#oh I missed talking about Umi and I’s train gods.

[hkpika07]

How safe is Lady from Diesel 10 with Damien around?

She doesn’t have to worry about D10 anymore. After the events of TMR Damien stripped D10 of his godhood (stripping him of his gold dust essentially) and cursed him to be unable to harm another being ever again. Every time D10 would try to get violent it would be like he was being held back by chains. Damien also bound him to the Isle of Sodor so he could never leave.

Also after the events of TMR Lady doesn’t leave the Magic Railway often if at all. All of the gods don’t really leave the railway unless they have to. They usually send their helpers down to earth to do things for them.

[lonelypond]

PhotoJazz, Chapter 5 (of 6)

Love Live, NicoMaki, 5.3K, 5/6

Summary: We have a gallery opening and a request.

THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU (REDUX)

Maki had slept sometime. Since LA. Before LA and after, that was how she broke everything down now. Before Nico had escaped the chains and wrapped herself around Maki’s every nerve and thought process. Enflamed, that’s what Maki was...obsession, passion, desire...she had no real words for this, no way to cope, no way to hold her head above this tsunami of memory and hope that clung to her, making every fantasy, every wish transparent. Not even the first time the potential pleasures of a woman’s body had overtaken rational thought, in Tokyo, at the start, when she swore never again to make that leap, have that feeling that made her shudder, the horror of only existing, detached, on the physical plane, of a one sided lust.

Eli kept nagging about the gallery opening so Maki was working. Framed photos due in two days, 10 days since her return from LA, no time passing since Nico burst from the water, pure drive, the moment, the breath, the shaky way Nico’s chest...that kept replaying in Maki’s mind. In an effort to not picture herself licking every drop of water SLOWLY from Nico’s torso, which honestly would last three seconds before Maki exploded and who knew what would happen, or what Nico would do or...IN AN EFFORT TO DETOUR THAT TRAIN OF THOUGHT, derail it into a deep deep canyon, Maki had pulled up every other picture she’d taken of Nico, the eyes, the closeups, the candids snuck between poses, managed to track down the most exquisite red jewel, the Moussaieff Red Diamond, fortunately on display at the Smithsonian, have Eli talk her way into photographing the exhibit, an overnight trip to DC, a studio full of every red flower she could find on the Northshore, since the perfect pink was still eluding her, and seemed only to make an appearance in the presence of Nico’s lips.

The raw materials. Add Jazz, Nico hated jazz, she could play jazz and maybe it would keep the Nico fantasies at bay. “The Very Thought Of You” over and over again, every cover she could find. Umi had fled the repetitiveness one day after stopping in to check on her. Slices and slivers of diamond, and petals of roses and peonies and dahlias and daylilies and hyacinths and then those eyes, sparkling, sliding in between diamond facets and floral faces, Maki was creating a whirlwind, swirling to a too rapid, too panicked, too heartbeat like beat of “The Very Thought Of You” cover that she pounded out on her piano instead of breaths.

One near hologram quality animation. Eight frames. Nico the essence, the essential, but only if you could tell ruby diamond and ruby iris apart, and even Maki couldn’t. She was proud of her art, Nico had said not recognizable so Maki had grafted her non reproducible charms into a priceless treasure, made only richer by the deeper, human feeling behind it. Maki could sense that when she looked into Nico’s eyes, in frame 1, from the Houdini shoot, and frame 8, when Nico had opened her eyes in her apartment, makeup and pretense stripped, trusting Maki, Nico’s expression open and inviting, a warmth of bemused softness . And that was where Maki was lost....between the opening and closing frames of the rose diamond nico...could she call it rose diamond smile… would anyone know...would Nico care...could she ask her...no, more volume, some random song without words, only depths and feelings, shaking to the ceiling as Maki curled into a cave of ruby walls, mirror images misleading her, calling her deeper, in to drown.

AT LONG LAST LOVE

Eli was back. With Her. The cause of all this. Nozomi. At the opening. Maki had delivered, at dawn, leaving Levine barely enough time to hang things properly. And she had been less than thrilled when Maki informed her that the no version of the completed Diamond Rose was for sale. The lenticular prints Maki had made of the eight key frames were a huge hit, which made Levine a little happier, and now Maki was in a dark corner, watching as the projected animation rotated through its special light show, pleased at how Nico’s eyes melded into the facets of the Moussaif, adding a depth that made the gem almost seem animate.

Eli had tried introducing Nozomi, but Maki had nearly snarled, and even though Nozomi was more than willing to keep up the chatter, Eli had reluctantly pulled her away, to introduce her to Levine. It was an Eli, Maki’s manager, night and keeping the photographer in a calm place was paramount.

And that lasted until the moment Nico Yazawa walked through the door, followed by half a dozen chattering hangers on. Maki startled, as she felt the focus shift from her art; Levine froze; Nozomi trilled a high pitched “Nico-chi.” The miniature marauder in question waved at Nozomi, but Maki knew it was half hearted as Nico’s eyes were searching the room, stopping briefly here and there, to register a photo existed, but in targeting mode until she found Maki’s once sanctuary, now corner. Which Nico did, striding right up, blocking egress, hand out, Nozomi watching curiously, Eli open mouthed, Maki had a hand reaching up for her hair and a bottled water in the other so there was no defense when Nico stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss on Maki’s reddening cheek, and squeeze her shoulder. Finally Maki managed to shuffle around Nico, to escape the trapped feeling.

“The party can start now.” Did Nico always say that? Nico slid an arm through Maki’s and dragged her into the center of the room, where the animation rotated between bright and shadow, “Tell Nico how you did this. It’s amazing. And why isn’t it for sale?”

Maki coughed as she caught Levine Brook’s nod of agreement. She was going to be ganged up on. She threw a desperate look in Eli’s direction but her manager was completely distracted by whatever Nozomi was whispering in her ear.

“Ummmm...well, first there was...first I created…” Maki glanced down at Nico, uncertain if her audience actually wanted an answer, but the miniscule miscreant was actually paying attention, “I created medlies of several objects using photos I’d taken.” Of you, Maki swallowed instead of saying as Nico listened with genuine interest, “and then several days later, this happened…”

“Maki’s never really been good at describing her process, Miss Yazawa,” Levine slid herself smoothly into the conversation.

“No,” Nico smiled gaily at the new entry, “Put a camera in her hand and suddenly you feel like a peeping pervert outside a bedroom window.”

Maki had been wondering exactly how Nico was keeping her bangs to the side but then Nico’s statement registered, “Hey. It’s not like that.”

“Like what?” And now Eli was there.

“I am not in a sexual relationship with my camera.” And the room had, of course, gone quiet, the breath before Maki’s declaration and Eli’s wife, of course, let the echoes die down before she continued the torture.

“So would you AND the camera be in a sexual relationship with your subjects?” Nozomi giggled, “A sort of ménage a montage?”

Eli, traitor to the core, joined the giggle crowd.

Levine, reading the room and ignoring Maki’s aggrieved huffing, decided risky was worth it as neither the celebrity guest or the money people had committed to a mood yet, “Annie Liebovitz did say “A thing that you see in my pictures is that I was not afraid to fall in love with these people.”

Nico was the next to contribute, “Nico’s been reading up on Mapplethorpe,” she tossed off casually as she grinned at Maki, her voice altering as she quoted, ““When I have sex with someone I forget who I am. For a minute I even forget I’m human. It’s the same thing when I’m behind a camera. I forget I exist.” Nico winked at Maki, a smug, confident, audacious, invading-all-Maki’s-sanctuaries wink, as her voice made their exchange a private, sensual whisper. “Nico’s there but not. And the rest is left to the audience.”

Beauty and the Devil are the same, Maki thought. Mapplethorpe said that too. With possibly the same burning in his eyes and chest as she had right now, staring through Nico, wondering if Nico had meant in bed or on screen, Maki could see the smirk and horns and the smoldering and the hood tossed over to make sure there was enough shadowing to upset and unsettle the viewer. And the eyes would burn, fire, fire, flames ablaze in darkness, Nico’s glance lasering down through the skin to the soul, like the lancing touch of angel wings as their feathers ignited in the heavenly fall.

“Maki?” Levine touched her arm lightly, “Nico asked you a question.”

Maki blinked, her ‘what’ all abrupt, half accusation.

Nico was ice calm but that was no balm when she struck, “Could you do an animation of something like the pictures you took of me in LA?”

Oh gods. Cold and hot both burning, flood surge of memories and wants bursting through. Cursing her lack of ability to come up with any dry analogies, Maki spun around and headed for the door, Eli stepping in behind her with apologies, to give Maki a necessary moment to clear her head.

SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE

No, Maki had not spent the entire night sorting through the Houdini Estate pictures, plotting angles for the animated and lenticular display Nico had requested. Nope. That would be creepy. Not more than ten minutes. The rest of the night had been taken up by screaming into one of the pillows on her studio couch, reshuffling the pictures on her wall, and 3 hours boxing her arms off in Wii Sports, followed by too many runs in SSX Blur to count. Then exhaustion had hit and she was too tired to dream or think or plan or…

Knocking. Door. Did she have a doorbell? Umi. Maki sat up in a panic, looking for her phone. Too early for Umi. The London flight left in the afternoon. It was barely dawn. Well, Maki had been up til dawn so it wasn’t really much after. She still needed sleep.

Maki opened the door. Nico Yazawa stood there, behind crystal encrusted sunglasses, pink coat blowing open in the brisk wind, dark floral wrap dress underneath. She had a basket in her hand and pushed it into Maki’s abdomen as she strode into the studio, “Nozomi said that Eli said you slept here most nights. I guess she was right.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought you breakfast.” Nico smiled brightly, “A breakfast pie. Stick the fork right in. Nico knows that’s your style.”

“Ok.” Maki found herself clutching the basket, which smelled like bacon and fennel sausages closer when she expected to shove it right back at the invading force.

“And…” Nico spun around, whipping an oversized, glossy object at Maki, “Nico brought you an advance copy of Interview.” A dramatic pause, “Signed. Hot off the presses this morning.” Nico unfurled the magazine, the shot of her wet and bursting out of the water tank was splashed across the cover with the caption, ‘Yazawa Escapes Chains of Nico’s Past.’ “Nico signed it for you.”

“I have the negative.” Maki sat on her couch, pulling the pie out of the basket, pausing to inhale delicious, tempting smells.

“Want Nico to sign that?” Had Maki ever heard Nico’s voice without a lilting tease? She couldn’t remember.

“Please leave.” Maki shuffled through the basket but no silverware. She crawled to the end of the couch, precariously leaning over to her desk, pulling a fork out of the pen cup at the end.

“Have you washed that recently?”

Maki shrugged, breakfast pie on its way to her salivating mouth.

“Cotorou says hi.” Nico took her sunglasses off with a flair.

Maki waved the fork.

“He wants to come on another photoshoot.”

Maki nodded, in what she hoped was a non committal fashion.

“Nico needs you in Tokyo before New Year’s.” Nico was now looming both too close and too tall, how high were those boot heels Maki wondered.

Maki stopped chewing, staring up at Yazawa.

“Vogue is flying me out, I’m debuting a hot new designer team, it’s amazing...:” Nico somehow gleamed with enthusiasm, almost taking on a glow. Maki figured her own eyes weren’t used to daylight yet.

Maki swallowed, taking a moment to fortify her constitution as Nico slid into the couch next to her, some citrusy perfume wafting, stole Maki’s fork and ate a piece of pie, “Why do you need me? Nozomi’s back.”

Nico hesitated, then went for accusatory, “Your friend is DRAGGING her to Russia for the holidays, and Nico can’t cope. Everybody else sees child star Nico...you see…” Nico pointed to the magazine, then offered Maki a forkful of pie. The photographer bit, distracted by thinking about how often she saw Nico like that, in LA, in black and white, in color, in motion, in control, in her mind. Nico leaned in, “I know your first show was in Tokyo, after you spent a summer there, and you haven’t been back. I thought you might enjoy a chance to revisit your original inspiration.” Nico’s eyelashes were blinking at an impossibly slow rate, black shadows over the eyes that offered Maki too many things to read.

There were a few reasons Maki had never returned to Tokyo, all of them more whims than foundational beliefs. Another forkful, Nico just watching Maki for another moment and then bouncing up, wandering through the room, “Have you framed a picture of Nico for the wall yet?”

“No.” Maki sounded sullen, but only because she was tired of having that argument with herself.

“Isn’t Nico nude enough?”

Damn it, the midget monster enjoyed this, there was far to much mirth and mischief underlying her tone. Which, Maki conceded to HERSELF, was much better than if Nico had gone for any kind of sensual vocal coloration.

“I’ve been busy.” Maki punted and grabbed the fork from where Nico had stabbed it into the pie. Amazing flavor mix. Maki could eat this every morning.

Nico leaned over the back of the couch, her chin threatening to land on Maki’s shoulder, one arm keeping Maki from sliding away, “Nico is busy too. And I need help. And you love taking Nico’s picture.”

Maki spluttered as that whispered exaggeration slid into her ear, “I don’t...you can’t...it’s not…”

“It’s not what?”

Maki sighed, regaining equilibrium. It was easier when she wasn’t looking at Nico. “Once again, I’m not your personal photographer, Ms. Yazawa. I can recommend several.”

“First class to Tokyo, Nico will pose however YOU want her, such a high class hotel it would make the one in LA drool, and Nico left you an open ended return ticket if you’d like to visit old…” Nico leaned into Maki’s view and winked, “friends.”

“Nico…”

“Please.” Nico pointed to the pie, “Nico doesn’t bake for everyone, just geniuses who do her super special favors.”

It was the “geniuses” that got the nod out of her, Maki thought, or the honest admiration glowing in Nico’s eyes, but there she was, consenting to Nico invading her space, her time, her calendar. Maki’s world wasn’t pre LA or post LA, it was pre and post Nico.

CANDY

Maki hadn’t been back in Tokyo for several years. She’d spent a summer staying with cousins after her junior year of college, mostly following them around to parties and trying to flirt with women she’d never see again, which was, as always, Option A. Memories came back, quick kisses, her first, here, somewhere no one really knew her. And her first chances taken with photography, somehow both mixed together in her memory, candy colored video game trinkets, vibrant plastic trifles, girls, legs, neon against night, shadows of thousands of odd moments caught in the corners of creative minds, briefly, sharply lit future crashing against traditional Japanese formality. Her first nude model, fabric draping off curves Maki had only recently realized felt so different when they were other. Gay might not seem other, but it was, the most intense form. Curves, yes, but there were the details, the differences, the dents, the dips, the draws, the way her fingers, her eyes, her camera were drawn in, almost swallowed, tiny in the overwhelming awe each fraction of a minute of a degree of change inspired. Lost, she got lost, it was amazing, it was terrifying, it was crushing when she realized her emotions had leapt to attachment with so little encouragement. The model had been kind, but the disappointment in herself had tainted the rest of Maki’s visit and she’d thrown herself into her photography, trying to both distance and replicate the experience, with unyielding imperfect plastic facsimiles and flowing fabric. She’d had her first magazine credit, her first gallery show, a sold out success that she’d been too embarrassed to tell her uncle was happening. So many firsts and then she’d left Tokyo behind, bringing only the fire to kneel, to be humbled breathless by, to capture perfect moments, the beats that stopped her cold, the colors that caught her in their swirl like a mythical maelstrom.

Too much pink tonight. Why had Nico dragged her to Tokyo? The shoot in Akihabara had been too close to memories for Maki to be comfortable. But Nico had done her usual bright bulldozing through anyone in her way and she’d looked so damn good in the yukata and kanzashi and...Maki stared at the shot glass in front of her and nodded at the bartender, double it. Japanese whiskey. When in Nippon...someone slid in next to her. She glanced slightly. Not Nico. Her laugh was across the room. The hairstylist. And their translator on the other side, both smiling, both leaning into Maki. She smiled at the one, Yuu, and winked at the other, Neve.

“Hello, ladies.”

Giggles.

“So we heard you had your first…” another giggle. Maki sunk the whiskey in the pool of other whiskey that was working its way through her veins and blurring her vision, her judgement, her grasp “show here.”

Maki grinned, and tapped so the bartender poured her another. It was Nico’s tab, Nico could pay for this mood she’d flown Maki halfway across the world into, “Yep. Just down the block. Famous gallery. EVERYTHING sold.” Maki toasted herself, wondering if she sounded as loud as she thought. She dropped her head, pulling the two women in to whisper, “First everything here…”

The wide eyes told her her audience understood the implications, although Maki wouldn’t bother to explain that she might have been exaggerating her story a bit. She felt a touch on her hair, a breath near her ear, a hand sliding under hers and her hand shot forward, shaking, grabbing the shot glass as she stood, “Look me up later, ladies.” Wink. Stumble. Was it really a stumble, yes, Maki realized as she found herself mysteriously across the room, her arms finally catching her fall by jamming into table. Jarring. Maki shook her head, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and there they were, the eyes that haunted her, the shimmering ruby depths that taunted her by being more unreadable than Lake Michigan under a new moon.

“Nico!” Maki slid into the booth. Nico seemed more amused than usual, but her smile was...Maki frowned, it was a complicated concept, not warm, not cold, something sandwich, wry…Maki pounded the table, proud of herself.

“Why do you always slide away from them?” Nico raised a bulbous glass full of some viscous red liquid in the direction of the bar.

Maki took her time, propping her elbows on the table, dropping her chin down, furrowing her brow, stretching out her mouth as Nico watched every single motion with the protective amusement of an adult in charge of a toddler learning to crawl. Maki purred “They’re not aesthetically pleasing” and Nico only twitched a little as Maki’s finger touched between Nico’s eyebrows, tracing down over her nose, barely tapping her top lip, “Not like you.” Maki grinned at Nico, looming, “Just joking; ‘m not that shallow.” She shook her head, leaning back, staring at the ceiling, “They want...cool.” Another sigh as today, Tokyo, Nico, blossoms, wishes, wants, wounds churned behind her closed eyelids, “I’m not that…” She stuck out her tongue, “And It’s all pink now. I just can’t see any…” Maki blew out a big breath, feeling relieved, maybe a little queasy, what were they talking about, was Nico still there? She let her head fall to the side, something warm, Nico’s perfume, Nico’s carefully trimmed nails tapping a rhythm Maki knew well but which….”HEY!” Maki sat up, her hands reaching out as if for a keyboard, trying to place the tune, Nico had jumped back, her drink spilling a little, Maki watched fascinated as the red liquid dripped down Nico’s wrist and she had the sudden thirsty urge to lean forward and lick it, to see if tasted salty at all, like skin did, like…

“Maki?” Nico’s other hand was under her chin, but Maki shook it off, the almost familiar rhythm still working its way into clarity. Then Maki stopped, eyes narrowed at a confused Nico. “But you hate jazz. There’s no words. You said so.”

Nico looked flummoxed for the first time Maki had ever seen her, “When did I say that?”

“At the party. The first time I saw you. All pink. Eli dragged me there. So she could meet Nozomi.”

Nico’s chin jutted forward, her eyes blinking, a slight flush on her cheeks, “You were there?”

“Obviously,” Maki snorted, “everybody was staring, and so rude but I couldn’t get you out of my m...” Nico was fumbling nervously with the tablecloth. Maki grabbed a napkin to hand to Nico but her hand knocked straight into Nico’s glass, more red spilling across the table, Maki reaching out, fascinated, “sticky.”

“You have had too much to drink.” Nico decided, her voice very close, very soft, Maki turned her head and Nico was right there...right there, she reached out a hand but ended up knocking Nico’s glass the other way so it rolled into her lap, “Time to get you to your room, Nishikino.” Nico’s tone was almost cold, Maki noticed. Maybe her pretty pink dress was ruined? Had Maki done that? That was sad...why did it feel like tears? There was a rough upward tug on her arm and Maki was suddenly on her feet, her arm over Nico’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Maki swayed, but Nico was surprisingly solid.

“Hey, yourself. Nico will do you a favor and tuck you in. But we have an early morning. You need to sleep.” Nico’s voice sounded far away as Maki’s head bobbed through yawns.

“Sleep.” Maki thought that sounded...less shaky.

“Sleep.” Nico’s tone warmed slightly and Maki hummed to herself, that song was almost there...what was it? She’d have to ask Nico in the morning.

I ONLY HAVE EYES FOR YOU

Maki had been queasy on the flight to Hirosaki. She’d pulled her hoodie down over her head, pulled the blanket up to her nose and glared at the universe through the narrow gap between them. How many drinks had she had last night? She remembered sitting next to Nico, but after that, just some movement, sluggish movement and the relief when she’d achieved a stable horizontal position, no longer having to willpower through her every movement. And then there had been waking to realize she’d thrown up over the side of the bed. A quick clean up, then a shower, then the quietest, calmest breakfast she could think of...Now, the plane, and Maki just wanted to sleep and not feel every vibration as the plane found things to jar against in mid air. She felt a hand on her shoulder and grumbled only to hear Nico laughing, “Better get some juice to replace those fluids, Maki. Nico doesn’t want to have to drag your nearly unconscious body through the snow.”

Nico was wearing comfy clothes for the plane ride, leggings and an oversized sweater. Maki’s jeans were twisting. Next flight, she was just going to find slouchy, comfy pajama pants and wear them out. She missed first class and leg room. The thought of champagne brought a wince as orange juice dangled in front of her. She reached out.

“That’s a good girl,” Nico teased, her voice shrill and silly, “Listen to Nico.”

The blanket fell as Maki shifted to glare at Nico, who winked, deflating Maki’s sudden urge to strike her with a clever verbal retort. “My hangover hates you.”

“I’ll let my people know.” Nico continued down the aisle, chirping nonsensical travel truisms at random people, Maki could hear the “Nico Nico Ni” that punctuated her conversations with the ones who claimed to be fans.

Oh my gods, Maki thought, entranced, headache forgotten, cold too far away to touch her, watching Nico sweep up a ice white hill toward an ebony roofed castle, framed by frozen cherry blossom branches, her open black coat floating behind her, the black and white of her dress a shattered geometry that amazed, entangled from every angle. Maki had planned to shoot on black and white film but with the Fuji, the ruby red of Nico’s eyes thrilled like stars after a stormy night. Was she knee deep in snow? Maki didn’t care, and fell to her side, to shoot up the hill as Nico approached her, castle looming in the background. Nico sped by, turning sharply in a surprising pause to look right at Maki, winking and blowing a kiss as she shook the snow off a cherry branch. Maki barely felt the cold wet burying her as her shutter clicked madly and Nico threw back her head with a laugh that must have echoed to the sea.

“We’ll come back in the Spring.” Maki swore she heard whispered as her fingers went numb.

IT’S NOT FOR ME TO SAY

It had been a fairly painless interview. A photography podcast had tracked Maki down and was interested in her influences. Her latest book/album had been out long enough to hit a sales lull and Maki was almost recharged enough to impersonate an ambivert so she said yes. Also, there was her continual inability to say no to requests from the the smart, the sharp and the shapely, no matter how much Umi and Eli teased her about it. Maki always countered with “there are worse habits.”

“So Maki, you’ve been travelling a lot the past six months, with photoshoots for Nico Yazawa. Is it exciting?”

Maki chuckled, “I’m a bit of a homebody.”

“You don’t seem like the Netflix on the couch type, Maki. Your photos are so lively. And you incorporate different environments so well.”

“I have these short bursts of creativity, Aylen, everything gets blurry and time….well, it kind of skips, I guess. Or elongates.” Maki shuffled through prints, pushing one in the direction of her interviewer, “Like these shots of granite chess pieces. When I put the cameras down, nearly four hours had passed, I was freezing, and if Eli hadn’t decided to check on me, I probably would have just curled up on a dune.”

Aylen picked up the picture, her finger reaching out as if it had texture, “That’s her manager, Eli Ayase. And I’m looking at a picture from Maki’s Storm Chess series, an oversized, rosy hued queen tilted into an ebbing tide, a grayer knight half buried in sand behind her.” She smiled at Maki, “It’s so cool to see what your favorites are.”

“Well, there are some I always come back to,” Maki waved her hand, drawing her interviewer’s eye to the pictures framed around the office part of her loft.

“No pictures of Nico Yazawa have made the wall yet, I see.” Aylen commented casually.

Maki coughed uncomfortably, “That’s a bit new.”

“But it does make me wonder: how working with someone as well known as Nico Yazawa affects your process. Your previous celebrity models were one time shoots.”

So many Nico mentions, questions. Maki frowned, uncomfortable talking about Nico when the actress couldn’t join in the conversation. Sure, Nico seemed to live for media hits, but Maki was starting to feel exposed, as if she were about to spit a secret out that should have been completely buried in the sand by a wave surge.

“Uhhh...I’m not sure what I should say…” Maki fidgeted, the stool legs grinding across the floor as she shoved herself back from the counter, “I respect Nico, she’s got this laserscope targeting for her personal, artistic vision…” Maki, sighed, tilting the stool back, meeting a pair of friendly, patient hazel eyes, “It has cut into my time. The travel’s exciting and I’ve learned a lot about the entertainment business, but…” Maki stopped, reluctant.

“But?” Aylen’s question was a gentle echo, a well nuanced prod.

Maki shrugged, there was no denying the truth, “I haven’t had nearly enough time for my own projects. I’m still sorting through the Hirosaki pics. The magazine chose the ones they wanted, but Nico asked me to pick an alternate set she could post on her site.”

Aware that she’d just gotten an unexpected moment of honesty, Aylen changed topics before Maki could absorb what she’d just admitted. “Your own website is amazing, the way you’ve fluidly animated the photos to the music.”

Maki let the stool fall back solidly on the floor, leaning forward eagerly, “I know. The program I found is so much fun to play with. And my friend, Umi Sonoda, the poet, is writing haiku for me. We’re both waiting for the cherry blossoms. I’ve been so caught by pink, there’s so much romance encoded in it, such softness.”

Aylen laughed, “So is your next project a pink one?”

“If I could find the right flower....” Maki grumbled.

“What do you mean…”

Maki shook her head, “Nothing coherent. Sorry, I’m not the best interview.”

“You’re doing fine, Maki. And we appreciate your time.” Aylen glanced at her phone, “But we do need to wrap it up. So just a few final questions.”

“Sure.” Maki had been trying not to fidget, not to create extra noise and the stillness was making her sound as restless as she felt.

“I know you’re a Mapplethorpe fan. Do you have a favorite quote? Or photo?”

“Too many photos. I rotate them seasonally at home.” Maki linked her fingers, stretching out, “ A lot of Mapplethorpe resonates. I like that he didn’t really worship photography, it was a tool. He wanted the picture in his hand, the moment captured. "With photography, you zero in; you put a lot of energy into short moments, and then you go on to the next thing." Maki paused, “He really got the intensity of the experience and the relief of moving on.”

“So many metaphors there.” Aylen laughed.

“Ah, I’m actually very literal. I see it, I hear it, I read it, no subtext.” Maki hung her head, bangs falling forward, suddenly tired.

“So then,” Aylen leaned forward, “I guess the only question is what is your ‘next thing’?’”

And Maki knew she should have had an answer.

A/N: In a bit of a rush. Added another chapter; hope you don't mind the suspense. This is a very slow burn for me.

[ry-ders]

g i ve me 2

real talk i... didnt fill in this prompt correctly but i was already 700 words in and i couldn’t bring myself to rewrite it.....

Title: Punch Drunk LovePairing: Zach/Reyes Summary: In which Peebee gives him a suggestion, and he will definitely not act on it. Nope. Nuh-uh.A/N: This got about as NSFW as I can make it without actually being NSFW. It’s... approximately 2741 words of me building up to a scene without actually putting that scene in.

I don’t know what I’m doing. 

“You and Reyes should just bone already,” Peebee nonchalantly says as she flips through the pages of a magazine, her feet propped up on the table in front of her as she sinks into the couch. She doesn’t even look up at him, instead preferring to ogle at the models.

Zach chokes on his water, coughing hard enough for him to double over. Once that fit stops, he straightens up and gives Peebee the most incredulous look he can muster, straight at the back of her head. “Where did that come from?” he asks, still a bit breathless. There’s some spilled water on the front of his shirt, turning the brilliant white transparent.

“Oh, c’mon, Ryder.” Peebee closes the magazine, using one of her fingers to keep her place. She slings her arm across the back of the couch, turning to look at him with hooded eyes. “The way that you two talk to each other? There is some serious UST there. And I see the way you look at him sometimes. There’s no hiding that.” She has a smug little smirk on her face, and her eyebrows wiggle up and down.

The way they talk to each other? All they do is hurl insults if they’re not busy ignoring the other! How could that even be considered a sign of attraction? ..And, okay, maybe Reyes is a bit hot, but that doesn’t mean anything. He might have a handsome face, but his personality (and morals) are lacking. Zach would not be caught dead-

“He looks at you, too,” Peebee says, her smirk growing into a full-blown, shit-eating grin. She knows exactly how this is affecting him, and he hates it.

“I’m not going to sleep with Reyes,” Zach snaps. Reyes is lucky enough he didn’t push Sloane out of the way during that mess in Draullir. Sleeping with him? He is a luxury few can afford, and he’s pretty damn sure Reyes can’t.

But, God, would it really be that bad? Reyes must know some tricks, and it could just be a one and done thing and- yes, it would be a bad idea. A terrible idea. Zach won’t lie. He gets attached easily, and he’d rather not end up clinging onto Reyes because of one night. Push those thoughts out of your head and into the dustpan, Ryder. 

Peebee’s eyebrows rise up and she holds her hands up in defense. “Just makin’ a suggestion. Touchy.” She goes back to her magazine, but Zach swears he saw her smile before she turned around.

And now, he’s left with thoughts and a half empty bottle of water. Maybe he should kick Peebee off the ship. He grumbles something before padding off to his room.

“SAM, set a course for Kadara,” he finds himself saying as he walks into his quarters.

“Yes, Pathfinder.”

Goddamn it.

…

He doesn’t miss that self-satisfied look Peebee gives him as he gets off the ship. A particularly rude gesture is waved in her direction, and she just laughs.

Still clad in his (thankfully now dry) Tempest attire, he steps into Kralla’s Song and spots Reyes leaning against the bar, chatting to Umi. Strange. Isn’t he usually in Tartarus? Ah, might as well.

“Vidal,” he says as he sidles up next to Reyes. He holds up an index finger, signalling that he wants a drink. Umi halts the conversation, putting down a glass in front of him and turning around to get him his beloved whiskey.

“Ryder,” Reyes replies, voice as smooth as ever. “Taking a break from being the Initiative’s pet?” He swirls the clear liquid in his glass, not even bothering to look at him. Reyes himself has nothing against the Initiative; he just knows how much that title irritates the Pathfinder. 

“Don’t tell me,” Zach starts as Umi walks back over, pouring the whiskey out, “that you forget that it was this ‘Initiative pet’ who gave you what you wanted.” Umi quickly walks away, obviously not wanting to be a part of this. She’s already been asked to pick sides before, and it’s never ended well.

“Still hung up over that event, I see,” Reyes chuckles. He downs the rest of his glass, stealing a glance at Zach out of the corner of his eye. “Why won’t you let it go?”

“Because it’s fun to rip on you about it. And I like reminding you that you owe me for not doing anything.” He follows Reyes in drinking his whiskey, popping his lips once done.

“Do you come here just to bother me?” Reyes asks, an amused edge to his voice. He’s enjoying this teasing, and Zach just wants to punch him. That would feel nice. “I’m a little flattered, Pathfinder.”

Zach snorts into his drink. “I was expecting you to be at Tartarus. And I didn’t come to Kadara for you, I came because Vetra has a deal to close out here. I just want a drink.” It’s a blatant lie and he knows that Reyes knows that it is. Still, he manages to keep a straight face.

“And yet here you are, talking to me.” Reyes gives him an infuriating smirk, and Zach does nothing but scowl. It’s caused by the smirk and the fact that he doesn’t have a comeback to give Reyes. “I guess I could go to Tartarus right now,” he purrs, leaning in closer, and Zach swears the room got 20 times hotter. “Catch up, if you want.” Reyes fluidly turns and actually swaggers away. Who the hell swaggers? 

“Pathfinder, your heart rate increased dramatically during that conversation with Reyes,” SAM’s mechanical voice sounds off in his head, “and I detect increased activity in your sweat glands.”

“Yeah, SAM, I know,” he mutters under his breath. His grip on the glass is so tight, he’s surprised it didn’t shatter. He finishes the rest of his whiskey and all but slams the glass down, making the bottles on the counter rattle. “That asshole,” he breathes out.

“Reyes’s heart rate increased as well,” SAM adds. That doesn’t really help him. 

He pushes himself off to leave, but is stopped by Umi’s voice. “Are you going to pay for your boyfriend?” she asks, voice monotone and hands on her hips.

Zach sighs, exasperated. “He’s not-”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone has to pay.”

He doesn’t really feel like being on the end of Umi’s knife, so he calls out his omni-tool and taps around on it, wiring her the credits. “Good?”

Umi has her own omni-tool out, checking the amount. She swipes right once and nods. “Good.”

Now that he's free to leave, there’s a particularly annoying charlatan he has to catch up with.

He tells the Tempest that he’s going to the slums. Yes, with no armor, and yes, without squadmates. Tartarus is his only destination. While talking to Kallo, he swears he hears Peebee snickering in the background. He’s definitely going to kick her off the ship.

The music in Tartarus is heart-thumpingly loud, but when is it not? There’s an asari and salarian couple tangled up in a couch in the corner, watching him, and it makes him itch. Ignoring their eyes, he makes his way over to Reyes’s private room. “Vital monitoring only, SAM,” he tells the A.I. in his head before stepping in.

“Of course, Pathfinder.” There’s a quiet hum and then nothing.

The woosh of the door opening heralds his arrival.

“Pathfinder.” Reyes smiles. He takes a drink from the bottle in his hand, and Zach wonders if the man ever gets drunk. Or maybe the bottle is just empty. “Nice to see you here. I thought you only took orders from Tann.”

Zach scowls. “Shut up, Vidal.” He takes a seat on the couch opposite, taking the farthest seat away and stretching his legs out on the available space. “I just came in here because it’s cooler.” And it’s not a complete lie. Tartarus’s name is well deserved. The heat of the neon lights and the sweat of the mingling bodies make it near unbearable. Reyes’s room? It’s the arctic compared to outside. But he mostly came for Reyes. Not that Reyes need to know that.

There’s barely any warning before Reyes throws an unopened bottle at him. A surprised noise spills from his mouth as it hits him square in the chest. He’s about ready to go off, but Reyes opens his mouth first. “It’s water. You look a bit thirsty.” Zach picks up on the double meaning of that word, and he hopes the pink wash of the room hides his flushed cheeks.

“No thanks,” he says, setting the bottle on the table, a steady glare trained on Reyes. Or as steady a glare as he can manage. He crosses his arms as he leans back.

“Why, I’m offended, Pathfinder!” Reyes says, putting on a faux offended tone and placing his hand on his chest. “I got that specifically for you.” He winks, and Zach’s glad that SAM doesn’t blare something about another elevated heart rate. It’s probably unhealthy at his point.

“Are you playing with me?” Zach asks, crossing his arms. He thinks it’s a fair question. All this banter and stolen glances, one can’t help but to feel curious.

“Only if you want me to,” Reyes responds. There’s something in his eyes that Zach can’t quite pin down, but it looks intense. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything between us, Ryder.” Reyes’s voice becomes a breathy whisper, and oh, God, get him out before he does something. “Your squadmates have felt it too, no?”

A flashback to the time at the Roekaar base where Liam teased him about not being able to keep it in his pants plays in his head. He didn’t talk to Liam for a few hours after that. And Jaal has asked him about his and Reyes’s relationship, stating that he found it odd that they seemed to dislike each other, and yet they were enamoured with the other. Then, of course, there’s Peebee.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Reyes,” Zach says. His voice cracks, which is just perfect. That seems to draw a laugh out of Reyes. He balls his hands into fists, steeling himself.

“No, I think you know, Ryder.” Reyes’s voice, at this point, is best described as melted dark chocolate. At least according to Zach. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Zach’s breath hitches, and there’s something stirring in his gut. He could leave right now, denying Reyes of anything that he wants, but also simultaneously denying himself. Might make for a few awkward moments down the road, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Or, he could stay and give in to his desires, but risk those turning into something more.

The logical option would be to leave.

Zach Ryder, however, is not a logical man.

“Reyes,” he breathes out, obvious heat in his voice. His skin feels too tight, and it feels like there’s not enough air in the room. God, he’s going to suffocate on his own damn feelings.

“I think I like it when you say my name like that,” Reyes chuckles. “Why don’t you come over here?” He gestures with one hand, beckoning the other over.

His body moves on autopilot, all but launching himself off the couch and straddling Reyes’s lap. He slowly runs a hand up from Reyes’s pec to the curve of his jaw, rubbing his thumb across a cheekbone as he cups his face. That sensation in his gut seems to spread to other parts of his body.

Reyes grabs onto his hips, looking up at him with a cocktail of emotions in his eyes. His grip is tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Their faces get closer and closer, before they can feel each other’s breath on their lips.

Reyes reaches up and fists his hand into Zach’s hair, pulling him down into a bruising kiss, putting the other hand on the small of his back to support him. Moans fill the air, and they rarely pull back long enough to be able to breathe.

And that’s how Zach found himself sleeping with Reyes, that guy he swears he hates, on a couch in the backroom of Tartarus. How romantic.

 ...

“Congratulations,” Peebee says, leaning against the wall and grinning saucily. He refuses to even look at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He hopes that he could get out of this conversation by playing dumb. He’s sore, he’s sweaty, and he wants to sleep. Preferably now.

Peebee looks at him from head to toe, scrutinizing his appearance. “Mhmm,” she hums, sounding a bit like that child on the schoolyard who always thought they were right. “Your hair’s all messy, you smell a hell of a lot like Tartarus, and there’s hickies on your neck “

Zach’s hand shoots up to cover his neck, but Peebee just laughs. “I was kidding about the hickies. Not that it matters. It seems like you took my suggestion. So, how was he?”

“None of your business,” he grumbles, stomping past her and through one of the archways.

“Ooh, that good?” she giggles, following right behind him. She seems positively giddy, and Zach is sure that the rest of the squad will find out about it at the end of the day. He’s gonna need to prepare for all the looks and questions he’s gonna get.

“Peebee,” he says, voice taking on a warning tone as they approach his quarters. “I’m not discussing this with you.” There’s a finality in his tone.  No amount of prodding will make him reveal more. The door to his quarters opens, waiting for him to step inside.

“Fine, fine, have it your way,” Peebee replies, backing off. He takes that as his cue to go. Before the doors close, he hears her speak again. “But just so you know, you picked up the wrong shirt.”

Groaning, he looks down, the door sliding shut behind him. She’s right. The shirt is white, yes, but it’s missing the AI logo, and it has buttons. How did he mess up this badly? He’s 5 seconds away from throwing a tantrum, before he realizes something.

It’s an excuse to visit Reyes again.

[adjectivebear]

Familiar

Pairing: F!Ryder x Liam Rating: A bit NSFW Summary: Kadara may not be the best place for a second date, but in the Heleus cluster sometimes you have to work with what you've got. (NSFW bits under the cut.) Kralla’s Song wasn’t the sort of place Liam would have preferred to take a girl for a date. But they were on Kadara anyway, and Grace had been giving him those hopeful looks ever since their sort-of date on Aya, and hey, at some point you just had to say fuck it, right? So yes, Kadara as a whole was a shite place for a date--for just about anything, really--but it was the best he could do, and he couldn’t bear those looks anymore, Grace’s eyes all big and scared like she was half convinced he’d changed his mind about her and just hadn’t bothered to tell her yet.

He hadn’t done. Changed his mind, that was. It was just that whenever he tried to think of something he wanted to do, somewhere he wanted to take her, all he could think of were places in London, and then he got sad and had to stop thinking.

And see, there he was, thinking about it again.

Liam threw back the rest of his drink, swallowing the unwelcome images of home along with it.

He wasn’t sure what Umi had been serving--Grace loved asking bartenders to surprise her, especially after being advised not to--but it tasted like candy and hit like a freight train, and Liam was tremendously drunk by the time his favourite Pathfinder pulled him onto the dance floor.

There’d been a time--possibly this morning?--when Liam had scarcely believed the grave accounts of Grace’s alcohol-fueled sex mistakes. Grace Ryder was shy and awkward, couldn’t flirt to save her life, and turned into a blushing, stammering mess when he had his shirt off (which he’d started doing far more often because Grace was so damn cute when she was a blushing, stammering mess, but nobody save Jaal knew that, which was precisely how Liam intended to keep it). The idea of the girl he knew embarking on even a solitary walk of shame bordered on ludicrous.

Drunk Grace, it turned out, was a different beast entirely. 

She backed up on him, swiveling her hips in time to the music, and he curled his hands around her waist. It was a familiar thing, a soft body winding against him as too-loud music reverberated in his chest, and Liam closed his eyes. Slightly different music, slightly better beer, and this might have been a London bar. This might have been a London girl--some English rose who glazed over when he talked about old movies and didn’t spend half her time poking through crumbling ruins and trying to befriend any wildlife that didn’t immediately try to eat her.

The location could definitely have been improved upon. 

The company, though? Not in a million years.

He pulled her closer as the music slowed, one hand splayed over her belly. Her bum ground against him with each roll of her hips, and he could feel himself getting hard, but if Grace noticed she didn’t seem to care. She dropped her head back against his shoulder. She was so soft, and her hair smelled so nice, and it was early days but he was pretty sure he loved her, his heart thudding wildly when she leaned up to kiss his jaw.

She turned to face him as a new song began, pressing herself against the length of his body and, yeah, there was no way in hell she could have missed the boner, so she definitely didn’t care. She wound her arms around his neck, looking up at him with half-closed eyes, and he couldn’t help bending to meet her pretty pink lips.

This was familiar, too, and it was nice, and Liam was absolutely going to start kissing Grace at every possible opportunity. She melted into his arms and he held her tight, licking into her sweet mouth, and they weren’t even dancing anymore so much as swaying gently to the rhythm as they kissed, but he didn’t care.

Next thing Liam knew they were outside--he thought he recalled Umi telling them to get a room, but he might have been imagining shit because fucking hell, what had she put in those drinks?--and he knew their heading was the Tempest, but it felt a lot farther away right then than it had that morning. They rounded the corner onto the docks and he stumbled--leaned?--against the wall, the impact knocking some of the air out of his lungs. Grace fell against him--or maybe he’d pulled her along?--and their lips met again, tongues tangling passionately.

“You’re crazy stupid hot, Kosta,” she panted when they came up for air. She slid her hands up his shirt, moaning appreciatively as her fingers mapped his abs.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Ryder,” he said. He gripped her arse--when had he gotten his hands on her arse? Oh, fuck it, who could remember--and pulled her hips flush with his. He’d only gotten harder since the dance floor, and she ground deliciously against his cock.

“So fucking sexy,” she said, her breath tickling him as she nipped and kissed along his neck. She sucked on a particularly good spot and he groaned, letting his reeling head fall back against the wall. 

“God, Gracie.”

She bit down gently and he shuddered. 

“You make me so wet,” she said, her fingers teasing along the waist of his trousers. “Just looking at you. Hearing your voice.” She ground her hips pointedly, and Liam had never once come in his pants, but he was getting dangerously close to doing so at that moment. 

Grace dropped to her knees in front of him. She found his zipper and tugged slowly, pressing wet kisses to each newly-exposed patch of skin.

“What are you doing?”

“Kinda figured the offer here was pretty obvious,” Grace purred, grinning up at him. 

Her eyes were unfocused.

Oh goddammit...

“Grace. Grace,” he repeated more firmly, gently prising her fingers from his zipper. “No.”

Her brows furrowed. “No?”

“No. Not tonight.”

“But... I thought you liked me,” she said, her voice so small and sad that he thought his heart might shatter on the spot.

“Yeah, Gracie, I do. And I don’t want you to feel bad in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“Alright, well I’m afraid you will, and that’s a problem for me,” he said. She looked unconvinced, hurt, and he lay his hand against her cheek. “Let’s just table this for when we haven’t had so much to drink, yeah?” 

He helped her up--no mean feat, as he could barely stay upright himself--and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her forehead. Then he righted his clothes and started maneuvering them toward the ship.

Liam Kosta: first human in the galaxy to turn down a blowjob, he thought wryly. God, wouldn’t Mum be proud.

Grace’s head didn’t hurt, which was nothing short of a miracle.

Pretty much everything else did, though. Every muscle in her body ached as though she’d gone twenty rounds with a krogan. “Fuck.”

The warm shape curled up behind her stirred slightly. “Morning, sunshine,” it said in a devastatingly sexy English accent.

Grace grimaced. “Oh God,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse and croaky. “Did I puke last night?”

Liam chuckled. “Hell yeah. I’ve never seen that much come out of one person.”

“Fuuuuck,” Grace repeated, scrubbing a hand over her face. Didn’t it just figure, though? They’d finally gotten to go on a date--a real, actual date--so naturally she’d gone and and ruined it by getting trashed and throwing up in front of him, and--and… “Oh God,” she said, her stomach dropping as memories of the night before returned piecemeal to her brain. “Did I try to blow you?”

“You did that, too.”

“No, Drunk Grace strikes again,” she groaned, burying her face in the pillow.

“Hey, no harm done,” Liam said. “See? Clothes still on. Crisis averted.”

“In what possible way? I was a fucking disaster.”

“Nah, you--okay, yeah, you were a bit--”

“Oh, God, kill me--”

“--but it’s alright. Nobody in the Initiative deserves to get any shit for being a bit of a disaster sometimes.” He pressed his lips to the back of her head. “Least of all you.”

“How are you this--”

Liam swore as she rolled to face him, the bed shaking beneath her. “Grace--shit--I’m not twenty-two. Let’s… keep the movement to a minimum, yeah? I think my head might actually explode if I don’t hold really, really still for, like… the rest of the day.”

Grace smoothed back his hair, which he’d clearly forgotten to wrap before crashing for the night, and which was now a complete mess in the cutest possible way because it was apparently physically impossible for Liam Kosta to be anything short of face-meltingly gorgeous no matter the circumstances, and for fuck’s sake, Ryder, that whole train of thought was just rude when the man was in pain. She activated her omni-tool. “Hey, Lexi--”

“Ryder, it’s well past time that we addressed your alcohol use,” came the curt reply.

“That’s… fair,” Grace allowed. “But for what it’s worth, this time the saline drip isn’t for me.”

Lexi sighed heavily. “I’ll be right there.”

“And... maybe hold off on the lecture until we’re feeling better?”

“No promises.”

Grace shut off the omni-tool. She sat up, jostling the bed as little as she could manage. She chewed her lower lip. “So…”

Liam threaded his fingers through hers. “Maybe just vids on the couch next time?”

“That might be for the best,” Grace said, fighting back a huge, goofy smile at the suggestion that there would be a next time.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s a date.”