide and excited. It’s hard not to let that excitement hit him as well, but his head is just so fucking heavy right now and Dan never wants to move. He decides to gather up as much strength as humanly possible though, because Phil is now bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, lower lip jutting out. 

“11:59! Come on, we gotta do the thing!” 

“Alright, fuck, I’m up,” Dan grunts, holding onto the back of his chair once he’s at eye level with Phil. 

They huddle closer together and suddenly Dan is hit with just how much this moment means to him. His heart is working overtime, hammering away in his chest with what feels like a weird mixture of nerves and genuine happiness. He smiles at Phil in a way that hurts his cheeks, watching him intensely as Phil stares down the phone screen to check the time. 

“We’re supposed to kiss while it’s changing, not after the moment has passed, you weirdo,” he laughs, bringing his hands up to circle around Phil’s shoulders. 

Phil shoves the phone into his pocket and lets out a nervous giggle. 

“Sorry. I love you,” he says, and then he’s finally kissing Dan in the way he’s been thinking about all day. 

It’s uncoordinated and messy, but it feels so right with cheesy smiles pressed together and roaming hands sliding beneath shirts. If Dan had more brainpower to think about everything they’ve been through and experienced in 2019, he’d probably be having a little bit of a cry right about now. He’d probably do something sappy like kiss Phil through his tears and get choked up while telling him about he proud he is of them. As it is, though, he just squeezes Phil a little bit and buries his head in his shoulder. 

Phil’s arms come down to wrap around his waist and they stay like that for a moment, swaying back and forth. The music is still playing from the lounge and even though it’s some obscure indie artist that Dan doesn’t even like that much, it feels fitting and floaty and far away.

He lifts his head and kisses Phil on the cheek. 

“I love you so much. We’re going to have so many decades together if humanity gets its shit together and stops global warming.” 

Phil laughs and reluctantly pulls his hands away from Dan’s hips. 

“Even if they don’t, we can go to the moon. I’ll be right back.” 

Dan hadn’t missed the way his face had gone a bit pale since the end of the kiss, or the miniscule twinge of fear in his boyfriend’s face that grows more impending by the second. 

“You need to be sick?” 

“Very much.” 

“Right, run to the bathroom. Go!” 

Dan shrieks a laugh when Phil doesn’t budge fast enough and pulls him by the arm to rush to the toilet. They almost trip a thousand times on the short run, but they make it on time. It may not be the ideal, romantic New Years Eve that Dan had envisioned, but they have plenty of years to work on their planning skills. This one is just fine for now.

[winryofresembool]

Parental!EdWin one-shot: A Make-over

A/N: an anon sent me a message: “Ed let's their daughter do his hair, paint his nails, and do his makeup and he proudly shows it off and Winry thinks he's the biggest goof but she sets up a tea party and the entire family is involved” and this fic is based on that prompt. Please enjoy and review 8)

Genre: family fluff

Words: 1500ish

Warnings: none

“Dad, can we play?”

A newspaper got lifted from Ed’s face, and he woke up from his nap with a start. If the person waking him up had been someone else, he might have grunted angrily. However, she turned out to be Emma, and there was no way he would have said no to her even right after waking up. The little girl’s eyes resembled her mother’s so greatly, and she had already learned Ed was weak against her puppy-eye look, not afraid to use it whenever she wanted to get something her way.

Emma climbed to sit on Ed’s stomach and patted him on the nose because her short arms couldn’t reach the top of his head. “You look tired, dad. I know what will cheer you up!”

“Tell me, little bean.” The ‘l’ in his ‘little’ was a hesitant one, but Ed had decided he wanted to call his daughter that because it reminded him of how his own mother had called Al and him. He had already decided he would stop using it once she was tall enough to reach his elbows.

“I’m gonna give you a make-over!” The girl exclaimed happily and started jumping on the couch before Ed caught her into his arms, lifting her in the air.

“A make--- what? Do you even have any make-up yet?” Ed frowned a little, not remembering Winry allowing her to use hers yet.

“Aunt Mei gave me a make-up bag for a doll once… I’ll use it. And I’m gonna make your hair pretty too!”

Not wasting any time, she rushed to get the bag from her all too full toy box, while Ed sat up on the couch, wondering why exactly he had agreed to let his daughter do this. Well, no one would see it, so no harm done, right?

Besides her make-up bag, she brought a hair brush, hairclips and bands with gigantic fake flowers attached to them, and a jewelry box with countless necklaces, bracelets and plastic rings in it. Ed had no idea how the girl had managed to get so many of them already despite only being 5 years old. When Winry was shopping with him, she always made sure he would not buy anything extra for the kids. But apparently that wasn’t enough to stop him from spoiling his kids…?

“I want to do your nails first! What color?” Emma asked, showing the small bottles she had lined up on the coach table.

“How about this? It looks cool.” He took a bottle of black nailpolish and handed it to his daughter.

“But I like the pink one more!” Emma crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a disapproving look.

“Then how about you use both, it will be ultra badass.”

“Fine!” she said and started doing her job.

About 10 minutes later Ed’s nails were painted, maybe not so evenly, and some of the polish had spread on his fingers, but Emma looked very content at her work, so he didn’t say anything.

“Then what?” Ed asked, mildly curious about what his daughter would come up next.

“Your face! I have… I think this is called eyeshadow… and macaro… I mean mas-cara… and lipstick! And I don’t know where you should use this pen, but we can draw something with it.” She observed the eyeliner intently, as if that had told her its purpose. “Mummy has never let me use these, but we can try them all!”

“But what about your mum’s wishes?” Ed tried to get himself out of the sticky situation.

“She said I’m not supposed to put it on my face. Not at least without her help. But she didn’t say anything about you!”

“OK then… I guess we have no other option.” Ed sighed and closed his eyes as Emma started tapping the eyeshadow on his eyebrows (and a little bit on other places too). She had chosen a bright red shade that would definitely stand out, and Ed prayed he had time to find Winry’s make-up remover before their guests for the evening would arrive.

He didn’t have a lot of time to worry about that, because Emma was already holding the mascara in her hands.

“Hold on, hold on. Can I put that on me myself? I’m pretty good at it,” Ed lied, but he didn’t want her to poke him in the eye.

“Okay! But I’m gonna put the lipstick! Is this color good?” She showed him a lipstick pretty much as red as his old coat.

“You have a good taste on the color,” he complimented. “Sure.”

Emma applied the lipstick on his lips (quite messily), and finally, it was time for the mysterious eyeliner.

“Should I draw something on your cheek?”

“How about a transmutation circle? You know, the one you practiced the other day?” Ed suggested, taking a piece of paper from the couch table and drawing a simple circle with a triangle inside it with the eyeliner. Emma used it as a model as she started working.

Soon Ed had a slightly misshaped circle on his cheek, and Emma announced proudly:

“I transmuted a dad!”

“You did, sweetie!” Ed’s voice turned serious when he added: “Just remember, don’t ever try to actually transmute anyone. I… did… something stupid once… because I was desperate and didn’t believe what the adults around me said, and… I got this.” He patted his automail leg. “I got off easy. Your uncle Al… he was just a suit of armor. For five years. I’ve never told you that, have I?”

Emma shook her head.

“Well, you will get to hear the whole story when you are a little bit bigger… For now, just promise me you’ll only use alchemy to make other people happy, right?”

“OK, dad!” The innocent child she was, she didn’t even understand what bad things alchemy could cause, but one day she’d know and Ed got chills only thinking about it. He couldn’t dwell on it too long, though, because Emma was already in the process of trying to make little plaits in his hair.

“Hey, do you still remember how it’s done?” He took a strand of his hair into his hands and split it into three, so he could demonstrate it to his daughter. “First you bring this part over this part, and then…”

“I got it! Let me try now.”

She was focused for a while, but once she managed to finish the first tiny plait, she said seriously: “Alan said only girls have plaits when I tried to make him one.”

“I need to have a little talk with your brother, in that case,” Ed answered. “Of course boys can have plaits too! I wore one for years and no one cared. And no one should care. Don’t let anyone ever tell you you can’t do something just because you are a girl, because you sure as hell can! Just look at your mama! She’s the strongest and most badass person I’ve ever met, and she also gave birth to three awesome kids! That’s the greatest thing anyone can do!”

“Aw, Ed, I’d kiss you if you didn’t have that red thing all over your mouth,” a feminine voice suddenly said, the person behind it having trouble controlling her laughter. “You look… hot.”

“Don’t mock me, woman!” Ed turned to glare at his wife who was covering her mouth with her hands, so she wouldn’t burst out laughing. “If my daughter wants to practice doing a make-up on me, so be it.”

“You remind me so much of a certain father we once knew,” Winry said with a hint of sadness in her voice, but then her playful side returned again. “How about we let you stay like this until Brigadier General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye arrive and see what they say?”

“Wh-at ever possessed you to say that?! Give me your best make-up removers quickly, Colonel Bastard would not shut up for the rest of…”

“Fullmetal! You just keep getting prettier!” No other voice could have made Ed jump up higher in that moment. Roy Mustang was already in his living room and he looked like his birthday had come early that year as he saw Ed covered with make-up. Riza Hawkeye behind him was smiling widely too.

“Goddammit! Winry, you KNEW they were already here, didn’t you?

��I’m so sorry, Ed. I swear I’ll make up for it soon,” she whispered so the others couldn’t hear. “It was just too late to warn you…”

“Fine, but that making up better be good.”

“Don’t worry. It will be.” She pecked him briefly on the lips, getting some of the lipstick in her mouth in the process. “You did a great job ‘transmuting’ your dad, Emma.” She turned to her daughter. “Although, eyeliner isn’t meant for alchemy but maybe I’ll let it pass this time.”

“Hey, the circle looks super cool! You know what? I think I’ll just let it be for a while. I don’t care what Mustang says, Emma’s work deserves to be noticed.”

“You are such a proud father.” Winry ruffled her husband’s plaited hair before they decided to join their guests in the kitchen where Winry had already set the table.

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Shatterproof: Chapter 1 - Foundations

Chapter Title: Foundations

Pairing: Erasermic – Shouta Aizawa|Eraserhead/Hizashi Yamada|Present Mic

Rating: T 

Word count: 9k+

Summary: 

Hesitantly, Hizashi reaches out for Shouta’s hand and gently pries it open, palm facing upward. Covering it with his own, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, allows himself to linger for another heartbeat before forcing himself to let go of the small weight tucked into the hollow of his hand.

The ring glints brilliantly in the soft light of their living room. It’s the counterpart to Shouta’s plain silver wedding band, adorned with a row of beautifully shaped diamonds.

You’re free now, he thinks.

Notes:

This entire fic is for the hurting/healing prompt for day 6 of @erasermicweek2018

Shouta POV - Written by Say_Jay (Jay) Hizashi POV - Written by @aizawashovta​ (Shiva)

This is the most fun I have ever had writing a fic and it has brought me closer to one of my most precious friends. Shiva you said you were going to write something sappy in the notes section, but I’m beating you to it. There’s so much more to come with this fic and I am so excited to share it with everyone and I am so excited to write it with you. I may not be the best at showing it, but I am your fumbling, speechless Shouta, and you are my Hizashi who just doesn’t know how perfect he is. Thank you for being an amazing friend.

Read it on ao3 here

Chapter One: Foundations

Shouta feels the small metal ring heavy in his palm before Hizashi even lifts his hand up to reveal it sitting there, a corner of it touching Shouta’s own wedding band, shiny and perfect among the scars marring his skin.

Seconds go by.

That’s it.

Yet all the time that passes feels like centuries, like the one, single breath he manages to suck into his chest as his eyes rise up away from the abandoned ring, is actually equivalent to 10,000 breaths.

How did this happen?

How did we get here?

---

“Breathe, Shouta,” he hears Nemuri says from behind him. Her hand lands gently on the shoulder of his suit jacket and squeezes reassuringly.

Shouta does as she says, taking a deep breath, and opening his eyes. He stares at himself in the full-length mirror that’s propped up in the corner of his dressing room. Nemuri’s hand lifts off his shoulder and resumes sticking more bobby pins into his hair to hold the intricate braids she’s wrapped around his bun. He watches as she removes the last one from between her lips and slips it into place. She peeks out from behind him, making eye contact in the mirror, and smiles.

“Hizashi is going to lose his mind,” she says. Normally, the sentence would come out with a hint of a teasing tone, but today every word she says to him is genuine and supportive. Shouta thinks he really needs to figure out a good way to say thank you. As the maid of honor, she’s supposed to be helping both of them get ready for the ceremony, but she’d spent most of the time with him. She’d even brought her oil diffuser and plugged it in before he stepped into the room, a soft, soothing lavender and vanilla scent meant to relax.

“Thank you, Nemuri,” he says. She wraps her arms around his chest and lays her head fondly on his shoulder for a moment, before patting his collarbone and releasing her grip to stand back and assess his hair again.

“Nemuri!” Hizashi’s shout is right outside the door and it takes Nemuri half a second to sprint across the room and grab the door knob, pulling it toward her just as it jostles in her grip.

“If you think you’re getting in here, I’m going to tear you a new one, Yamada,” she threatens.

The doorknob ceases its movement.

Nemuri shoots him a look and mouths sorry, but Shouta waves her off.

“Go help him,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” she asks.

He nods. He’d been nervous. Well, more than nervous, if he was being honest. When he’d proposed to Hizashi in the privacy of their bedroom, he’d planned to let the blond take care of all the planning, the decorations, the invitations, the location, the dancing and music, and the ceremony. He’d intended to give his opinion wherever Hizashi wanted it, but trusted the other man to know what would make them both happy.

He hadn’t planned on standing outside on the beach counting chairs and nearly having a panic attack when they were short one.

He guesses some of Hizashi’s need for perfection was bound to rub off on him at some point.

He just wished it hadn’t been his wedding day.

“I need help with my hair,” he hears Hizashi say from the other side of the door. “I can’t put the flowers in the back.”

Shouta laughs a bit at the image of Hizashi trying to weave baby’s breath into his long hair, bending himself in half to try and reach it all.

Nemuri sighs, but there’s no actual exasperation behind it.

“Okay, okay, but you have to step away from the door and turn around,” she insists.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t hear you move,” she says, glaring at the door.

The doorknob shifts a bit and there’s some shuffling that sounds a bit farther away.

Nemuri turns back to him, saying, “I’ll be back in a few to put the flowers in.”

“Okay,” Shouta says.

Nemuri opens the door, and despite her never once telling him not to sneak a peek, he can’t help but lean backwards a bit, craning his next to see outside the crack as she slips out. He doesn’t see anything, though, her body carefully blocking the gap. She points her pointer and middle fingers towards her eyes and then back at him, glaring playfully.

“I’m watching you,” she says.

The door shuts and he hears Hizashi begging Nemuri to let him come in for just one minute. His voice gets farther away as he says it.

She’s probably shoving him back to his room, Shouta thinks.

“You waited 11 years for this, I think you can wait a few more minutes,” she says.

Hizashi responds with something else, but he can’t hear them anymore.

11 years… Shouta thinks, walking over to the small dresser in the room. He runs his fingers over the handle of the hairbrush Nemuri had used to pulls his hair back into the bun.

Had it only been 11 years since they met?

At this point, Shouta feels like can’t remember a time he wasn’t with Hizashi.

He walks over to where the two turquoise calla lilies Nemuri will fasten to the top of his bun lie together on a white cloth. He reaches his hand out to stroke one of the soft petals.

What did he have to be nervous about?

Shouta smiles down at the flowers, rubbing the petal between his thumb and forefinger.

He was more than prepared to be married to Hizashi.

That would be easy.

He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath.

He just hopes it will be easy for Hizashi to be married to him.

---

“Please make sure that they’re all spaced out evenly.”

Hizashi twists around in his seat, shoulders and back stiff with tension, his left foot tapping against the floor in a fast, unnerving rhythm as he shoots Nemuri a mildly frantic stare. She’s towering above him right behind his chair, clicking her tongue as she gently pulls one delicate stem of baby’s breath from the spray of flowers cradled in her arms.

“How about you try to sit still and calm down a little?”

Nemuri sternly gestures for him to turn back around and face the mirror, but her tone becomes much softer when she adds, “I’ve got you Hizashi, it’s going to be okay.” All the while, her fingers are soothingly running over his scalp, repeating the motion until Hizashi’s hand relaxes around the bottle of black nail polish that he’s been clutching a little tighter than strictly necessary.

“Gotta try to at least look worthy of him, no?”

It was meant to sound like a joke, but his laugh comes out a little too high-pitched, a little too hollow.

Nemuri’s hands pause where they’d begun to methodically weave the fragile white blossoms into his waist-long hair, cascading over his shoulders and down over the back of his chair.

He glances up at her reflection in the vanity mirror in front of him just in time to see her mouth fall open ever so slightly, as if to comment on his words, but in the end she seems to think better of it. She presses her lips together in a thin line as she chooses to pretend that she hadn’t heard.

It’s odd, considering that typically, Nemuri isn’t the type of person to be caught speechless under any circumstances.

Maybe she just doesn’t know how to respond to this, Hizashi thinks to himself. Not without hurting me, anyway.

He can’t help feeling grateful for her silence.

“I’m just kidding, Nemuri,” he backtracks. He’s not sure if he sounds very convincing, though, if the way Nemuri skeptically narrows her eyes at him, gaze searching his own for any sign of dishonesty is anything to go by. He quickly casts down his eyes, busying himself with finishing up his nails, which he’s currently painting for the third time in a row, this time hopefully without any imperfections.

“Did you make sure Shouta’s hair looks nice?” he asks in an attempt to lighten the mood, the closed-off expression on his face replaced by a small, genuine smile. “He has these short, little curls at the nape of his neck, and behind his ears too. They’ll stick out if you don’t tuck them back properly…”

“Nice try,” Nemuri snorts, lightly flicking his forehead in warning.

“I’m not going to tell you what I did to his hair, if I put it up or not. You can see for yourself when you walk up that aisle and swoon over it all you want, but for now you’ll unfortunately have to be patient.”

With a dramatic sigh, Hizashi slumps back in his chair, pouting, even though he knows that it won’t have any effect, won’t move his friend or make her indulge his ever-growing curiosity.

After a minute of silently braiding the last remaining string of tiny white flowers into his hair, Nemuri unexpectedly budges a fraction of an inch.

“You and Shouta are like day and night. I suppose that’s part of why you’ve always been so drawn to each other. You compliment each other. Somehow, you two just belong.”

She trails off a little before squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.

“He’s beautiful, Hizashi. You won’t believe your eyes.”

I know. I know because he always is.

“What about me?” he retorts, his brows raised in mock offense, and he just about manages to duck his head when Nemuri lifts her hand, threatening to flick him again.

“Really, Hizashi?” she asks exasperatedly, yet unable to hide the fondness in her voice. “You know that you’re way too pretty for your own good.”

Half an hour later, as he’s in his room by himself, looking his reflection up and down in the mirror in search for any wrinkle in his suit to be smoothed out, any flaw to be corrected before he walks out this door to marry the man he’d been utterly and hopelessly in love with since he was fifteen years old, he wishes that Nemuri had told him that pretty wasn’t all that he had to offer.

A glance at the lit up screen of his phone tells him that the ceremony is about to begin in less than ten minutes. However, instead of making his way downstairs, he walks over to the window overlooking the sea, calm and steel blue, its rippled surface glistening in the sun.

Absentmindedly, Hizashi runs his fingers along the edge of the window sill. His eyes wander across the small crowd that has gathered down on the beach, scattered between rows of decorated chairs, divided in the center by a spacious aisle that’s lined by a gorgeous arrangement of flickering lanterns and bouquets of flowers on both sides. White and sea green, as Shouta had asked.

I can’t do this.

Suddenly, Hizashi wants to run. Run from this place, run from himself, run from the softness that seeps into Shouta’s eyes when he looks at Hizashi as if he’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky. His stomach twists and he’s overcome by a wave of nausea.

One day he’ll realize that you were a mistake, a faint voice taunts somewhere in the back of his mind.

His nails dig into the palm of his hand so hard, they break skin.

----

Remembering what Nemuri had told him back in the dressing room, Shouta takes a big breath, releasing it slowly through his mouth. He looks at Nemuri again, tapping his wrist in a silent plea for her to check the time.

She shakes her head.

The music will start soon. He’s supposed to walk down the aisle and take his place on the right and turn around to watch as Nemuri struts down after him in her beautiful one shoulder, turquoise, chiffon gown. She’ll take her place and they’ll both watch as Hizashi comes out after her, coming to stand on the left.

None of that is happening.

Hizashi hasn’t come down from his dressing room. He’s supposed to come down and tell Nemuri he’s ready, but wait just outside the other set of doors so they can maintain the surprise for each other.

He’s not there.

“Maybe you should go check on him again,” Shouta says. Nemuri frowns.

“He locked the door…”

“He’s just freaking out, you just need to talk him down,” Shouta says.

“I tried that already.”

“Then I should go,” Shouta says, turning toward the doors back inside. Nemuri shifts her bouquet to one hand and grabs his upper arm.

“Shouta, no. Just give him time,” she says. “Don’t stress yourself out over this.”

“Over what? Over my fiancé not wanting to get married? Tell me, Nemuri, how exactly should I not stress out about that?” Shouta says, jaw locking up at the end. He’s glaring at her and he wants to apologize, wants to tell her she’s been incredible this whole day, she’s put up with so much shit from both of them for months.

Instead, his hands shake at his sides and his eyes soften out and his mouth opens up, but no words come out.

Nemuri sets her flowers down on the small ornate table by the entrance way. She steps into his space and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a careful hug, trying not to get any makeup on his suit.

“I know, Sho. I’m sorry,” she says. “He loves you, you know that. He really does. It’s not you...it’s the wedding. It’s this whole day. It’s all this pressure for things to be perfect, you know how obsessive he gets…”

“I know.”

Nemuri pulls back, rubbing his arms up and down before stepping back.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Shouta says, turning quickly before she can grab him again.

“Shouta!” Nemuri yells after him, “Ugh! Fine! Don’t let him see you, though. Talk through the door!”

“Got it,” Shouta yells over his shoulder. “Entertain the guests or something.”

Shouta makes his way back upstairs and down the hall, pausing outside Hizashi’s dressing room. He listens closely, but can’t hear anything. He tells himself this is good. At least Hizashi isn’t crying.

He leans his back against the door, looking at the wall across from him, where a painting of sailboats riding waves hangs.

“Hizashi,” he says. He pauses, but doesn’t hear a response. Trying again, he says, “Hizashi, it’s me. It’s Shouta. Listen...I...don’t know exactly what’s wrong. I don’t know what you’re afraid of. Is it the people? Are you worried about the decorations or if it’s windy or if a seagull tries to eat the flowers? I don’t know...those are all perfectly good things to be afraid of.”

Shouta stops for a second. He goes to tilt his head back against the door, but feels the soft press of the bun his hair is tied into instead.

“I just…” Shouta bites his lip. “I just hope it’s not...me.”

“It’s not you,” he hears Hizashi’s voice coming from the other side.

Shouta’s eyes fall shut and a small smile briefly flashes across his face at the prompt reassurance.

“Those other things don’t matter,” Shouta says. “I don’t care...about the decorations, or how your suit looks, or if everyone here has a great night, or if the lanterns all stay lit, or if the wind stays calm. That stuff doesn’t matter. That’s all small stuff. Sure, it’d be great if it all went as planned, but…”

Shouta turns around, facing the door.

“But they don't matter,” he says. “You matter. I matter. This is our day. Just us. This is for you and me. We can call this whole thing off right now and go get married in a courthouse, I don’t care, Hizashi. I just care about you.”

There’s a pause and Shouta holds his breath.

“I care about you too,” Hizashi mumbles from the other side. Shouta can tell he’s close to the door.

“Then come downstairs and marry me,” Shouta says, pressing his forehead against the wood.

Please, he thinks.

There’s another long pause on the other end, and Shouta almost thinks Hizashi is going to say no.

“Okay,” the other man’s voice sounds small. “I need you to go back down, though, or I can’t come out of the room.”

Shouta laughs a little.

His throat feels tight.

“Alright, I’ll see you on the beach,” Shouta says.

“You’ll see me down the aisle,” Hizashi returns.

----

Then come downstairs and marry me.

Hizashi’s breath catches in his throat. He hears a soft thud against the door, somewhere close to where the back of his head is resting against the hard surface, and he wishes he could bang it open, grab Shouta by the collar, and pull him into a deep, frenzied kiss. He wishes he could make every last bit of fear, every last bit of doubt, fade from his fiancé’s pleading tone.

You shouldn’t be the one begging.

Instead, Hizashi slowly turns around and concentrates on relaxing his clenching hands, gingerly placing both of his palms against the wood, followed by his cheek, eyelids fluttering shut, lips parting as he inhales, then exhales deeply.

He needs to calm down. He needs to get out of his head. He needs to, for Shouta.

It takes him a long moment to compose himself as he repeats Shouta’s soothing words in his mind until the painful knot in his stomach loosens, slowly but surely.

This is our day. Just us.

This is for you and me.

I don’t care, Hizashi. I just care about you.

Somehow, Hizashi had gotten lucky enough for Shouta to choose him. Every day, for the past six years, over and over again, Shouta chose him.

Shouta chooses him every morning when he blinks open his eyes to find that Hizashi had rolled half on top of him in his sleep, all four limbs wrapped around him like an octopus, crushing him a little, and indulgently lets him cling on. Every time that Hizashi snaps at him for no reason, on edge from taking on way more work than he can handle, his perfectionism getting the better of him once again, only to guiltily apologize barely a minute later. Every time that Hizashi steals his favorite oversized sweater on a cold winter day, talks all the way through a movie night, can’t help moving way into Shouta’s space no matter how many people they’re around, showering him in gentle words and gentler touches.

Shouta loves him.

Hizashi knows he does and he wants to believe so badly that he can make it last.

He wants this, he wants Shouta.

What am I doing? he thinks to himself, frantically.

His fiancé is out there in the hallway, every bit as nervous as him, not because he’s doubting whether he’s ready to make his promise, to take the step that they’d both known they’d eventually take together for so long, but because Hizashi’s sudden hesitation is scaring the shit out of him. Yet Shouta is here by his side, reaching out to him, ready to do whatever it takes to put that ring on his finger and make Hizashi his.

So he takes a deep breath and accepts the hand that Shouta is offering to him somewhere behind the door that’s separating them.

“Okay,” Hizashi finally manages to respond. There’s a slight tremble going through his body but his heart is beginning to feel a little lighter.

This time, he’s not going to make Shouta wait.

He’s going to follow him down there and reassure him that he’s been his all along.

---

No matter how many times Nemuri told him that Hizashi is downstairs and waiting for his cue, Shouta still isn’t sure he should be walking down the aisle without real proof.

He’s doing it anyway, though.

He’s walking over the thin, white sheet that makes their aisle, keeping his attention forward so he doesn’t get distracted by looking at their friends and end up kicking a lantern.

That would be his luck, starting a fire at his wedding.

He manages to get up to the front, where Tensei is waiting with a brilliant, reassuring smile, in a black suit with a mint green tie, and a small lily that matches Shouta’s hair pinned to his lapel. Shouta feels relief as he stands beside their friend, suddenly very thankful they’d asked Tensei to officiate their wedding.

The other man reaches out to squeeze Shouta’s shoulder.

“You ready for this?” Tensei whispers, still smiling.

Shouta is surprised how easily the word comes out, as he says, “Yes.”

It feels as if a weight is lifting off his shoulders with that one syllable. As he turns to face the aisle, where Nemuri is slowly approaching him, her dress ghosting beautifully over the walkway, Shouta is sure of this one thing.

He is absolutely ready to marry Hizashi.

Nemuri takes her place beside Tensei, standing a little behind him and to the right. She winks at Shouta and sends him a grin, before nodding out to the crowd.

Shouta turns his head, along with their guests, to watch the man he’s soon to be joined with walk down the aisle.

Shouta’s mouth drops open.

Hizashi is, well, Hizashi has always been stunning.

Tonight, though, he looks…

Perfect, Shouta thinks.

Hizashi’s eyes look like they’re nearly about to start spilling over with tears already, his grin so big Shouta thinks they should have warned their guests to bring sunglasses. Shouta trails his gaze over every bit of Hizashi, trying to commit each inch to memory, from the shiny black shoes to the dark grey fitted suit, to the sliver of his white patterned waistcoat with the mint green swirls peeking out. He’s got a matching mint green tie and a white dress shirt and a turquoise calla lily pinned to his suit, just like Tensei’s. It’s all brilliantly beautiful.

It really is.

It doesn’t begin to compare to his smile, though, or the flush on his cheeks, or his soft green eyes, or his long blond hair, worn down, baby’s breath weaved throughout it.

It doesn’t compare at all to Hizashi’s hand reaching out for his, as he finally stands next to Shouta.

No, nothing ever could.

“I love you,” Shouta says, the words coming out practically in a gasp. Hizashi’s eyes flicker over his body and Shouta knows the blond is doing much the same as he just did, taking it all in.

“I love you too.”

The ceremony barely registers in Shouta’s mind, Tensei sometimes having to ask him to say something multiple times. Their friends laugh and Tensei doesn’t mind. Shouta is too busy staring at Hizashi’s eyes the whole time.

As the silver wedding band slowly descends down his finger, Shouta thinks, this is the end of my life.

He is now tethered to Hizashi.

Everything he does from now until the day he dies will be with the other man, for the other man, for their life together.

It will be for their home, for their family, for their happiness.

It is not his own, anymore.

When the ring is securely in place, Hizashi’s fingers lingering on his hand, Shouta’s eyes shift up to look at the blond’s face.

To look at his husband’s face.

He begins to feel that every single thing that ever happened to him, every argument, every punch, every kick, every cut, every bad excuse for a relationship, every meaningless fuck, every time he lost his keys, or his apartment, or a villain, or his sleep, it was all for this.

It was all worth it.

So he could stand here under the summer’s setting skies, with the ocean waves softly roaring behind them, with their friends and family sitting just a few feet away, watching them. So he could stand here, placing his hand atop Hizashi’s, and smile with him, grin with him, laugh with him, giggle nervously as he says, I do, with him.

---

Carefully opening the door and peeking through the small crack to make sure that Shouta had actually left after Hizashi had told him that he was going to meet him at the altar, Hizashi focuses on nothing but the sound of his footsteps in the quiet of the corridor, the rush of the waves, and the faint murmur of voices mingling together into a soft white noise outside.

His heart is beating at a million miles per hour, getting a little faster with every step that takes him closer to the man he wants to share every remaining day of his life with. It’s a short walk down to the beach, where Shouta is waiting for him, yet it feels like the longest five minutes of his life.

When he finally sets foot into the aisle, nervously lifting his gaze from the shiny tips of his shoes to meet Shouta’s eyes that regard him with such tenderness it almost feels like a caress, the entire world seems to come to a halt around them.

Where he’d been doubtful about his perceived inadequacy, Shouta is wordlessly assuring him that he’s everything he’s ever dreamt of.

Where he’d felt anxious about what their future held, one look at the other man fills him with warmth and a feeling of safety that he’s always associated with Shouta, and Shouta alone.

Everything suddenly falls into place.

Hizashi just about manages to refrain from throwing what little self-restraint he has to the wind and breaking into a run as he walks down the aisle. His hands are trembling at his sides, a little sweaty with excitement, and tears are collecting in the corners of his eyes, getting caught in his golden lashes.

If Shouta had looked absolutely, mind-bogglingly dazzling from afar, words can’t express how beautiful he is up close in his tailored grey suit, perfectly matching Hizashi’s own, accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular chest, the quiet strength of the body Hizashi knows is hidden underneath the layers of cashmere. His fluffy, black hair is flawlessly pulled up into a large bun, adorned with several intricate braids, two turquoise calla lilies sitting on top.

Holiness. Faith. Purity.

It had only seemed fitting when Hizashi had carefully picked out the flowers for each of them to wear on their wedding day.

Throughout the entirety of the ceremony, their hands remain intertwined, loosely, gently. Hizashi gets lost in the familiar depths of Shouta’s eyes, reciting their vows, slipping the wedding band on Shouta’s finger, and watching him shakily mirror the motion, all in a blissful haze.

The very moment they’re told that they’re finally allowed to kiss, Hizashi can’t bring himself to pretend to care about any form of etiquette any longer, not even for another second. His hands have been itching to touch Shouta, to hold him with no space left between them, and he reaches around his husband, grabbing him by the backs of his thighs and lifting him up in his arms, lips crashing against Shouta’s, who’s lovingly cupping Hizashi’s face and leaning down into the kiss with equally fierce passion.

It earns them quite the number of surprised gasps and amused chuckles from the crowd, drowned out by Nemuri’s teasing whistling somewhere to their right. They press their foreheads together as they laugh into each other’s mouths between sweet, lingering kisses.

Right now, Hizashi couldn’t care less if they looked like a couple of silly, love struck teenagers.

He’s practically bursting with a myriad of emotions, euphoria rushing through his veins unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

He’ll only get to live this moment once and he doesn’t want to be looking back at it, regretting that he’d held anything back, hadn’t made Shouta feel with every fiber of his being that this was the happiest moment of Hizashi’s life.

I’ll never stop loving you, Hizashi promises, his lips firmly pressed against Shouta’s in a silent plead for him to understand.

Until my last breath, I’ll love you with everything that I have.

---

The reception is small, like their ceremony, taking place outside on the beach, under a white tent with fairy lights and lanterns hanging from the ceiling. There’s a large dance floor that has been built on top of the sand, a buffet table full of professionally prepared food, a small bar, and a dessert table. Their white and blue cake sits in the middle of the round table, surrounded by small frosted cupcakes decorated with candy pearls and fondant flowers.

Their guests fall silent in anticipation, all eyes on the newlywed couple, when Hizashi tugs his husband towards the middle of the dance floor with a wide, elated smile on his face. The light bounce to his step is a dead giveaway to how much he’d been looking forward to this part of the night. Shouta, on the other hand, is looking a little stiff, his fingers curled around Hizashi’s in a vice-like grip, as they’re both getting into position.

While Hizashi doubts that anyone else is likely to notice, he’s known Shouta for too long and too intimately to miss the glint of mild panic in his eyes, the way he tries a little too hard to keep his expression neutral. Shouta had never felt particularly comfortable being put in the spotlight. The fact that dancing isn’t necessarily his strong suit probably doesn’t make the situation any less unsettling to him.

Hizashi can’t suppress a small chuckle when his mind drifts back to the countless times they’d rehearsed this moment in the confines of their apartment, Shouta messing up the steps during their first attempt and nearly tripping Hizashi up by accident. They’d both ended up on the living room floor, Hizashi pinning Shouta to the ground with his weight, face buried in Shouta’s chest, and his whole body shaking with laughter.

It earns him a warning glare from his husband, but there’s no real sting to it. Shouta’s feigned indignation is nowhere near enough to distract from the softness in his gaze when Hizashi gently intertwines their fingers while placing his other hand on the small of Shouta’s back and pulling him closer.

“Relax, babe. I lead, you follow. It’s just like we practiced at home.”

Shouta gives him a small nod, and never takes his eyes off Hizashi’s, not even for a second, when finally the music starts playing.

Picking a song for their first dance had been an easy choice. The moment that the question had come up, they’d simply looked at each other, smiling knowingly, unintentionally annoying the hell out of Nemuri, who’d dramatically rolled her eyes and asked if they’d by any chance deign to let her in on their silent conversation.

The song in question had been the one playing on the car radio when they’d been on their way back from the beach on a warm, bright summer day, just like today. Shouta had burst into a laughing fit over one of Hizashi’s stupid jokes, head thrown back against the headrest, eyes crinkling adorably, his carefree laughter the most beautiful sound Hizashi had ever heard. This is it , Hizashi had decided after five years of silently waiting for the right moment, and pulled over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seat belt and twisting around in his seat to grab the other man’s face, silencing him with a hard, lingering kiss. Shouta had kissed him back fiercely and Hizashi had felt like the luckiest man in the entire world.

He still does, every day.

Today, he’s practically bursting with it.

As if to prove to him that there really are no bounds to the happiness Shouta brings him, his husband instinctively leans in closer and closer throughout their dance, their chests brushing. For a moment, Hizashi thinks that Shouta’s going to forget all about their audience, wrap his arms around Hizashi’s waist, and nuzzle his face into the crook of Hizashi’s neck. He looks sleepy from the way Hizashi’s holding him, warm and gentle, idly swaying to the music, like he’d done at home when he’d decided that they’d had enough practicing for the night.

“Hey!” he whispers amusedly, squeezing Shouta’s hand in his own to snap him out of his trance just in time to prepare for their final pose.

Shouta blinks up at him.

You’re going to be the end of me, Hizashi thinks fondly, as he carefully lowers Shouta into a dip to their guests’ delighted cheering and clapping.

There’s a faint pink blush dusting Shouta’s cheeks and Hizashi has to restrain himself from making any teasing comments that would undoubtedly get him in trouble, or kissing Shouta senseless, or both.

“You did well,” he says instead, and brings Shouta’s hand up to his lips.

Slowly, the dance floor is filling up around them, Tensei and Nemuri swooping in to steal them away from each other for the next dance. Whenever their eyes meet, Shouta gives him suffering glances over Nemuri’s shoulder, making both Hizashi and Tensei laugh at the other end of the platform. Taking advantage of the distraction, Tensei spins him around, struggling to suppress a smirk at Hizashi’s surprised expression.

This is perfect, Hizashi thinks to himself, taking it all in. The pleasant sea breeze in his hair, their friends and family dancing and laughing around them, and the comforting weight of the wedding ring on his finger, binding him to the man he loves.

He couldn’t possibly have wished for more.

---

Shouta kind of can’t believe how flawless it all looks. The few selected friends and family they’d invited are mingling around the area, taking photos together, dancing in small clusters on the floor, or chatting with each other at their assigned tables. He remembers looking around the room during the dinner portion of the night, and seeing their guests closing their eyes and smiling around mouthfuls of food, thinking, look, we did it. They’re all happy.

Hizashi and he had spent last night crafting their own centerpieces, low glass bowls full of water and lily petals, with floating candles slowly drifting on the surface. Shouta smiles at the memory of Hizashi buying the wrong kind of candles and watching in a panic as they sunk to the bottom of the test bowl. They’d run out to the store to buy the right kind, barely making it in before closing, and held each other close on the floor of their hotel room as they watched the small flame flicker. Their friend’s beach house, where they’d staged the ceremony and reception, was a long way out of the city. It felt a little bit odd spending their last night as unmarried men in a hotel room, but also somehow fitting.

They’d come home to their own bed joined together.

Shouta is staring at the little wedding toppers, two teal metal hearts twisted together, surrounded by white flowers, when he feels the familiar weight of Hizashi’s hand glide across his lower back before settling on his hip. The blond’s other arm comes around his front to form a loose hold around his middle, and Shouta brings his arm up over Hizashi’s shoulders as the other man leans his head against Shouta.

They’d spent a couple of hours now conversing with their friends, thanking people for their congratulations, and holding Hizashi’s hand below the tablecloth of their sweet heart table as Nemuri and Tensei gave toasts.

“It’s all been so perfect,” Hizashi whispers.

Shouta can’t help but think there must be a word out there that fits better than that one. This is more than perfect.

His mind feels too much like it’s still floating from the ceremony to come up with one, though, so he just hums in agreement and kisses Hizashi’s forehead.

“I love you,” Shouta says, for probably the tenth time that night.

“I love you too,” Hizashi responds, squeezing his arms a little tighter around Shouta. “Want to stuff our faces with cake now?”

Shouta snorts.

“I said we’re not doing that,” he says. “If you try to shove cake in my face, I am going to deck you.”

“On our wedding night?” Hizashi asks, pouting.

“Do you want to try me?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll try you,” Hizashi says, his voice low. When Shouta looks down at him, one of his eyebrows is raised suggestively and he’s licking his lips. Shouta laughs, lightly pushing the other man away.

“Wait until we get home, would you?”

Hizashi laughs in response, throwing his arms up and faking a pout.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll be ‘appropriate,’” Hizashi says, using air quotes around the last word.

It’s then that Nemuri walks over, a cocktail in one hand and the other holding up her dress a bit so she can walk easier.

“You two ready to cut this bad boy?” she asks, gesturing toward the cake.

“Yeah!” Hizashi says.

“Okay, I’ll go tell the DJ to make the announcement,” she says. “Get him good, Hizashi.” She points to the cake and then her mouth and then Shouta, winking and walking away before Shouta can protest that there will be no face smooshing tonight.

Apparently, he was outnumbered.

Hizashi’s hand reaches out and their fingers intertwine.

Actually, no, Shouta thinks as he looks down at Hizashi’s loving grin, he won’t ever be outnumbered again.

---

The waitstaff is helping to gather up the various plates and glasses littered around the different tables, folding up the fabric tablecloths, and taking down the fairy lights strung up in the tent’s metal supports. Shouta watches from the sidelines as some of their friends assist, gathering trash, and making sure people who won the centerpieces from the raffle they’d done aren’t walking out without their glass vases. He’d offered to help, as had Hizashi, but everyone has insisted they not touch a thing. Nemuri is currently gathering all the presents and cards from the gift table. Tensei is organizing the guest book table where they’d asked guests to take pictures of themselves with the old cameras they’d bought off a vintage website, and add them to the book.

Shouta looks around the area, eyes sweeping across the stragglers who were gathering their things and exchanging goodbyes, to find Hizashi. He spots the other man walking down the pathway toward the beach house, his hand on his cousin’s back, guiding them while also regaling them with some story, if the way his grinning mouth was opening and closing at lightning speeds was any indication.

Shouta makes his way over to Nemuri, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. She lifts her head from where she is bent over the table, placing all the cards into a box.

“Hey there, handsome,” she says, smiling. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to go down to the beach, walk around a little, can you let Hizashi know?”

She nods, saying, “Of course.”

He takes one step, ready to walk away, but pauses. Turning back to Nemuri, he gently wraps his hand around her elbow and tugs a bit. She straightens up and looks at him again, waiting.

“Thank you for everything you did tonight,” he says. “You really helped us stay calm and made this party go off without any problems. Thank you so much, Nemuri.”

“Anytime,” she says, opening her arms up for a hug. Shouta steps into them, wrapping his arms behind her back and pulling her close as she does the same. “Anything for you two,” she says.

“Don’t expect the same for your wedding,” Shouta jokes. “Hizashi will spend 80 years picking out the perfect napkin and I’ll have a meltdown if you ask me to give a toast.”

Nemuri tilts her head back, laughing hard.

“Have a little more faith in yourselves, Shouta,” she says, patting his back before pulling away. “I think you’d be surprised with how much you can handle.”

Shouta shrugs, smiling at her. He starts walking away, and says, “Only time will tell.” He gives her a wave as he pulls back the edge of the tent and walks outside.

On his way down, he starts pulling bobby pins from his hair, tucking them inside his pants pockets. He’s surprised how much Nemuri managed to stuff in the bun. He must have taken out thirty of them by the time the braids pop loose, unraveling from around the bug, and he’s able to tug his fingers through the strands. He takes the hair ties out to release the bun as well, bending over for a moment to shake out his hair. It’s very curly after spending the whole day twisted up. He thinks about how Hizashi will love it, will want to run his fingers through it over and over later tonight.

Shouta smiles as he reaches the edge of the beach. He toes off his dress shoes and pulls off his socks, stuffing them inside the shoes. He walks down to where the sand is wet and packed together, watching little pieces of shells tumble in under the surface of the waves.

What a beautiful place, Shouta thinks.

What a perfect night to start his life with Hizashi.

He watches the ocean for a while, eyes skimming over the water. A school of tiny fish swims near the shore.

Shouta takes a deep breath, the fresh air and saltwater feel light inside his lungs. He closes his eyes and tips his head back a bit, enjoying the wind and light mist from the waves.

It’s quiet, but he hears the sand shifting behind him, someone approaching. It’s probably Hizashi. As the other man gets closer, Shouta’s heart starts to feel heavy, the light feeling from breathing in the sea air fading.

Shouta frowns.

This is the happiest day of his life, but as the sun sets, the ocean growing darker the further away he looks, he feels sadness start creeping in. It feels like he’s just lost something, knowing he’ll never get another day like this, knowing it’s over now. His heart still buzzes with joy as Hizashi’s footsteps get closer, but it’s tinted with loss now.

As Hizashi’s hand touches his back, as his arms wrap around his waist, Shouta thinks, I want to spend the rest of my life here.

I would give everything to never leave this moment.

He feels his husband’s breath against his neck and it reigns his thoughts back in.

He doesn’t have to leave this moment.

He joins his fingers with Hizashi’s.

This never has to end.

---

Hizashi spots Shouta down by the shore, waves rippling around his bare feet, hair flying in the gentle sea breeze, now that it’s been released from being tied and braided up prettily into a bun. He doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to move, just gravitates towards the other man the way he always does, driven forward by the desire to be close to him, to feel his soothing presence, and bury his nose in his husband’s tousled, black curls, taking in his scent. So he can reassure himself that all of this is real.

My husband.

Hizashi tests out the words in his mind for the one-hundredth time within the past few hours. He’s never wanted anything so badly in his life. He’s never felt this ridiculously lucky.

Even though Shouta is still way out of his reach, Hizashi finds himself tentatively extending his hand towards him, impatient to bridge the remaining distance between them and touch him. He is relieved when his fingertips finally connect with the soft cashmere of Shouta’s suit jacket, pulling him firmly against his chest.

One hand spread out on Shouta’s stomach, the other one feels for his fingers to tenderly ease his own in between the gaps and weave them together like he’s done countless times in the past. Lifting their joined hands, Hizashi stretches their arms out in front of them, their matching rings twinkling in the gentle, silver light of the moon up above, partly hidden behind a wisp of cloud.

For a while, he says nothing, just stares.

He doesn’t quite know how much time has passed when Shouta eventually breaks the comfortable silence, his voice so soft that Hizashi has to strain his ears to hear. At first he isn’t entirely sure if Shouta had actually spoken or if he’d merely imagined it.

“There was a time when all of this seemed so far out of reach. I would have been grateful to see my ring on your finger just for a moment, just to know what it would feel like. It turns out that I’m much greedier than I’d like to admit to myself.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. He can hear Shouta draw in a shaky breath.

“Hizashi, promise me that you’ll never take it off again.”

Before Hizashi gets to fully process the words, Shouta pushes at his hand where Hizashi’s thumb is still rubbing small circles into his belly, right above his navel, and spins around to all but crash into him, noses bumping, teeth knocking together as their mouths collide.

Promise, Shouta’s kisses demand with an urgency that makes Hizashi’s head spin a little. Compliantly, he allows Shouta to part his lips and lick into his mouth, their tongues sliding against each other desperately while Shouta’s hands are clenching into fists around the front of Hizashi’s white dress shirt. They haven’t been able to touch each other this way in hours so Hizashi puts every ounce of his pent-up longing into kissing Shouta deeply and sensually, each brush of their lips an unspoken vow between just the two of them, more intimate than words could ever hope to be.

Hizashi had always liked having an inch on Shouta in height. He had always loved how the other man’s body melts into his so perfectly, Hizashi’s hand resting on the small of Shouta’s back, his fingers lightly tipping up his husband’s chin, gently but firmly holding him in place. He had always relished in Shouta’s often not so subtle need to surrender himself to Hizashi, to let him take the lead, to be taken care of.

“Shush,” he whispers to him in between kisses, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a fond smile.

Shouta smiles back ever so slightly, a little out of breath. He lifts his hand and absentmindedly twists a stray strand of long, golden hair around his fingertip. The movement loosens a few of the fragile white blossoms spun into it, making them float towards the ground before they’re picked up and carried away by the wind.

“We were such idiots. It was all right in front of our eyes and yet it took us what, six years to figure it out?”

“Five,” Shouta says dryly. “Give us some credit.”

Hizashi just snorts at that before lightly tugging at his husband's hand.

“Walk with me?”

Kicking off his shoes and socks next to where Shouta had abandoned his own pair, Hizashi curls his toes into the sand, soft and warm against the bottom of his feet after the sun had shone down on it all day. He feels at peace here, he realizes, as he takes in the quiet sounds of the ocean mixing with the distant cries of the sea gulls circling somewhere high above their heads.

The familiar feeling of Shouta’s body leaning into him closely, as they’re strolling down the beach along the edge of the water, reminds him that in the end it really doesn’t matter where they are as long as he can have this. It’s not the rush of the waves or the pleasant breeze that keeps him grounded, it’s just Shouta. It’s always been Shouta.

Hizashi squeezes his hand a little more tightly.

---

The sharp sound of glass shattering against their wooden bedroom floor makes Hizashi stop dead in his tracks.

He’d been fumbling for the light switch to the right of the door when his hand had collided with the corner of an unknown, hard object and knocked it right off the dresser. With the lights finally flickering on, it turns out that it was one of the many picture frames that they had neatly arranged where they’d have a good view of them just a few days after they’d moved into this apartment several years ago.

Some of the photos are even older, snapshots from their shared time at UA, a picture of Shouta holding their first cat, Kumo, which had been taken on his 25th birthday. Hizashi had woken Shouta up by gently setting the fluffy, black kitten down on his chest, waiting for her to wake up his boyfriend with soft, little licks to his cheek.

An older, chubbier version of Kumo is currently glaring at him with unconcealed irritation. Hizashi had startled her awake from her nap, a small dent indicating where she’d been curled up on Shouta’s pillow.

“Sorry,” Hizashi whispers, holding his hands up in surrender.

Slowly, he bends down to flip over the silver metal frame at his feet. The picture is a close up of him and Shouta on their wedding day, holding each other tightly as they’d finally been allowed to share their first kiss as a married couple. He remembers the thrill he’d felt in that moment, the boundless happiness and affection that he’d poured into every brush of their lips, every slide of their tongues against each other.

Deep in his heart, Hizashi had always known that for him the feeling would never fade.

Four years, he thinks, absentmindedly staring down at the photo, now covered in glinting fragments of glass. Time flies.

Has it been flying by for him, too?

Or has it felt like an eternity?

Like in a trance, Hizashi brings his hand down towards the photo, fingers brushing aside the shards and coming to a rest where Shouta’s lips are meeting his own, the corners pulled up into a soft smile.

Would he do it all again if I asked him today?

His eyes fall shut the moment his fingers close tightly around a jagged piece of glass.

There’s no pain. Nothing.

It’s only when the first few drops of blood begin to trickle through the gaps between his fingers and fall heavily against the glossy surface of the photograph that Hizashi notices he’s bleeding. The realization is immediately followed by the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway, accompanied by Shouta’s voice calling out his name, tone concerned, and eyes instinctively scanning Hizashi’s body for any visible injury.

“Hizashi?” Shouta tries again, kneeling down on the floor next to him.

Before Hizashi gets the chance to hide the deep gash in his palm, or any of the comparatively small cuts scattered across his fingers, Shouta grabs his wrist and gently twists it around to get a good look at the damage. Hizashi watches his husband’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, prepares for the inevitable question that he knows he doesn’t have any answer to.

“How did this happen? You should have known not to touch the glass.”

“I don’t know…” Hizashi replies truthfully, avoiding Shouta’s searching gaze.

He genuinely doesn’t. It had been like his hand had moved of its own accord.

Shouta lets out a resigned sigh, apparently deciding not to keep probing him for now and focus on cleaning and bandaging his wounds instead.

Wordlessly, his husband pulls him back up on his feet and towards their bathroom, where he holds Hizashi’s hand over the sink and gently presses a clean bandage to the cut to stop the bleeding. Once it’s somewhat under control, he runs Hizashi’s injured hand under warm water to thoroughly rinse the wound and surrounding skin, then dabs it with a soft washcloth.

“Hold the gauze pad in place while I start wrapping the bandage around your hand, okay?” Shouta asks softly and Hizashi does as he’s told, watching the deep frown on the other man’s forehead slowly smooth out as he continues to work in silence.

Once Hizashi’s palm is taken care of, Shouta pulls out a box of regular band aids and starts applying them to the smaller cuts. Struck by a sudden pang of guilt, Hizashi lays his other hand on top of his husband’s and leans in to place a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another one right on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making such a mess…and ruining the photo,” Hizashi murmurs under his breath, glancing up at Shouta nervously, apologetically.

The moment the words leave Hizashi’s mouth, Shouta lets go of his hand and cups his face instead, gently forcing Hizashi to look him in the eyes. His right thumb is rubbing over his cheek in a comforting rhythm, back and forth, over and over.

“Don’t worry about it. You are what matters. We can always print out the picture again.”

“You’d care to put the picture back up?”

The question comes out a little too fast and somewhat too urgently, earning him an odd look from Shouta. Hizashi can’t help wondering if Shouta has already picked up on it, the way he’s been distant lately, lost in his own thoughts that he can’t express. He wouldn’t be surprised. After all, Shouta had always been so perceptive.

“Of course? You know that one’s my favorite?”

Of course.

Relief washes over Hizashi in waves, soothing the growing, nameless pain in his chest that weighs down on his lungs and makes it hard to breathe, that runs deeper than any gash, any cut.

Just a little longer, Hizashi pleads quietly, as Shouta kisses him again, more deeply than any of the light pecks that they’d exchanged before. Let me have him for just a little longer.

---

The harsh sound of glass breaking brought Shouta to his feet. The logical part of his brain told him that a window being busted open would make more noise than that, moreover, no experienced villain would come smashing through such an obvious entrance to their home. The more paranoid side, which had been taking up an increasingly larger portion of his mind this past year with all the investigations at U.A., told him to go check on his husband.

Especially after he’d shouted the other’s name and received no response.

Shouta runs down the hall, stopping at the entrance to their room, and is not at all surprised to find Hizashi on the ground, holding a broken photograph.

He is surprised to see the other bleeding.

Hizashi can’t answer him when he asks what happened, but it doesn’t matter, Shouta already knows. This isn’t the first time Hizashi had zoned out. It is, however, the first time he’d hurt himself while not paying attention.

Although, the other man had certainly skirted that line a few times in the past month. Had Shouta not been around to turn off the stove after Hizashi forgot earlier this week, standing in the kitchen, looking down at a pot of boiling water like he couldn’t figure out why he’d even poured the liquid into it, he could have been scalded by the overflowing water.

Yesterday, Hizashi had gone out to get the mail and paper and come back with only the paper. He’d laughed it off, hitting his head lightly with his fist, calling himself a “space cadet” and gone back out to retrieve the mail. Shouta had stayed quiet on the couch, frown only growing once Hizashi was safely beyond the door.

How much longer before I say something?

Shouta cleans up the gashes on Hizashi’s hand, trying to figure out just how many more incidents he needs to add to the list of them before he’ll finally cave and stop accepting Hizashi’s obvious lies and unconcerned attitude in exchange for letting the other man feel less stress.

When Hizashi asks him if he’d want to print the picture out again, Shouta decides it’s the last straw.

Hizashi is still unfocused, even now, he wouldn’t have asked that question if he wasn’t drifting off into whatever part of his mind he’d been occupying without Shouta for so long. When he’s back, when he’s done looking at Shouta with eyes that don’t crinkle at the edges, Shouta decides he’ll talk to him.

He’ll address this.

He’ll fix this.

He’ll fix it and he’ll do it before either of them gets hurt.

Shouta squeezes Hizashi’s hand and deepens their kiss and in the back of his thoughts, the mantra begins to stick.

Fix it.

Fix it.

Fix it.

[bloomingjellies]

@probablylostrightnow I’m so happy for your self-discovery!! if only because you’re asking me about nail polish (also, you know, your health and happiness blah blah blah ^.^)

So I agree with the previous suggestions you’ve gotten about going to a salon first, if only to help get started in a way that won’t be extremely overwhelming. Plus, they’ll clean your nails and cuticles up.

The main things you need are a good base coat and top coat and, of course, nail polish. Sally Hansen is good “entry level” as in, it’s not terrible and it’s not expensive. I used their Insta-Dri Anti-Chip top coat for a while and while it does dry really fucking fast, it’s not anti-chip, at least not for very long on me. But! It’s a good place to start.

More than you probably ever wanted to know about nail polish under the cut

Ok so general nail care. I don’t expect you’ll be changing your polish as much as I do (every other or every third day tbh) but polish and remover is bad for your nails so you need to give them some extra tlc if you’re going to keep them painted. Cuticle oil and lotions are your friends even though I hate any kind of residue on my hands.

As I’m sure you’re noticing, feminine-advertised products are fucking expensive. I could blow an entire paycheck at Sephora easily and unfortunately the better products are more expensive but I’ve found a nice middle ground with nail polish products. 

Nail maintenance

Biotin is your friend. It’s your best friend. If you want stronger nails and thicker, faster growing hair, take biotin. I ran out and didn’t replenish for ~1.5 months and recently had to cut all my nails pretty short because they were breaking too easily. And I hadn’t cut my nails (filed and shaped, yes) in well over a year. I take a 5000mg cheap ass drugstore brand pill every morning and it works great.

If your nails aren’t in great shape to begin with, then I suggest using Nailtiques Nail Protein. It’s a nail strengthener than can double as a base coat, which I sometimes do if I’m not worried about the polish staining. When I first started wearing a lot of polish my nails started peeling so I took two weeks off (well, I was post-op and couldn’t paint my nails easily) and used this everyday and have not had an issue with peeling nails since.

So, remover. You can get the $0.79 ones at the drugstore but honestly, they’ll wreck your nails. My absolute favorite is Nailtiques Non-Acetone Remover with Aloe because a) it doesn’t wreck my nails, b) it’s even mildly moisturizing, and c) it doesn’t smell terrible. Always get a non-acetone remover!

Get some cheap cotton balls and cotton rounds and do the cotton ball trick. I used to scrub endlessly to get glitter nail polish off but now I just smack pieces of remover-soaked cotton on my nails for a minute and the whole thing swipes off. A-m-a-z-i-n-g

Base coat and top coat

Tbh you need a base coat, if only to protect your nails from staining but they also help your nail polish last longer. There are some that are better than others: Nailtiques protein is pretty good, Essie was a little lackluster to me and I’ve had some staining with it (tbf the polish was neon orange), OPI is good but expensive. My current go-to is Glisten & Glow for both top coat and base coat. Seche Vita is one of the most popular top coats--with good reason--but it’s a little intimidating the first time because you put it on while the polish is still wet but you have to be very careful not to pickup any of the wet polish on the brush. 

Edit: @coinin made a good point about Seche--it does contain toluene, so if you’re trying to avoid all the nasty chemicals then skip Seche too.

Painting/Cleaning Up

I don’t have terribly steady hands. I use a Photoshop plug-in to help me draw straight. I can’t put polish on without getting it on my skin. I just can’t. So! There are some options for clean-up: tweezers (carefully peel off any rogue polish, feels a lot like peeling off white glue that you’ve rubbed on your fingers), remover + brush/eyeshadow brush (you sort of paint the polish off your skin; this is the most popular method (I like to use these because they’re angled)), liquid silicon (it’s like the opposite of normal polish: you want to paint it everywhere except your nails and then you peel it off when you’re done. I’ll use it sometimes, especially if I’m wearing black polish but the effort is not always worth it to me)

Nail polish

The FUN PART! This is all down to personal taste. For example: @black-rose4 and I rib each other a lot about my love of- and her aversion to glitter polishes.

So main categories: micro glitter, flakies, multichrome, holo, thermal, magnetic.

Edit: @black-rose4 pointed out I forgot creme polish, which yeah, fine I did but it’s just so basic and boring ;)

I will rec Dragonsworn Cosmetics until the cows come home because not only does she do all the fun fandom polishes, but she does customs and, frankly, her shit’s just good. Specific suggestions: Dungeon Master (so sparkly), Mr. Nancy and/or The Zoryas, Moira, and Vetra. If you want to start out with (or are interested in) more muted tones then Varric, Bastion, McCree, and Leliana are good. 

Some of my other favorite brands are Tonic, Illyrian, Lyn B Designs, Moonshine, and Emily de Molly.

Tonic and Illyrian are event-release, which means they’ll shut their shops down either right before or until they have new releases. 

Lyn B, Moonshine, and Emily de Molly are always open and Lyn B often has 50% off sales. She sends the codes if you sign up for emails.

You can buy polish individual from the makers’ sites or you can use a stockist and get a bunch of different brands in one purchase. Color4Nails is the biggest US-based stockist (and they carry some of my favorites like Tonic and Illyrian) but if you don’t mind the wait, Netherlands-based Hypnotic Polish has some unique brands (like Starrily <3). CbL (Colors by Llarowe) is also a good brand to start with--nice colors, good formula and a lot of their polishes are opaque enough that you only need one coat (though I’ve heard she’s got some shady business practices, like buying out a supplier and then not selling any of the stock to other makers but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

Aaannd there’s Polish Pickup. The best and worst thing that has happened to me as far as nail polish is concerned. PPU is an event release on the first weekend of every month. A monthly theme is voted on and then the polish makers create unique polishes specifically for PPU. These are unique, one-of-a-kind polishes that--unless they do a throwback event like they are in July--you can only get the weekend of the release. Remember me making a post crying about not getting Ghosts of the Vault before it sold out? Yeah, that’s from PPU (and it’s coming back in July imma buy like five bottles). The facebook group is the best place to see previews.

Indie brands, for the most part, are 5-free, which means they don’t use the top 5 most harmful chemicals in their polishes. Mainstream brands don’t really do this because those chemicals make the polishes more durable, anti-chip, and long lasting. Personally, extra maintenance is worth not having those chemicals bbuuttt I also change my polish before it would chip anyway. 

So yeah, I like nail polish a lot. 

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

(If You Love Me) Let Me Go!

Logan only registered his name being yelled for half a second before something very big and soft ran into him, tackling him in a hug. “Hello, Patton,” he said when he found an angle for his head that kept him from swallowing Patton’s hair.

“Where have you been? I missed you!” Patton exclaimed.

“I was only gone for half an hour, I was helping Thomas decide how to plan his upcoming videos,” Logan sighed. “Now, could you please let me go and allow me to breathe?”

“Oh!” Patton exclaimed, suddenly pulling his head away from where it had been around Logan’s face. “Of course, sorry!”

There was a tug on Patton’s arms, but they didn’t come out from around Logan’s chest. Logan frowned. “Patton, that’s not funny, I politely requested for you to let me go.”

“I’m...trying!” Patton exclaimed. “I was just working with some extra-strength glue to fix one of the old toys in my room, and--”

“Did you get any on your hands?” Logan asked, sensing where this was going.

The pause Patton took was too long for Logan to conclude anything but that was what had, indeed, happened. “...No?” Patton tried.

“Patton,” Logan said with a pointed look.

“Okay, I maybe got a little on me, but it was just the palms, I didn’t even get my fingers stuck together this time!” Patton defended.

“Well, now you’re stuck to me, and I’m still having problems breathing properly!” Logan growled. “How are we gonna fix this?!”

Patton looked up at Logan and Logan inwardly groaned. Don’t, don’t, please don’t--“We have to tell the others and hope that they can help us.”

Logan’s inward groan grew outward, but he knew that logically that was the quickest solution to their current predicament. Under no circumstances did he have to like the situation, though.

He hated this. He hates everyone involved in this situation, but he hated this bit in particular the most. Virgil and Roman were falling over each other with laughter as Patton explained the situation and Logan looked on, a neutral but mildly irritated mask covering his true frustration at the situation.

“...So could you please help get us unstuck?” Patton asked as he finished his explanation of events.

“How...do you...even...get...superglue...off?” Roman wheezed in between laughter.

“I think nail-polish remover works,” Virgil said, mulling it over. “Something inside it helps undo the damage.”

“You’re thinking of acetone,” Logan said icily. “Can you help us or not?”

“I don’t have any nail polish remover,” Roman said regretfully. “So I am afraid that I will not be able to help you in that respect.”

Logan looked over to Virgil, who had started to squirm in his seat. “Virgil? Do you have any nail polish remover?”

Virgil mumbled something under his breath, scowling.

“Didn’t catch that, kiddo,” Patton said.

“It was from a phase a couple years back, all right?!” Virgil admitted in irritation. “I’ll be right back.”

It took a minute for Virgil to return with the nail-polish remover, and it took several minutes to apply it and slowly peel Patton off of Logan, which was admittedly made much harder because the aspect wanted to continue the hug of his own volition. When the two were separated, Patton looked around, hands on hips as he said, “Thanks you guys! Who wants a celebratory high-five?”

“I would advise against doing that until you wash your hands,” Logan pointed out.

Neither Patton nor Roman were in the mood to listen, though, because Roman said, “I shall give the highest of fives for creating such a hilarious situation!”

Virgil and Logan both looked on in abject horror as the other two aspects high-fived one another, and got their hands stuck together for their troubles. “I used the last of the nail polish remover already,” Virgil muttered. “Now what do we do?!”

“It should separate on its own in about a week...” Logan mused.

“All right! Week-long slumber party!” Patton exclaimed.

Logan shook his head. Nothing seemed to ever get Patton down, even when it probably should have.

[isaacathom]

ok so i tried the print again, this time with nail polish remover. and it did work this time! sort of. the flower one came throuh pretty good every time i used it, but the wedding one was i uh Mixed Bag to put it mildly. The first time I applied pressure with a pencil and it came through with a really fucking cool look but not much came through. the second time i used i.. spatula i guess, or the thing you use to ice cakes, and it... was a very mixed bag. then the third time i tried to place the wedding on top of a previously printed flowers and basically fuck all happened. sooooo the wedding drawing i was using is kinda bust for that purpose, which isnt great? i do have the actual wedding photo at my disposal if i want to try that instead (since it has more values and shit more of it might come through) but ill have to wait until during next week to do that, maybe wednesday night? like id have to get dad to print it on mon-wed and then do it wed night before class thursday. it might be worth a shot? alternatively i can print it myself at school on wednesday so i could do it as soon as i get home? timing is complicated. its not really a big deal.

just the fact i tried was worthwhile, i think! and i can show the results to my teacher and she can advise me where the fuck to go and what to do bc shes the expert here im just trying a thing she told me right. maybe she knows how to make the wedding one work better. :shrug: yknow. like if shes got experience she can let me know that oh, black doesnt work well, or white wont got through, or whatever. that sorta thing. advice and stuff. in the meantime i guess ill just keep fiddling with different filters for the digital one and print a few versions i think look cool out, and then we can discuss all that in class :)

[we-walk-the-miles]

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Okay, there are like 279 hearts here, so I’m just gonna do 28 :P

1. When I was a really little kid I got stung pretty badly by an io moth caterpillar that was hiding under a leaf, and my dad still has it in a jar of formalin somewhere.

2. I had a red betta fish that I took home from a dinner once (they were on the tables as decoration) and I named him James van der Beek. He didn’t live very long unfortunately, since he had fin rot when I got him. 

3. The only car accident I’ve ever been in was when me and my dad were leaving the house at the same time, and he snuck his car behind me and I backed into his passenger door in our driveway.

4. Me and my dad rode the Mission: Space ride at Disney World when it was new and actually spun really fast like a G-force astronaut simulator. I think I was like 8 or 10. It was fucking insane for an eight year old, and we both had to sit down for a while afterward. Eventually they toned it down and added a mode that doesn’t spin at all because two people fucking died after riding it.

5. I’ve never met any kind of celebrity. The closest I’ve ever been to one was when I went to a Hannibal Buress stand-up show (which was really good btw).

6. All throughout elementary school, I refused to wear my hair in any way other then a really tight, low ponytail with a middle part. Plus I wore glasses. It was horrific.

7. I despise horseradish and anything that contains it. Like, it literally (not “literally,” actually literally) makes me gag.

8. When I was born, I had a cluster of blood vessels right between my eyebrows that made a little pink blotch that my parents called an “angel kiss.” It faded slowly and wasn’t gone until some time in elementary school I think.

9. I’ve had two pet guinea pigs in the past. My first was a black male that I named Smokey. We got him from a guinea pig rescue, which turned out to be an insane lady’s house with guinea pig cages lining literally every single wall, and it was absolutely disgusting. But he was really sweet. He died suddenly of an impaction while I had a friend over for a playdate. My second guinea pig was fawn and white and was named Cedar. She was super sweet too, and she lived a nice long, happy life.

10. When I was a little kid, my dad got a pair of bearded dragons and bred them. We thought we’d only have one clutch and everything would be cool, but he didn’t know they store sperm. So we ended up with like 120 eggs in five or so clutches. We ended up selling them to pet stores and such, and a few to friends and family. The female just passed away a year or two ago, and the male is still alive, but very, very old.

11. Me and my friends in elementary school used to pretend we had horses and would “ride” them around the playground and field. There was a storm grate off to one side that was at the bottom of a hill that we would pretend was a jump. Eventually one of my friend’s dad made us some jumps out of wood and PVC, and we actually got seriously good at it. Like, we were jumping probably 30-inch tall, 30-inch wide “oxers” at one point.

12. The only country I’ve been to besides the US is Costa Rica, where I went on a two-week summer “service-learning” trip my freshman year of high school.

13. I’ve been to/through 14 states, including the one I live in.

14. My great grandmother lived to the age of 100 years and 364 days. She passed away in her sleep the day before her 101st birthday.

15. I think I’m very mildly allergic to eggs. Eating them makes me nauseous and just generally uncomfortable. Except for hard-boiled eggs, which I seem to be able to eat without a problem. I also can’t get flu shots (which are cultured in eggs) because my arm swells up like a grapefruit at the injection site.

16. I think I’m also allergic to kiwis. They make my mouth tingle, and just thinking about the taste of them makes me uncomfortable. I used to be able to eat them just fine when I was a kid though.

17. At one point someone we knew found a green tree frog in a bouquet of flowers they bought, so we took it home and my sister adopted it, named it Kermit (she’s basic), and kept it in a tank. It actually stayed nice and healthy for quite a while, but one day it escaped and we couldn’t find it anywhere. Well, months (maybe a year) later, we were cleaning out our upstairs to do a yard sale, and we found a tiny mummified Kermit. Kermit’s tank was on the complete other end of the house on the ground floor. My sister still does not know about this.

18. About ten years ago, we were getting my sister a new guinea pig for Christmas (our others had passed away somewhat recently), and she really wanted a tricolor one (black, orange, and white). So we went all over hell to find a female tricolor guinea pig. We finally found a perfect one, and my parents were keeping it in their closet to hide it from her.  Well, like three days before Christmas, it fucking died. So me and my dad drove to like six pet stores trying to find another tricolor female. We couldn’t, but we ended up getting a black and white one. My sister was really excited, but she ended up being the only mean guinea pig we’ve ever owned. 

19. My first kiss was in a kayak when I was 13.

20. When I was a kid, I really loved the Warriors series by Erin Hunter (kids’ fantasy books about societies of feral cats), and I tried to write my own series, but about dogs instead of cats, and I called it Night, after the main dog-character. I actually got fairly far on it, like one or two hundred pages probably, but never finished it.

21. I love makeup, but pretty much never ever paint my nails. I can never get polish to last more than a day or maybe two without chipping, so it’s just not worth the hassle.

22. When my mom was first telling me about the new Harry Potter books that were coming out (back in the day), I refused to believe anyone’s name was “Harry Potter.” I think I said something like “no it’s not, it must be Henry.”

23. I don’t remember this personally, but according to my mom, when I was little (young enough for me to not remember), we were at a zoo and some adults near us were saying something like “wow, I wonder what that animal is,” and apparently I very indignantly corrected them - “It’s a capybara.” 

24. I had five wisdom teeth. I actually wouldn’t have ever had to have them removed if we hadn’t found that fifth one.

25. I born without an adult tooth of my second incisor on the top left. The canine that goes next to it was coming in sideways and they were worried about it messing up my front teeth, so they pulled both those baby teeth. Now my canine is where the missing incisor should be, and I have a gap behind it. So now I wear a retainer with a fake tooth on it, and I’ll eventually get a permanent implant there.

26. I made mods for Zoo Tycoon 2 as a kid. I made more realistic “re-skins” of all the animals and gave them “variants” (so sometimes you’d get one that was a different color). I think I also made an animal or two using meshes that already existed. I published them all online and actually got a good number of downloads.

27. I was on my high school swim team my freshman year and made it to states as a reserve.

28. I drink my coffee black, but I also love flavored lattes and all that sweet delicious garbage, haha. There’s no in-between for me :P 

That’s probably more about me than any of my followers ever cared to know, haha. But if you bothered to read, I hope you got a giggle or two out of it. :)