#well i think it was lovely seeing a steam engine in such a pretty colour

[putuponpercy]

British railway fans are allergic to any colour on a steam locomotive that isn't greens, blues, maroon or black /j

[yeojaa]

NOT YOUR FAIRYTALE - ft. myg

What do you do when you've called your wedding off but forgot to cancel your cake tastings?  Why, you ask your brother's grouchy best friend, of course. 

pairing.  min yoongi.  sort of.

genre + rating.  fluff-adjacent.  general.

warning / tags.  mentions of infidelity, cake tasting, cake tasting isn’t a euphemism, fluff and hurt/comfort, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, friendship, friendship/love, childhood friends.

reading.   n/a.  a stand-alone three part one-shot.

word count.  ~1850

chapter iii.

“I didn’t mean it, Yoongi.”

The apology is off your tongue and crashing into his ears before you have a second to consider it, pleading colouring syllables in soft shades of blue.  You hate the way he’s looking at you, like you’ve found the chink in his armour and are on the verge of exploiting it.  

“It’s fine.”  Over a decade of friendship tells you it’s decidedly not fine.  His concession comes far too quickly, meant to placate whatever guilt he’d accidentally kicked up. 

It makes you feel worse, the weight increasing tenfold when he offers you his seldom-seen smile.  Gums flash, corner of his mouth hitching over soft pink tissue.  It doesn’t quite meet his eyes though, falling just short of the endlessly dark depths of his irises. 

“Seriously.  Forget about it.”  You know he’s doing his best to force you onward but you can’t help but dig your figurative heels further into the dirt.  An immovable force.

“I’m really sorry,”  you repeat, voice thick with meaning. 

Yoongi huffs a little, seemingly frustrated.  You shrink a little further in on yourself, shoulders dropping and lips shifting in tandem.  You’re probably pouting.  You feel his stare from your periphery, feline gaze focused wholly on the way your mouth turns and turns around words you’re trying to perfect.

Silence stretches on, longer than you can stand and far more awkward than you’re used to.  You can feel it like a suffocating weight, a goose down comforter in the heat of summer - heavy and unpleasant.

“I’m sorry.”  It squeaks out in the same instant he sighs.  He sounds less irritated, though you can see the tension in his chin, how it jumps the muscle in his jaw. 

“You don’t have to keep saying it.”  

“But I don’t think you’re heartless, Yoongi.  I shouldn’t have said it.”  You say it like it’s crucial - as if you might perish if you don’t get them out.  They sweep into the spaces between you, earnest and full of fear, filling all the cracks left by your own hand.

You layer your reassurances as best you can, tongue tripping over teeth as you ramble about all the different ways you see him.  

In shades of diffused morning light, lined with silver like a physical reminder that there’s always hope.  Through the lens of childhood admiration, sprinkled with childish laughter and doe-eyed awe.  With as much unconditional love as you’ve ever been capable of, wrapped up in furtive glances and curious, miserably nonchalant texts to your brother.

It comes and comes, word vomit that won’t stop until you’re brought back by the expression on his face.  It’s tender, bemused - reminiscent of a parent of an overzealous child.  You’ve seen it a million times before, though the instances were much fewer and far between now that you were older. 

You immediately backtrack.  “I’m sorry.”  This time it’s for wasting his time, for being his best friend’s annoying little sister. 

You’re tumbling over your own two feet again.  You’ve said too much by the time he speaks at all.  

“You’re more than that.”  A statement of fact, seemingly, by how he delivers it with such ease, as if it hasn’t just set your heart off in your chest, the poor thing stuttering to life (or death).  You’re not sure.

Despite your best efforts, the singular word gives you away, coloured canary red with hope.  “What?”

If he’d heard your question at all, he says nothing, footsteps never faltering.  He’s walking ahead like he hasn’t just turned your world on its axis, throwing you completely off-balance.  He doesn’t even offer a glance back, halfway down the block by the time you come to your senses.

You jog to catch up, fingers eager to close the distance you quickly eat up.  You settle into a measured pace behind him, though your mouth moves at a mile a minute.  You can feel the maddening persistence in your bones, hear it as it carves demands into what was once comfortable silence. 

“Why did you say that?”  No response.  “Yoongi!”  He doesn’t even flinch, gaze trained ahead as if he’s never been in Apgujeong before and he’s terribly interested in everything but you. 

The distinct urge to stomp your foot fizzles through your limbs and you almost do.  You’re rooting yourself to the spot, sneaker raised comically, when he rounds on you.  Brows have disappeared into his swath of dark hair and his chin tilts just so, studying you quizzically.  It looks like he’’s having an internal debate as to whether he should rib you further.

He decides against it - returning to the conversation you’re so adamant to have.  “You know, for being a Kim, you’re not that bright.”

“Excuse me?”  Indignation bursts out your mouth.  You’re focusing too hard on the words he’s spoken than the implication behind them.  They sail over your head, lost to the pretty coral that streaks across the sky and eats up the horizon. 

To Yoongi, it’s like watching his literal heart fly out the window.  He’s a little exasperated when he speaks again.  “You’re my best friend’s little sister.  I don’t know what you expect me to say.”  

“What’re you saying?”  Because you’re really confused now.  You think Namjoon would be too. 

Are you even having the same conversation?

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”  The line of his mouth quirks, corner stretching into something that borders on a smirk.  It’s devilish - decidedly not something you’re used to - and you imagine your stomach kickflips before wrecking itself on the pavement.

Your silence seems to be answer enough.  

He heaves a sigh as if he’s been terribly inconvenienced, arms folding over his chest.  The gesture should read as don’t come near me! but you have the very distinct urge to fold yourself under his arms.  You resist it by biting down hard on your bottom lip.  

“I’ve had feelings for you since we were kids.  Specifically since you had your 10th grade ballet recital and you kept the bear I got you.”  

You remember the day like it was yesterday.  You’d been lucky enough to land the coveted spot in the winter showcase and he’d been there, shoulder to shoulder with your brother, when you’d taken your bow.  The bouquet of peonies he’d brought you - in soft shades of blush and violet, your favourite colours - had nearly engulfed your frame and you’d had trouble holding both it and the sweet brown bear that came with it.

The same bear that still sat on your bedside table, propped up beside your charging cable and yearly planner.  The one you’d cried yourself hoarse over after you thought you lost it during your freshman year of college.

“I don’t understand.”  You frown, deeply.  You can feel the little dent between your brows.  It comes out when you’re stressed or confused or, in this instance, both.  

He’s more teasing than unkind:  “Like I said - not that bright.”  

You ignore the dig.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”  

“I couldn’t do that to Joon.  I promised I wouldn’t.”

Somehow, that’s more of a revelation than Yoongi’s confession.  

“He knows?”  You can’t help the gasp that ricochets out of your mouth, belligerent and betrayed.  You’re already running through the 100 different ways you’re going to kill your brother.  Because he’d known!  While you’d pined, Namjoon had known and simply stood by.  “He knows how I feel about you and he didn't say anything?”

You know if you think about it, you can’t blame him.  You’d given him a hard time too when he and Sora seemed to get along a little too well.  Call it a sibling thing.

In the heat of the moment though, you’re livid.  So Yoongi does what he does best and redirects effortlessly.   

“—feel?”  

The prompt reassigns all focus back to him, your anger toward your brother all but forgotten.  You think you could give Pikachu a run for his money by the surprise that works itself into your expression.  Heat licks itself across your cheeks, rolling like a steam engine over the exposed skin of your neck and up past your ears.  Had it suddenly jumped 20 degrees?

“I mean felt.”

When Yoongi steps forward, you’re hyper fixated on the way his mouth bends and bows, gums and neat white enamel revealed by the motion.  You’re rooted to the spot as he’s suddenly all you can see, crown of dark hair blocking the light from behind him, narrow shoulders curling in on you.  He’s near enough you can smell his comforting, woody scent.  

You haven’t been this close in - well, ever, you think.  

Then he kisses you - a chaste thing, right on the cheek - and you forget how to breathe.

“I guess we’ll need to change that.”

SIX MONTHS LATER

“I’m honestly surprised,”  your boyfriend drawls, the picture of disinterest as he leans himself against the packed counter top, elbows propping himself up.  He’s staring out at the sea of people swarming the apartment, a comfortable group of new and old coming together to celebrate something very important.

He watches as your brother narrowly misses knocking over the beer pong table, earning a groan from the participants.  Jungkook yells something about his shot being messed up;  Jimin denies a re-throw.  There’s more incoherent shouting. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

You’re at his back, arms twined neatly around his slender waist as you press your face into the warm expanse of his back.  The sweater he wears is overly soft from years of wear and it feels good under your reddened cheek.

You’d had a bit to drink and you were feeling exceptionally affectionate.

“You actually kept it a secret.”  Not that he hadn’t figured it out himself.  It was in your nature to throw surprise parties - you did for Namjoon and Jin and that loud best friend of yours - so he’d only figured he would get one when the time came. 

“We’re very good at keeping secrets in this family, remember?”  Your voice carries past the cotton of his clothes, filtering through laughter to kick his beating heart into overdrive.  

“Oh, how could I forget.”  He snorts quietly, turning in the same instance you unlatch yourself from him.  He has to fight the look of disappointment that threatens to pull his mouth into a pout, brow knitting in disapproval as you round on the refrigerator.

It’s only when you spin back to face him that his expression cracks and re-sets itself with glee.  Now he’s actually surprised.

Because you’ve got a cake box from the same bakeshop you’d gone cake tasting at.  He recognizes the logo on the front and the pretty frosting behind the plastic cover.  It’s shades of cream and citrus and decorated with cherries.  Your - and his - favourite cake from that day.

“You’re not supposed to see the cake ahead of time!”  It’s Namjoon bursting into the kitchen looking alarmed.

You laugh first, bright and sunny.  “It’s a birthday cake, not a wedding dress.”

But as you kiss him, cake cradled gingerly between your bodies, Yoongi thinks he wouldn’t mind seeing you in that, either.

notes.  this final chapter was short and sweet but i hope you enjoyed it.  thank you for reading!  x

tag list.  @hoodmeup​​ @loveyoongles​ @vi-hoshi​ 

[harryssunflowerkiwi]

‘KIWI’ Part 1.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Synopsis: You’re a famous designer. You meet Harry at a party and he is obsessed, but you’re not going to give in so easily.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Not much for this part! Some sexual undertones.

A/N: hello loves! This is my first fanfic ever and I’m writing it on my phone so please bare with me. If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes I apologize, I will do my best! There will also likely be smut in the next part! And please keep in mind that this is PURE FICTION and is in no way an accurate depiction of Harry Styles! It’s just for entertainment purposes only :) So without further disclaimers, let’s get into part one of a multipart series called ‘KIWI’ very loosely based on Harry’s song. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think and be kind xox

🥝Outfits mentioned in this part 🥝

——————————————————————————-

SEPTEMBER 3rd 2020~

You woke up to the sound of ‘dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac blaring from your phone that sat on the glass night stand beside your bed indicating that it was indeed already 6:30AM and therefor the time for you to leave your oh-so comfortable bed. The sun was shining ever so slightly through the crack between the black silk curtains that hung over the large window directly across from your bed, stinging your barely awake eyes. With a bit of hesitation you rolled over to turn off the alarm and swung your bare feet over the side of the bed letting them touch the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You made your way to the on suit to pee and brush your teeth. As the icy mint of your toothpaste hit your tounge you looked in the large mirror above the sink, you look tired. Of course you look tired, you’ve been getting three hours of sleep every night for the past month. Your hair is disheveled, no doubt from whoever you had kicked out of your apartment the night before after yet another hookup. You didn’t regret it, of course, you never do. He was a nice guy. Well, he was a decent lay at the very least. And he seemed to enjoy himself too so there’s no harm.

Just as you finished washing your face you heard your phone go off again. “Of course” you thought as you slowly made your way back into your bedroom where you had lazily threw your phone back on your bed before going to bathroom. You picked it up and squinted your eyes slightly to make out the name of the person calling. ‘JEFF AZOFF’. You sighed lightly and pressed answer.

“Jeff It’s not even 7” you said in a somewhat faux dramatic tone.

“oh stop y/n I know you’ve been awake for a bit” he replied and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“What do you want” you sat back down on your bed and placed your left hand under your chin.

“I’m throwing a party at our place tonight and there’s no party without you”. You thought for a minute, knowing you couldn’t actually say no to a party, especially one being thrown by one of your best friends and his fiancé.

After about 30 seconds of silence you signed dramatically and said “You’re absolutely right, I’ll be there at 10 but next time tell me ahead of time. You are aware I have a business to run”.

Most of the morning was spent working through some designs, yelling at people for doing their jobs incorrectly, finalizing some details for London fashion week, and drinking copious amounts of coffee. You stood up from your “desk” (which was really just your kitchen island) with a stretch and looked down at your phone that was sitting on the counter, it was 8:43PM. Deciding that you should probably start getting ready for Jeff’s party, you walked back through your bedroom and into your walk-in closet to pick an outfit. “Alexa play get ready playlist” you yelled through your apartment and shortly after ‘girls in the hood’ started playing through out your apartment at full volume. Fully aware that Jeff’s spontaneous parties are generally pretty casual, after about 10 minutes you landed on your favourite pair of black Levi’s, a baby t that says “nobody’s pussycat”, a pair of black Gucci boots and grabbed your new fuzzy yellow and blue jumper in case you got cold (and also to throw over your shoulders for a bit of colour). Walking back into your bathroom you decided to do your makeup, since you had been working from home today and hadn’t put any on yet. You ended up doing some simple makeup, to not clash with the bright colors on your jumper and let your hair fall in loose curls. By the time you were fully ready it was just past 9:30, which was perfect because Jeff’s place was about a 20 minute drive from your apartment. You put your boots on, grabbed your yellow tinted Gucci glasses, your phone and keys and headed out.

Harry had gotten a very similar from Jeff as you, but it had come the day before. He was excited for the party, it’s been awhile since he’s been out anywhere but the studio. He’s been working on his new album tirelessly. Writing songs this time round was becoming increasingly more difficult, he’s felt dry of inspiration which is partially what he’s hoping a party will help with. Being around some new people and some of his closest friends. Jeff told him he was inviting some of his mates that Harry was yet to meet, which hopefully meant new experience outside the realm of ex girlfriends and band mates. He told Jeff he wouldn’t make it till around 11PM considering he’d be in the studio until 9 and he’d need time to make it home to change and shower before heading over and London traffic was an absolute nightmare, especially on Friday’s. Once he was done at the studio it was half nine, he sighed heavily as he left the lofty studio feeling the heavy weight of the pressure to write new material.

Once Harry arrived to his flat he immediately dropped his keys into the white and blue ceramic bowl he keeps by the door and swiftly kicked off his worn out vans. He was tired, but determined to make some worthy memories if not only for the sake of his future albums. Hell, maybe even just to blow off some steam. He needed that, badly. After making his way up the long spiral shaped stained oak stairs he walked briskly into the bathroom right across from his bedroom. He took his phone out of the back pocket of the light brown sweats he was wearing and glanced at the time 10:03PM. He let out another light sigh before hopping into the large black tiled shower. After a very quick shower filled with worried thoughts of where his career will go if he can’t write music, he hurried himself into his walk in closet with just a blush pink towel wrapped loosely around his hips and his phone in his left hand. Since he was already running slightly behind schedule and Jeff didn’t mention this party being anything but a casual gathering, he grabbed a pair of light blue YSL trousers and a simple white button down blouse to pair with his oh so worn down white vans, simply not having time to fuss about picking a new pair of shoes to match.

By the time Harry arrived at Jeff and Glenne’s flat it was five minutes to eleven. When he pulled up there were already around 10 cars parked around the house, some of which he recognized of course. He made his way up to the large front door after thanking his driver and knocked loudly, his various rings making a light clinking noise against the wood. About thirty seconds later the heavy door swung open to reveal Glenne who smiled widely when she saw him. “H!” She shrieked and pulled him in for a quick hug as she pulled him into the warm house.

“How’re ya Glenne” he smiled back enthusiastically as they entered.

“Good, good!, come let’s find Jeff and get you a drink” she said over the somewhat loud music that ran throughout the house. As Glenne guided him through the farmiliar house he took a moment to observe the people around him as they passed, seeing plenty of people that he knew well, a few he had met on a few occasions similar to this one, and some whom he’s never met. All together there were around 20 people, from what he could tell in passing.

Once they made it through each room of the well decorated house and into the bar area near the kitchen and dining area, he immediately saw Jeff leaning against the wall directly across from the doorway to the area. He was talking to a couple he recognized as Cathrine and Fred, two of their mutual friends, both worked in the music industry (Catherine being a well established sound engineer and Fred being one of the best producers in London). As they approached Jeff looked up and smiled excitedly at Harry and quickly pulled him in for a warm embrace. “Good t’ see you” Harry said as he smiled against his shoulder.

“Good to see you too H, glad you came. Nice to see you outside of that studio” Jeff replied with a small chuckle as they pulled away.

You had been at the party a total of fifty minutes and managed to down 3 vodka martinis and a glass of champagne without hesitation. You have always been able to hold your liquor, even though you didn’t usually drink more than twice a week. Not that much, you thought. Currently you were sitting on one of the two bright red sofas that sat Jeff and Glenne’s living room. You sat back against the velvet upholstery and had your left leg swung over yours and Glenne’s mutual friend Kassandra (or kassie as you called her).

You felt good, great even. It had been over 9 months since you had last seen any of these people. You had been living back and forth between New York City and London basically your whole adult life and just got back to London three days ago after being away for the most of the year. You were overjoyed to be back. You and Kassie were the only ones sitting on the couch to the right of the room, with a few others scattered throughout the living room. Some were standing and giggling by the fireplace, sipping on something strong you assumed based on how loudly they were conversing. There was a slightly less intoxicated couple sitting on the couch opposite of Kassie and yourself. You knew them well enough, although last time you saw them they were nothing more that friends and now they are very clearly together romantically. You didn’t mind though, not at all. You didn’t mind the noise, the increasingly drunker strangers and friends that passed through, you didn’t even mind the already almost-blackout strangers who thought they knew you and engulfed you in a rather tight hug. You felt relaxed and at home, as you always did when around Jeff and Glenne.

After about fifteen minutes of Jeff chatting Harry’s ear off about how excited he and Glenne were to be getting married, Glenne grabbed Harry’s arm. “Oh my god! H, I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet have I?” She asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t believe you ‘ave” he replied with a small chuckle as he ran his free hand through his rapidly growing curls.

Before he knew it Glenne was guiding him through the house introducing him to a few people he hadn’t met yet. As they made their way into the living room he saw two girls sipping on what looked like martinis sitting on one of the couches. The two women were partially intertwined. One of them stood out though, almost like she controlled the room without even speaking. Harry stared at her, barely listening to Glenne talking beside him. She was incredibly beautiful, he thought. Her eyes and hands were effortlessly working together to capture everyone’s attention without even speaking. She wore a confidence he hadn’t seen before, even with his vast experience with super models and other celebrities alike. She looked like a royal, even in casual attire. He stood there, in the doorway completely stunned and rather confused as to why on earth he had never met her before.

“Earth to H?” Glenne said as she overdramatically waved her left hand in front of his face.

“Oh, um.. sorry, what were ya sayin’?” He replied as he quickly moved his gaze away from the stunning girl and back to his friend.

“Nevermind, cmon I need to indroduce you to Y/N and Kassie.” She mumbled quickly as she pulled him by his hand towards the very girl he was gawking at just moments before.

In the middle of Kassie making a dad joke in classic Kassie form, you spot Glenne walking over to where you are sitting rather excitedly with someone you immediately recognize as Harry Styles. Of course you knew who he was, and that Jeff was his manager and friend but you never had the chance to actually meet him. With both your schedules being as intense and unpredictable as they were it just never happened. You were a fan of his music, he is a very talented man but you definitely didn’t consider yourself a “stan”.

As they approached, Glenne turned to Harry and said “H, this is kassie!” As she pointed at her.

“Kassie works for Universal. Kassie this is Harry” she continued.

“S’ nice to meet you, Kassie” Harry said with a polite smile as he bent over to shake her hand lightly.

“And this” Glenne started as she turned her attention onto you. “Is one of my best friends, y/n! She’s the designer for KIWI” she finished with a smirk and a quick pat on your knee.

“Designer and founder actually love” You said as you glanced at Harry.

You extended your right arm out for him to shake and said “lovely to meet you, Harry. I’m y/n”. He seemed nervous which made you smirk a little. You thought it was cute.

As you placed your much smaller hand in his large ring clad one he responded with “S’ lovely to meet you too y/n. Big fan of your work”. His hand was a little sweaty but very strong and the shake itself was demanding which you liked.

Harry didn’t like how nervous he was talking to you, he’s not usually so anxious to speak to beautiful women. But, something about your incredibly strong eye contact and the way you said his name made his knees want to give out. He hadn’t lied when he said he is a fan of yours, he genuinely is. He loves your designs. Your ability to create pieces he’d never seen before, pieces completely out of the norm yet so easily fashionable was astounding to him. He had even worn some of your designs on tour and for a few interviews.

You took a sip of the martini that you held delicately in your right hand with a small hum in appreciation for his compliment. “M’ a fan of yours also, fine line is great” you reply as you glance down at your glass to find it empty. Harry takes a moment to revel in the fact that you enjoyed his latest work, before seeing your empty glass.

“Let me get ya’ a drink” he blurted out, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Mm I’ll come with” you agreed with a smile. Harry grabbed your hand again to help you up off the couch and away from Kassie who was now giggling with Glenne about something.

Harry keeps your hand in his as he guides you towards the bar. Once the two of you approach the bar he reaches for the glass in your hand and asks “what would ye like?”. You move your glance away from his and over to the large bar.

“I think we should do shots” you say with a big smile that makes Harry’s heart beat just a bit quicker.

“Shots it is then, love” he says with a small chuckle as he puts your dirty glass down and grabs two clear glass shot glasses.

“What liquor are we thinkin’?” He asked as he looks over the options.

“Oooh tequila for sure” you say confidently as you point at the bottle of expensive tequila.

“Mmm great choice” he praises as he grabs the bottle and proceeds to pour you each a shot.

“Cheers” you smirk as you grab your shot glass and clink it against the one in his hand. You make eye contact again as you down the shots in sync. As you lower your now empty shot glasses you realize how close you are to him, only about a foot and a half. Being this close to him makes you realize how handsome he is, his eyes are incredibly green and his shoulders are perfectly wide. His chocolate coloured curls sat harmoniously atop his head, one piece falling in front of his face seemingly by accident but it looked as it is meant to be there.

As Harry brought his shot glass away from his mouth and felt the strong burning sensation of the tequila making its way down his throat he stared at you. You’re eyes ostensibly checking him out, or atleast that’s what he convinced himself you were doing. In fact the combination of the warmth he felt in his stomach from the strong liquor and the minimal proximity between you and him was making him feel slightly dizzy. You truly were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to know everything about you, where you were born, your passions, your worst fears, what makes you wet, what makes you angry, who you care about. Literally anything and everything you were willing to tell him he was more than happy to hear about.

“How’d you know Jeff and Glenne?” Harry finally asked. You smiled as you thought about how you met them.

“Jeff and I have been friends since collage, and I met G about a year after we graduated. I indroduced them actually” you explained as your smile grew at the fond memories.

“Jeff manages you right?” you asked as you turned back to the bar and started making yourself another gin martini. Harry nodded as he watched you

“yeah e’ does, but we’re great mates too. A’ve been since before he started managing meh” he said as he turned towards you a bit more

“s’ crazy we a’vent met before this” he continued as you finished making your drink.

“It is, a shame really” you smirked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to powder room” you took another sip of your drink as you began to walk away.

Harry watched you walk away, shamelessly staring at your bum and god was it nice. He was stunned to be quite frank. He wasn’t completely sure what it was about you (other than the obvious of course) that made him so enamoured by you but he couldn’t help it. He ran his hands over his face and let out a huff. Looking around and taking in his surroundings properly for the first time since he laid eyes on you, he noticed less people were there. He decided he’d find Jeff so he could more subtly wait for you to return.

When you come out of the bathroom you look around and notice there are seemingly only a few people left at the party. You grab your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the time, the screen illuminates and shows 1:37AM. You let out a small huff, put your phone back in your pocket and decide to go find Jeff. You walk down the hall from the bathroom and into the living room to find Jeff and Glenne sitting on the couch you were sat at earlier. Beside them was Kassie and sat on the couch directly adjacent from them was Harry and a man you’d never met before.

“Hi loves” you say as you strut over to sit next to the man you’d never met. “Don’t believe we’ve met, I’m y/n” you say confidently with a smile and extend your hand for him to shake, which he does.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mitch. I’m Harry’s guitarist” he says with a slightly awkward smile.

“Oh lovely” you nod. “Y/n is the designer for KIWI, Mitch” Harry says as he tilts his head forward a bit to look at you over where Mitch is sitting in between the two of you. You giggle slightly at the sudden interruption.

“Oh! That’s sick. We all love your work” Mitch says with an even bigger smile as he looks at you again.

“Thank you” you reply as you smile back at him just as enthusiastically.

“H is pretty much obsessed really, pretty sure he bought out most of your fall collection” Mitch gushes as he nudges his head towards Harry slightly. Harry gives Mitch a bit of a menacing look as he feels his cheeks heat up.

“Mmm obsessed is he?” You smirk as you move your glance back to Harry and take a long sip of your drink.

“Anybody who isn’t would be ‘ave to be blind, love” Harry said as his lips turned up into a smile, showing off his infamous dimples.

Just as you were about to reply to Harry’s bold compliment you heard Kassie let out a loud yawn from across the other couch. You turned your attention towards her as she said “think I’m gonna head out guys, it’s getting late”. She got up and Jeff and Glenne did as well. Kassie gave Jeff a hug.

“Think I’ll be going also, I haven’t watered my cactus since yesterday” you giggled as you walked over to hug Glenne and say your goodbyes. As soon as you let go of your embrace you noticed Harry was stood directly beside you.

“I’ll walk you t’ the door” Harry insisted and you nodded, following him to the front door.

“Love you Jeff! Love you G!” You yelled behind you.

Once stood in the entry way with Harry he said “really was lovely t’ meet ya”. You smiled and gave him a short hug.

“was lovely to meet you too Harry, thanks for havin a shot with me”. You went to grab the door handle to leave but Harry stopped you by grabbing your wrist lightly.

“Do ya think I could get ya numba’?” He asked as your gaze met his yet again.

You hummed in faux thought “now where’s the fun in that, love” you replied with a smirk as you turned back around, releasing your wrist from his grasp, opened the door and left.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x08)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 08: We Are Going Knowhere

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: oooof!!!

Word Count:I sound so bad for actually turning happy that there was a positive patient in our block because that would increase the chances of my neighbourhood undergo a strict lockdown and then I wouldn’t have to go to work. My fam doesn’t understand this but I need some time with myself to recharge for good and so they look at me like I am posessed.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The lens focused from its blurriness over to the kitchenette where Bucky stood making himself some coffee.

Scott: Are we rolling? *nods* Cool. *clears throat* So turns out that there is another unspoken romance waiting to bloom in our midst and as a hopeless romantic with an engineering degree I am utterly disappointed in myself for not figuring it out sooner. *looks at some invisible void in the distance* Well, I would have if I wasn't so obsessed with my other couple goal. I would have. *smiles at the void* *speaks softly* those two almost gave me a heart attack last night!

A sweat-drenched Steve walked in after a run around the facility. "Hey," he greeted Bucky before turning towards the dorms. "Hey," Bucky greeted back while pouring his coffee and looking at America's ass strut down the lounge in those grey track pants that were just the right amount of tight across those butt cheeks jiggling down the hall while the camera caught that steaming hot coffee colour the -otherwise spotless- white island brown as Bucky's eyes and heart skipped with that booty while his hands holding the coffee pot forgot what they were supposed to do. Scott entered the lounge to find that coffee dripping down everywhere while Bucky was lost. "Watch out, Buck," he called out, breaking the Captain's trance on this Seargent, "your gay is showing."

Scott: *contemplates* huh...I should get that on a t-shirt.

"I don't get it. He's your best friend. Why don't you just ask him out?" Scott bit into an apple and looked at Bucky mopping up the result of his gaze and one sexy booty. "I can't ask him out because he is my best friend, Scott," Bucky sighed. "It was kinda easy to do this charade back in our day. Now, everyone is out of the closet like-" "Like your everyday lounging shorts," Scott added, getting a nod agreement from Bucky. "And I'm not even sure if he looks at me the same way." Scott had to look at the camera after on real slow blink in Bucky's direction.

Scott: *inhales while keeping his palms together in front of his face* Boy, do I have news for you! *opens his hands and tries to stop the excitement from making him scream* That dude literally fought Nazis for you! TWICE! And then brought you back to f****ng life! *tries not to cry* *whispers* Dude! Why are my OTPs so f****ng dumb!

On Our Trip to Knowhere The camera showed Lulu trying to swim in the sea of berries in a crate while popping one in his mouth whenever Loki wasn't looking. "If the merchant asks for mixed berries I'm going to sell you off to him," Loki announced from the cockpit. Well, at least Lulu thought he wasn't looking. The distraught and drooping fluff looked at you for any sign that this wasn't true. "No, he won't," you mouthed and shook your head before turning back to co-pilot - well, whatever was remaining of- the spaceship Loki had bargained from the last station. Putting the coordinates in for his stop, he turned around and brought his hands together and did one loud clap. "Alright. Everyone listen up. There are some things you need to take care of when-" You moaned incredibly loud, dramatically your head in every possible direction. "Uuuggghhhahaaaarrgggghh!!" "What." "We have heard this befoooore!" "And you will hear it again! Because Knowhere is dangerous. It has all kinds of filth gathered here hiding in the dark wh-" You wanted to groan one more time but something in the vast emptiness before you caught your eyes and took your breath away. "What...is that?!" your voice barely got out while a smirk landed on Loki's lips with a shine in his eyes. The camera quickly came forward to record what seemed like a gigantic skull being the bed of inhabitants floating in the dark of the space. From where its eyes were supposed to be, was a cavern lit with life inside while sizeable pods came and left from the jaw and ears. "That, my dear, is Knowhere," Loki declared softly, quite mesmerised for a moment by this look of awe in your eyes, "land of the lawless created when the Dark God Knull used his All Black sword to decapitate a Celestial. Seeing as the rotting skull was worth quite something to someone in some part of the universe, a notorious group by the name Tivan decided to make this their base. And as opposed to their demeanour, they are quite a dangerous group of underworld criminals, mind you." Loki had to turn his head and look at you when he did not get anything in response and found you sit there a shade lighter, looking right at the skull where you were headed. "Surely we'll be safe if we avoid that group, right?" You looked at him for a seed of hope to get out of this alive. "Right, Loki?"

Loki: *presses his lips together* *snickers* *lets the chortle slip his mouth* *guffaws for the next minute with tears streaming down his eyes while holding onto his stomach* One minute later Loki: *clears his throat* *wipes the tears from his eyes* Ah! I love humans!

"Oh, sweetheart," Loki practically sang a soft note in your direction with a gentle head tilt, "we are going to meet their leader."

The Lounge Team "Hey, would...you...like...ss-coffee?" The camera shifted from a disconcerted Bucky barely standing by the kitchenette on his wobbly legs to an encouraging- though a little disappointed- Scott standing there while Wanda sat on one of the barstools by the wall and witnessed the whole practice unfold. "Bucky, sweety," Scott pressed ever so sweetly, placing his hand on the island in his direction, "Steve would always like a coffee for his rat-like heart. We have to get him to have that coffee with you! Make him know that you want to have that coffee alone with him. Want to hold hands with him. Want to let him know how much you care for him. Want t-" "Want to let him know how much you want to bang him," Wanda commented, taking Scott by surprise. "How long have you been sitting there?" The Ant-Man asked with a hand on his chest. "Long enough," she shrugged while popping roasted almonds in her mouth. "Bucky, all you need to do is declare you like him. Rest will be easy peasy, lemons in vodka squeezy." 

Natasha: *tsks*Совсем беда с парнями. Без нас ни один из них даже не узнал бы, что второй жив. Wanda: *giggles* Ты бы видела, как Баки сегодня себя вёл в общей комнате, весь такой смущённый. Даже в глаза Стиву не мог взглянуть, не краснея. В конце концов он просто взял, молча пододвинул Стиву кружку кофе и ушёл — а у самого из ушей так пар и валит. Natasha: *rolls her eyes* Мои зверята и то сообразительней, чем эти двое. Wanda: *gasps* У тебя есть питомцы?! Natasha: *no change in emotion* Как-нибудь познакомлю. Так вот, возвращаясь к теме парней: ты замечала, что как только Баки заходит в комнату, Стив прямо весь тает? Wanda: *wide eyes* Замечала, и не только! Он только взглянет на Баки, как у него в голове начинает играть музыка из фильма "История любви", а перед глазами волосы Баки развеваются, как в рекламе шам��уня. *blushes* *clears throat*  Да, и еще он почему-то переставляет себе, что на Баки из одежды только красные стринги. Natasha: *a big, toothy laugh* АХАХАХАХА!

Knowhere There were smoke and liquor everywhere the cameras swerved. There were creatures young and old, weak and bold, gathered to gamble, fight, rave, smuggle, hide. Anything unordinary you could think was there. From genderless strippers to non-binary fighters- the far corner filled with one hollered at the other, whistling, catcalling, making signs that you did not want to know the meaning of. Loki, on the other hand, was enjoying all fifty expressions your face reflected at the scenic view of the inside of Knowhere. Lulu, though mesmerised by the lights everywhere and blown away by the flying pods, still hung to your shoulder. If he had eyes, you were sure they would be wide open with their focus just on those flying machines as he made crackling noises at them. Javi caught you flinch and jump away from a creature looking like a six-year old's version of Satan but in green. Satan growled at you before pretending to bite you and lick those yellow fangs of his while he chortled with his equally appalling buddies. "Kin sibe nom torra," Satan rolled his R's while gurgling through his throat at you- someone who had no idea what that guy was talking about while trying to fiddle through your bag to find those earpieces the Hardy boys had provided you. "Ugh, is this what Clint has to go through?" That Satan dude stepped closer to you, driving you two steps back. All the onlookers could feel the sudden rush as they watched you stand one step away from backing into a murky wall while Satan smirked his dirty smirk at you, taking one potential step before Loki stepped in to put a hand on his chest. "Ukt sast nom kore grata," the God practically sang before parting his fingers with that chest while his face screamed 'yucky'. Just as he uttered those words, that smug grin on Satan's face got washed away to show confusion and fear eroding in those beady eyes. "Sica rom ni froa," Loki gestured him to walk away with a kind smile before turning to look at you with your jaw unhinged just a little. "Wha-how...what was that?" "Oh, they were catcalling you in the most vulgar way possible," Loki replied, looking at the address in his navigation device. "....okay? And?" "And-" he clicked the device close and pointed at a distant pathway- ever so casually with the other hand in his pocket- "I told them to only ask you to go with them if they liked getting their heads eaten when you orgasm." And the Silvertongue walked away, leaving that jaw to unhinge a bit more.

You: *grunts* now I wish I could do that *crosses arms in disappointment* *camera pans out to show Loki standing by your side, looking at you like a lost cause* Loki: This is why you do not have a lover You: *huff* *repeat his lines to him louder* this is why you do not have a lover!

The Collector's Den There were no guards on doors, something you thought would be a default scene considering you were walking into the Space Illuminati Warlord's lair. The neon colours breathing around you from creatures and elements unknown were too much for the eyes to deal with in one go. But it all seemed to be toned down to normal when your entire body felt itself jerk to prevent a heart attack at the sight of the four feet high and three feet wide head preserved in a tank right next to the entrance. "That's...one way to greet people," you muttered, your eyes still on that creature while your legs followed Loki further into the appropriately-named Collector's business place.  "Marvelous!" A voice boomed in the house of Tivan and you had to pull yourself back to the front, stepping closer to Loki to witness a creature anatomically very similar to a human walk towards your group with a pep in his step. "Finally someone who knows the worth of the head of a dark celestial." The white hair on his head stood as straight as a distraught anime character along with his brows. His lips were what caught your attention with an apparent thin tattoed line running down the middle, ending right before the chin. If that wasn't enough to make anyone wonder what in hell was this creature, the sudden whip of his cape was the last straw to help you innocent ones realise this one was the mad kind. "Tell me, oh beautiful one-" he bowed in front of you his hands going back in the air like a ballerina- "what do you think of that head?" You looked at Loki for some help. He simply shrugged and put his pale fingers on his lips, leaving the floor to you. "...that it's...big?" "It's hideous," the Collector grumbled. "A beauty like you should not have to see something so indigestible. EVER!" He whipped his cape again, making you shoot your brows up and turn towards the camera.

You: Ooooohohoho *giggle* my God! This guy is more dramatic than any theatre majors I have EVER seen! *gasps* Oh- Loki: No! We are not taking him to earth to meet theatre nerds. You:  You: *slump back* *grumble*

"Welcome to the humble abode of this mere creature that goes by the name Taneleer Tivan. Address me as you wish your grace. Your husband has been our esteemed partner for quite the time in this space." There was nothing but a slow blink that escaped you at the thought of the mafia lord thinking you were Loki's wife. Then, a finger rose in question at the audacity of that white-haired baboon reaching to that conclusion just by seeing you two together. "Okay, excuuuuse me," you started off with bubbling rage, "first of all, you have amazing eyesight for noticing I'm beautiful. And second of all, your partner wishes!"

Taneleer: *narrows eyes at the camera, oblivious* I am confusion

Loki simply rolled his eyes before touching a windchime next to him. "I see you still have your spies on a decent payroll, Tivan. Was it the Kou-Gare that boarded with us on the shuttle from the last station? Or was it the Djinn you had your clan's symbol etched on his back?" Taneleer blinked quite fast before breaking into a chortle, his head thrown back and his hands flailing. "You are still the same shrewd Silvertongue! I told them you would find out sooner or later." The camera focused on your expression- a swirl of shock and thrill. "But I do have to ask," he sang before turning to you, circling you like a cat, "where did you find this one? And what was so special about her that she got to stand by the side of the God of Mischief." He practically purred inside your hair while taking a sniff as you stood there frozen, looking at Loki for some sort of escape. "She is a human, Tivan," Loki called out, still looking at the windchime that refracted light into a colourful rainbow all over Loki's skin. And like a good chameleon, Taneleer's colours changed while Loki looked smug for the camera, his back still turned to you and the Collector. "By your Gods and mine! If she is a human how is she more alluring than you?!"

You: *smug* If I had a mic? I'd drop it. *still acts out a mic drop*

The colours on Loki's face washed away as fast as they had come. His lips forming as many different-sized Os as they possibly could. "What? WHAT?!" Taneleer simply nodded, observing you like an art connoisseur from a respectable distance. "Say, my ever-enchanting one-" with a leg bent out, he bowed to take your hand in his- "would you bestow upon this meagre merchant the honour to honour you by studying your essence?" "Okay, that's it," Loki muttered before covering the distance in two strides and breaking away that unwanted hand-holding; smacking away Taneleer's hand while taking yours and holding it in his. "You," he pointed his finger at the collector while the camera focused on his hand holding your wrist, "you are going to help me-" Taneleer parted his lips to say something before being shut by Loki's words- "BECAUSE you owe me for saving your life!" And then the God turned to you, the distance between the two of you lesser than Lulu lying on the ground. He was in fact lying on the ground, trying to make angels in something clearly invisible to the human eyes. "And you," Loki announced softer than he wanted to, his eyes locked onto yours. For the moment there, that was all it was. His greens shining like a freshly washed forest from rain shining under the new sun. And your eyes were the treasure quarry of y/e/c stones buried under the water looking up at that forest hiding both the light and darkness inside it. Seconds passed. Both Taneleer and the camera looked at each other for answers before the former slowly dragged his wine glass from the table to the edge, letting it fall and clunk on the floor, loud enough to break the God out of a trance. "You will stay here with Lulu. Do not cause trouble till I get back." Authority in his voice, he inhaled a lungful before furrowing his brows- trying to understand what had just happened- and turning to walk away. "Who's Lulu?" Taneleer was curious. You seemed to pop right out of your own trance by the question, beaming at the collector before picking up Lulu in your arms to let him purr in your embrace. "My baby." Taneleer took the appearance of little hairy creature in. "So much hair...or fur?" before turning to Loki, waiting for a second and then following him. "I told you not to take those drugs during your sexual endeavours for information extraction, Silvertongue."

The Lounge The flatscreen was muted, showing you sleeping in the back of the spaceship Loki just bargained for cheap. Your lips were parted and you were drooling all over the blanket underneath you while Loki set the ship on autopilot to come to take a look in the back. Javi was asleep too, with Lulu in his arms, both of them sprawled on the seats bunched up together by the last owner. What Loki did not realise- or did not bother to validate- was that the cameras were still running; those electronic bugs with space technology still buzzing around the temporary gravity.  He stood next to the makeshift bed of crates bunched together for you to sleep over, snoring loud enough to make Lulu's head vibrate in the direction of the voice. The camera focused on the screen when the expression on Loki's face bore a look barely ever seen before- soft. He was on his knees, putting the blanket wrinkled in your arms over your shoulder, securing it on both sides before moving a stray strand of your hair away from your face. He said something, apparently to you, but the only thing the camera in the lounge caught was the moving lips before frantically shifting between the screen and Natasha, Wanda, Scott and flustered Bucky; neither of them catching the lens' drift to look at the screen. Natasha and Wanda watched from the sofa as Scott still tried to get Bucky to open up a little more. "I can't watch this anymore," Natasha grumbled to Wanda with an emotionless face towards the two men, "just tell me when he comes." "Oh, oh, oh, he's coming," Wanda whispered, poking Natasha before transforming her excitement back to a dull sober self.

Wanda: So, I can always tell where this man is in the house. He does this thing where he will pick up a theme from something he is into lately and his brain keeps playing it on repeat. Last night Natasha made him watch Phineas and Ferb and so *flails her hands* *smirks* it's going to be the title sequence all day. *turns her smile into a fine line of distaste* and thanks to her I no longer have to listen to Never Gonna Give You Up for another week.

"Hey, Bucky," Natasha called out the ex-winter soldier as loud as possible, "I'm proud that you came out of the closet buddy! You should be proud of being bi. We are here with you." She clicked her tongue and finger-gunned him. Confused but delighted at the gesture, Bucky shared a chuckle with an equally excited Scott. "Thanks, Nat. But I don't know how will be able to tell to-" he turned just enough to let his eyes catch Steve standing frozen by the lounge entrance-"...Steve."

Tivan's Den "This is crazy. And so cool?! I wish I had the means to collect all the weird things around the world." Lulu chirped at you while tapping at the glass that had a pink coloured female inside it while you- bright-eyed and enthralled by the extraordinary roamed about the place, looking at the gems and flora, bugs and skeletons around this place. One little piece of quartz caught your attention for it had waves inside it as if clear water was kissing the pale dull sand on a clear beach and making it come to life. Your hand went for that crystal when you felt your brain jerk you back. "Ooooh, we're not supposed to touch anything. I don't want to be stuck in a death game again," you muttered before pouting at the crystal and walking away. Away from that shelf to turn and find yourself facing a golden music box and shrieking as low as possible. Lulu raised himself where he stood before leaping towards the shelf you were fangirling about. "Lulu, look!" You whispered in heated excitement, your toes barely keeping you on the ground, "a music box with Loki's helmet on it! You think it belongs to him?"

Lulu cautiously moved closer to the box sniffing it like a curious cat, pausing for a bit before rubbing his head with the precious trinket. "Okay. So, you approve!" You clapped and picked the box up. "Aw! You think little Loki got this as a gift on one of his birthdays?" Winding the lever as far as it went, you refrained from squirming as you opened it. A sweet sound was followed by Lulu's camera catching a hairpin inside the box. The camera caught the expression of pure awe on your face that was looking at the intricate designs on that hairpin while also catching a cloud emerging behind you that was slowly morphing into a figure; something you were not aware of. Lulu, on the other hand, seemed to feel the presence as the camera jerked and a hiss came out of the little one in the direction of the figure that was out of focus but slowly walking towards your back. "It's beautiful!" You whispered. "Do you think it belongs to his...mom, Lulu?" Another hiss came out of Lulu and this time you turned your gaze up in confusion at him. "I sure hope it does," an echo of a voice called out from behind you, making you shriek, jump away from that direction, hit your head in the shelf in front of you so hard that you went limp and fell down with one loud thump.

Back Where the Boys Are The back room of the Collector's den was rather more sophisticatedly decorated than the marketed front; not to mention the equally more bizarre antiquities surrounding the room as the God and one human entered. "I need a tool to break me out of these," Loki declared while directed Taneleer's gaze towards his handcuffs. Taneleer raised his brows and tapped his fingers onto each other. "Looks like someone forgot the key during their playtime!" A snicker left Javi and Loki almost lost it. "Why does everyone keep thinking I would voluntarily shackle myself to these forsaken cuffs!" "How many people have pointed that out by now?" Taneleer asked while supporting his weight on the nearest shelf. Loki shoved off the question, paused, blinked and then huffed. "Five," he muttered. Javi tskd from where he stood, signing something with one hand. "That Terran says eleven," Taneleer pointed out, now judging the God with his narrowed eyes. "Do not jest me, Collector!" "Jest you! You, the God of riding SOLO with nothing but self-preservation in your blood, trodding in space all mighty with a beautiful Terran and you expect the fauna to not suggest something titillating going between the two of you?!" The eye-roll Loki felt, almost made the audience wonder if they would disappear in the back of his head. "There is nothing going on between me and her. She's just. A friend." The most dramatic gasp came out of the Collector, his hand going over to his trembling lips. "He used the f-word," the poor mafia lord whispered to himself. "What? I have had friends before," Loki shrugged through his shoulders, not making eye contact with his company before getting conscious of the camera. "Oh, name one friend besides me who hasn't exploited you for their own wishes!" "Can we please get back to busi-" "That's because you don't have any-" "Peter!" Loki blurted out of nowhere before realisation hit his face and made a split-second eye contact with the camera before composing himself. "His name is Peter and if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone and then myself. Remember that." The weight in his words seemed to shift the power in the room, impressing the Collector beyond what he asked for. "Yes, yes! Don't boil your blood over it," Taneleer sang rather sweetly, swinging his hips and humming something. "Well? Are you going to help me or not?!" Loki huffed. "Give me back whatever grace I left with you." Taneleer muttered something that was not audible to the God.  "You did what?!" Taneleer groaned. "How do you have such sharp ears?" "YOU SOLD MY GRACE!!!" "Well, not sold so much as bartered for a nice sample of a fae's DNA. So, I'd say it was a good deal." The collector was in the middle of turning to face the God when he felt himself being shoved into the wall behind him by Loki. "You are-" Loki hissed- "going to get me-" and grabbed his throat- "out of these shackles-" and tightened his grip on the OverLord- "or this is the last thing you will see before you die." The Collector winced and croaked for air, begging through his eyes when Loki let go just enough for him to speak. Wheezing for as much air as possible, the Collector looked at the God with eyes of a mercy-seeking peasant. "Now, now, my sweet God! If you kill me...who will save your precious friend out there?"

to be continued...

[doctors-star]

21 ♡

prompts

petrichor - the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of dry weather

Ruth is not wearing her stockings. Their lovely wardrobe lady would be scandalised.

Actually, the stockings wouldn’t be the half of it, since she also isn’t wearing her heavy walking skirt of fine, deep green wool, nor yet her pretty olive calico shirtwaist; no hat, no hair rat, no shoes. She is sprawled in a chair in the shade of the kitchen, trying not to let any part of her sweaty skin touch any other part of her, in just her shift and petticoats and corset, and she is waiting.

For midday to pass, or the heatwave to break, or for her brain to get itself working again. Whatever happens first.

It is miserably hot. There hasn’t been a raincloud in nearly a month and the temperature has only risen; the novelty of an actually summery British summer has now thoroughly worn off, and even those people who can wear shorts and t-shirts rather than corsetry and wool have taken to retreating indoors around noon. Alex and Peter, the poor sods, have been hauling water up to the market garden for a week solidly and still everything is wilting; their animals are cowering in the shade; and after some excitement yesterday that had ended in Ruth and Peter holding his waistcoat spread open in an impromptu sunshade over one of the sound engineers, now prone and somewhat groggy, as various producers and medics had fluttered about and fussed over heatstroke, the entire crew has packed up and gone home until the temperature will concede to being reasonable. In all honesty, she ought to be sheltering away somewhere too, as should Peter and Alex; so, naturally, they’re off up the market garden in sunhats and SPF 50, and Ruth had thought she’d have a go at the laundry.

She glowers in the vague direction of the copper. Sod the laundry.

There’s a sort of clattering sound in the yard which she has come to associate with the boys returning from some task all tired and clumsy, and lo, the bright rectangle of the doorway is dimmed: Peter places a bucket carefully on the floor by the door and then crumples quite slowly and gently to the floor, lying full-length on the cool flagstones with a sigh of relief.

Alex, eyes adjusting to the sudden comparative darkness after the incredible blinding sunlight of outdoors, trips over Peter’s feet. With some careful flailing, he manages to grab the back of a chair and hold himself upright, and then he frowns down at Peter. “Now, why didn’t I think of that,” he says conversationally.

Peter closes his eyes and smiles rather smugly at the floor; Ruth spares him a fond look, but then goes back to looking up at Alex with mounting concern. “Oh, you do look red, love,” she chides gently, reaching up to his rather tomato-tone face. Obligingly, he leans down so that she can press the backs of her fingers to his forehead - even to her warm hands, his skin feels very hot and unhappy. “You should have come in sooner.”

“It’s hot outside,” Alex mumbles in his own defence - but rather weakly, like he knows that this line of argument is not going to get him terribly far. “I did wear my hat, and suncream.”

“And we should have come in earlier,” Peter agrees around a mouthful of flagstone. “Sorry - I should’ve-”

“You’re not my mum, Peter, you don’t get to send me indoors and fuss over me,” Alex says, rather irritably; Peter, like a champion, refuses to rise to it and instead pouts up at him.

“Not even a little bit? Can’t I fuss just a little bit, because I love you so much?”

Alex can’t seem to help a smile. He looks a little sorry for his heat-induced crossness, and conveys this by nudging Peter’s leg with his foot and feigning a frown. “Not even at all,” he says sternly. “You horrible, tanned man.”

Ruth snorts an inelegant laugh and Peter beams at them. Rather than fry, as Alex seems inclined to - a fate which Ruth is working furiously to avoid - Peter has gone a rather pretty brown colour. Nicely suntanned, and not horribly burned. It’s alright for some. Ruth reaches out her bare foot and prods his shoulder with a toe. “It’s all grime, really.”

“Hah!” Peter reaches out and wraps one large, sweaty palm around her ankle. “Jealous. Look,” he says, lifting her foot slightly so that Alex can see the contrast - his hand against her shin, which hasn’t seen sunlight in at least a year. “Look at this idle, workless woman. See how I labour in the fields to maintain her white and shapely ankles.”

Ruth kicks free, trying and failing not to grin at him. “What do I do, then?” Alex says, slumping in his chair and pushing his damp, sticky hair back from his forehead.

“Absolutely nothing, you’re purely ornamental,” Peter says, stretching languidly and propping his chin up on one hand to smile at them.

Alex rolls his eyes and turns bodily to Ruth, ignoring Peter. “Idle and workless, are you? I thought you were laundering today.”

Ruth makes a face of such furious displeasure that both Alex and Peter both splutter in surprised laughter. “I did not,” Ruth says with an expression of pinched displeasure, “have much success.”

“Why, is the copper playing up?” Alex says with a frown. Ruth elects not to go into just how a copper could play up, large saucepan as it essentially is, and instead just scrapes some loose hair off the back of her sticky, sweaty neck with a wince.

“I almost wish it was,” she confesses. “Nearly steamed myself to death.” Alex and Peter are already frowning in concern and sympathy, and so she decides not to tell them about the rather close call: the unbearable heat and walls of steam coalescing into spotting vision, light-headedness, lungs full of thick, unbreathable moisture; sitting down rather quickly; and then the undisclosed length of time spent lying on the floor wondering if it were possible to drown in steam. They would only fret.

“Are you alright?” Peter says, reaching out and tapping her instep in deference both to his instinct to touch and comfort, and to her instinct to kick anything that makes her any warmer than she already is.

“I’m sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the day in my underclothes,” she tells him.

Peter grins. “I’m not sure what answer that is.”

“Honestly, me neither,” she says, smiling when he laughs. “Let’s go with fine.”

Alex pops his waistcoat buttons open and shrugs it over his shoulders and onto the back of the chair. As he does, a breeze skitters abruptly through the door and makes a quick circuit of the room, rustling a newspaper and tugging at Ruth’s skirts like an errant child; just as abruptly, the light outside dims and the sky turns a well-lit grey. The air turns heavy and expectant, tasting of lightning on the tongue, and there is an almost tangible pause as if all the world were taking a breath.

“This always happens to me,” Alex says without much irritation as he frowns at the world without. “I start dressing for the weather, and it changes straight away.”

Peter tilts his head. “Take your shirt off,” he suggests mildly, “and it might even rain.”

Obligingly, Alex hauls his shirt over his head and then, less obligingly, balls it up and lobs it at Peter’s head. Ruth huffs in amusement and pushes herself up out of the chair, stepping carefully over Peter to stand in the doorway and watch the weather. Alex follows and sticks an arm out, bare skin turned up to the gunmetal heavens; there is a curious feeling of hesitancy, as if the clouds have come over all shy and embarrassed of a sudden, and were only willing to offer a few sparse raindrops; and then it starts raining. Properly. Finally.

Ruth smiles gently and turns to place a palm on Alex’s bare sternum. “Weather mage par excellence,” she declares.

Alex smiles back and draws his arm back to fold his fingers around hers and hold them to his sweat-sticky skin; Ruth pulls them both out into the yard to stand under the clouds and let the rain wash them clean.

It is glorious. Her instinct is to run for shelter and screw her face up under the sudden onslaught of water, but she overrides it to tip her head back, eyes closed, and relax. It is such a relief; it is cool, and the air is clear of cloying heat, and it is simply so pleasant to be not hot for a change. The clothes she is wearing are too thin, really, and soak quickly, and her feet are bare and picking up bits of dust and dirt from the hard, dry yard, and Ruth feels present in a way which she hasn’t, this past week. She has been hiding indoors from the heat and pulling away from heavy clothes and blankets and the arms of her lovers to avoid claustrophobic sweating, but this too has made her oddly separate. But now - now - she can smell the earth and the rain in a delicious swirl of summer countryside, and she can feel water beating insistently against her skin, and there are stones digging into her feet and she reckons she could walk miles like this, just like the cavemen used to do, as if she were some kind of neolithic hunter with an almost supernatural knowledge of the natural world. The countryside smells so beautiful, and it is, in its way, hers.

She opens her eyes. Alex is watching her, waiting patiently, and when her eyes meet his he squeezes her hand. “Hi,” she says softly with a tiny embarrassed smile.

He beams at her warmly. “Hello.” It is so pleasant to be so quietly understood.

Peter has his head tipped back too, arms spread wide to encompass all the rain he can reach, and Ruth has to grin. “How are you, Mr Darcy?” she teases gently, nodding at his water-soaked white shirt.

“What a glorious feeling,” Peter says very seriously, shuffling forward without opening his eyes to wrap them both in wet cotton. “I’m happy again.”

Alex tilts his head, idly freeing one arm to sling around Peter’s shoulders - so naturally, it appears to take no thought at all. “Singing in the Rain?” he checks.

“Mm,” Peter agrees, pushing sodden curls out of his eyes and opening them to grin at Alex and Ruth. “But also, you know, generally.”

Ruth smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. Her toes dig slightly into the dirt - fast becoming mud - and she inhales the smell of rain-soaked dust, allows it to settle in her lungs, and is generally rather happy herself.

[caffeineivore]

Commission#4

For @vchanny-og

Prompt: Makoto teaches the girls to cook. To commission me please click here for information! To see what other people are offering up commissions please see here!

The recipe for peanut butter cookies is fool-proof, three-ingredients. Four, if you added chocolate chips. The first time that Makoto had made them, Usagi had eaten two dozen by herself, and when she’d found out how easy they were, she’d begged and whined and pouted until Makoto had agreed to teach her. 

“Mamo-chan would love these, don’t you think? Especially if we add chocolate! And peanut butter is healthy and has lots of protein so he wouldn’t even disapprove!”

Eggs. Crunchy peanut butter. Sugar. Chocolate chips. Parchment-lined baking sheet for 11 minutes at 170 degrees Celsius. 

Makoto lines up all the ingredients on the counter, helpfully preheats the oven to the correct temperature. She goes out to her balcony to check on her plants, and is halfway through dead-heading some leggy basil when the smell of smoke comes wafting through the open door. Thoroughly alarmed, she drops her clippings and runs in, yanks the oven open to find lumps of what look to be charcoal. Usagi’s wail could pass for a fire engine careening onto the scene complete with lights and sirens. 

“I don’t know what happened, Mako-chan! I didn’t do anything except what you asked, and now everything is ruined and there are NO COOKIES and you are probably going to be mad at me!”

With a long, windy sigh, Makoto checks the counter. Peanut butter, check. Sugar, check. Chocolate chips, check-- and if she’s not mistaken, Usagi dumped in about half a cup more than the recipe called for. A bowl of cracked open eggs, yolks almost mockingly bright orange, winked up at her. 

Makoto shakes her head, sends Usagi out to the bakery, and cuts up some peppers and tomatoes, retrieves her snipped basil. It seemed like she’d be having omelettes for dinner. 

**

“So we sear the steak at a high temperature in a cast-iron skillet to take advantage of the Maillard reaction for the sake of optimal flavour.” Ami scribbles some type of complex chemical molecule diagram on the margins of the recipe that she’d meticulously copied from Makoto’s cookbook, and does a few equations, and murmurs to herself. “I suppose that makes sense. The temperature of the cooking surface will exceed 140 degrees Celsius, which will cause the reactive carbonyl group of the sugar present in the molecule interact with the nucleophilic amino group of the amino acid.”

“Yeah. Something like that. And then you finish in a low and slow oven so you don’t overcook the meat. This is an expensive cut of steak-- you don’t want it to be cooked to death.”

Makoto did not care over-much about the complex chemical reactions and science behind the process-- it was enough, really, to know that as long as one controlled the temperature and time, and seasoned the pricey cut of beef simply but well (sea salt, coarse-ground pepper and a few sprigs of rosemary), one could have a fancy date night meal in the comfort of one’s own home. “Medium rare is the optimal doneness for steak, in my opinion. Use a food thermometer, cook it to 54 degrees Celsius, then rest for three minutes before slicing, and you’re good to go.”

“I understand the reasoning behind safe internal cooking temperatures,” Ami muses as she follows Makoto’s lead, carefully wiping down the cherry-red surface of her steak with a paper towel to dry it, then sprinkling on salt and pepper on both sides. “Obviously, you don’t want harmful disease-causing microorganisms to grow within your food product, and it either needs to be too hot or too cold for the bacteria and viruses and fungi to survive. But why are there exceptions to the rule? Your recipe says that a rare steak reaches the internal temperature of 51 degrees, a medium rare of 54, a medium of 58 and so on. Doesn’t that put the person who prefers to eat their steak rare at greater risk? How does a restaurant get around that liability? It’s not as though it can do a medical check of the customer to ensure that they have no history of immunological disorders or gastrointestinal problems. And what about nations which choose to ignore these limits altogether? We serve sushi and sashimi here in Japan, which is certainly not cooked to 62 or highter. The French have their Carpaccio and tartare. The Lebanese have their kibbee nayee, and so on.”

Makoto watches as Ami grinds exactly three shakes of pepper onto each side of her steak, then rolls her eyes. “How does your guy like his steak cooked? That’s all I need to know.”

Ami blushes almost as red as the meat she’s fiddling with. “Umm. Medium rare is fine. And he’s hardly ‘my’ guy. More of Mamoru’s, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve already split hairs over the science of cooking. I don’t think I have enough energy to argue over the exact nature of your relationship with the mouthy blond menace. Do you think you can put together a nice green salad to go with these steaks? That way we can get done quicker, and I can make myself scarce before he comes here.”

**

Makoto knows better than to attempt to teach Rei anything too outlandish in the kitchen. Rei is a traditionalist in every sense of the word, and probably would not be caught dead in some hipster gastro-pub serving deconstructed salad of micro-greens topped with lobster foam something-or-another no matter how many Michelin stars and James Beard awards the place might have won. Rei is also reasonably competent with her hands and not particularly accident-prone, so something like steamed gyoza seems right up her alley. Sure, making the filling and dough from scratch is an extra effort, but her friend had never been the type to settle for mediocre and ordinary.

Her first warning that things might not turn out quite so well is when Rei takes a full step back when she sets the food processor on the counter. “What is that?” 

Her tone could only have been snottier had the food processor been possibly coated in dung and mildew and maybe plastered with boy band stickers. “It’s a food processor. So we can easily chop up the chives, grind up the pork.”

“I have a perfectly serviceable set of knives here.” Rei turns up her aristocratic little nose and points to the knife-block, which, to be fair, holds a set of heirloom-quality blades. Trust the senshi of war to know her sharp objects, Makoto thinks drolly, but she acquiesces. “All right. You can mince the chives with that, I guess. But I’m using the food processor to grind the meat.”

They both get to work, and Rei glares at the machine as soon as it starts up as though the noise offended her on a personal level. She’s not bad-- indeed, her cuts are decent even by chef standards, but by the time Makoto has finished up her meat and mixed in soy sauce and ginger and garlic and a pinch of allspice and an egg, she’s only about a quarter of the way done with her chives. Slowly and stubbornly, she soldiers on as Makoto measures out flour and water and a pinch of salt. 

“What in the world is that?”

Now, the question is directed towards the stand mixer plugged into the wall outlet. Makoto doesn’t even dignify that with a response, and dumps in flour, salt and water, lets fly. Sure, she can knead the dough by hand if she wanted to. And stretch it, cut it, roll it out for the dumpling wrappers. And maybe, if he’s very, very lucky, Jun would have gyoza sometime within the next two years. She’s just about ready to start rolling the dough when Rei finally finishes cutting the chives by hand, and dumps them into the bowl of the ground meat mixture, scowling at the way the damp green mince clings to her fingertips. Makoto finishes mixing the filling, then shows Rei, quickly, how to pinch the edges of the dumpling shut. 

She waits until the knives are washed and put away and the pot is simmering before turning to her friend with a mischievous look, tongue firmly tucked in cheek. “Well. I’m sure Jun will appreciate your painstaking work on this meal, doing things the old-fashioned way by hand. He’ll know just how much you care from the sheer effort you went through.”

If looks could kill, Makoto would be buried six feet under complete with an ugly angel-shaped monument and an elaborate wreath of flowers on her grave. She manages to keep a straight face while she takes the dumplings out the pot, then excuses herself. She’s still laughing when she arrives at her own apartment a good half-hour later. 

**

Leave it to Minako, of course, to want to learn the most complicated, exotic dish of them all. 

“I think it would be perfect! He doesn’t eat pork or beef, and I love spicy food, and I know you’ll help me and it will turn out wonderfully!” 

Makoto eyes the recipe bookmarked on Minako’s phone-- very heavily starred on Pinterest, and apparently the handiwork of some world-renowned celebrity chef. “Indian lamb curry, though? That’s… quite ambitious of you, Minako.” Indeed, the list of ingredients is daunting in and of itself, even for a seasoned home cook, and Minako’s idea of gourmet home cooking generally involved cracking an egg over her boiling ramen noodles. 

“Oh don’t you worry. I’ve watched a TON of youtube videos. And cooking reality shows. That Gordon Ramsay is HILARIOUS. And it all goes into the slow cooker, so it hardly requires fancy techniques and knifework and the like. All I have to do is toss everything in there and push a button and spend the rest of my time making myself look gorgeous and sexy, right??”

Makoto eyes the recipe again. She’s pretty sure that Minako has never heard of the term ‘garam masala’ in her life. “Maybe you should at least let me taste it before you serve it. Just in case.”

Six hours later a mostly-decent-looking sample of the dish is placed in front of her. The curry is an appetizing orange-brown colour, and the kitchen smells invitingly of spices. Minako had even taken the time to toss some finely chopped parsley onto the meat for a pop of bright green. Makoto is pleasantly surprised, and gives Minako an approving smile which lasts all of three seconds-- the three seconds it takes to put a piece of the meat in her mouth. She gags, and spits it out. “Oh, GOD! What did you put in this?! It tastes like the Dead Sea… if the Dead Sea were on fire!”

Minako shoots her a wide-eyed look from those baby blues, thoroughly bewildered. “Welllllll… all these videos said to salt with every step of the cooking pricess. So I did. It was probably like close to half a cup of salt total, because I added some after every other ingredient. And then I didn’t have tomato paste so I substituted ketchup. Basically the same thing, you know? And I didn’t have the tablespoon of fresh ginger, so I used a tablespoon of ginger powder, and shelled pistachios look just like cardamom pods for like a tenth of the price, and I used Old Bay seasoning instead of Bay leaves… But the only thing I absolutely couldn’t figure out at all was this ‘garam masala’ stuff! So I left it out.”

Without a word, Makoto dumps the entire contents of the slow cooker into the trash, picks up her phone, and dials the local Indian restaurant, Within short order, two takeout containers are delivered-- an Indian lamb curry, and an accompanying container of cheese naan and rice. 

“Just… put it in your own plates,” Makoto tells the other girl, shaking her head between gulps of water. “The kitchen smells like you’ve been cooking all day. It’ll be our little secret and he will never, ever know.”

[wedding-of-the-century]

Meliodas Spills The Beans

Arthur was very quiet on the journey home. Zeldris glanced at him from the driver’s seat when he did not need to give his full attention to the road, biting his lip to see his fiancé staring into space. Arthur has said he was feeling okay, that he had gained some sense of peace on discovering what had become of his parents, but he did look a bit sad, his mouth turning down at the corners and his eyes a little misty. Zeldris opened his mouth, then catching sight of Estarossa on the back seat he closed it again. He did not want to intrude on Arthur’s privacy while his brother was there.

So they drove in silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine, the rush of breeze from the air conditioning vents and the odd bumping sound as the car went over uneven bits of the road. Zeldris had to keep turning the air conditioning on and off as the car lurched from icy cold to having steamed up windows which only the cool air could fix, and he self-consciously played with the buttons every so often as his passengers watched the passing shops and houses.

At last the came into the countryside, zipping alone narrow, tree-lined roads on the way to Meliodas’s mansion. The sun began to emerge from behind the bank of pewter cloud, breaking through the green of the branches that formed a natural roof over the road. Green tunnel, Zeldris thought, remembering how they had described the way to their home as young children, before their mother had passed away and life was still fun. He wondered which was worse: being Arthur and learning that he had missed what could have been a happy childhood with his real parents, or the fate that had befallen him and his brothers - a sunny life cut short by untimely death.

He felt very gloomy indeed as they pulled through the iron gates, tires scrunching on gravel as they made their way up to the house. Meliodas came out to meet them, a sombre look on his face. Zeldris watched as his eldest brother clapped Arthur on the back as his boyfriend exited the car, the two of them exchanging a few words as Estarossa joined them. For all their faults, both of his brothers had gone out of their way to make Arthur feel welcome and for that he was very grateful.

With a thunk Zeldris closed the car door behind him and started traipsing into the house behind the others, his heart somersaulting when Arthur paused at the door, turning to him with his habitual broad smile. They held hands as they moved into the house, their fingers lacing together but Zeldris could still feel his partner’s sadness on the air, a twinge of melancholy that left a cloudy taste in the mouth.

“Come in here!” Meliodas called and they gave each other a puzzled glance before slinking into the drawing room to see Meliodas standing with a pensive expression pulling at his features. “I… um… well… Arthur I’m really sorry you had to get such difficult news. It must be… well I remember when our mother died,” he rushed on as he shot Zeldris a quick look. “It was pretty horrible. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m really, really sorry.”

Arthur shrugged, then smiled. “I wish it had turned out differently, but it is what it is. And like I said to Zel, it’s comforting in a way to know what happened and that, well, they did want me after all.”

Meliodas nodded, taking a big gulp of air. “Anyhoo, I got something for you. I was going to give you this after the wedding but, well, I think you could both use it now.” With a flourish, Meliodas pulled a piece of coloured, shiny paper from his pocket and thrust it out towards them. Arthur took it carefully, his brow furrowing as he opened it up, his eyes moving as he scanned the pictures.

“What is this?” Zeldris asked, standing on tiptoes so that he too could peer at the piece of paper. He too frowned as he saw photographs of an extremely luxurious-looking hotel with minimalist decor and a gorgeous looking infinity pool.

“It’s where you’re staying on your honeymoon. You’re going to the Philippines,” Meliodas said with a grin. “As I said, I was going to tell you after the wedding but I figured you needed cheering up. It’s a beautiful country you’ll have a really nice time.”

“Wow!” Arthur stared in awe as he turned the brochure over. “I have never stayed anywhere this fancy. It’s going to be amazing! Thank you so much. I might not be able to cover it all but how much…”

Meliodas held up a hand. “You are not going to finish that sentence. This is on me.”

Zeldris bit this lip, swallowing hard. “Mel, I love you and I really don’t want to seem ungrateful because I’m not. I’m really, really grateful. But I - we - cannot accept this. I…”

“Yes you can.” Meliodas took a step towards Zeldris clapping him on the shoulder. “We both know I’ve not always been the brother I ought to have been to you. Well, now I can do something to make up for it. Really, this means a lot to me,” Meliodas said, his jaw set. “So just take it. I love you. Both of you.”

Without another word, Meliodas strode away leaving Zeldris and Arthur staring spellbound at the brochure. “Can we go diving?” asked Arthur excitedly.

“Of course!” Zeldris replied, the two grinning at one another. “They have black sand beaches too. I’ve always wanted to see one.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Arthur said cheerfully, before kissing Zeldris on the lips. “I can’t wait!”

[gumnut-logic]

The Run

Title: The Run

Part Three of the Avalanche Trio

Part One – Diversion by Scribbles97

Part Two – I Know by Gumnut

Authors: Gumnut & Scribbles97

Jul 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “We have each other, their legacy and the means to stop it from happening to as many people as we can.”

Word count: 3567

Spoilers & warnings: SPOILERS FOR 3.18

Timeline: Episode Tag

Author’s note: Lookie! @scribbles97 and I wrote a fic together! This is the third fic in the triumvirate of Avalanche Episode Tags. We hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

As always Sally made sure she could locate all her boys on their return from a rescue. Gordon in particular had appeared exhausted, despite not having been directly involved. But today had been out of the ordinary. It was one of those rescues, one that brought up past issues, past pain and took all of them down.

As usual Gordon and Alan gravitated together. She was thankful they had each other. Each of the boys loved each other, but they also paired up for support. Alan and Gordon usually connived together, but at the same time, they also supported together. 

The same could be said about the two eldest, but to her surprise, Virgil and Scott separated. Scott running off who knew where using the excuse of exercise, and Virgil disappearing into the bowels of the hangars. 

Consequently, when John found her, she was uneasy.

“Grandma?”

“Oh, John.” She reached up and wrapped her arms around her middle grandchild. God, he was tall. “Are you sure you’ve stopped growing?”

“Pretty sure I have.” John had a gorgeous smile.

“How are you feeling?”

His eyes glanced at the floor. “Okay.”

She sighed. “Somehow I don’t entirely believe that.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is. Not much I can do about it.”

“How is Gordon?”

It was his turn to sigh. “Stubborn as any Tracy. I had to drag him down. He won’t admit it, but he is exhausted.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. Alan’s with him in the meantime.”

“Where are Scott and Virgil?”

She eyed him. “I’m a little worried.”

An arched eyebrow. “That bad?”

Letting out a breath, she wrapped an arm around his...well, his waist, his shoulders were way beyond her. “Virgil did have to save Alan from an avalanche. I’m sure that is not a happy thought for either of them.”

He was silent a moment. Quietly. “I saw.”

“See if you can find him? See if he is okay?”

“Can do, Grandma.”

She squeezed him tight a moment and, despite it all, he rolled his eyes. 

“Thank you, dear. Call me if you need me. I’ll check on Scott.” She knew in likelihood John had already located both of his brothers, the astronaut was ever vigilant

A small smile, a nod and he turned away towards the elevator. She watched him as he left. John was the quiet one, but he was one of the strongest of them all.

Scott. She sighed. Scott ran himself into the ground. He was like a steam engine, a juggernaut forcing himself through whatever resistance he encountered. Virgil could usually corral him, direct his anger, calm him down. Everything that made Scott the powerhouse of a leader he was, worked against him in situations such as these.

So busy helping everyone else, he forgot to help himself.

He was out running. A coping mechanism.

It wouldn’t be the first time she had had to run him down. Passing Jeff’s desk, she pulled up his location on a map of the Island. Really? All the way over there?

Well, she hadn’t run today. A little extra exercise shouldn’t hurt.

Throwing on a pair of shoes, she started out with a slow jog, and using age as an excuse, she took a short cut.

-o-o-o-

It was a relief to get out of the house and run, to not have to put on a face for everyone that expected nothing but smiles and smooth lines from him. Running allowed him to breathe, to simply exist without the burden of responsibility and little brothers looking to him for, well, everything. He loved his brothers, loved that they looked up to him as they did, even if he wasn’t always the best role model. After some rescues though, it just became too much to bear. There should have been someone else for them to look up to, older, wiser, more responsible people stood in his place with reassurance aplenty to dole out to younger brothers that needed it. 

Like the thought was a stab in the heart, he stumbled, catching himself on a branch as he fell forward. He heaved for breath, leaning heavily on the trunk of the tree for support. The day was finally catching up to him in more ways than one, another reminder that he couldn’t cope like he used to, that it had been so long since he had taken the reins.

Sinking down against the tree, he looked around, unsure when he had made it to the outcrop on the far side of the island. Autopilot must have taken over, it wasn’t one of his usual spots, once upon a time it had been, when he had needed to escape less often. Since Dad had vanished though, the curved line of trees sheltering the rocky patch had been too much of a reminder for him to handle. 

His head fell into his hands as he took a slow breath. He knew why he had ended up there, for the same single reason that always took him there those days; to be close to his parents. 

That was why he was running. That was why he had needed to get out. That was why he couldn’t face his family, not tonight.

Another avalanche, many years before with another helpless against its forces and no technology like the Thunderbirds to do anything about it. 

What if Brandon hadn’t remembered about Goose? They had no idea she was even there, just like when… he shook his head, clearing the thought. 

They’d found her. 

They’d got everyone out.

They’d all come home safe. 

Folding over his knees, he clutched at his hair. So why wasn’t it okay?

-o-o-o-

She took the run across the middle of the island. A jagged path cut solely for the purpose of access to the Island-wide monitoring system. The path was a little harsher than she was used to, the coastal run was much kinder, but it was necessary.

She finally hit the other side of the Island a little out of breath, landing in the centre of the gravel track with some relief. Sweat ran down her back and her heart was doing a great impression of Riverdance, but she was here. Eyeing the reef system below, she did a few mental calculations and turned to the right.

Giving her body a break, she walked off her pant, revelling in the thrum of the blood in her legs. It had been a while since she had pushed herself a little. It felt good.

Getting old seriously cramped her style. On occasion it was a fact she chose to ignore.

But Scott was along here somewhere, no doubt troubled after today’s little episode.

Her pace quickened.

Until just around the edge of a bluff she caught sight of him, crumpled under a tree.

Oh, Scotty.

-o-o-o-

Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement, drawing him to sit up. Taking a deep breath he forced a tight smile though deep down he knew it wouldn’t fool her. Grandma had known him his whole life and had been the one to bring up his father whom he so resembled. She gave him a moment, took a few steps towards him before she folded her arms and raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. When he had been a teen the look would have been completed with a cocked hip, but if she had hiked all the way up there, he knew her hip would be in no state to be forced into awkward stances. Still, he got the idea. 

Grandma knew. Grandma always knew. 

Not that that would stop him trying to play the whole thing off as nothing. 

“It’s a good day for a hike.” He smiled, voice catching as he looked up at her, “I don’t think you’ve been up here since…” Trailing off he frowned, unsure when Grandma had last been up here to what was, unofficially, Dad’s spot.

“The other week,” She filled in for him, “When we got the new footage from the zero-x.”

Of course, it made sense. They had lost a father that day, but Grandma had lost a son. He didn’t blame her if she ventured up here for the exact same reason he did. She had given up so much for them over the years, her traveling, then her life, then her home. The boys may have lost both parents, but it seemed to him that Grandma had lost so much more. 

-o-o-o-

She eyed him. Sometimes Scott forgot that with age came a certain perspective. Sally had earnt her grey hairs, every one of them. Scott had a few of his own, but he had a way to go yet.

“You know, I never questioned your father regarding his choice of a tropical island as a haven. Didn’t have to. I knew why. I think you do, too.” She paused for breath, her eyes still on  him. “From the moment they found your mother wrapped around Virgil in all that snow and ice...we’d all be happier if we never had to step foot on the stuff ever again.”

She didn’t mention her husband. She never mentioned her husband. Any more than Jeff mentioned his wife. There were some things that just…

Virgil was the survivor. The only one. The rest of them had to watch as so much had been taken away. Jeff...but he was not here. Scott...Scott ever the strong one, ever the leader. He had been so young.

A deep breath and she closed the steps between them, pulling up a piece of dirt beside her grandson. “Sometimes things just suck.”

-o-o-o-

Scott would have perhaps chosen some more colourful words than those his grandmother had used but the point was there and, as always, she was right. 

Things did suck. 

They sucked royally. 

“What did we do?” He sighed, bowing his head to look at the small mound of dirt his hand had been absentmindedly scraping together. 

“What did we do for all this to happen? For Mom and Grandpa, the Hood, and then Dad. Why us? Even before IR Dad just tried to help those he could and still we get all this shi--” He caught himself as Grandma turned a glare towards him. Denied the outburst, his fist came down on the mound of dirt, leaving him with no real satisfaction and still feeling too much. 

“It’s not fair!” He snapped, looking out to the sea, calm and quiet despite the anger he had bubbling below the surface, “Why is it always innocents? People that do nothing wrong that get caught up in… in...everything!” 

He swallowed, blinking hard against the wetness in his eyes. 

“Mom was innocent. Dad wasn’t perfect but he was innocent. Goose. Was. Innocent.”

-o-o-o-

She reached over and cupped his scuffed hand in hers. “There are no answers, Scotty, dear. I’m so sorry. Sometimes...sometimes the only thing you can hold on to is hope.” One hand held his fist, the other slipped up and around his shoulders. “God, fate, karma, whatever…” She sighed. “Fair just doesn’t come into play.” She hugged him close. “You know this. We live this.”  A stubborn exhale. “All we can do is get through it.” She eyed him just a little. “And if that means occasionally falling in a heap, so be it.”

Barely whispered. “That’s what family is for. To pick up the pieces.”

Scott rarely cried. She worried for him. Fretted at times, actually. The male stigma against emotion was the bane of the gender and their continued mental health. The four younger boys all had their moments. Privately, hidden, but they mostly let it out when forced to.

But Scott, tough, led by example Scott Tracy...

No.

Not even if he needed it.

She slipped her hand into his hair, ignoring his frown and flinch at her fingering his coiffure, and drew his head down to her shoulder. “Love you, Scotty.”

-o-o-o-

He knew resistance was futile, but letting go wasn’t quite so straight forward. Part of him wished it was, that would have meant he could have gotten it out of his system on his return flight and carried on as normal once he landed home. 

Resting his head against his grandmother’s shoulder, he felt a little bit more of the wall crumble. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was a kid again, missing his mom and wanting things to go back to how they had been before Dad had started to spend all his time away. Things were simpler then, he had chosen to bear the cross of responsibility when he could have easily left it to the real adults at the time. 

Except, this time, he was the real adult. He was the one expected to keep his cool and act like nothing in the world got to him. Just like Dad had. 

Grandma was right though, how many pieces had there been to pick up when Dad had eventually broken? Scott hadn’t been there to see most of it, Grandma had made sure of that… but was that what she meant by letting family pick up the pieces? Was she hinting that he was on the same path of self destruction that Dad had been?

He couldn’t help missing Mom. He missed Dad too, but that was something he grieved much more often. Even though the hurt for their mother was rare, when it came it hit hard and left him gasping for air. 

“Alan almost went under today,” He whispered, unsure why he was saying it. Grandma had been there at the end of the comms, had seen everything and knew what had almost happened. 

His nose was running, making him sniff and frown at the ground, “If anything happened to him, to any of them like it did Mom… I couldn’t…” The words were gone, stolen from him by a sob that had wrapped around his throat and choked him. 

-o-o-o-

“Oh, Scotty.” It came out little more than a whisper. Her arms tightened around him, pulling him that touch closer. 

He was so much bigger than she. She could remember a time where she held her first grandchild in her arms. A wriggly little ball of energy. The thought brought a smile to her face, but equally the thought of what that happy little boy had since faced in his life… “They’re safe. They’re safe. They were saved. You saved them. It worked.” And it did. All of Jeff’s dreams all his reasons for creating International Rescue, even if they never saved another soul, saving those lives from that avalanche, that is what the aim had been.

So another mother would not be taken from her children. Nor a father, brother, sister, daughter, son or anyone.

“There was no tragedy today.”

“But-” He tried to interrupt only to be shushed again by a tight squeeze.

“There wasn’t Scott, stop thinking of what ifs.”

-o-o-o-

‘What ifs’ were perhaps his worst enemy, they would go around in his head night after night constantly nagging if he could have done something different or something better. Yet somehow, his grandmother had managed to silence those what ifs in a single sentence. She was right, nothing had happened, the day was a success. 

“I just wish Mom…” He trailed off shaking his head. It was too painful to think of all of the things that might have been.

And that was the route of it all, what if someone could have saved Mom. It wasn’t so much that he missed her, even though he did, it was the what if. It was the reason he and Virgil had gone their separate ways after the rescue, both with their own what ifs and old self blame. Time and age had brought them both to know better but such rescues would always throw them each for a loop until they rebalanced again. 

-o-o-o-

Sally held her breath, hesitant. “What if it was meant to be?” Quiet, a little hoarse. “What if we lost so much so others could be saved?” She swallowed. “What if our sacrifices mean others don’t. What if your mother is the reason why so many survived?” It was a thought that had both comforted her and cursed her over the years. Whether Scott had considered it...she wasn’t sure. This family just didn’t talk about Lucille.

It hurt too much.

Perhaps that should change.

“Your mother loved tea cosies.”

“What?” Blue eyes looked up at her.

“Tea cosies. She was a tea drinker. Scorned coffee like it was the plague. She knitted all these odd tea cosies.” Sally half smiled. “You father never understood that one, but being the man he was...well, he loved her for it anyway.” A snort. “So many tea cosies.”

She fingered her grandson’s hair again. “She hated chilli or anything too spicy. Wouldn’t go near it. Yet she loved Chinese food. She loved the cold, hated the heat. Her favourite dress had pink flamingoes dancing around the hem. She sang in the shower. Virgil gets his voice from her, if perhaps not, his love of coffee - that is pure Jeff.” Her smile was wider now. “You have her hair.” Her fingers stroked brunet strands. “Although Virgil has inherited so much from Lucille, each of you have a part of her. You have her hair and her smile, Scott.” Her smile sobered a little. “We may have lost her, but honestly, she lives on in you boys. I see her every day.”

Her finger left his hair and brushed against his cheek.

“And she would be so proud of you all.”

-o-o-o-

He knew what Mom had been like, though the details had been foggy and unclear in his mind until Grandma had wiped the picture clear for him. It was true, both of their parents would have been proud of them. He knew no matter where each of his brothers may have ended up, Mom and Dad would have been proud. 

Grandma was right though, even though it tore him in two to admit it, Mom had to die. If she hadn’t, he knew he would not where he was now, having done what he had today. It was to Mom that so many owed their lives, not just down to the TI Snow Bubble that most avalanche prone areas had eventually made mandatory, but to the conception and birth of the Thunderbirds. That something so amazing had been formed from such tragedy and turned into something so successful by the very children who had been left motherless, Scott knew that would make his parents beyond proud. 

A heavy sigh left him, lifting some of the weight from his shoulders as it went. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back against the tree, “Can you tell me more about her?”

-o-o-o-

“Her favourite colour was green.” She snorted. “As if Virgil would ever let us forget.” A breath. “She was a great cook, she hated housework, but liked a clean house. With five of you running around, she nearly went batty. Why five? I never understood...then...now…” Her head dipped. “I have always been thankful for every one of you, but never so much after losing your parents and my...Grant.” A swallow. She never said his name. His memory was something she clung to, but his name...it was like a talisman. “Your mother was an artist. She created music, paintings and you. You were everything to her.”

“We have each other, their legacy and the means to stop it from happening to as many people as we can.” Another pause as the words caught in her throat. “Never forget that, Scotty. You do good. So, so much good.”

He shifted against her. She reached down and caught his hand. A glance of blue and she smiled just a little.

The waves below were a slow watery heartbeat.

“There was no tragedy today and it was thanks to your mother, your father, your brothers and you.”

She squeezed his hand, desperate to make him believe, to reassure him, to release him from his grief.

A rock pigeon flew up the cliff and barrelled into the tree above them, rustling about and cooing. Sally jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Beside her, Scott tensed as if battle ready.

A sigh. “C’mon, Scotty, you gonna help an old woman to her feet.”

An eye and an arched eyebrow. “Sure. Show me one and I’ll give her a hand. Would you like one, too?”

“Nice comeback.”

A snort. 

“You can give me a hand anyway. I think my joints have frozen in place.”

He shot to his feet obscenely fast. She flung him a glare as he offered his hands. Getting old was a pain in the everything. Several creaks and groans and she was ambulatory. She took a couple of steps to loosen things up. “See you back at the ranch?” She eyed him.

He hesitated, she could see it in his face. Just as she saw it replaced by resolution. “Actually, Grandma, can I walk with you?”

She smiled and held out a hand. “C’mere, Scotty. Let’s go home.”

And if she happened to mention some long lost facts along the way...well, Jeff and Lucy...and Grant...had left her to look after these wonderful boys, and that’s what she planned to do.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[choicesfanficanonymous]

Kin (Estela x MC/Taylor (f), Estela/Aleister sibling stuff)

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Summary: Post-ending (Endless ending). The world beyond La Huerta is gone, Taylor’s family are nothing but a fabricated daydream, and Estela’s only living relative is a walking reminder of her connection with the figure that tore her life apart. What do love and kinship mean in this burned and scarred world?

Word Count: 5384 words (sorry, a long one!)

“Hear me out, dudes,” Raj urged, setting down steaming plates of food on the table. “this place has everything; everything we need… except for…”

“Waterslides!” Craig exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“…waterslides!” Raj finished.

“And how,” Aleister sneered, “pray tell, do you intend to build such a thing? I suppose one of you is an engineer, equipped to build a theme park monstrosity up to health and safety regulations.”

Jake scoffed. “Malfoy, when has anything we’ve done met health and safety regulations? I dunno… maybe jumping into the path of the Loch Ness monster’s psycho cousin with nothing but a ripped-up hang-glider was a stretch, but a slide? That’s goin’ too far!”

“Fine, enjoy your death-trap. I can assure you I won’t be running around beneath it holding a net.” Aleister wrinkled his nose. “But there’s no escaping the fact that a waterslide would be an absolute eyesore. I swear, paradise is wasted on you people!”

“But who build’s a world-class tropical resort without a waterslide?”

Around the tables by the pool that had been brought together for breakfast, the Catalysts, save for Diego who had spent the night in Elyys’tel with Varyyn, chattered animatedly. Since Rourke’s demise, it had become routine, along with the nightly dinner gathering. Dealing, as they were, with a loss so huge, so devastating, holding together was the best they could do. Raj was in his element- on almost full-time hospitality duty- and he saw it as a way of honouring his grandmother. If he could do anything at all to keep his friends smiling as they moved through unspeakable grief, he’d be doing her proud. Taylor, wracked with guilt for her failure to sacrifice herself to end her friends’ suffering, had been reclusive, but she was trying… she was trying so hard to be the supportive shoulder they all needed. Beneath the table, her fingers were entwined with Estela’s, stroking them in a circular motion, and feeling a soft and reassuring pressure in return. As she took a sip of juice- what strange fruit it contained, a mystery- Taylor briefly made eye contact with her wife, and it was enough to make her heart flutter. She tuned back in to the familiar bickering and reached for a breakfast burrito.

“This is ridiculous!�� Aleister was saying. “When you’ve all emerged from fantasy land, we can talk about creating something that’s actually worthwhile. The sheer knowledge we have access to- the possibilities are…”

“Waterslide! Waterslide! Waterslide!” chanted Craig, banging his fists on the table. To his great satisfaction, Aleister’s face began to colour with increasing frustration.

“I’m sorry- how old are you; eight?”

“And what are you, the fun police? Estela- he’s your brother, stick it to him!”

In an instant, the table went quiet. Estela’s expression turned cold and stony. A hard glare resting upon Craig, who withered back with an averted gaze, she got to her feet and, without a word, walked away.

Aleister looked pointedly in the opposing direction, discomfort showing clearly on his flushed, drawn face. Grace immediately placed her hand over his, looking over him with great concern.

Zahra rolled her eyes. “Nice one, dumbass, you really outdid yourself there.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed, worry all over her face. “Taylor, is she okay?”

“I- I’ll go after her.” Her gut twisting, Taylor rose from the table. The silently bubbling tension within the group had finally breached the surface, and she felt a personal responsibility to resolve it.

She strode out onto the sand, picking up the pace until she had almost reached her wife’s side. Without looking back, Estela reached her hand out behind her, inviting Taylor in.

“It’s a shame we can’t fix that faulty connection between Craig’s brain and his mouth.” Taylor took Estela’s hand and grasped it tight.

“Family means something,” Estela growled. “My family is gone. Aleister is not… is not…”

With a tug of her arm, Taylor pulled her into a hug. Estela was tense, but she returned the gesture, her movements stilted.

“Do you want to be on your own right now?”

Estela took a moment before answering. “No. Stay with me.” She held on tightly to Taylor’s hand. It anchored her, holding her from losing herself in grief and rage. Slowly, she calmed herself and gave Taylor an encouraging smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I don’t worry about you- pretty sure you are literally the biggest badass on earth. But I do care about you. And even the strongest people can use a hand to hold sometime.”

“You can do more than hold my hand, you know,” Estela said, a smirk on her face and a glint in her eye.

With a giggle, Taylor nuzzled her face close to Estela’s and planted a sweet kiss on her cheek. “That’s a start, right?”

“I’m feeling better already.”

As she went in for another kiss, Taylor felt a gentle hand catch the side of her face, lovingly drawing her lips towards Estela’s. They met in a tender, lingering dance.

Estela came away, her cheeks glowing. She sighed. “Goddammit, I love you, Taylor.”

“Goddammit, Estela, I think I love you too,” Taylor said, a laugh in her voice. She playfully twiddled with Estela’s hair as she watched her expression become thoughtful.

“I do want to open up to everyone. I care about them,” Estela said. “Even Aleister, two-faced bastard,” she added with a snarl. “It’s just, some things I… can’t. He’s no brother of mine. Hearing it is a knife in my chest. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Well, as much as anyone can. You know, I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to be a bubbly, outgoing life of the party all of a sudden. And everyone knows you care. It’s obvious. They like you for you. I think even Aleister does… in his snobby, terrified way.”

“He should be scared. Half the time I can’t stand to look at him. And the stupid thing is, I don’t even know if it’s the betrayal, or if I just don’t want a reminder of who I am.”

Taylor shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m getting the impression the ‘secret half-sibling’ thing is weirding him out too.” She kicked off her shoes and walked into the sea, enjoying the cooling feeling of the water lapping around her ankles. “Look, I know talking isn’t always your strong point, but it might do you both good to just put it all out there. Maybe that’d do something about that elephant in the room.”

“The last elephant on earth… maybe we should keep it, for now.” Estela sat down in the sand and rested her head on her hands. There was no hurry; they were together on this island for as long as they lived. Confronting Aleister, confronting whatever it was he meant to her, it could all wait.

“Just… just, don’t let it trample over you, all right? You deserve to be happy.”

In spite of everything, a smile tugged at Estela’s mouth. She watched Taylor wandering through the shallows, her face a picture of quiet contemplation. There had been a lot of that in the week or so since Rourke’s plans had been scuppered… introspection, coming to terms with new identities and adjusting to a future so different to what any of them had envisioned. Estela knew she was fortunate; grief for her tio and the earth aside, her future was far brighter than she’d have expected not so long ago. She just hoped her friends- friends… how long it had been since she’d had any of those- would in time find the same contentment. Perhaps more than anyone else, though, Taylor appeared lost. Estela looked over her wife protectively in the aftermath; with no quest for vengeance to occupy her, her purpose was now to support Taylor through a turbulent period of transition. And, of course, it worked both ways. Today felt like a bad day, but there would be tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. Estela bit her lip, her eyes glazing over as troubled thoughts swirled through her mind. Perhaps Taylor was right. Perhaps she should stop skirting around Aleister, if nothing else but to avoid awkwardness for everyone else. She wondered, how did Aleister perceive her? The child of his father’s affair, he could quite easily resent her. Maybe he should. After all, at the end of the line, Rourke had acknowledged Estela as his truest heir, not Aleister. As much as she tried to shake the ridiculous thought from her head, Estela found herself coming back to a disturbing conclusion. Part of her was afraid that Aleister- not family, never family, but a genuine link to her mother- might turn away from her. She angrily pushed the notion from her thoughts. She didn’t need or want a half-brother, and certainly not a literal Rourke clone at that. It was just… part of letting go, and she’d grown enough to know that letting go was what she needed. Having been powered on anger for so very long, Estela wasn’t quite sure who she’d be once she had no living person to channel it towards. Would she simply implode? Perhaps… if she didn’t have Taylor.

The faint sound of sand beneath light feet made Estela alert. She glanced sideways to see Quinn approaching, a piled-up plate in her hands.

“I thought you might appreciate breakfast to go,” said Quinn shyly.

Surprised and touched, Estela sat back in the sand and offered Quinn a bashful smile. That girl really was too good.

“Thanks.”

Taylor came running back from the water and put her arms around Quinn. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Quinn beamed in response, and she carefully sat herself down beside Estela, making sure not to drop anything. “Well, I couldn’t let you miss out. I think we all know Raj’s heart would break just a little if you two didn’t get to enjoy his breakfast burritos.” Tentatively, she placed a hand on Estela’s arm. “And, if I’m honest, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Estela’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shy away. “I’m… fine. Is Aleister…?” She shook her head. “However I feel about him, I mean… I don’t like him… but we’re on the same side. When it comes down to it, it’s not him who’s really hurt me, it’s his father.” Still, she could not say ‘our’ father. Her tio was the only father figure she’d ever needed. Out of nowhere, she felt a stab of pity for Aleister. He’d never had that.

“I think he and Grace were gonna go down to the library together. That’s their happy place.”

Taylor plonked herself down in the sand and began tucking in. “Honestly? I think that Aleister’s pretty happy on the whole. He’s just adjusting to… a lot.” She gave a little sigh. Poor Aleister. With everything that had happened since the revelation of his origin, she hadn’t taken as much time as she should have to make sure he was okay. Responsible as she felt for caring for her gang of friends, she knew she’d dropped the ball there. “Like we all are. But we’ve all got each other’s backs.” Relieved to see Estela looking a little brighter- another win for Raj’s cooking- she put her free arm around her. “I’m gonna have to give my compliments to Raj- these are so good!”

“We’ve got to be getting low on meat that isn’t squirrel or… dinosaur. Is there anything left in the freezer?”

Quinn furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “I think we’re getting near the end of our supplies. I’ve been meaning to do some baking but… once everything’s gone, it’s gone. We should talk to Varyyn; if the Vaanti can throw lavish feasts, there’s no reason why we can’t make La Huerta work for us too.”

“I don’t need to ask Varyyn to know how to hunt,” said Estela. She was quiet for a moment. They needed to start doing something. The initial high of the fight for survival ending had waned, and what was left was reality. Everyone was in pain. With emotions running high, the group could easily splinter, devoid of a clear way forward. Chilling around The Celestial wasn’t enough anymore. “But you’re right. We have everything we need here. I’m going to go hunting- or fishing, it feels like it’s gonna be a hot one.”

“You’ll teach me, right?” Taylor asked.

Estela just smiled. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine much she’d rather do with herself. She met Taylor’s eyes and answered her silently.

Beaming, Taylor raised her burrito. “To bringing home the bacon- or whatever the screwy La Huerta equivalent might be!”

“Cheers!” laughed Quinn as she and Estela bumped their tortillas to Taylor’s.

Having gathered a few supplies, all the while managing to avoid any awkward encounters in the wake of the breakfast drama, Estela led Taylor along the coast to the west, Furball trotting eagerly at their heels.

“There,” Estela said, nodding her head in the direction of a strip of land rising out into the sea. “There’s a reef just beyond the cliffs.”

Carefully, Taylor lowered herself down the rocky side of the grass-covered headland, gripping tightly with her fingertips in a precarious hold. Beneath her, Estela climbed down with ease, barely slowed by fact that she had the added complication of holding a spear under her arm.

Taylor huffed, a little breathless. A pebble plinked off her forehead, and she looked up to see Furball skittering around the edge, watching them with great curiosity. “You be careful, little guy! You don’t want to sl-“ She bit her tongue as she lurched downward, her foot missing the next hold. Scrambling to regain her grip, Taylor felt something firm beneath the ball of her foot, and she glanced beneath her.

“I think the fox is fine. You might want to check your own footholds.” Estela held the blunt end of the spear beneath Taylor’s foot until she appeared to have steadied herself. She settled on a jutting out ledge just above the water and held out a hand to guide her partner down the last little way.

“And we couldn’t have just swam out from the shore?”

“Not unless you want to catch all the waves breaking. It’s better to go straight to where the fish are.”

Stripping down to her swimming costume, Estela slunk into the water, her movements smooth and stealthy. Taylor followed suit, ducking under the crystal-clear water. Together they swam out to a colourful reef, where they found themselves surrounded by silver-scaled fish that appeared to shimmer in the bright sunlight. It was beautiful.

Running out of breath, Taylor returned to the surface and treaded water, watching as Estela rounded onto a target and popped her head above the water, hair plastered to her face.

“Hey, you want me to try and herd them over to you?”

Estela nodded. “Push them toward the sandbar, if you can.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Taylor swam from side to side, sending the fish swimming away from her- and towards the sandbar, where Estela was waiting. After a few moments, Estela streaked forwards, and came up with a writhing fish on the end of her spear.

“Okay, that was impressive.”

A little smile on her face, Estela beckoned Taylor over to the shallows surrounding the sandbar. She pulled her close against her chest and lowered into the water. “Here,” she said, taking hold of the fish with one hand and giving Taylor the spear with the other. “Don’t flail around so much. Be still… keep your eyes open… focus.”

Feeling her pulse quicken at the sensation of her partner wrapped around her, Taylor took a moment to redirect her attention to the task at hand. She held her breath and put her face under, trying to avoid sending ripples out into the water as Estela gently guided her spear arm backwards in preparation to strike. She didn’t move a muscle, and soon the fishes swam by them, oblivious. Seeing her chance and taking it, she thrust her arm forward, but the resistance from the water was greater than anticipated and she came short.

“Dammit!”

“Try again… you were close.”

Estela swam away, taking her catch back to the rocks, where Furball spun around in excited circles. Determined to catch something, Taylor slipped back beneath the surface and tried again… and again… and again… until finally…

“I got one!” she hollered, taking in a mouthful of water and spluttering.

“You’re a fast learner. Throw it here.”

The sun rose high into the sky, beating down hard on the La Huerta coastline. The pile of fish Furball had been diligently guarding had grown satisfyingly, and he proudly perched himself on top, watching as the women splashed about in the sea. At one point, Taylor had sat him on her shoulder, egging him on as he shot ice out into the waves, catching fish that got in the way of his short, powerful blasts. He only accidentally iced Estela one time. Leaving fishing to the pro, Taylor built up a small fire on the edge of the headland and managed to tackle the cliff face with just enough finesse to bring up a large fish to cook.

“Shit, it’s hot,” Taylor grumbled, very quickly realising that the water was very much the place to be.

Mrrrrp? Furball chirruped, and he sent out a small wave of snow. He bounced to the side and looked up at Taylor quizzically.

Taylor scooted over and sat in the newly frosted-over grass. “Thanks, little guy!” She pulled off a little piece of meat for him and tickled his back as he dug in. That little fox was totally unique, one of a kind. Had he ever had a family? Thinking about Estela and Aleister, about the families her friends had all lost, Taylor felt a bizarre loneliness. She could reach into her mind all she wanted, but there was nothing beyond sitting beside Diego on the plane. In fact, the more she tried, the less that came to her. Even knowing it was all fabricated, a lie, she wished the false memories of a childhood were still there. So she could at least pretend. Next to the lives of everyone she cared about, her existence seemed so… shallow… empty. You could scratch beneath her surface and you’d find nothing, no history at all.

“Something on your mind?”

Taylor jumped, looking behind her to see Estela hauling up the fruits of her efforts up onto the grassy outcrop. “God, you nearly made me jump outta my skin! You know you don’t have to sneak up behind me like a ninja, right?”

Estela crawled over, sitting down beside her wife with a little grin. “It’s fun making you squeal.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna get you so- “

“You can try, if you like. But you should know I don’t scare easily.”

“We’ll see…”

Brushing a wet strand of hair from Taylor’s face, Estela looked at her imploringly. “So, what has you so distracted? You looked… sad.”

Taylor shook her head. “It’s nothing. I…” And then she stopped. There was no point to hiding what she felt, not from Estela. “I’ve just been finding it harder and harder to recall anything I thought I knew before we came here. The fake memories Vaanu gave me. I know how crazy it sounds trying to hold onto something that was never really there, but… it’s all I’ve got.”

A thoughtful frown on Estela’s face, she considered Taylor quietly. “Maybe your true memories are taking their place, pushing them down. Is any of it left at all?”

“I can sort of recall things related to Diego. I guess those feel more real because he’s here, I’ve got something solid to build from. But anything else… no. It used to be like a blur, but now there’s nothing there. Blank. Of course, it was going to be like this- it’s not as if the memories I thought I had were ever real. I just feel hollow, like I’m missing something that should be there.”

Estela pulled her close, so they sat shoulder to shoulder. “I can’t imagine it,” she said softly.

Taylor winced. “This is going to sound insanely self-absorbed with, well, everything, but I wish I’d had a family. People to remember from my childhood. Hell, even to have had a childhood at all.”

“That’s not selfish. All those things; it’s part of being human. How could you not want that?” Estela gave a heavy sigh. “Memories, a past… family. Losing it all, it feels like you’re being ripped… torn to pieces. It’s the worst pain there is. But it hurts because what’s been taken away meant something. My mom, my tio… I would go through losing them again, over and over, if it meant we could have one more day together. Or an hour.” She leant her head against Taylor’s and closed her eyes. Hearing the gentle crashing of the waves, she could imagine they were sitting together on a San Trobidan beach. “I wish I could give you those memories… those hours.”

Grasping her lover’s hand tight, Taylor exhaled shakily. She slowly relaxed into a comfortable silence, closing her eyes to appreciate the feel of Estela next to her, giving unflinching support. Her stupid hurts and worries didn’t feel so shameful while she had that love surrounding her.

“Tell me,” Taylor whispered, after a long while. “Tell me about all the little things. The memories that make it worth the hurt.”

A small but warm smile came to Estela’s face. “For a long time I couldn’t look back. Looking back made me weak, and I couldn’t afford to be weak. Even when I was small, I couldn’t stand it. Mom wanted to protect me, and I never wanted her to feel like she’d failed. When I was eight, I broke my arm- or had it broken for me. Kids in San Trobida, they don’t know anything but fighting. That’s all we see all around us, on the news, it’s just normal… you learn to pull a punch young. It was after that, Tio Nicolas started to teach me to defend myself. I knew I would do whatever it took to follow after him; I was too young to understand, but I knew he was fighting so Mom didn’t have to worry anymore. When the riots kept me awake at night, I would crawl into bed with her. I wasn’t afraid… I didn’t know any different, but I knew she slept better if I was in her arms. I would go to sleep with her singing to me, stroking my hair, holding me like I was her whole world. I’d get up before sunrise, make her a coffee. Spill it everywhere ‘cause, you know, broken arm. And she didn’t care that I made a mess, she just knew I loved her.” Her voice became hushed. “I loved her so much, Taylor.”

“I know.” Taylor gently rubbed Estela’s arm, hoping that she could give even a little comfort. All she really knew of Olivia Montoya was from her virtual reality message, and from the haunting hotel room recording. “I- I wish I could have met her. She seemed so intelligent… brave.”

“She was. She was so determined. Whatever it took for her to get the future she wanted for us, she faced it. But she always found time for us. Just for us.”

“Like going on your lunch hikes?”

“Yes, like that. And when I was little, we used to walk along the beach and collect shells. We’d go swimming and look at the fishes; there would be tropical fishes in all colours. She showed me how to appreciate small things… beautiful things. Sometimes, it felt like the world was blowing up all around us; you need to find beauty in the little things when that’s your life. And she made it easy. Just being near her. She would sit and read on one side of the room, and I would sit on the other side. We didn’t have to say anything, I could just feel that she was there. After she was gone, I don’t remember being happy. Not until I met you.”

Taylor wrapped her arms around Estela’s waist and nuzzled her face against her neck. She suddenly started giggling.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Estela, my love, my soulmate, my heart’s desire, my dearest friend, my starlight… you stink of fish. Like, bad.”

Estela laughed and put her hands to Taylor’s face, pulling her in. She caught her mouth in her own, kissing her fiercely. Taylor’s hands travelled up Estela’s back and into her hair, holding her close as she reciprocated, the momentum pushing them down into the grass. After a moment, they both doubled over, collapsing into giggles.

“You’re not smelling like a basket of flowers yourself.”

“How about we finish this once we’re cleaned up a bit?”

Propping herself back up, Estela gazed over her wife, her cheeks hot. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.” Taylor looked into those dark eyes, which were brimming with warmth, and felt herself melt. A promise like that? Not even a question.

“I’ll give these to Raj,” Taylor said happily, swinging the bucket of fish. “We are gonna be his absolute favourite people. At least until everyone’s sick of seafood.”

Estela gave her a quick kiss. “I hope so. He’s been on my back about the knives disappearing from the kitchen.”

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure there was a note pinned to the drawer. Something about ‘these knives are for cutting food, not people’. You may have been mentioned by name. In bold block capitals.”

“That’s our next job, then. Make some practical weaponry. We should get a hold of some of that amber the Vaanti use.”

“Sounds good. The cutlery is spared, and you can put your dagger-envy to rest. Everyone’s happy.” Taylor gave Estela a playful shove and headed inside.

Estela made to follow, but her eye was caught by a movement from the side of the hotel. It was Aleister. Her walls leapt up, her gaze hardened, and she turned away.

“Wait! I wanted to…” Aleister faltered, singed by the hostility that radiated off her. “I have something for you.” He wished he’d thought to just give what he’d found to Taylor, who was rather less the human equivalent of a bomb that could go off at any moment. “You needn’t think of it as a gift or anything sentimental. But it belongs to you.”

He thrust his hand forward, ignoring the clear mistrust in Estela’s eyes. She took from him several crumpled photographs.

Estela’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes grew wide, then scrunched tight shut, wet with tears before she could properly comprehend what she held in her hand. She turned herself away from Aleister and messily wiped her eyes.

Mirroring her actions, Aleister awkwardly turned to the opposing side, completely at a loss for what to say. Dealing with emotions was not his strong point. Words of comfort, sympathy? Simply callous coming from him. “I, uh, that is my mother and I… and Grace… we found these in a hidden safe in the library,” he said finally, still avoiding eye contact.  “I had wondered… he said he’d truly loved your mother… perhaps something might have been kept.”

Her fingers running tenderly over a photograph; a small child, arm in a sling, walking hand in hand with her mother along a beach, a rough but almost pretty town in the backdrop, Estela could barely hear Aleister’s words.

“My mother,” he continued, “knew that he’d put away some items from her room. Obviously, somewhere private… hidden. It’s not much, but it seems he couldn’t bring himself to destroy everything.”

A flicker of rage licked through Estela’s heart, but it was extinguished by a bittersweet wave of aching sadness and love.

“It’s the fish… the smell; it’s making my eyes water,” Estela lied, sniffling still.

Aleister snickered appreciatively. “Given the sensitive nature of our exchange, I decided it best not to comment on the… aroma. I am glad that you are at least aware of it.”

“A small price for dinner. I hope you’re hungry.” Frowning, Estela looked down at the ground and then pointedly into Aleister’s face. Well, shit, better get this over with. “We almost died because of you. You were so stupid, so arrogant, you almost killed the only people who gave a damn about you- “

“-Can we not do this now?” Aleister scowled and rolled his eyes. It had been too much to expect to get through to someone so blinded by hate. Estela was just like their father… never satisfied… out of reach. It was small wonder he’d seen something in her that he never had in Aleister. “Is it really so difficult for you to let the past be the past for five minu-“

“No.” Estela’s gaze became steely, and Aleister was momentarily forced into silence. “No; listen.”

“To your well-prepared character assassination? I would rather not.”

“You put your trust in the wrong person. Even the best people…” she felt her voice waver as she thought of her mother, of Lila. “Even the best of us can trust the wrong person… the worst person. In the end… you made your choice. You saved us. He… he told you he could bring your mother back to life. You were an idiot to believe it but… I understand. You’re a better man than Rourke ever was. And I can’t keep holding a grudge against you. I don’t want to.”

Aleister’s face registered surprise, but he quickly collected himself. “Uh, thank you. I know how personal this has been to you; how personal it has always been. You and I have been at odds so much of the time… but I would not have wished my father upon you. I’m sorry.”

Estela winced, her face clouded over. Her eyes flickered back to the photo. To her mother. The last person she imagined would keep her in the dark. Tears rolled down her cheeks and once again she had to look away. She felt a hand placed awkwardly on her shoulder, then hastily removed.

“Ah, I…” Aleister stammered. Where was Grace when he needed her? She’d have wrapped Estela in a hug and been done with it. Certainly, she could have done so without the fear of having her lights punched out. But yet Estela didn’t bristle at the bumbling attempt at physical contact. If anything, she looked… amused. “Is something funny?”

“You’re about as good at opening up as I am,” Estela said, smirking through her tears.

“A side effect of a life shaped by a treacherous snake,” Aleister said with a wry smile. He paused for a moment, trying to read her. “We have a certain kinship. A regrettable one, I’ll admit, but… I’m grateful to have it. He was never much of a father… my mother died when I was small… it has been lonely, I’ll admit. Perhaps, in time…?”

Estela’s mouth was dry. “…maybe we could have a couple of drinks, stew over how he screwed us both over?”

“That sounds appropriate. I don’t expect you to ever see me as family… kin… but…” Unsure, he held out his hand.

“Friends I could do.” With a deep breath, Estela grasped Aleister’s outstretched hand firmly. “I’ll leave the hugging to Taylor, though.” She glanced down to the precious photos held tightly in her other hand. “And, uh, thanks. Thank you… more than I can say.”

He gave her a nod of understanding, and they parted ways. Her photographs clutched to her chest, Estela realised she was trembling.

“Hey?” called Taylor, walking over, her brow furrowed in concern. “Hey, is everything all right?” She put her arm around Estela’s shoulder and inhaled sharply as she saw what was in her hand. “Wait- are those?”

Estela wiped her eyes and nuzzled close to Taylor. “Everything is… good. Uh, better than… uh…” Another deep breath. “It’s family… family stuff.” She put a hand to Taylor’s cheek and almost laughed at the stunned look on her face. “Let’s go up to the room, okay? We’ll get cleaned up and… I’ve got some things to share with you.”

[misssophiachase]

Soulmate au where the first words they say are tattooed on your wrist, but they are still vampires......

Hey! Thanks Megan luv, sorry for the delay (trying to clear out my inbox ahead of our endgame). This is inspired, not my forte but I hope you like it still : ) Thanks to Miranda @livingdeadblondequeen for all the help, what would I do without you, luv?

Eternal Flame

Klaus…

At age five, when Niklaus Mikaelson was old enough to read the scrawled ink on his left wrist he’d immediately asked his mother what it meant. He remembered it like it was yesterday. 

She’d explained to him about soulmates and the fact that whomever spoke those words to him was his one true love. At that point, the thought of kissing some girl was bad enough given the germ factor let alone having to spend the rest of his life with her. 

As he entered his teen years, the more absurd he thought the concept was, especially given what it said. “I’m not some damsel in distress.” Not the most manly of phrases and something he kept well hidden due to his deep embarrassment, thinking that someone up there was playing a very mean trick on him.  

His siblings thought it was hilarious, meanwhile, all the more reason to keep it away from prying, enemy eyes too.

Becoming a hybrid and the most powerful creature on earth on the cusp of his adult life had shattered those childhood insecurities but the fact those six words remained inked on his wrist even after his transformation was a source of great frustration and curiosity. 

What if his mother was correct? What if the love of his life was out there somewhere? All Klaus knew was that the tattoo would remain hidden, he had an evil reputation to protect after all. 

He’d been informed that the Salvatore vampire was converging on New Orleans. The warring between their families had endured for centuries and the eldest brother Damon had reached out with a peace offering. Being the suspicious tyrant he was, Klaus suspected there was more to this mission than he was led to believe.

He made his way from his compound determined to reach his enemy before he could enter his beloved city. He had minions on the ready but Klaus wanted to do this himself. 

 Caroline

“Could my day get any worse?” She huffed. Her car had broken down around mile marker eleven, further delaying her arrival into New Orleans. She kicked the tire angrily wishing she’d paid more attention in shop class.  

Caroline Forbes was a newbie vampire and had left her home in small town Mystic Falls to avoid any further scrutiny. She’d recently reconnected with her childhood best friend Bonnie Bennett, a witch herself, who lived in the Big Easy. 

Apparently being a human in New Orleans was a rarity and Caroline had to admit that being part of the majority was a lot more appealing than the minority she’d left in her hometown. 

She looked over the steaming engine, playing with a valve only to have it spurt oil over her forearm. She growled, finding a cloth in the backseat to wipe herself wishing that her vampire powers would include fixing a broken down vehicle. 

As she wiped away the black liquid, she noticed the familiar tattoo. When it had appeared she’d been too afraid to show it to anyone else but now it was an annoyingly familiar mark. She’d always imagined having a butterfly or something equally as feminine, not the scrawled writing on her right wrist. 

She’d been equally as curious about how it appeared and what it meant. “Need my help with anything, love?” It was for this reason she kept it hidden until Bonnie had visited shortly after her transition and filled her in on the whole soulmate thing.  

It couldn’t be true, as if she’d go for a guy that would say that. For starters Caroline Forbes wasn’t some weakling, if anyone needed help it wasn’t her, and anyone who called her love was just asking to be punched. 

“Excuse me?” She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice him standing there. He was tall with dark hair and piercing green eyes. “Can I help you?”

Immediately she didn’t like him. Yes, he was mildly cute but she could sense something much more sinister in his tone. 

“I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he prodded. “I’d be more than happy to take a look under the hood.” Given the way his eyes were flickering over her body clad in jeans and a fitted, white tank, she was wondering which hood he was referring to. 

“It’s okay,” she bristled pushing past him for a quick escape not expecting him to grab her wrist roughly, the tattoo turning an angry, red colour. 

“Now, that’s not a nice way to thank a good samaritan,” he insisted, his grip tightening. 

“Funnily enough I think good is a slight exaggeration on your part,” she growled. “Let me go.”

“Oh and what are you going to do about it, blondie,” he teased. “There’s no one out here to hear you scream. I’ve been driving for hours and need a snack to get me through.”

“Are you joking or just really dumb?” She scoffed, finally managing to free her arm. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t be interested in my blood.”

“Right now I’d take anything, vampire,” he hissed, moving towards her and pinning her over the overheated engine. She could feel the steam burning her ears she was that close. 

“Need my help with anything, love?” If she wasn’t otherwise occupied, Caroline would have recognised those six familiar words she’d read over and over again. 

Finding some unexpected energy, Caroline pushed her aggressor away and turned to look at the stranger. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”  Before either could respond, she snapped the brunette’s neck and watched gleefully as he crumpled to the ground. 

“That I can see,” the attractive bystander mused, his crimson lips curving into a knowing smile, a stray dimple making an appearance. 

“Do you want to be next?” She huffed. “And don’t call me love.” As soon as she’d uttered the word Caroline realised what had just transpired, her mouth opening in shock. Was this her soulmate. Perusing his assets, Caroline wasn’t too upset with the universe if that was the case.

“I just can’t seem to help myself,” he murmured. Their eyes met, dark blue on light, almost like things had finally fallen into place. Without speaking he held up his wrist, Caroline doing the same thing. 

“I thought you’d be cuter,” she joked, once the silence became too overwhelming. She was never good in these types of situations and had no intention of stroking his ego just because they were meant to be together.  

“Funny that,” he agreed. “I thought you’d be less opinionated.” 

“So, what now?” She asked, her left eyebrow kinking teasingly. “I don’t get married on the first meeting.”

“What a coincidence,” he smirked. “How about a drink for now?”

Caroline wanted to hate him but she was fairly certain she fell in love with him then and there. “Fine, but I’m paying, I don’t care if you’re my soulmate.”

“I can live with that, love,” he chuckled. 

“What have I told you about calling me that?” 

[danfanciesphil]

Phan Teacher AU (Part 4)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

This is all Mr Horowitz’s fault. 

Okay, so it’s also a little bit Dan’s fault for forgetting to bring an umbrella, or even a sensible coat, but in his defence, he had no idea this would happen. 

Normally, Dan’s walk to the bus stop after school is little more than two minutes, and so far he has always made it in time to catch the 3:17 bus. It’s a good thing too, because Dan knows that the next one doesn’t come for another hour. 

He’d been on his way to catch this same bus, in fact, when Mr Horowitz caught his arm, asking whether, before he left, he’d just run upstairs to the labs and clear up the experiment from the last class. Dan, being the school’s servant boy, couldn’t exactly refuse. He’d raced up to the labs at just after 3pm, cleared the desks in lightning speed, run a broom over the floor and sprinted to the bus stop. 

But alas, the sight with which he was greeted was the tail end of it, chugging into the distance as the rain pelted down. 

So now, Dan is stood, shivering like mad, in the downpour. It’s currently 3:30pm, and he still has another 47 minutes before the next bus. 

“Fuck you, Horowitz,” Dan mutters under his breath, which comes out in a silvery puff of steam. 

He wraps his thin jacket around himself a little tighter, rocking on the balls of his feet. Students keep passing him by, some sending sympathetic looks, and some chuckling at his plight. Dan knows he must look an absolute sight; his hair is probably plastered to his head, and his smart shirt and skinny jeans are so drenched that they’d fill a few jugs if they were wrung out, he’s sure. 

“Wanna use my Physics textbook as an umbrella, sir?” A Year 11 student Dan vaguely recognises calls out as they walk past, laughing. 

Dan shakes his head with a grim smile. “No thanks,” He replies, as tactfully as he can bring himself to be. 

It’s at this moment that a car pulls up to the bus stop, pausing right beside where Dan is stood. 

The window rolls down, and Dan’s immediate instinct is to run away - a product of the copious amount of ‘stranger danger’ warnings instilled into him during his teacher training. 

Then, the driver of the vehicle leans across the passenger seat, and Dan nearly wails. It’s Phil. Of course it’s Phil. 

“Hey!” Phil says, a glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes. “Need a lift?”

Trying his best not to think about the fact that he looks the worst he ever has, Dan forces a tight smile, leaning towards the open window. 

“Hey, hah- yeah, I didn’t exactly prepare for the weather today.” Dan says, chuckling at himself. “But it’s okay. Thanks for the offer but I live really far away. I’ll just get the next bus.” 

“When’s the next bus?” Phil asks. 

A car behind him slows to a stop, unable to get past. Dan glances up at it worriedly. The driver, an older man in a suit, looks impatient. 

“Um, in forty-five minutes. Ish.” 

Phil’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open. “What?! You’re planning to wait here in the rain for that long?”

Dan tries to give Phil a bright smile, like he’s fine with it, but a raindrop falls from his forehead into his eye, making him wince. 

“Y-yeah, it’s okay, I’m-” Dan cuts himself as a sneeze surges up out of nowhere; he just about manages to turn away, aiming it into the crook of his elbow. 

When he looks back up at Phil, he does not look pleased. “Dan,” he says, his voice dropping to his firm, teacher tone. “Get in the car.” 

Partly because the gentleman behind Phil has begun honking his horn, and partly because his knees have jellified at the sound of Phil speaking to him this way, Dan pulls open Phil’s passenger door and climbs in. 

It’s so warm inside that he could cry. 

“I’m gonna get your seats all wet.” Dan says mournfully, trying to take up as little space as he can. 

“They’ll dry.” Phil tells him, turning the heater up until it’s blasting over Dan’s face and chest. “There are more important things than courtesy, you know Dan.”

Dan turns to him, trying to work out whether Phil’s annoyed. He watches silently as Phil pulls away from the kerb, joining the thick muddle of after-school traffic inching its way towards the main road. 

“My mum raised me to be a polite young man,” Dan jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

“My mum raised me not to put my health in danger for the sake of asking a friend for a lift once in a while,” Phil replies, looking over at Dan. The windscreen wipers squeak as they battle the awful weather. After a moment, Phil sighs, his expression softening. “Sorry, I don’t mean to have a go at you. But come and find me if you miss your bus again, okay? I’d rather drive a bit out of my way today than have you turn up tomorrow with pneumonia.”

Dan nods guiltily. “Wait till you see how far away I live before you get too generous.”

*

“Wow,” Phil whistles, eyebrows raised as he stares down at Google Maps on his phone. “You weren’t kidding.”

They’ve pulled into a layby, the rain still thundering against the glass. It doesn’t matter though, because Phil’s car is warm and dry. It’s littered with little plastic toys, highlighting Phil’s quirkier side. There are Marvel superhero bobble-heads blu-tacked onto the dashboard, and the cupholders are filled with keyrings that look like they were won out of those two-penny slot machines.

There are also sweet wrappers scattered around - skittles, starburst, pick ‘n’ mix, or anything sugary and colourful. 

None of it seems anything other than incredibly endearing, though. Dan could spend hours rifling through this car, which is so intrinsically Phil, just learning about him through his clutter. 

“Yeah,” Dan says awkwardly. “It’s a forty minute bus ride.” 

“You do that every day?” Phil asks, looking up at him in wonder. “Twice a day?”

Dan shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

It would be a lot worse if he had nothing to look forward to once he actually got to the school, Dan thinks privately. 

“Um, don’t worry about taking me all the way,” Dan says quickly, “just drop me at another bus stop or something on your way home-”

Phil flaps a hand at him distractedly, turning back to his phone. He pinches the map, searching the screen for a route to take. 

“No, no, I don’t mind taking you,” Phil says, chewing his lip. He looks up, out of the windscreen, appearing to have some sort of internal debate. “It’s just... well, do you mind if we make a stop?”

Dan blinks at him. 

“Uh, a stop?” He asks, uncomprehending. 

“Yeah,” Phil replies. “It’s just that I need to let my dog out. Would you mind if we stopped at mine on the way? I’ll take you straight home after.”

Dan pauses for a moment, the words not sinking in straight away. Phil wants to take him to his house, where he actually lives, and he’s asking if that would be a problem.

“Phil, you’re literally rescuing me from a storm,” Dan says slowly, watching the bashful smile spread over Phil’s gorgeous features. “You could drive me via the Eiffel Tower if you wanted.”

Phil grins at him, putting his phone down and releasing the handbrake. “Maybe we should save the Eiffel Tower for another time.” Phil side-eyes him, questioningly. “Like in two weeks?” 

Dan’s already racing heart picks up a little more speed, the fact that he is currently en route to Phil’s actual house beginning to seep into reality. He laughs, feeling awkward about what Phil is implying. 

“Yeah, I still haven’t decided whether I’m coming on the trip yet,” Dan says, hands clasping together in his damp lap. 

“You know it’s free for teachers, right?”

“I’m not a teacher.” 

Phil smirks. “I’m sure I can persuade John to let you in free of charge.”

“Who?” Dan asks.

“John. Mr Green.” Phil clarifies; Dan just stares blankly. “Vice Principal of the school?”

“Oh,” Dan says, vaguely remembering a ‘VP Green’ showing him round on his first day. “I haven’t seen him since I first started. Sorry.”

“Well, he’s coming on the trip.” Phil tells him. “So, that’s a perfect opportunity to get to know him better.” 

“Right, because having an awkward conversation in Paris with the Vice Principal of a school I’m heavily under-qualified to work at is top of my to-do list.”

Phil laughs heartily, pulling off the main road into a suburban maze of small houses. They can’t be more than ten minutes from the school. Dan gazes out of his rain-speckled window at the idyllic neighbourhood, trying not to be too obvious about how badly he wants to soak it all in. 

“You’re not under-qualified.” Phil says, leaving no room for argument. You’re one of the best TA’s I’ve ever had.” 

Dan stays quiet in the face of this statement, not sure how to handle it. 

“Besides,” Phil continues, to Dan’s relief. “John’s actually a pretty cool guy,” 

As it has rather often since the film screening on Wednesday, Dan’s mind wanders to thoughts of Paris, of being there with Phil and the rest of the Year Nine class. In his current state of awkward, socially inept pining over the class’ teacher, Dan’s not sure he’d be able to handle the experience. 

Yes, it would be an amazing opportunity, and undoubtedly fun at times. But the class already tease Dan, sensing his overly-fond opinion of their favourite teacher despite him trying to keep it under control. It’s hard to imagine an entire weekend of that, in the so-called ‘city of love’, whilst attempting at least a shade of professionalism. 

Not to mention how uncomfortable the whole thing could make Phil. 

“But I don’t wanna pressure you.” Phil says, interrupting Dan’s tumultuous thoughts. “I just think it’d be fun if you came.” 

Before Dan can properly comprehend that statement, let alone reply to it, Phil is pulling the car over and switching off the engine. 

They’re parked in the middle of a quiet, orderly street, right outside a cute little bungalow, complete with a neat front garden and little pathway to the front door. 

“You live here?” Dan asks, awed by how... lovely it is. 

Phil chuckles, unbuckling his seatbelt. “No Dan, I brought you to someone else’s house and we’re going to break in.” 

Dan turns to narrow his eyes at Phil, who just laughs more. 

“Come on, let’s get inside - it’s still belting down.” Phil says, unfastening Dan’s seatbelt before he gets the chance. 

Dan takes a deep breath in a vain attempt to prepare himself for what’s about to happen, and follows Phil as he hops out of the car, and jogs to the front door. 

*

If Phil’s car is telling of his personality, his house is as though he’d cracked open his chest, scooped handfuls of his soul out and splattered it all over the walls. 

Dan has never seen any sort of interior design that represented a person so well before. It’s not just visually appealing, it’s also a spectacle to behold. Dan’s sure that by just opening one random drawer in Phil’s house and glancing at the contents, he’d understand a thousand more things about this man, strange and enigmatic as he is. 

They enter into a small entrance hall, painted a sunny yellow. There’s a semi-circular welcome mat on the floor, made to look like half a pepperoni pizza. On one wall hangs a large mirror, in a bizarre, warped shape, the edges curved as though they’d been drawn by a child. 

There’s a tall cheese plant in one corner, and on a table below the mirror sits a potted scarlet anthurium. It’s a colourful room, and Dan’s very aware that this is only the very entrance of Phil’s house. 

Before Dan can comment on the aesthetics - which he greatly appreciates, having lived in a cheap, falling apart, ‘student house’ for some time now - a small creature tears through the doorway on the left, bounding towards them, barking shrilly. 

Phil crouches down to greet it, gathering the bundle of excitable fur into his arms immediately, laughing. Mouth falling open in an adoring ‘o’, Dan drops to the floor instinctively, an overwhelming urge to pet this animal forcing him to its level. 

“Dan,” Phil chuckles, receiving several licks to his face. “This is Buffy.”

It lets out a ‘ruff!’ upon hearing its name, turning to Dan, tongue hanging out as it surveys him. In a millisecond, the dog is wriggling in Phil’s arms, struggling to be free. It worms its way out of Phil’s grip in a second, leaping across to Dan’s lap, tail wagging excitedly. 

“Oh my God,” Dan says, cuddling the dog close to himself as he strokes and scritches and pets its soft, caramel fur. “This is the cutest dog I’ve ever seen in my life. What breed is it?” 

“She’s a paperanian,” Phil says, moving to sit cross-legged on the floor. He laughs as Buffy begins frantically licking at Dan’s face, front paws on his chest as she attempts to reach him. “A pomeranian-papillon mix.”

Phil strokes along her back, fondly, his hand occasionally brushing across Dan’s. 

Dan is giggling into the shock of Buffy’s fur, relishing the adorable, happy temperament of this dog. His only family dog had been a springer-spaniel when he was young, and it had died before he’d had a chance to bond with it properly. 

“Unff-” Dan says, voice muffled as Buffy licks eagerly at his chin. “How long’ve you had her?” 

“About a year and a half?” Phil replies, smiling warmly. “I used to volunteer at a shelter when I lived in France. I didn’t mean to get attached, but I couldn’t help it. So I adopted her.” 

“She’s adorable,” Dan says, stroking over her soft, pointed ears as she begins to calm down, happily settled in Dan’s lap. “I think I’m in love.” 

Phil glances up at Dan, eyebrow raised. For some reason, Dan finds himself blushing. “I get it.” Phil replies. “I fell in love on sight.” 

Dan holds Phil’s gaze for a moment, any responses getting caught in his throat. Buffy barks, stealing their attention, and Phil giggles at her. He stands, scooping her up from Dan’s lap and into his arms. 

Dan tries not to pout about this. 

“Come on, then,” Phil says, presumably to the dog, “I’ll let you out for a bit.”

Dan stands too, following Phil through his hallway and into the room on the left. 

Again, he is struck by the amazing decor of the room in which he enters, which seems to be a spacious living area, but he barely has time to appreciate it before Phil is heading into the kitchen at the other end, Buffy still tucked in the crook of his arm. 

At the back of the kitchen there’s a glass sliding door, leading to what appears to be a tiny back garden, surrounded by a tall wooden fence. It’s through here that Phil lets Buffy out, barking happily as she scampers across the wet grass, not bothered by the rain in the slightest. 

Phil slides the door shut after her, turning to Dan with a smile. “I’ll just let her run around for a bit. She’s been cooped up all day.” 

“I guess you have to leave her here while you’re at school?” 

“Yeah,” Phil replies guiltily. “It’s not as bad as some jobs, because I can let her out in the morning, and then I finish quite early in the day, but I still feel bad.”

“I’m sure she’s used to it.” Dan says, trying to make a positive comment. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Phil says. “If I ever have to stay late, I can call my brother to come and check on her. He lives just down the road.” 

“That’s convenient, at least.” 

Phil shrugs, turning to his kitchen counter and retrieving the bright red kettle. 

“It’s not perfect, but it works okay.” Phil says. “Anyway, I’m rarely away from home. It’s not every day I have to rescue damoiseau’s in distress caught in rainstorms because they missed their bus.” Phil winks at him; along with the casual french he dropped into the sentence, it makes Dan feel a little dazed. 

“Do you want a cup of tea while she runs about for a bit?” Phil asks.

Dan feels his heart flutter, and wonders whether any of the other TA’s have ever had the honour of coming here, of meeting Phil’s dog and receiving hot beverages on rainy days. 

“That’d be great, thanks.” Dan answers quietly, still feeling like an inconvenience. 

As Phil fills the kettle and gets the mugs, Dan takes the opportunity to look around his kitchen. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of the house, but with a few youthful, quirky touches that indicate Phil’s sillier side. 

The walls are cream, as are the countertops, but there are splashes of colour everywhere. The microwave is bright yellow, and there are a host of tiny herb plants in red, green, blue and orange pots atop the windowsill. 

Phil’s fridge is a light blue, and around his light wooden table, the chairs are varying sizes and colours, mismatched, but in a way that seems put together. 

“It’s so homely in here,” Dan muses, not really meaning to say it aloud. 

Phil turns to him, evidently surprised. “Thanks! Most people say it’s a bit much.” He pours the boiling water into the mugs, chuckling. “My brother said that it’s as if I gathered a random load of furniture and scattered it about without thinking.” 

“Did you?” 

“Kind of, I suppose.” Phil allows, shrugging one shoulder. “I just pick up bits and pieces that I like the look of, and fit them in as best I can.” He laughs, opening his sky-blue fridge to get the milk. “I don’t pretend to be an expert in interior design. I just like things to be...” 

“Pretty?” Dan supplies.

“I was gonna say colourful,” Phil says, smiling at him. “But yeah, I suppose. Thanks.” 

Dan blushes faintly, casting another look around. He notices for the first time that Phil’s fridge door is covered in those alphabet magnets, some of which spell out the phrase ‘normalness leads to sadness’. There’s also a photo pinned there, of Phil and a man Dan vaguely recognises as his brother. He’s holding Buffy in his arms, smiling a very Phil-like smile.

“Milk? Sugar?” Phil asks, tearing Dan’s attention away. 

“Just milk, thanks.” 

Phil pours the milk, humming to himself, and adds two lumps of sugar to his own cup from a gnome-shaped pot nearby. He places the mugs down on the table, and pulls out a chair. 

“You can sit down, you know,” Phil tells Dan amusedly, slipping into one of the seats. 

Dan obeys, sliding into the chair opposite him and retrieving his mug. “Thanks.” 

He sips, even though it’s far too hot, trying to think past his nerves, for something, anything, to say that isn’t ‘wow you’re pretty and your house is pretty and your dog is the cutest thing in the world and I think I’m crushing on you far, far too much to even be here let alone go to Paris with you in two weeks’. He comes up blank. 

Then, quite unexpectedly, Phil reaches across the table, and pushes a strand of his fringe away from his eye, a slight smile playing on his lips. Dan freezes, a deer in headlights, as Phil’s fingertips brush his forehead, acutely aware of how damp he is still. 

“Your hair,” Phil says softly, wonderingly. “It’s curly.” 

Dan blushes furiously at once, ducking away from Phil’s touch, feeling self-conscious. “Shit, yeah. The rain, y’know...”

Phil draws his hand back to his mug, smiling amusedly. “It’s cute.” 

Dan looks at him in surprise. He’s never, in a million years, considered the idea that anybody might find his natural, untameable curls anything other than ridiculous, but all of a sudden he has a powerful urge to never touch a pair of straighteners again. 

Dan lifts his hand to his head, patting the mess of curls that are drying there. 

“I... never really liked them.” He admits, sheepish.

“You should embrace them,” Phil says encouragingly. He shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, if you want. I think they suit you. But then, it’s not my hair.” 

All of a sudden, Dan shivers, partly because he’s wet and cold, but mostly because Phil is being so sweet that his body actually seems to be rejecting the sentiment, not sure how else to process it. 

Phil frowns, noticing the tremble. “Hey, take that off.” 

He gestures to Dan’s torso, standing from the chair. Dan just looks, bewildered, at Phil’s outstretched hand. 

“Um...”

“Your jacket, Dan.” Phil says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ll throw it in the dryer.” 

“Oh, no it’s okay-”

“Dan, you’re actually shivering.” Phil interrupts, voice firm. “I’ll just dry off your wet jacket, it’ll take ten minutes.” 

“It’s warm in here, you really don’t have to.” Dan mumbles, but he’s already shaking the damn thing off his shoulders, because Phil is using his teacher-voice, and it’s drilling right into his chilly bones.

Phil just takes the jacket from him, opening a secret cupboard door under the kitchen counter to reveal a washer-dryer. He places Dan’s jacket inside, presses a few buttons, and smiles in satisfaction as the dryer begins its cycle. 

He turns back to Dan, frowning again as he takes in the sight of him. 

“Hey, drink your tea, it’ll warm you up.” Phil instructs, moving across the room, towards the doorway. “I’ll be right back.”

Dan doesn’t get a chance to object; Phil slips out of the room, leaving Dan sat at the table in just his damp, clinging, white shirt, hands clasped around the mug of tea.

Then, in a moment, he’s back again, a bundle of green material in one hand. He hands it to Dan casually, then moves to sit back in his seat.

“Um, what’s this?” Dan asks, confused. He turns the green item over in his hands carefully. 

“A hoodie,” Phil says, like it’s perfectly normal. “You’re cold.”

Dan swallows, squeezing the material in his fist. It feels thick and warm. “Oh, th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Phil says, beaming. “Put it on, you’re not allowed to be cold in my house.”

“I didn’t realise you had such strict house rules,” Dan replies teasingly, but pulls the hoodie over his head, threading his arms through the sleeves. 

It smells - oh, Lord - it smells just like him. It’s cinnamon sweet, with a fresh, plant-like overtone. A cooling, freshly baked apple pie on a windowsill, the breeze sweeping in its delicious aroma, carrying the notes of the newly cut spring grass. 

Dan has to force himself not to bury his nose in the sleeves that hang down over his hands. 

He tries to distract himself by looking down at the text on the front of it, which reads ‘York University’. “I see I’m repping your college.” 

“Hah, yeah, sorry about that.” Phil says bashfully, sipping more tea. “I guess it’s a bit weird to hang onto that, isn’t it?”

Dan shrugs. “Not if you liked it.” 

Phil smiles at him appreciatively. “I liked the uni, yeah. And I like the hoodie. I like it even better on you.” 

Simply because Dan doesn’t trust himself to speak further about this without melting into a gooey puddle, he decides to change the subject. 

“So, is it Buffy as in... the vampire slayer?” 

He nods towards the screen door, through which Phil’s dog is sprinting happily across the grass, pausing every so often to sniff a patch, tail wagging furiously. 

Phil turns to watch her for a moment, laughing. He nods, turning back to wink at Dan. “I mean, it is the greatest show of all time.” 

Dan considers this, nodding. “It’s definitely up there.”

“You’ve seen it?” Phil asks, sounding surprised. “Not many people have, these days.”

“You spend too much time around teenagers.” Dan says with a wry smile. “The kids in your classes probably weren’t even born when Buffy was cool.” 

Phil sighs, nodding in agreement. “You’re probably right.”

“Hey, it’s their loss.” Dan says. “They’ll never know the awesomeness that is Buffy Summers kicking kicking the ass of every monster that dares to cross her.”

“Or the incredible hotness of Spike,” Phil adds, somewhat wistfully. 

“Spike over Angel? Interesting.” 

“To be honest, if I were Buffy, I think I’d have a similarly hard time deciding between them.”

“Same,” Dan agrees, staring down into his tea. 

“Hey, I forgot,” Phil announces suddenly, his voice bright and cheerful. “I made cupcakes! Would you like one?”

Dan watches as Phil stands from his chair, heading to a cupboard to pull out a cake tin. 

“Um,” Dan says; his stomach is rumbling at the mere mention of food, let alone cake, but he wants to be careful about how far he should run with Phil’s generosity. In the end however, his tummy, which hasn’t been fed since lunch, makes the decision for him. “Sure. Thanks.”

Phil finds a small plate and presents Dan with one of the most incredible looking cakes he’s ever seen. Putting bakeries to shame, Phil has piped rainbow frosting atop a small, palm sized cake. He’s also sliced off the top of the cake, cut it in half, and pushed the pieces into the icing in a traditional ‘butterfly cake’ style. 

The whole thing is covered in some kind of edible glitter too, making it sparkle under Phil’s soft, overhead lamps. 

“Christ, you made this?” Dan asks, staring down at it in amazement. “I feel like I shouldn’t eat something this pretty.”

Phil chuckles. “It’s either going to you or Buffy, so eat up.”

Phil takes his seat again, and Dan diligently begins peeling the glittery pink case from the sides of the cupcake. He glances up at Phil, watching him, and pauses.

“You’re not having one?” 

Phil shakes his head. “Trust me, I’ve had about sixty already since I made them. He leans back in his chair, placing a hand on his stomach. “I’m cupcake’d out.”

Dan’s eyes fall to the cake in his hand, feeling awkward about eating it now. 

Phil laughs at him, and Dan looks up. “What?” 

“Afraid I’m trying to poison you?” 

Dan splutters, having not even thought of that. Realistically though, he perhaps should be a bit more concerned. He doesn’t know Phil that well, after all.  

Playing along, Dan eyes the cake suspiciously, bringing it to his nose and sniffing. “Well, it is awfully convenient that you just had to let Buffy out whilst you already had me in your car...”

Phil rolls his eyes, smirking. Without a word, he leans forwards, plucks the cupcake from Dan’s hand, and brings it to his lips. He takes a small bite, frosting and all, licking glitter and crumbs from his lips as he holds Dan’s gaze. 

He hands the cupcake back over, looking triumphant. “There. If it’s poisoned, then we’ll both die.”

“Finally,” Dan jokes, taking a bite out of the cupcake, heart palpitating over what just happened. 

The cupcake is glorious. Dan shuts his eyes, moaning a little in appreciation. It tastes like strawberry laces, and vanilla ice cream, and pure, unfiltered joy. It tastes like how he imagine Phil himself would taste, were he smothered in frosting and had a surprise, raspberry jam centre. 

“Fucking hell,” Dan says eloquently, diving straight back in for another bite. “Phil Lester, you’re a genius.” 

In three bites, Dan has devoured the entire thing, and he licks the remnants off each of his fingers, wishing he could go back in time and experience that slice of heaven all over again. 

When he eventually meets Phil’s gaze, he’s looking a little dazed. There’s a pink tint to his pale skin, resting just above his sharp cheekbones. Seeming to gather himself, Phil clears his throat, and adjusts his glasses, smiling. 

“Glad you liked it,” Phil mumbles, busying himself by taking Dan’s plate to the sink. 

“You should apply for Bake Off,” Dan says sincerely.

Phil laughs, rinsing the plate under the tap, faced away from him. 

“Actually don’t,” Dan says, changing his mind. “Just bake for me, instead.” 

Phil stacks the plate on a drying rack, turning back to him. He doesn’t sit back at the table, though. He just leans against the counter, watching Dan from afar. 

“And what do I get out of that deal, Mr Howell?” Phil asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Literally whatever you want.” Dan replies, meaning every word. 

“Careful,” Phil says, typically flirtatious, making Dan’s stomach flip. “Some people might take advantage of a promise like that.” 

Dan just laughs, staying quiet. In his mind however, he silently comes to the realisation that he can’t think of a single thing that Phil could ask for, that he would refuse to do. 

Oh, dear.

*

By the time they leave Phil’s house, the rain has eased to more of a drizzle, but it pours continuously nonetheless. Dan says goodbye to Buffy about five times, softened by her sad little whimpers and puppy eyes each time he turns to go. 

He doesn’t mind that her fur is soaked and a little muddy, he just cuddles her close, no doubt ruining Phil’s hoodie, though Phil doesn’t object. He doesn’t even tell her off as she tracks damp pawprints through the kitchen, he just uses a spare towel to dry her off, giggling as she wriggles about beneath it. 

“Aw, he’ll be back another time, Buffy,” Phil assures his whining dog, and secretly Dan bursts with happiness. 

They get out of the door eventually, and into Phil’s car. Phil sticks the heating on straight away, blasting them both as they rub their hands together. Dan wishes it would be socially acceptable to lean across and nestle into Phil’s shoulder, but alas, he settles for simply wrapping the hoodie more tightly around himself, pretending it’s Phil’s arms. 

“She loves you,” Phil says, laughing. “She’s not going to let me forget that, either.”

“What a shame,” Dan says, faking a dismayed sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to come and play with her all the time.”

Phil grins at him. “You should. Buffy would really like that.”

“Buffy would?” Dan asks, feeling just brave enough to attempt a flirtation, fuelled by the adrenaline his own body has been pumping through his veins for the past hour or so. 

Phil just smiles at him, eyes holding Dan’s for a moment, seeming to forget about starting the car. “Yeah,” he says after a while. “She really would.”

*

It’s quite painful to watch Phil driving away. 

It’s only been a couple of hours, but in the short time he and Phil spent together this afternoon, Dan had grown rather attached to his presence. 

This whole crush-thing would be so much easier if Phil was a difficult person to hang out with. But it’s so easy. They fall into banter as quickly as breathing, their conversations lasting indefinitely, because they could spring off each other’s witticisms for hours on end. 

Phil is so funny, and so effortlessly charming. He’s intelligent and sharp, which is attractive on its own, but he has such a flirtatious streak, and it only makes things worse. 

The more time Dan spends around him, in fact, the more he feels himself falling into a deep cavern of yearning. 

When Phil pulled up to Dan’s house, right before Dan got out, he handed Dan another one of his cupcakes, which he’d hidden in a little Tupperware box in the glove compartment, unbeknownst to Dan. 

Dan had protested at first, saying he couldn’t possibly steal another of his incredible creations, but Phil insisted on him having it. Eventually, Dan managed to create a condition - that he owed Phil a favour, not only for the cupcake (and the other cupcake) but for the cup of tea, and introducing him to Buffy, and the kindness, and for literally rescuing him in his hour of need and driving him forty minutes across town to his house. 

Phil laughed, but agreed to these terms. Dan had gone to leave his car then, cupcake in hand, but Phil had stopped him, saying he had an idea for how Dan could repay him. 

Of course, he had to say Paris. 

So, because he’s helpless to refuse Phil anyway, and because he owes Phil a lot, Dan agreed. So, in two weeks, he’s off to Paris, to spend an entire weekend with Phil, in the most romantic city in the world. 

Yes, there will be twenty or more teenagers along for the ride, but Dan finds it difficult enough to keep it together in Phil’s presence as it is, even during class. 

Forty-eight hours of uninterrupted time in close proximity to this man is going to render him as useless as a smitten nerd-girl in any teenage rom-com that’s existed since the beginning of time. 

He sighs, watching from his doorway as Phil’s car rounds the corner, out of sight. He opens the Tupperware, and takes a bite of the delicious cake, sighing in defeat.

“Okay, who was that?” Tyler’s voice says from right by his shoulder, making Dan jump. 

“Is that hot, French, teacher-guy?” Teddy interjects from further inside. 

Dan rolls his eyes, turning to push past both of them as he stalks into the house. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do than spy on me?”

“Aw, Dan we just want to see you happy!” Tyler exclaims, following Dan into the kitchen. 

He wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, walking behind him like a drunk mum too into the conga line, until they reach the counter. 

Dan puts his half eaten cupcake back in its box, placing it on the counter. 

“How do you know I’m not?” Dan asks crossly. 

“I mean, you’re fine.” Teddy says, strolling into the kitchen to rest his arm on Dan’s shoulder. “But fine isn’t good enough for our lovely Daniel. We want to see you being adored!”

Teddy pinches Dan’s cheek, smiling at him. Tyler kisses him on the temple, ruffling his hair. 

Dan rolls his eyes, but smiles a little under the affection. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

He struggles free of them, intending to take an immediate shower in order to wash the rainwater off himself. He heads for the door of the kitchen, mind already on other things. 

Phil things. 

Paris things. 

“Hey, Dan?” Tyler calls out, sounding confused. Dan turns on the spot, somewhat reluctantly. “I thought you went to the University of Manchester?” 

Dan frowns in confusion. “Ty, we all went to the same uni. We literally met at uni.”

Teddy hides a smirk in Tyler’s shoulder. “Right, right.” Tyler says. “So whose hoodie is that?” 

Having completely forgotten he was even wearing the thing, Dan flushes bright red, stammering in place of a response. It’s an absurd reaction, obviously, but it sends the others into fits of laughter, and Dan instinctively knows they won’t let this go for weeks, no matter how much he tries to insist it was a purely platonic gesture on Phil’s part. 

“I hate you both,” Dan groans, practically running out of the room. 

He slams the door of the bathroom, switching on the shower, cheeks still flame-red in the mirror. He pauses, caught by the sight of his reflection, swathed in the emerald green of Phil’s hoodie. 

He strokes the words on the front, feeling how they’re beginning to flake from multiple washes, and from the creases Phil has made as he moves around in this same garment, when it’s wrapped around him instead. 

Dan lifts the sleeve to his nose, breathing in that delicious scent. The vanilla-strawberry cupcake still lingers on his tongue, making it that little bit sweeter. 

He’ll return this hoodie, he tells himself, saving it until last as he strips off for the shower. But maybe he could forget for a few days. Or maybe he could say that he wanted to wait until the next time he’s in class with Phil, which isn’t until Monday now. 

He places the hoodie carefully to one side, not wanting it to get wet, and hops in the shower. He lets his mind drift, skimming across memories of Phil’s touch against his forehead, the sound of the rain pattering against his screen door as the dog played outside, the low, fond tone of Phil’s voice from across the table, the flame of something vivacious dancing in his glacial eyes. 

Paris, he decides, as the light trickles of warm water travel over his body, might not be so bad. 

(Part 5!)

[scifimagpie]

Diversity Isn't Enough: The Importance of Radical Inclusion

Hello hello! Well, a friend of mine has now been to 78 agents and gotten as many rejections. Surely, this indicates that the book is simply Not Good Enough, right? That's the thing. I've read it, and the book is excellent. Featuring a character with PTSD, who is both gay and from a mixed heritage background, it's full of funny moments, intelligent thought experiments about robotic consciousness, and has a very solid mystery through the core. The cast is populated by well-rounded and differentiated characters - of mixed abilities, genders, ethnic heritages, and sexualities. And in this setting, their societal and work crew composition is pretty normal. So in addition to featuring a robot love story and a murder mystery, there are plenty of moments where the night crew assembles, and a deaf character sits at a table with a young hijabi clinic worker and her mechanic girlfriend, and two divorced people who remain friends, as well as the main character - all so they can play cards in the park, out of the sight of a nearly omniscient AI. The thing is, while audio-visual projects - which often spring from book series these days - such as A Wrinkle in Time, American Horror Story, Sense-8, American Gods, The Adventure Zone, Welcome to Night Vale, Penumbra, Who Fears Death (Nnendi Okorafor), Steven Universe, Blackish, Dear White People, Master of None, Switched at Birth, Fresh off the Boat, Luke Cage, Dark Matter, The Expanse, and Westworld include cast members of many shades, there's still a focus on able, attractive, mostly straight people - not to mention that in more than a couple of these, white characters still end up dominating front and centre roles. Yes, this is getting better, but there seems to be a genuine fear of addressing the (surprisingly large) populations of trans and genderqueer, aromantic or asexual, Deaf, visually impaired/blind, and visibly and invisibly disabled people. Not to mention that a lot of these populations intersect. I personally know plenty of people who are people of colour, genderqueer, and disabled. I've read articles by a surprising number of genderqueer, mentally ill people of colour. Add present and former sex workers to the mix, and you have a pretty good sampling of humanity.

So what's the problem?

The problem is that these diverse shows, which are not radically inclusive yet, are only the tip of the iceburg. Producers and studios and publishing houses tend to hire just one or two people to demonstrate their wokeness, and keep the rest their content steaming along as though it's business as usual - teen YA love triangles, stubble-covered male power-fantasy thrillers, gritty sex murder mysteries, soft and juicy chick lit, spicy supernatural sex romps, and tooth-gritting fast ship space porn.  I've edited these books, read them, and enjoyed them - but the fact remains that the market's determiners keep orienting themselves to what they think is a safe bet, an easy seller. We still live in a world where an alternate history series where the South won was greenlit by HBO. So yeah, Nnedi Okorafor's series is getting a production deal, but so is a slavery fantasyland series. So is Ready Player One, too. A Minecraft book by Max Brooks is at the top of the bestsellers right now. So yes, diversity's making inroads, but The Problem Is Not Fixed. Radical inclusion, i.e. just treating people like people, and writing stories where non-white, non-able, non-cisgender, non-heterosexual, non-Christian people are allowed to exist and be in starring roles is absolutely revolutionary. 

Ready Player What, now? 

For those not familiar with RPO, it's basically a pop culture slurry of references; another Teenage White Boy Saves The World book, with virtual reality, and somehow he's the only one who knows Stuff About the Eighties - and Steven Spielberg is attached. You'd think he'd pick a more challenging project or have better taste, but no, fanboy fantasy it is. The biggest problem is that people think Ready Player One is like, subversive somehow? Or self-aware? But it absolutely isn't. It's sincere. Max Brooks is one of the guys who launched the zombie craze--he's very good at commercial writing, to the extent that he's actually a Name, but yeah, he's not exactly known for challenging or artistically mold-breaking projects. And all of this would be fine, except that it, and the dozens of imitators who crop up to try and skim that flavour, crowd out the more innovative and interesting projects.

Is this another Commerce vs Art rant? 

Absolutely not. It's not that Commerce and Art are Enemies. Heck, it's *fine* to monetize the daylights out of something. Art's relied on Commerce for basically all of modern history. If it wasn't Commerce, it was religion. But - the problem is *how* those selections are done, and the way people trust their preferences to be free of bias. Which just isn't the case. It's OKAY to have biases. The problem is that we treat a certain kind of bias as objective, and it gets far, far more sway over the stories that get told than anything else. To the point where just including people is considered revolutionary and gamechanging. Simultaneously, there are so *few* of these inclusive stories that individual properties are often torn apart for being 'not good enough'. Yet meanwhile, mainstream stories with sparkling white casts somehow get a break. But including people is how you GET different kinds of stories. Now, to be clear,  I LOVE the Hunger Games. A lot. But we have a market where agents are like, 'eh, this sold, let's get ten more that are basically variations of this flavour'. There's very little willingness to risk the core of the market, and it becomes a self-fulfilling cycle of, well, crap. Like, if you go to a corner store you can buy some chips. And chips are good, I like chips, but even if you put zesty spice or cool ranch or sour cream on them, they're *still* chips. they're not zucchini chips, or sweet potato crisps, or whatever, ya know? The problem is that the market tends to focus on chips, and assume nothing else will sell...

Wat do? 

The solution is simple. Readers have to step outside their comfort zones - unfortunately, the readers who might not even read this blog are the ones I'm addressing - and writers and publishers have to band together. There is definitely a need and an audience for diversity, and moreso, radical inclusion. People often talk about 'not seeing colour', which is an issue I won't even get into right now, and complain that they want stories that are 'normal', and aren't focused on 'identity politics'. That's the most bitter irony of all - these stories exist, and they're fun and delightful. And yes, inequality issues do crop up in some of them, because of how those issues affect people's lived experiences - but a lot of the time, people across the ability, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality spectrum just want to have fun. A transgender plus-sized psychic lady who talks with the dead to solve murder mysteries? Yes. A deaf Chinese-American engineer who discovers the secret to time travel and accidentally changes the course of history? Definitely. A love story featuring an asexual mobility-impaired Indian woman and a Zulu warrior king from an alternate world? Why not? *** Thanks for returning to the nest. Leave a comment and say hi! I want to hear from you. Keep up with the new releases by getting on the mailing list. Buy my books on Amazon, and keep up with me on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, and the original blog. This is the one and only SciFiMagpie, over and out!

[nowonderyouhavedemons]

All evens!

WOW I’m getting to this so fucking late I’m sorry I forgot to do this my entire day off so now I’m doing this at like midnight and I’ll post it tomorrow afternoon or something during my break

also thank you Allie once again for letting me ramble about my dumb self~

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

Maybe a 3 or so? I think it depends on if I’m familiar with the environment I’m in or not, and if the darkness is something planned. I don’t mind walking around my home in the dark in the middle of the night, but I’d be less okay with the dark if it was due to a blackout at home.

Probably shoots up to 4 or 5 when I’m in unfamiliar places. This includes haunted houses in amusement parks. I’m a huge baby I just try to hide it

4. What is your favorite word?

God, there’s so many good ones. I really like the word “dawn”. “Smorgasboard” is good too. Also “succinct” and “bracket.” Those words just feel fun to say for me!

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

“god why does my facial hair grow back so fast?”

it doesn’t really, but I like being clean shaven and I swear it grows to the point of being noticeable within 3 - 4 days and it’s really annoying.

8. What do you label yourself as?

A bunch of stuff, really! Male, straight, raver, diabetic, dropout, all that sort of stuff. Depends on the context we’re talking about too because this question feels super broad.

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

I think I was in bed getting comfy to go to sleep. I got called into work that day and I was exhausted when I got home. Basically ate some food and watching a single youtube video and went to sleep.

12. Who told you they loved you last?

Think it was my friend/coworker actually. Pretty sure she was playfully jabbing at me and roasting me. I agreed with her (because I either completely agree unless I have something wittier to reply with) and I think she was all “Ahhh, you know I love you.”

Having a good relationship with your coworkers is nice~

14. What is your current desktop picture?

Right now, it’s the Dishonored 2 main screen! I actually use Wallpaper Engine from Steam which lets you use videos and animated loops as desktop wallpapers, so I have about 50+ on rotation right now that get switched out every hour.

16. The last song you listened to?

CA$H by Barely Alive!

MAKE THE SPEAKERS *VIIIIIBbBRrAaAaAaTtEe*

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

The guy who was with his girlfriend as one of my customers yesterday when I got called in.

Listen asshole, the first thing I told you when you came up other than my “hi” was that we were out of slushies. We couldn’t make slushies. We refilled all the mix. What do you do? Ask me “what about the blue raspberry?”

“No sir, I apologize, but we’re out of slushies.”

“What about the lemonade?”

“Sir, like I just said, we’re out of slushie mix.”

“So you’re completely out of slushies?”

“Yes sir, that’s what I just said.”

and then when I gave you your change, you YANKED the bill out of my hand.

Like listen you fucking ignorant shit, you can’t be mad at me after I tried being polite multiple times and warned you multiple times and then get frustrated with you because you kept asking inane stupid fucking questions holding up my line of 20 OTHER CUSTOMERS

I hope that guy tripped later on that day and ate shit. God that pissed me off.

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

Shit. I honestly hate my body in general. I guess my eyes can be pretty nice sometimes, but the light has to be hitting me in the right way. My eys are dark brown so you can’t really see a whole lot. I’ve always wished I had a different eye colour.

That, and I’m pretty tall for a Filipino dude, I think. Taller ones are growing up in Toronto now, but a lot that I see still are like 5′6″ or shorter. Being 5′8″ ain’t too bad.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

Not????? really???? I think? Like really anything that I could be remotely good at is already something I share publicly (which would be making music really but I haven’t even been doing that.)

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

Honestly, it’d just be the cold cut combo sandwich setup from Subway I always get except also with ham and a shit ton of bacon added, really. I get it cheese and toasted with Italians Herbs and Cheese, lettuce, tomato, red onions, cucumbers, mayo, and chipotle sauce.

I’m a simple man. The greatest sandwiches I ever have are from Subway because I never have sandwiches otherwise.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

fucking nowhere I have work dude and I get no shifts during tourist off-season I’m working as much as I can while I can

for the sake of funsies, and I know it’d sound boring, but I’d either pick California/Los Angeles or Florida. I’m not in a rush to go overseas because I feel that’d require a lot more planning and possibly learning phrases in a new language. I have family in California and friends in Florida so I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, the Canadian dollar is weak as shit compared to the USD so I could buy things on the cheap there, and it wouldn’t be as huge of a culture shock while still being new to me (because I barely explored California with my family the one time I went because we did VERY tourist-y things.)

Also portions. I fucking inhale food, dude. Give me those US portions for meals CHEAPER than here in Canada, holy god.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

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No littering. Fuck y’all, if I’m creating my own society, I’m not letting SAVAGES in that don’t know how to clean up after themselves and throw things out properly. We’re keeping it clean here.

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

It’s gotta be my laptop just because it’s the most expensive thing I own that I deeply care about. I could eventually afford another PS4, I don’t need a glamorous TV or anything, and I only upgraded to the iPhone 6 because my mom got a deal on it for $100. I could use that as an excuse to switch to Android.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

To avoid a cop-out and using California as an answer AGAIN, I think I’d really like a place in the Philippines. Not deep inner city though. Like, further away in the quieter cramped backalley houses like the one one of my aunts has there. I don’t want to be completely out in the country either.

I’d want to be able to get into the inner city relatively easily, and I want to really feel in tune with the background country more!

34. What was your last dream about?

Oh god, what was the last dream I even remember? I get so bad at remembering them now. OH NOW I REMEMBER PART OF ONE. I forgot most of it but I know at some point I ended up in the back of a large sorta hippie van? Like the back seats were removed and the back was all lined up tons of nice rugs and blankets and decorations. There were a few of my college classmates lying there with me and I was cuddling with one of them. That was a nice part of the dream I remember.

I don’t have dramatic or weird dreams. A lot of my dreams are just stuff like this. I’m really fucking romantically lonely I want physical intimacy ugggggggggggggggggh

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

Oh yeah, at least three times. I already have to visit a hospital fairly frequently for my diabetes. First time was when I was just diagnosed with T1 Diabetes, and the second and third times were when I was in danger of DKA because I wasn’t taking my insulin. Second time was worse than the third. My nurses weren’t happy both times though.

38. What is the color of your socks?

I’m not wearing socks right now! I don’t wear socks at home unless I find it cold.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

Sunsets, since I’m not a morning person. Both are pretty though!

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

Is this that newfangled Sportsball I always hear about? I’m not hip with the times yo, sorry.

No seriously I really don’t care about sports and the only ones I MIGHT care a tiny bit about are my local ones like the Blue Jays and Raptors, and that’s just out of a sense of Canadian/Torontonian pride more than anything.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

lol whoops I dropped out

dream goal is still to be a music producer and DJ. If that doesn’t end up panning out, I’d still like to go into something involving music or audio engineering. Sound mixing for TV/movies maybe? Doing front-of-house mixing for concerts and raves would be cool too.

46. Are you reliable?

I like to think so, but I know I slip up a lot sometimes.

48. Do you hold grudges?

To be honest, yeah, I still do. I can be pretty fucking bitter about things from my past.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

Not the MOST, but this just happened a couple weeks ago (and it wasn’t really a conversation but whatever)

A woman came up to me while I was on cash wanting to buy something. She was holding a Canadian $20 in her hand. She approaches me, looks at her bill confused, looks up at me again, and asks “Do you guys accept cash?”

Like???????????? nothing has ever taken me that far aback before????? like I don’t????? what??? the fuck like miss??????? miss we are an establishment that provides goods for currency??????????????? damn I HOPE we accept cash at this physical shop because we’d probably come across some issues with our customers

This happened weeks ago and I still bring it up to people. It still bewilders the fuck out of me. What would possess people to think a physical store would not accept cash? What has troubled you in the past that would lead you to think that this cashier and this till you walked up to would ONLY accept debit/credit cards? Holy fuck.

52. How long could you go without talking?

To another person physically? A good while, I think. Probably a week, two weeks tops. I’ve stayed inside my apartment for a week straight before and I swear I barely talked to my mom too.

If talking to myself counts, than maybe a couple hours. Maybe. I talk and make comments to/by myself a lot.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

God no. I’d probably be trash at baking stuff. I’m surprised I can manage some stuff on the stovetop.

56. What do you like on your toast?

Butter/margarine for the most part. I’m a simple person. I could say peanut butter and jelly too, but it’s actually been over a year or so since I’ve had a PB&J.

58. What would be you dream car?

One that worked, was fairly stable, and had a damn good audio system.

I’m not really a car person, I really wouldn’t give too much of a shit what the car was. Maybe not a pick-up truck or a mini-van though, and that’s really it.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

Not in the stereotypical image of “aliens”, but I definitely believe that the universe is too fucking huge and operates on too massive a scale for there to not be any type of intelligent life somewhere else at SOME place.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

Either A or M. A’s probably my favourite vowel, and for some reason “LMNOP” is my favourite part of the classic Alphabet song, and M is the letter I like the best out of that section.

64. What do you think about babies?

Babies can be super cute and adorable sometimes! Other times though? Devil spawn. They can be double-edged swords sometimes.

[nightbringer24]

I do like trains. I think that steam and diesel engines are both pretty cool.

Steam engines because, when you look at the progression of form from the earliest trains to the last few ones, you see a definite refinement in their shapes. The noise as well, the clatter of the wheel assembly, the chugging of the steam boiler, just sounds so cool. Also, the fact that they broke records (with fucking steam!) is so cool, and they have such good names and colours. The 4472 Flying Scotsman and it’s lovely green coat is my favourite locomotive.

And diesel engines are just aesthetically cool.

[merryfortune]

Spirited Away

Gift Fic for: @binlar-lover​ as part of the Fairy Tales, Folklore, and Supernatural @hqexchange​

Hello, I’m your gift ficcer and I hope I’ve impressed you with this fic~

Fandom: Haikyuu

Ship: KiyoYachi

AU: Youkai & College Student AU with a hint of Studio Ghibli’s Spirited Away

Word Count: 5959

Links: Ao3 | FF.net | Ko-Fi

Warnings: Angst, implied caracter death(s) potential body horror (skip Kei’s description if necessary), read the ending part 2 if you want that weet, sweet angst 

 Yachi Hitoka was not a very strong person.

  No, she had many, many weaknesses. She loved stationary and couldn’t help but buy anything with big eyed kitties on it and pastels. She always wants new markers and highlighters. And those are her quirky weaknesses; she’s also terrified to death of walking alone, of subways, and a good many more things. And right now, topping the list of her many, many fears was a very, very pretty woman.

  She was gorgeous. Divine. Ethereal. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight. Her glasses caught the neon lights of the fast food stalls and made her seem flushed pink but in an alluring way because her eyes glittered. She was tall and slim; her stance accentuated by the tight kimono she wore that drew her upwards and in. It was such a lovely kimono: navy blue with silver and white trims.

  And this beauty among mere mortals like Hitoka was talking to her in her soothing, graceful voice with eloquent small talk. She pushed stray strands of her black hair over her ear.  

  It was terrible.

  Hitoka watched her rouged lips open and close but she didn’t hear a coherent thought over the babble of panic and infatuation that was her internal monologue.

  ‘Would you be willing?’

  Her voice finally cut through Hitoka’s drivel.

  I would die for you, Hitoka thought but thankfully did not say.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Hitoka said; enchanted and bobbing her head like a chicken with her eyes open and awed.

  ‘Fantastic. I hope to see you there then.’ she said. ‘I’m Kiyoko, by the way. How rude of me to not tell you to begin with.’

  ‘Hitoka!’ she spat out. ‘Yachi Hitoka… first year… college student.’

  Kiyoko blinked. ‘College student?’ But she soon composed herself. ‘Well, just like it says on the flyer: next Tuesday evening at that location. I shall see you there.’

  ‘Heck yeah you’ll see me there.’ Hitoka awkwardly replied.

  Kiyoko giggled. ‘I have a feeling you’ll fit right in. Now, I must take my leave.’

  ‘Y-Yeah, okay, bye.’ Hitoka babbled.

  What had she signed herself up for?

  The paper was not glossy in her hands. She had expected to be squinting at a flyer that was professional but it wasn’t. It appeared to be completely inked by hand; but by an artist as it was extraordinary. It depicted an old-style bathhouse and there were crow motifs throughout. The eyes of the birds in the pictures seem to follow Hitoka; it was unnerving but another marker of how well-crafted the flyer was.

  ‘Welcome! Come one, come all: the Karasuno Bathhouse. Help wanted: part-timers and casuals to do cleaning.’ Hitoka read aloud. ‘Meet after hours on the second day of next week… That’s Tuesday. Interviews will take place.’

  Hitoka nodded to herself as she mused over the flyer. She didn't think herself much of a cleaner but working in a bathhouse seemed like it would be a fun opportunity. There was something deeply romantic about old style bathhouses; she used to go to them with her parents so nostalgia was begging her to take the opportunity.

   With a smile, Hitoka returned to her aunt and uncle's place. She was living with them until she got her feet. She still very much felt like a rural girl lost in the midst of Tokyo. She couldn't believe she used to think Torino was big.

   Hitoka was an advertising student and she took great care in her studies. Call her boring but she delights in directing commercials and spam. That was totally why Hitoka pinned up the bathhouse flyer above her bed; even after putting all its dates and details into her various calendars and planners.

   That night, as she tucked herself under the covers, she felt oddly giddy. Hitoka was very much looking forward to the job interview. She clutched her sheets, turned over, and whilst the prospect of earning money was very much appealing, her mind was completely on Kiyoko and the hope that they could reunite. She could barely sleep with her mind thinking about everything that could go right!

  For once.

  How unusual. How completely and utterly rare… and wonderful. Relaxing.

   That had been Saturday and the day flew. Hitoka stuffed herself silly on Sunday and Monday with studying just so she could have all of Tuesday to prepare. It was a funny time, ten o’clock but it was the will of the manager, presumably, and therefore should not be questions.

  All of Tuesday, Hitoka practised her bows and what she would say and ask. She practised the most-polite way to drink tea and her aunt and uncle, who were getting on in their years, were thrilled to bestow all their traditional knowledge upon their niece. Especially in the absence of their two sons who had gone off the be engineers abroad; they couldn’t be prouder but still, there was something important about learning that which had come before them and yet Hitoka’s cousins had never been interested.

  With all this practicing and exercise, the day flew and with each passing hour, more butterflies manifested in Hitoka’s stomach until she was a rickety, fluttery mess. She had tried to ignore it but it worsened.

  Hitoka’s Uncle Takeshi drove her to the location on the flyer. It was a fair bit out of the way; bordering close to the outskirts but he was sure the pay would be good. He didn’t seem to mind either. That being said, he had a hard time getting there. He felt like he couldn’t see a thing with all the thick foliage and darkness. They drove into the more spiritual grounds of Tokyo; past many shrines – little and big and into the mountains. There was an eerie vibe; especially given as it was night but then, Hitoka saw it through all the landscape was a building of men; not of the gods.

  The Karasuno Bathhouse was huge. It was set upon a small island on a small lake. It was grand and elegant; at least four storeys with huge, dipping roofs with jade tiles. It was of scarlet wood and there was a beautiful, arching bride connecting it and them. With the cover of darkness, against the cobalt sky, it looked exactly like the painting on the flyer save for the grey clouds that shrouded it.

  Her Uncle whistled. ‘There’s something about old bathhouses, eh.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Hitoka replied breathless.

  ‘Shame about the state it’s in.’ Uncle Takeshi lamented. ‘So old, dilapidated. They must have come into money if they’re hiring new help; maybe they’re doing it up. Bringing you in here for some cheap labour.’ He shrugged. ‘Have a good interview, maybe think twice about accepting it.’

  ‘Y-Yeah, it is a very long commute.’ Hitoka replied. She glanced at her uncle then at the bathhouse.

  Old? Dilapidated? The only other building anything as regal as this one would be the Emperor’s estate.

  ‘I expect you’ll be done by eleven-thirty, I’m going to go find a ramen stand and grab some dumplings. I’m also going to go to one of the shrines so pay respect to the local gods, I don’t want to offend them with my car. Ring me if you need me, I promise to be close by.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle.’ Hitoka replied.

  She took her handbag and exited the car. She held firmly onto its white straps and farewelled her Uncle. He stayed put, carefully, protectively. Hitoka crossed the bridge. From the base, it seemed like an impossible walk but it was quite the opposite. Just as scary though, but quite the opposite.

  One, two. Her ballet flats conformed to the wood underfoot; Hitoka never realised how thin they were until now. Three, four. Her toes dug into the grass; wood did not dig into her dainty foot. And she was there, at the end of the bridge and being looked down upon by the grandiose bathhouse.

  At the bottom of the bathhouse, it felt like morning. Not a sunshiny morning but morning. Like when you wake up three am and expect it to still be yesterday. That feeling of beautiful unreality where time exists… but it doesn’t. Yet the clock still ticks on with daring flicks even though it doesn’t matter.

  Hitoka approached the gaping hole with a black-green curtain slung across it with a white emblem: a simplistic bath and some steam; a staple for every bathhouse, Hitoka supposed. She pushed it aside and her heart hammered in her throat. Her ears pricked up: she caught murky halves of conversations, clinks and clunks of metal pans, gushing water, and even music. It felt very familiar and homey which was a comfort to Hitoka. She let go of a breath she didn’t realise she was holding

  Nervously, Hitoka attempted to press on. She quaked inside of her ballet flats and she craned her head. The inside of the bathhouse was every bit as gorgeous as the outside. It was of gleaming, light coloured wood and there were intricate artworks and tapestries and all sorts of objects of interest scattered. People – patrons and workers – mingled in between it all.

  Hitoka came through. She scanned each way, like she was at a busy road, and tried to cross. Only to be bombarded and pummelled by an unknown from the left.

There are rules, sweetheart…

I know, Grandmother.

Promise to obey them – for me?

I will, Grandmother. Pinkie-swear.

  Hitoka was pushed to the ground and dog-piled by two unknown individuals. This is it, she thought to herself, squashed to death. They wriggled around on top of her; calling each other names and insulting each other for what was essentially a joint issue.

  Eventually, they coordinated each other and got off of Hitoka. They both bent down and helped her up. Hitoka, with eyes spinning, accepted as many hands as she could grasp. They pulled her to her feet and as Hitoka recovered from her dizzy spell, she was greeted by a broad smile and a sullen scowl. Both just as equally terrifying as the other.

  The smile belonged to a short, young man with amber eyes. He had a scruffy mess of orange hair with flicks and curls going everywhere. The scowl belonged to a young man somewhat taller than his companion and Hitoka. He had stunning blue eyes and sleek black hair.

  They both wore a black kimono with orange patterns.

  ‘Was that a car you were just in?!’ the shorter young man asked, eyes going wide as he practically reverberated with excitement.

  ‘Uh… yes.’ Hitoka mumbled

Rule 1: Never tell them your real name.

  ‘Dumbass, there are more important things in the world than, um, vehiculars.’ his companion chastised him.

  ‘Now look who’s the dumbass: you can’t even say “car”!’

  The two quickly dissolved in a tiff and Hitoka was powerless to do anything about it, until a frighteningly tall, blonde in a black-and-orange kimono approached. He was a chilly demeanour and Hitoka’s levels of stress continually heightened.

  He sighed. ‘I thought you two were goofing off.’

  ‘We weren’t!’

  ‘We were asking her very important questions. I’ve never heard anyone using a human car. She must be a rich brat from the heavens. I don’t like her already.’

  The blonde turned to Hitoka and appraised her with sharp eyes. He sneered. ‘I can’t believe it, you might be right: she does look like a rich brat.’

  ‘Aah! She’s wearing western clothing!’ a fourth young man pointed out. He had a lot less presence than everyone else wearing the black-and-orange kimono. He had a freckly, kind face with cute features and almost green hair. ‘I apologise for my friends, your highness, you must have come a long way. I think it is admirable of you to mix with us commoners; get a job among us. You must be used to idling your days away.’

  ‘No! Not at all! I’m just a normal… girl. Here to get a part time job. I have student fees to pay for. And a mouth to feed. That’s all. I don’t want to be a burden to my aunt and uncle.’ Hitoka explained.

  There was a moment wherein everyone stared, baffled as they each other their own unique understanding of what was going. Each understanding a significant degree from the truth of the situation.

  ‘I’m Kei. Who the fuck are you? You are a new part-timer… right?’

  ‘Yes. I am. I’m Yachi Hitoka; here to apply for the bath scrubbing-cleaner position… thing.’ Hitoka explained hurriedly. Her cheeks flushed and her heart hammered.

Rule 1: failed.

  The orange haired youth shot up in a bound. ‘Woohoo! Just like us! Just like us!’ he chanted.

  ‘I… am?’ Hitoka mumbled.

  ‘Well yeah… we were part-timers hired a while back now. I’m Tadashi; it’s great to meet you. I’m the pinch server so if there are problems in the kitchen, I step in. It’s a great job but mostly washing dishes.’

  ‘Good to meet you… Tadashi.’ Hitoka said, struggling to meet his chirpy eyes.

  ‘I’m Shouyou and this is my partner Tobio! We do the corridors and rooms; making sure all the beds are made but mostly dusting. We’re really good at getting the hard to reach places.’

  ‘Again, good to meet you both… Shouyou, Tobio.’

 ‘So, we should probably take you to see Old Man Ikkei, huh.’ Kei mused.

  ‘Mm, he’ll want to meet her, yeah. You know, so he can hire her.’ Tadashi agreed.

  ‘Thank you.’ Hitoka said.

Rule 2: Do not eat what they give you.

  As a boisterous group, they navigated the bathhouse. It was like a rabbit warren. Hitoka felt in place though. Normally, she didn’t like big crowds but here, though it was noisy it was like there was no substance to it so it didn’t scare her. Also, being part of a pack of big, tough boys was a comfort because they had some sort of authority. People knew to avoid them but when they did avoid them, there was a tad of disgust upon their faces. Perhaps it is because they were the hired help. How rude.

  Although Hitoka thought that, she also thought there was something off about these young men. They had good faces, good charisma, varied personalities and were over all quite nice upon getting to know them and their humour, there was something wrong about them. Beneath the surface. It was like there was a disconnection between what she was hearing and seeing, and what she was processing. It was like getting used to hearing a song mashed-up with another song and trying to listen to the original and waiting for parts that weren’t there

  Tadashi tilted his head thoughtfully. ‘Hm… anyone else peckish? We’re going to pass the kitchens soon. I can pinch some fruit, if you guys like.’

  ‘Oooh, grab us some meat buns!’ Shouyou said.

  ‘Yeah, meat buns!’ Tobio agreed.

  ‘Ugh, fine.’ Tadashi said but mumbled under his breath about how much trouble he’ll be in with he got caught.

  ‘I would prefer some fruit.’ Hitoka said, disjointedly.

  ‘Same, actually.’ Kei piped up.

  ‘Okay then.’ Tadashi chirruped.

  When the kitchens came up, Tadashi was in and out like a thief. He came back with a plate of fruit for Yachi and Kei and meat buns for the others. Shouyou and Tobio greedily pilfered from the plate. The fruit, of course, was left untouched by them.

  ‘Carnivores.’ Kei dismissed them under his breath.

  ‘Here you go, Hitoka-chan.’ Tadashi said.

  ‘Th-Thank you.’ Hitoka replied, awkwardly, wondering if it was appropriate for him to call her that so fondly. They had just met after all.

  Hitoka took an apple from the plate and she bit into it. It was such a crisp colour: a beautiful crimson. And it tasted even better. Wondrously sweet and very firm with a satisfying crunch. Her eyes lit up.

Rule 2: failed.

  ‘They’re great, aren’t they?’ Tadashi said with a lot of pride.

  Kei’s face went red and he huffed, hurried on lest Hitoka saw him. Lest any of his friends saw him actually.

  ‘Kei and his brother Akiteru manage the orchard.’ Tadashi boasted.

  Hitoka threw an impressed look to Kei; ‘They’re really tasty!’

  She blinked. Squinted. Hitoka had never worn glasses but she felt as though, she had just taken off a pair. She rubbed her eyes.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Tadashi worried; Shouyou stopping in his tracks and showing concern.

  ‘I – I think I just got dust or something in my eyes.’ Hitoka replied.

  She blinked once more; her eyelashes fluttering and she squinted. Then her eyes widened; eyelids flapping back in panic. She screamed.

  Tobio had horns. Big horns that looked like drills. Not to mention teeth that were jagged and animalistic and inherently… wrong-looking; inhuman-looking. Kei only had half his face; from his cheekbones, he had bone. His flesh from his jaws down turned to a fleshless skull. His eyes didn’t seem to exist; they were just blackened sockets. His hands were a mix of flesh and bone. Then there was Tadashi. He had skinny, scaled legs and no shoes for his feet were akin to that of a chicken; not to mention his freaking wings; beautiful wings that were blue, red, yellow, and green!

  The only normal one was… Shouyou and even then, it was like he was constantly shifting. This form – this human form – was not real. It was a glamour; an illusion. The only thing real about him was that metallic sheen about his eyes; a hint to his true form.

  Hitoka backed away from them. She bumped into the wall and felt her skin crawl. She trembled; knees knocking.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Tobio asked; his fangs gnashing and grinding audibly – or was it only because Hitoka was terrified?

  ‘Y-Y-Y-You’re monsters!’ she screeched.

  The four looked among themselves, confused.

  ‘You’re… not?’ Shouyou asked; deflating.

  ‘N-No, why would I be?!’ Yachi shrieked.

  ‘Because you’re here. At a bathhouse. For. Youkai?’ Tobio said.

  ‘A what?’ Hitoka murmured; going pale.

  ‘The Karasuno Bathhouse; a popular stop for youkai from all over!’ Tadashi said.

  Hitoka genuinely thought her heart would stop beating there and then. That she would die from a heart attack. Instead, she was pumping blood good and new. As always.

  ‘What is that racket!?’ a crotchety, old man voice rang out.

  ‘Crap!’ Shouyou muttered. ‘Old Man Ikkei.’

  The four shuddered and moved away from Hitoka. They lined themselves up along the opposite wall and waited. Soon, an old man descended on them. He scuttled along with a pounding cane. He was greying wings and a great nose. He wore the finest garments Hitoka had ever seen. He seemed older than time.

  Hitoka swallowed. So, the stories were true then. They had to be. Three rules, Hitoka remember now. There were three rules that her grandmother had drilled into her when she was a child. Everyone thought that dear old Grandmother Reiko was a bit airy and fairy in her old age. Turns out… she was right.

  Three rules. And Hitoka had broken two of them. She dropped her apple. It rolled towards the old man. He bent down – grunting and creaking – and picked up the apple. He inspected the bite marks.

  ‘A small mouth. A girl’s mouth.’ He decided.

  He continued to hobble along. One pounding foot after another aided by his cane. He got to the youths and Hitoka. Everyone was terrified.

  ‘Lads,’ he began, ‘off ya git, you’ve been goofing off far too long. Knew I shouldn’t have put Tobio and Shouyou in charge of greeting the potential part-timers.’

  He paused. They started to sneak off, hoping that was the brunt of it.

  ‘I SAID OFF YA GIT but I’m giving you extra chores tomorrow!’

  He was a Tengu, Hitoka realised. He commanded authority. He appeared regal.

  His face softened as he happened upon Hitoka.

  ‘What’s your name, lass?’

  ‘Hitoka Yachi.’

  ‘The girl Kiyoko recruited, correct? A… human. I can smell it on you. The filthy half-bloods over there… no wonder they didn’t realise, they thought you smelt normal because you’re like them. Are you a seer?’

  ‘No. My grandmother was though. I think.’ Hitoka replied.

  ‘Hitoka… Reiko?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes… how did you know?’ Hitoka asked, her eyes brimming with curiosity despite the fear.

  ‘You have her eyes.’ Ikkei lamented. ‘Grandmother… huh? No wonder she hasn’t visited in a while. She was the only seer ballsy enough t’ visit. She – She still hanging on?’

  ‘No, she passed away two years ago.’ Hitoka replied.

  He turned around in a huff. ‘You’re hired. You’ll be Kiyoko’s personal assistant. Yui can get you the women’s kimono first.’

  ‘Really?! Just like that?!’ Hitoka said.

  ‘Yep.’ Ikkei said. ‘Come along now, Hitoka.’

  Hitoka kept pace with Old Man Ikkei. He seemed like a tempest; powerful, raging but he was actually quite serene. He gave Hitoka the impression that he had seen many, many things in his lifetime. They did not talk. Only walked.

  He dropped her off in the private quarters reserved for staff. Hitoka knocked on the door and in that moment, Old Man Ikkei had managed to disappear. It was very quiet here, until there was a hot scramble for the door.

  ‘In a second!’  voice rang out and then the door pulled back.

  A face emerged: a grinning, cute face and Hitoka’s heart skipped a beat. A woman, tall and somewhat masculine, allowed her into the room. She wore a navy-blue kimono with white or silver patterns and trims. It really accentuated her height and figure. The room was strewn with silk and spider web. It smelt of steam and fresh linen.

  ‘Hello, good to meet you, part-timer. I’m Yui. What’s your name, cutie-pie?’

  Yui immediately set to work on understanding Hitoka’s body type and height.

  ‘Yachi Hitoka.’ Hitoka said. Having remember her previous mistakes, she also added: ‘Human.’

  ‘Whore.’ Yui muttered, unfazed, as she had pins in her mouth and she put fabric around Hitoka, squeezing her tightly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Sorry? Wait, oh, I’m a Jorōgumo, sorry for the confusion. Human, huh, that’s rare.’

  In a matter of seconds, Yui was soon finished making a kimono that was exactly perfect for Hitoka.

  ‘I’ll make you a back-up kimono in a moment. As well as some sleepwear.’ Yui said.

  ‘Will I have to be there for the fittings?’ asked Hitoka.

  ‘Nah, I never forget a cute girl’s measurements.’ Yui said with a wink.

  ‘Oh…’ Hitoka became flustered.

  ‘So, where do you need to go. You can get changed if you like, I’m a professional.’ Yui said.

  ‘Okay.’ Hitoka mumbled.

  She explained herself as she got unchanged. Yui took her clothes away from safe keeping. There was a growing feeling of lucidity. It felt unlikely that Hitoka would ever see her faux office worker clothes again. There was a feeling she wasn’t going to see much ever again. It bothered her that that didn’t bother her. She felt like she was slowly forgetting something.

  ‘Okeydokey, all done.’ Yui said and she admired her handiwork.

  Hitoka had never worn a softer or more perfect kimono. She felt like the Emperor’s daughter in this. It was lovely. Just for her. The dark colouring of the kimono was complementary against her fair skin; like the moonlight in the night.

  ‘You look great. I hope you enjoy working here. The Karasuno Bathhouse is like a big ol’ family. It’s great. You’ll get along so well with the First Years.’

  ‘The First Years?’ Hitoka echoed.

  ‘Oh, that’s just what us ancients call the other new part timers.’ Yui chuckled. ‘They’re good kids. You know: Shouyou, Tobio, Kei, Tadashi… just unfortunate. The Community is dying nowadays, they needed a home. One that’ll accept them. Thank goodness for the Bathhouse or they’d be on the streets.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Hitoka said.

  ‘You’d be on the streets too, I reckon.’ Yui lamented. ‘A human seer who’s been hidden by the monsters…’

  ‘Three... rules.’ Hitoka said. No wonder she felt like she was dreaming. She was trespassing upon a very thin line.

  ‘C’mon, I’ll get you down to Kiyoko’s bath. She’s the manager; handles the finances and stocks. She’s so smart, I wish I could be like her. I’m bit of a dunderhead but she tells me that she wishes she could sew like me. So, there’s balance. She’s teaching me complex math on her breaks though!’ Yui babbled.

  ‘Oi, Twins!’ she yelled. She banged on the wall.

  A muffled reply came.

  ‘The Twins are hosts. They’re not usually busy at this hour so they’ll be right to take you to Kiyoko. They’re waitresses who work with Tadashi sometimes.’ Yui said. ‘Off you go, I’ve got guest laundry to wash.’

  ‘Thank you, Yui. I feel wonderful in this work kimono.’ Hitoka said as she slid the door across.

  ‘Don’t mention it, unless you get a rip. Just doing my job.’ Yui said as she composed piles of clothes into baskets.

  Hitoka met with the Twins and they soon escorted her to Kiyoko’s bath. They were very sweet gals who curiously had no names. They were a collective: the Twins. A shame as they were fraternal rather than identical and that they had defined invidualistic personalities even as a unison.

  They later told Hitoka that once, they were doll and master but deep, dark spiritual power one day corrupted them. Not that they had many memories of what it was like back then. A century or more ago now. They feared the same would happen to Hitoka. The urged her to respect the final rule.

Rule 3: Don’t fall in love.

  The Twins took Hitoka through the weaving warren of intricately interconnected rooms and corridors. They were constantly pointing out things that were need-to-know. Those are guest rooms, that’s a closet, we don’t use that, when we do use that it’s a make-out spot… It went on and on and on.

  Soon, Hitoka was brought to the ground floor’s furthest room. Moss and flowering vines constricted the walls. It was chilly here but she didn’t mind.

  ‘Kiyoko is right in there.’ The Twins said and they opened the door for Hitoka.

  It scratched along the frame and Hitoka cautiously stepped in. The Twins pounded on her back, encouraging her. She licked her lips. Rule three. Rule three. She reminded herself of it as constantly as she could but it kept slipping from her grasp like wet soap.

  The Twins farewelled her and shut the door behind Hitoka. Hitoka wandered into the bath. It appeared to be part of the ground rather than a room as there was no flooring; only a canopy of sorts above them. The bathhouse was becoming more and more architecturally improbable with every room Kiyoko becomes acquainted with.

  It was brisk but the thick kimono kept Hitoka warm. She wondered if it really was made of Yui’s spider silk.

  Hitoka soon felt lost in Kiyoko’s domain. It was like she had stumbled into a forest without trees; only a lake guarded by rocks. But this was hers to keep clean, what was she to keep clean?

  ‘Hitoka-chan?’ a voice lifted from nowhere; a beautiful, lilting voice.

  ‘Kiyoko-san?’ Hitoka replied.

  Splish, splash, and soon a glorious head of wet hair emerged from the lake. Long, bare arms sopping wet anchored a body to the rocks and Kiyoko pulled herself up. She glistened in the faint starlight.

  ‘Where are my glasses…’ she mumbled.

  Hitoka drew closer. There was a crisp crunch of grass underfoot and Hitoka’s feet grew soggy with dew.

  The lake soon swallowed up Hitoka’s vision. It was as still as a mirror and coloured like the night sky. The lake was burgeoning with lily-pads with vibrant pink, yellow, and white spiky flowers reaching upwards. Bubbles bigger than the flowers gathered here and there alongside pristine, white foam. There was a sweet, mild fragrance in the air that lulled Hitoka into a state of dreaminess with its tempting presence.

  Amidst it all was Kiyoko. From the waist, down she was in the tremendous, dark water. From the waist, up she was nude. Her black as ink hair slick and sliding down her bare, alabaster back and showing off the gentle curves of her pale shoulders. Her demure yet sultry eyes searching for Hitoka. Her lips, a soft peach pink, slightly apart and pert like they were about to be kissed.

  ‘My glasses, can you find them?’

  ‘Of course… Ki-Ki-Kiyoko.’ Hitoka sputtered; enamoured with the gentle, poetic beauty of Kiyoko.

  Hitoka awkwardly toddled off; feeling eyes on her back. She soon found Kiyoko’s glasses on the other side of the pool. Kiyoko followed her through the water; not through the grass. She hefted herself up once more onto one of the rocks. Hitoka handed over her glasses and her eyes became more focused, bigger and Hitoka could see just how lovely a colour her pupils were: eyes as grey as the fog that spirals on a stormy beach. She was positively enchanting.

  The third rule. The third rule. Stuff the third rule.

  ‘Thank you, Hitoka-chan.’

  Hitoka swooned every time Kiyoko said her name. She spoke so elegantly and her sweet, mature voice polished every word and turned it into something precious. It rendered Hitoka breathless.

  ‘I heard you will be my personal cleaner as Ikkei-san hired someone else for general duties.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘I suppose it’s less for you to clean. After all, what is one large bath compared ten-and-four small baths?’

  ‘See, putting it that sounds like a huge load off. Less hours too, if I can bulk up and clean quick.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Kiyoko swayed, she continued to hoist herself at the lake. She was graceful, effortless. She did not ask Hitoka for help and Hitoka was too spellbound to even think of asking if she ought to. Kiyoko’s lower half raised from the water; droplets rolling off of lovely grey and blue scales and fins.

  A ningyō… she is a ningyō, Hitoka thought idly to herself as her eyes caught on how beautiful, how-fish like Kiyoko was.

  ‘Once every two weeks, I would like you to clean my bath. If that works for you.’ Kiyoko said as she sat up, twisting around so not to harm any of her raiment-like fins and attachments to her wide, beautiful tail that tapered into lovely, see-through fins that were curly and fluttery.

  ‘Sounds good.’ Hitoka replied.

  ‘I hope we get along.’ Kiyoko said with a smile as she played with her hair, placing it into a loose plait. Already she was beginning to dry.

  ‘Yo-You were wearing a kimono… and shoes. When we met. How?’ Hitoka asked. ‘If you don’t mind me helping.’

  ‘Every so often, I adopt an illusion and I transform myself. I can’t do it frequently lest it hurts me.’ Kiyoko explained.

  ‘Oh. How… magical.’ Hitoka replied; struggling to find a reply.

  ‘Ne, Hitoka-chan, would you like to sit with me?’ Kiyoko asked.

  ‘Sure.’ Hitoka said.

  She removed her wooden clogs and socks. She sat upon a cold, damp rock next to Kiyoko and lets her toes dangle and skirt along the frigid surface of the lake.

  ‘Is it always this cold?’

  ‘Only at night. I don’t mind. It’s when it gets too hot though… yes, that can be a pain. The struggles of being cold blooded.’

  Hitoka placed her hand close to Kiyoko’s. Kiyoko’s fingers wandered over Hitoka’s. Her digits were long and bony. Cold too but Hitoka didn’t mind. Soon, they were holding hands and watching as streams of silvery moonlight beamed down from high in the starry heavens and unto the lake.

  ‘I like to believe I am quite blessed here.’ Kiyoko mused, her voice soft, husky, alluring.

  This couldn’t be more removed from what Hitoka knew. She found herself thinking about the summer when she was eight. It had been windy and rainy and awful most of it. But the day she went to visit her grandmother, it had been perfect. The skies were clear; not a cloud in sight yet petrichor permeated the plants and earth; encasing Hitoka with its pleasantries. She sat in her grandmother’s lap; watermelon juice dripping over her face as she attempted to eat a slice bigger and thicker than her hand.

  “There are rules, sweetheart…”

   “I know, Grandmother.”

   “Promise to obey them – for me?”

   “I will, Grandmother. Pinkie-swear.”

  I swear I will, Grandmother or else I shall swallow a thousand needles, Hitoka thought to herself but she could feel her memories growing weak, twisting into dreams.

  ‘Ne, Hitoka-chan.’ Kiyoko piped up, breaking Hitoka’s reverie.

  ‘Yes?!’ Hitoka squeaked.

  ‘Promise me that you’ll stay with me for as long as you can?’ Kiyoko asked, gently.

  ‘I promise.’ Hitoka replied.

  Memories turned to dreams: foggy, uncertain… gone. And to seal the spell with the strongest bind, Kiyoko leaned in.

Rule 3: failed.

  Hitoka mimicked. She leaned in. Her skin prickled. Her heart raced.

  Their lips connected slowly. Hitoka was embraced by the smell of fresh water and lilies; delicate, light. She was enchanting. Kiyoko’s lips were soft but she was firm, guiding, knew what she was doing and Hitoka allowed her to lead as she was graceful.

  It was a relatively long kiss and it made Hitoka’s spirits soar. Truly, the spell had now been wound tightly around her and her heart. She felt unbreakable. She felt like she had forgotten something. Kiyoko’s hand tightened over Hitoka’s. yes, she had forgotten something in the thrill of the kiss.

  Yachi Hitoka was not a very strong person.

  No, she had many, many weaknesses. She loved stationary and couldn’t help but coddle the big-eyed kitties that wandered around the bathhouse. She loved pastels; always gawking at sunset and sunrise. She always to filch peaches and lychees from the harvest. And those are her quirky weaknesses; she’s also terrified to death of walking alone, of gross looking mess, and a good many more things.

  However, right now, topping the list of her many, many fears was not a very, very pretty woman but leaving her. That being said… why would Hitoka ever leave her?

  She fears she has forgotten and it is a far more harrowing fear than anything else she has ever encountered.

[The ending part 2: read if you want Extra Angst(tm)]

   Yachi Hitoka was not a rule breaker. She was neither a promise breaker, and yet…

  Missing College Student’s Remains Found After Sixty years

  Harakawa Ayumu [journalist; JNN]

  After nearly sixty years, Yachi Hitoka (19) has been returned. Her family can finally have closure.

  Yachi Hitoka was a university student belonging to University of Tokyo. She was studying advertisement. She was a bright, young woman beloved by friends and family alike. She was described as well organised and cheerful. People often said her greatest flaw was how easily stressed and anxious she became.

  Due to these characteristics, her family immediately found it unusual when she did not return phone calls from them regarding her whereabouts.

  Yachi Hitoka was last seen by her Uncle: Katsuragi Takeshi. She had been attending a job interview at a “Karasuno Bathhouse”.

  Yachi Hitoka’s remains were found in the area of her job interview but no sight – or superficial record – of a Karasuno Bathhouse has been found. There have been scattered reports of one existing but due to the untrustworthy verdicts of witnesses having found a Karasuno Bathhouse, it is uncertain as to if Yachi Hitoka had even attended an interview or if she had been scanned. It is to our understanding that a mysterious woman gave Yachi a flyer alerting her to the possible job position at the bathhouse. This woman, or her employer, never came forward.

  Yachi’s remains were found wearing a navy blue and white kimono made of an unusual substance. Analysis says the fabric is spider silk. She was also aged considerably and showing odd signs of compositions. Foul play is suspected.

  Rest in peace, Yachi Hitoka.

[pineapplesareunderrated]

Under pressure

Rhys finds an yellow talking robot with annoying voice. & Jack has an old nightmare.

Previous 

It was already dawn when Rhys found the robot. He was digging through some old corpses, mumbling something about skags’ buttholes and how the dead guy’s face reminded him of them.

The unit stopped with whatever he was doing when he saw Rhys approaching .

“Well hello there, stranger.” The machine greeted him with loud and annoying voice, making Rhys’s headache even more unbearable. “Judging by your inappropriate clothing, you sir, are very lost.” It rolled closer to Rhys studying him with a huge interest. “Forgive me for being rude or something, but are you by any chance one of the Vault Hunters?”

“Ehm. Yeah. I am…” Rhys tried to focus on the appearance of the talking robot through his blurred vision. It was small. Almost half of Rhys’ height. It’s colour was in Hyperion yellow and it was moving on only one wheel which, Rhys though, had to be extremely impractical, judging by the fact that they were in area covered by nothing but tons and tons of snow. “Are you a claptrap unit? “

“Oh, how inappropriate of me. I haven’t even introduced myself yet! Let me fix that. I am a CL4P-TP steward bot, but my friends call me…”

“Claptrap. Like all those others units. I know. So please, just…Just shut up. The sound of your voice is making my head hurt.”

“No problem. I am well known for my capability to be a completely silent companion, aside from my many others skills. Like making cupcakes, riding horses or singing. And most importantly, daaanciing.”

And then it started dancing. Rhys would’ve face-palm himself, if he wouldn´t have been so painfully exhausted. “Listen. Please I am very tired, cold and unbelievably hungry. So, if you could just show me a place to hide from the cold or something? That, that would be great.”

“Well of course mighty Vault Hunter. Follow me.” Claptrap turned around and went away without checking if Rhys was going after him.

With heavy sigh Rhys started walking in the same direction as the forever mumbling unit, who seemed to have hidden and lost its ability to stay quiet for more than two minutes somewhere under the deep snow. Rhys thought he’d heard him to say something about Sanctuary, but at that moment he couldn’t really care less.

Seriously. Only Rhys, one of the few people who actually welcomed the mass killing of claptrap product line after Jack got to power, could be the one who would manage to find one of the last functioning pieces in the frozen middle of nowhere.

Luckily for Rhys, who’s leg was beginning to feel like it was going to fall off, it didn’t take too long to get to Claptrap’s hide out. Claptrap managed to get the door open- obviously, that was one of the few things those bots were good at- and Rhys followed him in.

The temperature inside the cave was almost the same as outside, but at least now he was hidden from the freezing air.

“So, why do you have all those dead bodies around here? “Rhys pointed at dead psycho who they’ve just passed by.

“Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Handsome Jack has made his personal dump out of this place. Most of the things he kills ends up here. Bandits, Vault Hunters, Claptrap units…”

“You sound kinda pleased about this.”

“Oh, that’s because my programmers made this my default tone of voice. I am actually quite depressed!”

“Sorry to hear that.” Rhys was only half paying attention to what the unit was saying, keeping himself busy by looking around at what seemed to by Claptraps living room.

“Aw. How kind of you! Well, let’s see what we can do about your health state.” When the Vault Hunter turned around he saw Claptrap approaching him with a red filled syringe in its metallic hand. Without thinking, Rhys grabbed some gun which was lying nearby and pointed it at the unit. “What the hell do you think you are doing?! “

“Giving you the insta health?” When Rhys didn’t move, so the bot continued. “Surely an experienced Vault Hunter like you has already used one of those?” He hasn’t. But it would be a lie if he said that he’d never heard of them.

Expensive, almost magical medicine, used mainly by Vault Hunters, which guaranteed to its user an immediate relief from any wound, with only minor side effects. There were extremely rare. You’d have to pay tons of money to the right people just to get one of those. But it seemed that on Pandora they were much more common than in the rest of the galaxy. Rhys shouldn’t be so surprised. This was Pandora after all.

Still. There was no way he was going to get this thing near his skin. “I don’t do needles.”

“Are you sure about that? I mean, we are not going anywhere with the state your leg is in.” As in a respond to that, a sharp pain ran through Rhys’ leg, making his teeth clench.

He tried to consider his options. It was a staying here, in Claptraps hideout and waiting until the leg healed itself. Which could take from two days to weeks or b just taking the medicine and getting away from here as fast as possible.

“Ah, for a for a love of… Give it here.” Rhys grabbed the thing from Claptraps hand and took a deep breath. Trying not to think about it too much, he stabbed the needle into his leg.

He felt the effect immediately. A warm feeling coming from the spot where his skin met with the sharp iron quickly spread through his entire body washing all the pain away. Together with his tiredness and hunger. He felt amazing.

“Wow” Rhys breath out, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath.

“I am glad you made it here” A soft voice just spoken from behind him. Rhys jumped and turned to face a picture of a young girl who just appeared out of nowhere.

Reflexively, he tried to punch her but his fist just came right through her.

He tried once more, and again until he finally realized that this would lead him nowhere and turned to Claptrap. “What the hell was in that thing?!”

“Well, the essential composition is company’s secret, but I am pretty sure they add some hydrogen phosphate in those. Some say that’s what makes it turn purple when you try to pee on in.

“Would you please stop freaking out? You are making yourself look silly” The girl said in a soft voice.

“You! You drugged me. Made me seeing things. Why am I seeing hot brunets floating in thin air?”

“That’s what insta health does? Men, now I really wish I could use one of those.”

“You are not hallucinating Rhys.” She said trying to regain his attention. “I am an AI, using your cybernetics to communicate with you. “

“My name is Angel. And I am here to help you”

Jack had an awful night.

Communication with Maliwan led him nowhere. The CEO used all his tricks and energy on trying to talk some sense into those knotheads, but it all met with the same refusing reaction. With all his willpower Jack stopped himself from any further dialog with the competitive company, before he would start threatening them. He rolled himself away from the table and turned his chair to face the giant window behind him, resting his face into his palm.

This was bad. He’d left the guy in Maliwan for way too long. He knew that, but still. Jack was so sure that there were planning something. They always were. He just needed to find out what it was this time. Maybe if he had more time… No. There was no point in thinking about that now.

Maybe he should just send someone to kill the spy. He was useless anyway and knowing Maliwan, there were in the middle of getting all information the guy had stored in his incapable head. Jack was sure that Nisha would do it without a wink of her pretty brown eye. Or he would just send Wilhelm.

Talking about Wilhelm, there was something off with that guy.

After the last surgery, he looked and acted more like a robot than anything else. And even though Jack would’ve never admitted that out loud, it scared the living shit out of him.

People, Jack could handle. People were easy to read, easy to kill. But robots? They were something totally different. Jack was an engineer, he knew how to build a robot, he understood how they worked. And how easy it was for them to turn against you whenever something unpredictably switched in their weird mechanical minds. That was one of the reasons why he decided to turn off all claptrap units soon after he became the CEO. Claptraps were getting involved into everything. There were just all-over the fricking place, it was only a matter of time before one of them decided to go into bloodthirsty rage and shoot out half of a city. He was sure about that.

Jack didn't realize how tired he was, until his eyes started closing on their own will. God, when was the last time he’d slept for more than three hours? He couldn’t remember.

But really, who could blame him for avoiding sleep, when all his vivid dreams were filled with nightmares and horrors, no psycho would ever be ashamed of.

Jack sight. There was no point in fighting it. Even though he didn’t like to admit it, Handsome Jack was still a human being, and before the incompetent fist fucks who he hired to work in his labs made him some pills that would help him get rid of this annoying human habit, he will need sleep.

For a second, he considered going into his bedroom, but decided against it. The chair he was sitting in will do just fine. He paid unholy amount of money for this chair so he better be able to have a nice nap in it.

Jack pushed himself deeper into the soft black fabric and closed his eyes. The sleep came almost immediately, soon followed by an old nightmare.

The walls around him were hard, but sticky to touch. Air in the room was cold. So cold, a puff of steam would come out of his mouth every time he breathed out. It was just the right temperature, when your mind wouldn’t get numb, but it’s still cold enough to keep you awake during the whole time you’d spent in here. John couldn’t remember what it was he did to deserve to be in The Pit again.

The Pit, was a name his grandma gave to the this place. The room itself was hidden under their house. Its original purpose was to serve as a place for storing food, before they could save up enough money to buy a proper fridge.

Now there was no real purpose for it, so his grandma decided to use it as some kind of punishment room for John. Whenever she thought that her grandson was being a “bad boy” she would send him to The Pit and left him in there for a day or two.

Sometimes being a bad boy meant coming home late, leaving the door open, or just talking to her with an inappropriate tone. She would always find a reason to send him in there.

John hated The Pit and she knew it. Sometimes, he thought, he would prefer another beating with Mr. Buzzteeth. Buzzteeth was a buzz axe she made herself out of skags teeth, psychos nails and more nasty things she found outside her house. That woman had a weird habit in giving names to inanimate objects.

John had abnormal fear of being in enclosed or narrow places with no way to escape. It made him feel trapped, vulnerable.

The boy tried punching the walls again. He knew they weren’t moving, but unless he could feel the hard, steady structure under his fist he couldn’t tell just how far they really were from him.

He wanted to get out. He wanted to get out from this dark, smelly place and feel the breeze and see the trees and just run, run way.

His heart was beginning to pound erratically. His childish mind was searching for a way out, for something to help him to get away from here. He wanted to get out so badly.

The boy wants to scream. Call for help, but he knows that he can’t do that. If he does she would come here, with her buzzing axe and beat him to pulp. Then she would just leave him here in the cold, all covered in his own blood for another day.

John didn’t want that. He wanted to stay quiet, but he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop the screams coming from his mouth, he couldn’t stop the small fist from beating hard into the iron door, begging for her to let him out.

And then there she was. Standing above him, with Mr Buzzteeth in hand, crazy grin spread across her wrinkled old face. “Now, what do we have here” John wipes of tears from his face, not daring to look away from her. “Someone is being a bad boy again.” She swings the axe and hits John hard into his small skinny chest.

Jack wakes screaming and covered in cold sweat. There was a gun placed in his hand and his eyes were searching for any sign of movement, ready to shoot.

It took him a moment before his mind settled and he fully realised where he was. Safe and sound in his huge office, that was equipped with the most effective security system within the entire galaxy, free of any crazed grandmas and their disgusting axes.

Damn that woman. Making a hell out of his life even after all those years. No matter how much distance there was between the two of them, she would always find a way how to terrorize the hell out of him.

Jack tucked the gun back into his case and ran his hand through the brown hair, destroying the rest of its usually perfect shape. He will need to redo them before he starts letting people in.

He should just send someone to kill her. Maybe all those nightmares will stop once she is buried deep under the ground. He could just pay some bandits to do the job for him and make the garbage do something useful at least for once in their miserable lives.

Shaking his head, he let out a heavy sight. As if I haven’t tried that before.

Jack wasn’t sure if he could count the number of times when he decided to just off the lady. Or better. Just to pay someone to off her for him. Once, he even got that far that he actually started recording the quest on the ECHO net. But he never finished it. The awful feeling growing from somewhere deep-inside him wouldn’t let him. It would force him to question his decision, make him scared of the act and just pushing him into finding something else to busy himself with, getting his mind away from her.

Sighing again, he looked around his office. His working table was barely visible under the growing pile of papers, half of which needed his attention yesterday, another huge company was threatening him with an armed conflict and Hyperion had neither the time nor the personal to afford that, more and more of his eridium mines were getting taken over by the shit-eating bandits and on top of all it, his assassination attempt didn’t meet with full success and now there was one more Vault Hunter running around on Pandora.

There was only one thing for the CEO of Hyperion to do.

Get drunk and play some video games.