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ilguna · 4 years

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Belamour - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot, and gallows suggests hanging herself 2 separate times

wc; 10k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“My skin is sore.” you complain, watching as Leo scowls a bit, clearly not liking how much you’ve suddenly begun to complain. Not a single word came from you during the waxing and scrubbing process at all.

“It’s not that bad.” Cleo tries to reason, and she’s clearly a mind reader too, “The wax earlier was the worst thing you’ll ever have to go through.”

“I think my skin is sensitive, that’s why.”

They seem to consider this for a moment. And without a single word from Beth, she rises from her chair and leaves the first room to go to the bathroom that’s attached. She’s gone for a couple of minutes, and you spend the time gently peeling off dried glue from your body. Wincing when it catches a couple of stray hairs that the team managed to miss somehow.

By the time she comes back, she’s got a yellow bottle in her hands, that you immediately recognize as the lotion that was used on your body earlier. At first, it had stung but the cooling sensation afterwards was worth it. Beth is a quick thinker, you like her.

When you’re sure that there’s no more glue, Leo sits you down in the chair and wipes your face completely free of makeup. When he moves out of the way so you can see yourself in the mirror again, your eyelids are clearly stained a light shade of green. And instead of complaining, you shrug.

Next is pulling off your clothes to trade them out for something more comfortable. And as you’re slipping off the tube top and later the skirt, the exhaustion seems to kick in. Your limbs feel heavy, and every time you lean or bend over, you’re sure you won’t be able to pick yourself back up.

With eyelids half-open, you apply a healthy lather of the lotion before pulling on a pair of knee-length grey sweatpants and tank top. Cleo slides a pair of slippers your way that is so clearly made out of real animal fur, but you can’t bring yourself to be mad at the fact they killed an innocent animal just to use their fur as a pair of shoes.

You wave your prep team goodbye, and don’t wait up on Laurel at all. Dragging your feet through the hallway, Finnick comes out of nowhere, joining your side. He seems to be in the same state as you are. The difference between you and him, is that you got a few hours of sleep in, and he got absolutely none.

A rough night of basically no sleep, and then an emotionally and physically draining day only hours later had taken its toll on you. On your way to the elevator with Finnick, you find yourself dreaming of flopping onto the Capitol bed, wrapping yourself in the warm comforter and laying your head on that soft pillow. And hopefully falling asleep before your mind can wander.

“I’m going to sleep so good tonight.” Finnick yawns, which triggers you to yawn next. And as he goes to open his mouth a second time, you elbow him to keep a cycle going. He lets out a gentle laugh.

At the elevators stands Elysia, one hand holding them open. You and Finnick don’t bother to pick up the pace, she’s going to stay there whether she likes it or not. She has to take you back to the floor. Almost like an escort.

Finnick sighs, closing his eyes and leaning up against the glass wall of the elevator. He’s got on a white shirt and a pair of deep blue shorts, sandals on his feet. And even with a layer of clothing on, it’s obvious that he’s sweating, and it almost seems to be seeping through his shirt and onto the glass behind him.

Elysia purses her lips, and you can tell that she wants to tell him to stop leaning on it, because it’s ruining the presentation of the small room. But then her face smooths over, and she offers a small smile instead, turning back towards the doors.

You spare one last look at Finnick, but find the glance lasting longer than you expected it to. It’s clear he’s on the brink of falling asleep upright, lips parted, wet hair sticking to his forehead. Maybe it’s not sweat that's coming from his body, maybe he took a shower instead. It would make more sense as to why his hair is like that. Before you two split to your prep teams, he was as dry as you were.

The elevator makes a noise, and his eyes open again, spinning a little as he tries to get a hold of reality again. He stumbles, trying to catch his footing, and then motions for you to go first. When you go to offer for him to lean up against you, he’s shaking his head and telling you it’s fine.

“You two don’t have to come to dinner.” Elysia tells the two of you, on the couch sits Anchor and Mags, watching a recap of the tribute parade. At your initial entrance, neither of them had paid attention or even bothered to look your way. But now at Elysia’s dismissal, they’re staring, “If you wake up hungry, the room has food service. All you have to do is order anything you want and it’ll appear. But I expect you two will be at the table bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll wake us if we aren’t?” you ask, not really caring about the food thing. You can go to bed hungry, it won’t be the first time. You’re just worried about sleeping in. Tomorrow is the first day of training, and the second time you get to see your opponents up close.

“Yes.” she says.

“Goodnight.” Finnick says, heading towards the hallway, you wave at Mags and Anchor. Anchor is the only one that raises their hand in return, saying his subtle goodnight.

You follow Finnick up the steps and into the hallway. When you go to bid him goodbye, heading towards your room, his hand catches your elbow.

“Can I stay with you?” he asks before you can say anything.

You stare for a moment, the words not processing slightly. Stay with you? Like in your room? He wants to sleep in your room?

“Like a sleepover?” you ask, watching a smile creep up and onto his face.

“I guess.” he shrugs, “It’s fine if not, I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

That’s not the reason, and you know it. It’s probably the same reason why he didn’t want to fall asleep last night; he’s afraid of being alone with his thoughts. In a whole room by yourself, on the brink of sleep fearing the worst in a couple of days, that’s going to bring on an onslaught of nightmares.

You’ve had that happen to you a couple of times. Not with the Hunger Games just yet, but you’re sure that it’ll come one of these days. The longer you stay here, the more reality begins to set and seep into your head. Before you know it, you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night, alarmed, alert, and afraid.

And right now, Finnick is trying to prevent that from happening to him.

“Yeah, you can stay with me.” you tell him.

He gives a loopy smile, “I’ll meet you a minute, then.”

You split from Finnick now, watching as he goes into his room. You go into yours, making sure that the doors don’t lock behind you. You pull off the ring, gentle setting it into the bowl on the nightstand. Then, you sit on the edge of the bed, every fiber of you greedily begging for you to just flop over and fall asleep now without the blankets and pillows. Without waiting for Finnick to come in.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long. He comes in with his comforter around his shoulders, and training behind him on the carpeted ground. A singular white pillow is beneath his arm as he stands in the doorway, unsure of where to go. You motion towards where the window is, since it’s not a bad place to sleep if you don’t mind the city lights at night.

“You can sleep in front of the window, if you want. It’s a good view.” you sigh, throwing the blankets open. Any moment now you’ll be able to sleep, and tomorrow morning you’ll hopefully be refreshed.

Finnick heads over, making a makeshift bed with the blanket and pillow already. He collapses into a sitting position, and stares out the window for a moment. Then, he yawns again and speaks, “You’ve got a better view than I do. You’ve got the lights, and might even be able to see the festival in a couple of days from here.”

“Festival?” you ask.

“Yeah, it happens after the interviews, since it’s the night before the actual games themselves.” he slips beneath his blanket after that, “It’s disgusting really, but what can we do?”

The answer is nothing. So, you say nothing and watch as his breathing automatically slows into even intervals, a clear giveaway that he’s fallen asleep. You stare for a couple of minutes longer, until he eventually turns over and his back is to you. Only then do you slip yourself beneath your blankets and do the same, facing away from him too.

The sleep that you were on the brink of only moments ago, seems to be fading. The late afternoon sunlight freely coming into your room is throwing you off. You’d never be going to sleep at this time. In fact, back home you’d probably still be in school going over math problems or the latest english assignment.

Or you might be heading to Naida’s house after school, fully prepared to get your homework done and thank her for her time. Then, you’d scoop up Alyssum and head home and wait until your brothers would get home. They’d have already spent hours on the water fishing, and they’d come back not even half as exhausted as you are.

You don’t think Reed and Mox missed the tribute parade at all. In fact, they might have skipped the afternoon work entirely because they wanted to see you and how the Capitol citizens would react to you. You wonder if they were disgusted by how much you’d changed. From a feeble little girl to a young woman in just a few hours.

They’d risk getting in trouble just for a glance of you, a quick check up. The next time that they’ll see you is when your score is announced by Caesar Flickerman. You hope you score fairly high on it, because it would be such a relief to Reed knowing that you should have no problem when it comes to getting sponsors.

Mags had briefly explained how training would work this morning. She said that the next three days is training with the other tributes, where the gamemakers would be supervising and taking notes. Everything that you show off or don’t inside of the Training Center will contribute to your score.

The private training session is really so you can show off anything you didn’t want to show the other tributes. It’s a secret skill, something that you’d want to be a surprise when you go into the arena. Only they are allowed to know what it is, and what happens in that room will stay there forever.

Thinking about it now, you don’t think you’re going to have a skill for that. Everything you know is pretty generic. You suppose that you’ll be learning more things tomorrow, but it won’t be the same. Showing off a skill you've known for years versus something you learned two days ago makes a difference.

You have days to worry about that, maybe you’ll remember something along the way. Tying knots and throwing spears aren’t that impressive. Maybe if you tie a noose and hang yourself from the ceiling, it’ll catch their eye, make a statement.

Although it’s already no secret that the tributes would rather die on their own terms, rather to the hands of another teenager. There’s been countless attempts in the past, both successful and unsuccessful. It’s the reason why there’s so many safety precautions now. To keep the tribute from dying early on and sending twenty-three in, rather than twenty-four.

To do that would mean to give up your chance to win. It would mean you’re accepting defeat without even seeing the circumstances first. Who knows? You might just end up on an island in the middle of the sea, favoring District Four. Giving your district another head start, on top of all the ones you’ve gathered already.

You’re going to win. You can feel it.

—

In the morning, Elysia kept her promise. You and Finnick hadn’t gotten up on your own, so she came in to do the job for you. It wasn’t all that bad, last night you had expected her to throw water or something onto you this morning. Really, she just knocked on the wall until one of you awoke.

It was you first. And it wasn’t even to her knocking, it was because the whoosh of the doors opening automatically. Once she made sure that you wouldn’t be going back to bed, she left.

And you still haven’t moved from the bed, even minutes later. Finnick is still asleep next to the window, blanket tucked beneath his chin. You’re going to feel awful here in a second when you have to get him up. But it’s not like you have much of a choice.

You’re sure that he’d rather you wake him up, than Elysia. So, you run a hand through your hair in a feeble attempt to tame it, and then you wander your way over to him. Standing over him is definitely creepy.

You nudge Finnick with your foot, hoping that’ll be enough. But he doesn’t even stir, so you go ahead and do it again. This time, his hand flies out from beneath the blanket and he wraps his fingers around your ankle. For a second, you think that’s it, and then he yanks and pulls you down.

He’s a lot stronger than you give him credit for. The floor disappears from beneath your feet, and you have no chance of catching yourself on the way down. Your hands smear down the window, leaving nice hand marks in your wake.

You land right on top of Finnick, who’s now giddily laughing at his joke. You roll your eyes, getting off of him and sitting back. He sits up, face red and tears gathering in his eyes. You try not to laugh, but the longer he continues, you let out a small chuckle and shove his shoulder with your foot.

“Very funny. How long have you been awake?”

He smiles, wiping beneath his eyes, “Since Elysia came in. I was just waiting for you to come over.”

“I was trying to be nice. I should’ve just hit you with the pillow.” You get up, stretching and heading over to the walk-in closet.

Before Elysia left, she told you that the training uniforms should already be in here. You have different options, all different variations of yellow and black. Looks like they’ve got a theme going on at the moment.

The first top is like a regular shirt, just a little modified. The collar is black and comes up to the base of your neck. The rest of the shirt is mustard yellow, and there’s a zipper on the front that leads from the bottom all the way up to the top, exactly like a jacket. It’s a cute top, you pick that one over the long-sleeved and tank top.

And the bottoms aren’t that exciting, plain black shorts or leggings that end at your calves. You pick the latter, and then scoop up the tennis shoes and the underwear too. When you come out, Finnick’s got his things gathered in his arms.

“Thanks for letting me stay in here.” He smiles.

“How was your first ever sleepover?”

“Pretty boring.” He laughs, heading out, “Hopefully the next one will be better?” He proposes, and then doesn’t wait for an answer.

If there is a next one. You go ahead and take a shower after that, paying careful attention to your eyelids to make sure that they aren’t green when you step out. After you get dressed, you pull your hair out of your face, letting a few strands stay if they don’t irritate you too much.

You debate on the ring. It would be nice to wear to make sure that it doesn’t leave your sight, ever. But on the other hand, it’s going to get in the way of learning. Maybe it’ll get caught on something, or it’ll make a lot of noise, or your finger will swell and you’ll have a hard time pulling it off later.

Then again, you don’t want it to get swiped and for someone to think that it belonged to yesterday’s costume. You were wearing a lot of water-wave related things yesterday. It wouldn’t be that far off to think it came from there.

You could very well trust it with Mags. She’ll understand.

Once your shoes are on, you slide the ring on and decide that it won’t hurt to wear during breakfast. When you step out and into the dining room, you’re not that surprised to see that you’re the last person to come out. You utter an apology to Elysia, and take the only available seat next to Finnick.

Almost immediately, food is served to you. It’s almost the same as yesterday, nothing new. You eat it all measuredly, making sure that the rich taste won’t make you feel sick. That’s really the last thing you’d want in the Training Center, to throw up in the middle of doing something.

And as always, it looks like Finnick has got the same worries. This time, he’s not inhaling the food like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat. You know he must be hungry, especially since the two of you skipped dinner yesterday. You know you are.

Mags doesn’t eat very much, so she’s done long before you and Finnick are. She carefully slips the napkin off of her lap and sets it into the nearest bowl, waving off the avox when they come around to give her more. Then, she turns to you and Finnick.

“Do either of you have tokens?” she asks, Anchor pauses for a moment, and then his head bobbles in approval.

“Yes.” you say, placing the spoon back into your bowl before pulling off the ring and holding it out for her to see. She takes it from you, turning it over in her hand.

She doesn’t give it back, and then turns to Finnick, “And you?”

His fingers dance along his arm until they land on his wrist. The same braided, brown rope is there. You vaguely remember seeing it yesterday and being surprised that they’d let him keep it. Up close, you realize that it’s not really a choice. The ends are tied together, and his hand is too big to just slip it off.

It reminds you of those bracelets that are supposed to ward off evil. Caspian’s sister owns one, and he constantly calls her superstitious because of it. He doesn’t think that it works, and every time she reaches over to it when bad things happen, he rolls his eyes. Always telling her to grow up, when she’s already out of high school.

You think it works. She graduated at the top of her class and instead of being stuck with the same old government-provided fishing job, she got hired at the sweet shop. Which of course, is placed next to the bakery, the butchers, the fabric store and finally, the ice cream parlor. All lined up and expensive.

Even though you don’t like Caspian--or maybe you do now, you don’t know--you like his sister. There had been a few times where she had caught sight of you through the window, and rushed out to give you a treat to share with your brothers and sister. You tried for a while to turn it down, but she always insisted and so you stopped struggling and instead thanked her greatly.

She, Calandra, has had good fortune ever since she started to wear the bracelet. Whether or not Caspian has realized that, you have no clue. But you have, and you think that’s why Finnick wears the bracelet. However, his luck hasn’t really been up, as of late.

“It’s just rope.” Finnick says, “I can’t take it off.”

Mags and Anchor share a look. Anchor makes a face, “All they have to do is look at it, and they’ll see that it’s not really an advantage. I’m pretty sure they can see it during the tribute parade, so we don’t have to bring him along.”

Mags nods, and then turns back to you, “Would you mind if I gave this to the gamemakers to look at for a couple of days?”

You shake your head, “I’ll get it back?”

“If it’s not dangerous.” Anchor says, “Or poses any sort of advantage.”

It’s just a silver ring. You’ll get it back.

“Yeah, you can have it.” you lean back in your seat, resuming your bowl of soup.

Mags pockets the ring, and then doesn’t waste time, going on, “Don’t show off any serious skills, save it for the private training session. You don’t want everyone to know what you’re actually good at.”

“What if the careers ask?” you lean in, “Am I just supposed to leave them hanging?”

“No.” Anchor says, and you and Finnick look over to him now, “Save at least something for the gamemakers. Don’t even share it with each other.”

You hope that won’t create issues between you and Finnick. You know Anchor is right, and he knows better than you do. But the thought of holding back even one skill to keep Finnick on edge the entire time is dangerous. You don’t want him to be anticipating something that might not even happen.

“Right.” Finnick says. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, and you think you like it that way. You don’t need to know.

Mags excuses herself from the table, saying that she’s going to go hand off the ring, and do other things as well. It leaves just you, Elysia and Anchor at the table. Until Elysia says that you guys should meet her at the elevator no later than ten, and leaves the apartment too.

“Districts One and Two are automatically going to head towards the weapons section.” Anchor says, picking at a bagel, “And you’re going to be expected to follow.”

“Should we?” you ask.

“You already talked to them yesterday and proposed the idea of an alliance, right?”

Finnick shakes his head, “Not exactly. She said we’d see them tomorrow and that was it.”

“Did they seem interested?” Anchor asks.

You press your lips together, staring down into the empty bowl. You don’t know at all. They were definitely friendly after the tribute parade. You got Trink and Lennox to loosen up easily, and Eytelle and Allio followed stiffly. To you, it looked like they were uncomfortable with the thought of working with people younger than them.

It’s very well possible that they think you two are still naive and will find a way to fuck up tremendously, costing their lives or something. They’re worried about the wrong thing, though. You and Finnick have already proved that you’re smarter than that. You’ve analyzed them, their body types, their personalities, and you know what kind of people they are.

Maybe Allio and Eytelle didn’t seem enthusiastic, but Trink and Lennox did.

“Two of them.” you answer first, Finnick looks like he’s about to object, “District Two is still iffy. I think if we hang around them today, we’ll find a way to sell it.”

“That leaves two days to work on skills.” Finnick says.

You look at him, and then Anchor, “How does the center work? Is there a schedule?”

“You’ll go in at ten, and a few hours later will have lunch. You’ll have it all together in a room with tables, then you go back to training.”

“How about this,” you look at Finnick, “First half we spend on skills, and then at lunch we’ll sit with One and Two, and after lunch we hang out with them for the rest of the time?”

Anchor is impressed, and Finnick seems to like this idea a lot better, because he agrees to it. First half of the day will be spent learning and remembering skills, and after lunch will be getting to know the other careers better. A good bargain, you feel proud of yourself for that.

There’s not much to talk about anymore. Both you and Finnick end up dismissing yourselves from the table about thirty minutes before ten. In your room, you fix unapproved stray hairs and brush your teeth. For the last remaining time, you sit on the bed and try not to think of home.

The time comes around where you have to leave the room. Finnick is already waiting out by the door, having a conversation with Anchor. He’s in a new change of clothes, and it looks like his hair is wet again. Before he wasn’t wearing his training outfit, now he is. While you wear yellow, he wears blue.

When Anchor notices you, he subtly motions, letting Finnick know. With squinted eyes, you watch as they wrap up the conversation, Anchor pats Finnick on the shoulder, and then they split.

Anchor wishes you good luck. On the way out of the apartment to the elevator, you try to ask Finnick what they were talking about, but he attempts to slyly redirect you to talk about the training that’ll be happening in just a few minutes. It’s a red flag immediately, and you find yourself making note of it.

Some part of your mind tries to cooly remind you that he doesn’t have to tell you anything, but the thought slowly fades. This is the Hunger Games, every person you befriend, every alliance you make will eventually end in distrust and murder. This is no time to be holding secrets.

You don’t push him.

Elysia is at the elevators, holding the door open. Inside, she lets you know that it’ll be a moment before you actually reach the training rooms because it’s underground. You and Finnick share a little eyebrow raise--even though you’re still pretty irritated--and wait in silence. She tells you she won’t be going inside with you and that you’ll officially be on your own, away from her, Mags, Anchor, the stylists and prep teams.

It comes as a relief. Now you won’t have so many people hovering over your shoulder while you try to figure things out.

The walk to the Training Center is short and quiet. This gives you a feeling that Finnick must know that you know something is up. Good, you hope he comes to realize you’re not stupid.

The doors to the room open automatically, revealing a gymnasium three times the size of the Four floor. And the Four floor is already bigger than your house back home. Just with the first look, you’re able to see all the stations and their accompanying trainer. There’s weapons lined up against the walls, obstacle courses in the middle.

This is a dangerous playground.

A lot of the tributes seem to be here already, all gathered up together. On the way down with Elysia, she let you and Finnick know that the stylists are the ones picking out the outfits for everything. So, Laurel picked a muted mustard yellow color for you, Pleurisy picked a pretty baby blue for Finnick. And as for everyone else, it varies.

Before you two can join the others, you’re stopped at the doors. Just to keep a track of white tributes are from which districts, you’re required to wear a number on your back. You have a feeling that it’s for the gamemakers, who all sit up in a box on the top right. If they know who you are, they can keep track of you and why you deserve the score you’re going to get.

After you two have got District Four pinned to your back, you head on over. Instead of actually standing inside of the circle with everyone else, you stand back. Letting yourself get a good look at everyone, now. This is vital.

Trink and Lennox lean into each other, Lennox slouching to reach her height. When Trink moves away, he cracks a smile. Her eyes go over the almost-complete circle, eyes landing on you and Finnick. She smiles too, waving slightly as a greeting. Because of this, both tributes from District Three look over their shoulders.

The boy is tall, dark haired and pale. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, but the second he realizes you’re looking right back at him, they loosen into a gentle smile. He’s friendly, and the girl next to him looks like she is too. Light brown hair that’s down but out of her face. The smile reaches her eyes, and you remember how she cried on stage. She might be emotional.

You give a smile back, the girl turns back away towards the head trainer, who’s still waiting on the final tributes. However, the boy still stares, and the longer his eyes linger, the more you feel your face becoming hot. He’s older, and he’s definitely cute. When he turns away, you can feel your heart begin to beat loudly in your chest. How embarrassing.

Allio and Eytelle are standing side by side, stiff looking. Maybe that’s just how they are normally, and it was nothing against you. They do look like they take things a little more seriously than Lennox and Trink. The more you stare, the more the word ‘wary’ seems to fit their description.

There’s Finnick and you, of course. District Five seems to be missing completely, Six isn’t talking to each other at all. Seven seems to be friendly with each other, the boy has a bright smile that never seems to go away. Even when he tries, the girl will say something and he’s back to massaging his cheeks.

The girl from Eight nibbles on her nails, the boy is on the other side of the circle, away from her. The girl from Nine, and both Ten tributes are all huddled together. The boy from Nine, you have no clue. It looks like he’s missing too. Both from Eleven look nervous and Twelve is… just a pair of children. Twelve and thirteen, it looks like. They have absolutely no chance here, and they’re by far the youngest.

The doors open, making everyone look over again. In comes Six, you think, as well as the boy from Nine that you vaguely recognize. They get their numbers on the back of their shirts, and stop around the circle just like you two had.

The head trainer introduces herself now, her name is Pasithea and she’ll be overseeing everything formally. She explains the schedule in detail. At every station is an expert, trained in that skill. The experts are not allowed to move from place to place, but you are free to. You can get up and leave at any time to move on to go somewhere else.

Some of the stations focus on survival skills, like identifying berries, starting fires, and knowing which leaves are poisonous and which are safe. Others are combat, with swords, hand-to-hand, and so on. Because tributes can’t fight with each other, if you want to test your combat skills, all you have to do is ask and they’ll send someone to you that’s qualified.

And even though Pasithea already gave examples of the survival stations, she goes down a list, anyway. Good versus bad berries, leaves, and hiding places. How to start fires, snares and knots. You’re welcome to play memory games, and show off whatever you like. As for combat, the list of weapons is long, and you tune out towards the middle.

You don’t know what half the weapons look like, and you’ve never heard the names before. So, what’s the point in trying until you’re free? Finnick looks like he’s bored of it too, and he shares a look with you, eyes going off to the side as he jerks his head in a direction. You look around him, and your eyes land on the fire starting station.

Might as well. You nod, he looks happy that you’ve agreed. When Pasithea releases you all, allowing you to finally get your hands on things, everyone seems to split off somewhere. Your career friends head right towards the nearest combat and weapon stations, already showing off.

District Seven seems to do the same, they both look as old, or even older than the careers. The girl swings a top-heavy axe like it’s nothing, the boy stands back and watches. If you were to make an alliance with them, it would probably be a package deal. Just like you and Finnick.

At the fire starting station, you and Finnick take a seat around a ring of rocks with wood in the middle. The expert kindly asks if you have any clue on where to get started, and Finnick shakes his head. You offer some half-assed answer of flint and stone and sparking a flame. This seems good enough for her, and she starts by showing you that technique.

Back and forth, you and Finnick try various ways to get it done. You’re able to get the fire started way before him, but once he realizes what he was doing wrong, he outshines you. After flint and stone comes the actual devices that might be included in some backpacks in the arena if you run towards the cornucopia.

For years, you’ve watched people run to the middle, and every time you call them stupid. Who is dumb enough to run to the one place where all the careers will be waiting? All those tributes that have died in the bloodbath--which is what the massacre is called--have to have known that their chances of getting anything out of the cornucopia itself is slim to none.

If you pick off the things that are scattered outside of it, you have a lesser chance of dying. But running inside, where the careers will be protecting their precious goods is just like accepting the fact that you’re going to die. And most of the time, it’s going to be gory and nowhere near quick. They like to make a show out of it.

After you and Finnick seem to have got it down, you and him bid the expert goodbye and move on. Deciding that you’d like to work on something you two actually know a lot about and is fairly useless, you settle on the knot tying station, which is also where the snares are taught.

The expert seems thrilled at your knowledge, watching you list off which types of ropes are used for what. And then you settle down on the floor, tying and retying all the knots you can remember that Reed taught you. You know the names to most still, but there’s some that slip your mind. Despite the name being gone, you still know how to move your hands.

Finnick leans over your shoulder, watching you tie a knot that’ll be nearly impossible to escape once tightened, “Who taught you all of these?”

“My oldest brother, Reed.” you hold it up for the expert to see. She’s got a smile on her face, nodding, “I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve sat on a boat while he and Mox fished, watching me do these.”

He asks you to teach him a few that you feel are important, and you almost feel bad for the expert. They’re no longer the teacher, because you lean over and have Finnick do a series of them until he’s sure that he’s got it down.

You want to try your hand with the weapons, but Finnick is still pulling you along to the survival places. You follow anyway, thinking to yourself that you’ll be able to try them after lunch. You and him made a deal, and so when it’s your turn, you’ll be able to do what you want.

By the time lunch rolls around, you’re starving and dehydrated. Inside of the lunch area, they have a buffet-style meal. All the tributes are welcome to help themselves and go back for more whenever they please. You and Finnick help yourselves to foods that you know will be filling but not too rich. After that, plenty of water bottles.

Before you and Finnick can even get the chance to start a career table, you’re being waved down by the boy from Three. The girl has got her head raised, eyes on the two of you. She says something to him, and once he scowls, she looks down and away.

“Where do you want to sit?” you ask Finnick.

“I thought we were going for Districts One and Two?”

“I’ll let you have today if you let me have tomorrow.” you say, “Anywhere you want.”

Unsurprisingly, Finnick heads right towards the table with District Three. It’s a sacrifice, and you’re hoping that it’s not a bad one. You ignore the stares you get from the alliance you’re really after, and settle down at the table.

“Hi.” you greet, “I’m (Y/n).”

“Blaire.” the boy says, sitting up taller, “This is Verda.”

“Finnick.”

The conversation starts off slow, until Verda eventually enters and carries most of it by herself. She asks questions, expands on anything that you and Finnick ask. You were right about them being friendly. Not once is there a tense moment between any of you, and at the end of lunch, you four decide to stick together.

Blaire mainly sticks by your side. He’s funny, and his laugh is a little loud but you’re not embarrassed by it. In fact, the more he laughs, the more you find yourself reconsidering the alliance with the other careers.

You and Finnick are only fourteen and fifteen. The others are between sixteen and eighteen, they could easily overpower you with all those years of training. One bad move with them, and there’s a chance they’ll kill you on the spot. There’s safety in numbers, of course. But why bother to keep around a couple of teens that are dragging them down?

With Blaire and Verda, they’re older, but you don’t find them that threatening. If they came up to you back home, you’d make friends out of the both of them, no questions ask. Which might be a downfall, and could really get you killed. You can’t be friendly with everyone in here, but Blaire and Verda seem to be different.

Soon, you’re all moving onto weapons--finally!--per Blaire’s request. While learning how to handle a knife properly, Finnick sits on the only open spot next to you, and leans over.

“Still want to be allies with the careers?”

You wonder if he’s noticed how close you’ve grown to Blaire in the last couple of hours, or how you refuse to even look at the careers. However, he should know that you gave him today. Just because you act one way today, doesn’t mean you won’t act a different way tomorrow.

You’ll change with the seasons if you have to. If it means that you’ll stay alive longer, you’ll play games with people. Keep Finnick close, let him think that you’ll agree with him, and then you’ll play with the careers. Slowly but surely dragging him back to the idea. Because now, he’s made it no secret that he doesn’t want to be allies with them.

You look at Finnick, and he’s got the same face he had on when you asked him what he was talking about with Anchor. It clicks now. He doesn’t want to be friends or allies with the careers, and he was expressing that to Anchor. And now he’s trying to nudge you in the right direction without giving anything away.

It’s too late. You force a smile, looking back down to the blade. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re using a similar weapon against someone. You wonder who will be first, your traitorous friend Finnick on the request of the careers, or the careers on the request of Finnick.

You will go back home. And you’ll do whatever it takes.

So, for now you let out a laugh, nose crinkling and catching the eyes of Blaire, not so much Verda. Finnick’s looking over your face, a smile slowly creeping on. That’s right, “A little.”

If you do switch sides, you wonder if it’ll be for Finnick, someone who you’ve known for years but won’t open up to you. Or the boy across from you, with sea blue eyes that make tears well in your own, because they remind you of home. Or maybe the girl that seems to have a heart of gold, and a smile that can lighten the mood.

You all move together one last time before the day is over, to the berry station where the girl from Eleven is hunched over, easily identifying the edible ones. She passes with a perfect score, and flashes the expert a smile. When she realizes that you guys have joined her, the smile fades and she’s quiet as she moves onto identifying leaves and bark.

And Finnick being Finnick, manages to get her to open up. Her name is Thyme, her district mate’s name is Horace--and he’s halfway across the room--and she’s got no one at the moment. It isn’t until they’re all deep into a conversation about their lives when you realize what’s going on. What Finnick’s doing.

The more you seem to learn about these people, the less you picture yourself killing them. You know you wouldn’t be able to kill Finnick even on a good day, not with how his mom knows you and so does the rest of his family. Blaire’s got a brother, Verda has two sisters and Thyme is an only child with no one but her old parents.

All of this settles uneasily in you. There’s always an ulterior motive with people.

Before you can change your mind, you abruptly push yourself up from where you sit, causing Finnick to falter on a few words, slowly dragging them out. He must think you’re stretching or something, because he goes back to what he was saying. But you turn away from all of them, smoothly escaping the rocky station and crossing the gymnasium.

Being friends with everyone is going to get you killed. He’s still young, he doesn’t understand that. He hasn’t had these thoughts drilled into his head since he turned twelve, there’s no way for him to know that. Even after you tried to push him in the right direction, he went right back to what he was thinking before.

But it’s weird, because he agreed to being allies with the careers on the train, so what changed? Was it that conversation with them after the parade yesterday? Because they didn’t even say anything that sent a red flag off in your mind. You would have noted it like you always do, how vicious they are.

They haven’t even shown that side of them yet. Them going to the weapons could be an intimidation factor, but they haven’t shown viciousness just yet.

Trink looks around Lennox at your approach, and even goes as far as to move him out of the way, clearing a space right between him and Eytelle. In front of them is Allio, who’s making the best out of fighting an assistant. He’s incredibly good, and there’s only one time that the assistant touches him.

“Where’s Finnick?” Lennox asks.

“Making his friends.” you offer a smile, “You guys want to show me how it’s done?”

Eytelle lets out a laugh, “Show us what you can do first.”

Your eyes go over the different stations and how they’re organized. Swords are placed with knives. Spears are placed with tridents. Maces are placed with other top-heavy items like axes. You move straight over to the spears, and listen as they loosely follow.

The second that your fingers wrap around the expensive metal of a spear, you remember Anchor telling you not to show off any important skills. Save it for the private session in two days. You look over your shoulder, straight to the gamemakers to see that a couple have got their eyes on you.

You’ve spent the entire day going around and honing skills, and spent lunch with people you didn’t think you’d find yourself next to. Now, you’ve abandoned them and your district mate, heading straight to the careers. There’s a split second where you think that they shouldn’t be surprised, because you were around these guys yesterday, and then you remember that they hadn’t seen that.

The gamemakers are surprised because they thought this year would be an anomaly. The last third of the careers would be off and away, playing with districts they’ve never really dared to go before. Not with the comfort of knowing that the careers will take them in no matter what. Districts One, Two and Four tend to be the powerhouses, why bother to break a streak?

Looking a little further, it seems Finnick and the rest of them are watching you too.

You grip the metal tighter, turning back to the target circle right in front of you. It would be easy to do this. District Four is almost expected to know how to do this already. You just need to find a second skill, a much more special one that will wow the gamemakers. For now, you can throw this one away.

You draw your arm back, eyes on the one farest from you. Your face twists when you tense, throwing it with all the right power, and watching as the tip of the spear guides it nicely through the air, and straight to the red dot in the middle of the target.

“It’s a little off center.” you laugh, because it is. It’s too far to the right, but it’s on the red nonetheless. You turn towards the others, they’ve got smiles on their faces, sharing looks that let you know you did good. Still not vicious, they’re planning something, “Think you can do better?”

“You win on this one.” Trink says, “As for everything else…”

The rest of the training day is spent next to the weapons. You don’t see Finnick again until you’re leaving, and even then neither of you talk. It’s obvious to Mags, Anchor and Elysia that something has happened because the happy air between the two of you is gone. You’re not asked why, but Finnick is when you leave the table to call it a night.

The second day isn’t anywhere near a rinse and repeat of yesterday. At the beginning, Blaire decides that he wants to stay next to you, and it’s kinda hard to shake him when you want to go to the careers. However, going around the gym is a lot less painful with him, because there isn’t a history. After lunch, you’re right back to the careers.

Instead of making fun of you, they teach you the same dangerous skills that they know. You breathe in all in, taking in as much information as you can. You only have tomorrow morning left, after that is the session, the interview, and then the games. Just the thought of them alone gets your heart beating in your chest.

A little bit into the knife-throwing lesson that the expert is giving to you, you learn that it’s easy. When you finally get a shot to throw, just to test the waters, you throw the best you can at the nearest target. When it lands in the middle, you claim beginners luck but know that will be your skill for the gamemakers. After that, you repeatedly fail with throwing and tell the others that you’ll stick to throwing spears.

Just like that, you’ve got what you need to know.

You all mess around on the obstacle course for a while. Climbing ropes and rock walls. You find yourself scaling the rock wall easily. The expert suggests using just the cracks, which are there to provide an extra challenge to those who are good regularly. You slip a few times at the beginning, not knowing how heavy or slippery your fingers are.

But soon, you’re grasping it, and you reach the top of the wall three times in the time it takes Allio to scale the wall once just using the rocks. Impressed, he gives you a high-five and you get praise from the others as well. You’re a lot more prepared than you gave yourself credit for.

Finnick comes over to the station next to yours with Thyme only once. The two of them take a lesson on sword fighting, which Thyme is pretty bad at, but Finnick isn’t too shabby. You take note of this, and pretend like you never watched them in the first place.

Your friends leave early, claiming to be sore from all the climbing. They want to be in their best shape when it comes to tomorrow. You bid them goodbye, and even consider going back early too. You decide against it last minute, thinking that it’ll be a perfect time to work on hand to hand. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Blaire comes up to you, leaning against the pillar as he watches you flip the assistant over your head and onto their back. You struggled with their weight for a moment, rusty on doing it. But you managed to get it over with.

“Where’d you learn that one?” he asks.

“My brothers.” you help the assistant up, “Back before my parents died, we wrestled all the time.” it’s right back to fighting. When you’re pouring sweat and feel the tiredness growing behind your eyes, you stop and get water, still talking to Blaire, “They’re like four and five years older than me, too.”

Blaire laughs, “I did the same with my brother all the time. Until the day I accidentally broke his wrist.”

“Older or younger?”

“He’s older.” Blaire’s got a proud smile on his face, “He couldn’t even be mad at me.”

When you get back to the apartment, you see that Laurel is standing around with Pleurisy and Mags. Finnick had left long before you did, and with the looks that everyone gives you, you can see that they’re upset. Not asking any questions, you tell them you’re skipping dinner and don’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

In the middle of the night, you wake from a nightmare in sweat-soaked bed sheets, clutching your throat as you struggle to breathe. There’s tears gathering in your eyes, and you force yourself to get up from bed and take the hottest shower you’ve ever taken. When you leave the shower, your skin is painfully hot and sensitive to the touch.

You curl up in front of the window, knees pulled to your chest as you try not to cry too loudly. It’s late, and the last thing you’d want is to wake someone up and have to explain why you’re so upset. And despite your best attempts, the door opens anyway, and Finnick comes in without a word. He sits next to you on the floor until sunrise, by then you’ve calmed down and your cheeks feel dry.

When the streets come back alive, he leaves again. You don’t thank him at the breakfast table, you don’t even look at him.

Back at the Training Center, you spend the last couple of hours going around to all the survival stations that you hadn’t bothered to consider beforehand. The careers follow you and even learn a few things too. Once out of the couple of hours of walking around, you find ‘your’ group and ‘Finnick’s’ group at the same station at the same time.

During lunch you hardly eat anything, the nerves sprouting in your stomach and blossoming in your throat. Trink reassures you that you’ll do great, and you spend the rest of the time gently sipping on your water. Then, the private training starts. Lennox is pulled out first, and you all wish him good luck.

After Lennox is Trink, and neither of them return after they’re gone. You watch Allio and then Eytelle go. You’re sitting alone at the table for a while, watching the avoxes clean the table, but leave your water. You think you’re going to spend the time alone, wallowing in nerves when the others come around, Thyme following too.

“I’m going to get a perfect twelve.” Blaire says, Verda lets out a laugh.

“Right.”

“You’d have to do something amazing for that. What have you got under your sleeve?” Finnick asks.

Blaire looks to you, eyebrows raised and motions to the others, “They didn’t see my wicked hand-to-hand skills.”

“Neither did I.” you say, which gets the whole table laughing and a lot of stares because of it.

Soon, Blaire is being called. You all wish him good luck, and you find that it’s the same process as before, watching the people around you get picked off. Verda leaves the table graciously, winking at the three of you before she leaves into the next room. And then Finnick is getting called.

For the first time in a day and a half, you look at him, grabbing his arm before he goes. Finnick turns, green eyes on yours, face set serious. It’s like your own little personal bubble, filled with so much tension that it’s almost funny.

“Score high, for everyone back home.”

Finnick nods, “You too.”

You let him go, and watch as he leaves the room. Thyme doesn’t say anything to you, and you’re glad for it. She’s their friend, not yours. And you don’t even want to bother trying at this point. You’re tired, you have today and then tomorrow, and then you’re going to be fighting everyday to stay alive.

“Boy trouble?” you hear a voice call from across the room. When you look over, the District Seven girl is sitting on top of the table, feet on the chair. It’s so incredibly rude to do that, but you’ve only got so much time left to be kids.

You think her name is Cass, you’ve heard the boy say it a few times in passing. Cass and Mac, tributes of District Seven.

“Not really.” you lean your head up and against your hand, “It looks like that, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda.” A boy says, he’s from Six. He’s stuck next to Mac since the beginning, and you think you saw them having a few private moments. Amos, you think. You can never be sure at this point.

“I wish I had boy troubles.” Elodia, Five, says, she smiles at the ceiling, “All the boys at home used to drool over me.”

“Right.” the boy from her district says, “You were a loser.”

She shoots him a glare, “Watch it.”

“Watch it.” he mocks, and she pushes herself up from where she sits. He’s pretty far away, a whole two tables away. They’ve been apart for the most part since the first day.

Pasithea doesn’t want a fight, so she advises you all to keep quiet for the rest of the time. It’s not really bothersome to you. You finish your water, use the bathroom and still have a minute or two to spare before you’re called into your session. You pop every possible bone in your body so you aren’t stiff, and head right into it.

With shoulders squared, you walk into the room. You’re informed that you have fifteen minutes to show any skill of your choosing, and then you’re allowed to start. Without a moment of hesitation, you wander your way over to the throwing knives. And as you start, you can hear a few laughs.

You hope they underestimate you. It’ll just make this so much better.

Looking over the knives they have laid out, you take your time balancing them between your fingers and feeling the engraved handles. You try to find one that’s not so distracting, that’ll fit just right into your palm when you throw it. Again and again, you pick them up and narrow them down.

When you finally find the set you’re looking for, you turn towards the dummy that’s hanging from the ceiling. A morbid sight, really. And you repress laughter, because that was your original thought on a special skill. It’s almost a sign.

You take a deep breath, stretch your shoulder. You know that no matter what, they have to watch you. Knowing that they’re staring at you isn’t going to mess up, it’s the fact that you know you have to perform well. It’s exactly what Finnick said a few days ago.

Finally, you draw your arm back without notice and throw the knife as hard as you can, exactly what you had done with the spear yesterday. It flips once, and then twice. You’re sure that’s going to fuck it up, until they seem to slow down, bigger intervals before it flips again.

The knife hits the heart of the dummy with a dull thud. You throw a second knife, watching as that one lands in the stomach, and then another in the knee. You use up all but one knife, saving the last one for the spear throw target. The dummy is incredibly impressive, since you had only missed twice out of the nine that you threw. One was too far above the shoulder, and one was right between the legs.

The spear is going to be much farther, a larger distance to cover. If you thought throwing before was hard, this one nearly looks impossible. You stretch your shoulder again, take a deep breath, and then throw. It crosses the distance easily in an arc, landing right on the red middle.

Once the gamemakers are sure you’re done, they dismiss you. And you think you saw a few impressed expressions, which eases your anxious thoughts, and allows you to move onto the next worry.

Tomorrow, the interview.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

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kunoichi-ume · 3 years

Text

Life Day Meme

@cinlat tagged me to do this and probably thought I would just do my mains... instead here is almost every one of my ocs - I did skip a few I haven’t developed much in my mind/in writing. Explinations are under the cut, they arent long but there are a lot of characters to cover but you know what? This is the most creative thing I have done other than making art projects for 4/5 year old kids in months and by far the most I have written so I am feeling pretty good atm. I may actually manage to get past this writer’s block.

Buys deep and thoughtful presents

Caoimhe is the most thoughtful gift giver ever, she was raised to only have the essential possessions and that turned her into someone who only gives a present she knows will be wanted, needed and appreciated for the long term.

Edin looks like the last man you’d expect to be a master gift shopper but he loves showing how well he knows the people in his life, notably he is proud of surprising Naadia with a lovely silver tea service set she never told him she needed (and having it delivered to her home on Maanan she never told him about…)

Leena is the responsible twin who takes care of the meal, the decorations and always has her shopping done a month in advance. Deena would love to one up her someday but that day hasn’t happened yet.

Mald doesn’t have many people in his life to buy gifts for and takes great pleasure in finding the prefect ones.

Nuada like his father takes after his mom, he would never leave something as important as presents to the last minute. Especially after meeting Rasiel and wanting to make up for the terrible holidays of her childhood it became more important than ever to always get the right thing.

Buys presents the night before

Darvic is the man running for presents on the day of, desperate to find anywhere still open.

Izara, not because she forgot but because it took that long for someone to impress on her that it’s important to exchange gifts. She just doesn’t see the purpose or appeal.

Markus gets so caught up in the activities of the season, hoversleigh rides, winter wonderland dates with his wife, carol concerts, he just sort of forgets.

Seleshi has a system, a system based on panic and adrenaline and somehow always makes Vette and his sisters happy with what he got for them.

Goes overboard on decoration

Hendrick is a red and green bleeding lover of the holiday and believes there is never enough lights. Those insane music coordinated houses on holotube? His has the most views and likes.

Keeleigh doesn’t do anything halfway and the holiday is not an exception. The ship is hard to live in when she drags out all her decorations but she is the Captain and well, she does whatever she wants to.

Naadia is listed here not because she goes overboard on the décor but because she does on the meal. She is a gourmet chef and loves any event she gets to cook for. Hell she cooks for one night stands, if they preformed well enough to earn it that is.

Rugama like her wardrobe, she doesn’t know where the reasonable line is and no one in her life is going to say “no you don’t need another life day tree” to the woman who never got to celebrate even her birthday until earning her freedom as an adult.

Tuathal is his mother’s child in more ways than one and decorating his home to the nines is just one of them. He loves the holiday but the trappings and getting to curl up in front of the fire while music plays with Ma’at makes everything in his world feel right.

Is banned from helping with the food

Aubriex both doesn’t know how to cook but has… questionable taste in food combinations. Her family has learned she is best off bringing the paper cups and ice.

Deena has no idea how to cook (I’ve even written her messing up scrambled eggs for Doc… so yeah no holiday means coming from this Jedi).

Zaria didn’t blow up the food but also learned that “more fire = faster food” doesn’t work either.

Ze doesn’t see a difference between MREs and home cooked food and putting him in charge of a meal is asking for dehydrated nutrient bars and it’s your fault for trusting him.

Wears a novelty jumper

Dubaku wears bright, garish sweaters whenever he isn’t at a bar or working, he has entirely novelty outfits not just jumpers and all his favorites light up and make music.

Eira takes great pleasure in embarrassing Quinn with her choices, going so far as to get matching ones for him and Vette and insisting on yearly “family” pictures

Meleri goes out off her way to find the frilliest, girlish most over the top jumper she can every year.

Noara loves the holiday and leans into it hard once she moves away from her Jedi teachings enough to enjoy it. Holiday outfits make her so happy.

Dina will wear it, but more because it was a gift – likely from Ari – and because she is always cold.

Gets overly competitive playing dejarik

Briec has never had a good holiday, or any other sort of wholesome, family oriented event, but it’s a good time to take advantage of drunk celebrants that are looser than normal with their credits.

Juli loves the holiday, a warm loving family helps, but isn’t interested in setting up the décor or making food. However she loves taking her “uncle” Aric to the cleaners and making her brother regret accepting her challenges.

Kai loves seeing how far she can go using the Force to cheat. She usually returns her winnings, or donates them, so she doesn’t see it at a bad thing.

Refuses to leave their quarters until its all over

Holidays have little appeal to Dela and she doesn’t participate unless her bestie drags her out.

Jurr is hard because without Kadu she belongs here, avoiding the day and pretending it doesn’t matter that she is alone. With him she is all about the day and the sweaters he buys her, but isn’t good at cooking, or gift giving but he never lets her forget entirely.

Kuqi is jaded in all the ways, holidays hold no interest for her. She just wants to forget how things used to be.

Mags isn’t sure what the point of the holiday is, conflicting views from being originally a Jedi initiate to a Mandalorian foundling have left her ready to wash her hands of it and find some work to do instead.

Nerra just wants to spend the day in bed with Andronikos, is that too much to ask? The next person to wish her a “happy life day” is going to lose a limb.

#My ocs #most of them #Life Day Meme

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lampmeeting · 4 years

Note

If you still need a toki/mags prompt, can I suggest 40 or 42? (I made this for you / is this ok?) I'd love to see anything anyone else picks instead too so don't worry about this one if there are others!

ohh thank you!! “is this ok?” grabbed at me immediately :O

this one gets a bit lewd and a little sad........sorry...(but it’s sweet!)

also post-doomstar, but maybe like 3 or 4 months after the other fic (sorry it’s mostly in magnus’ apartment again haha, the poor man doesn’t get out much)

=+=

A kiss on his way out the door became a regular occurrence. A quick press of lips, a soft sigh, a softer smile, and then Toki would head home. Magnus didn’t know what the fuck it meant, hadn’t really felt up to analyzing it yet. He just knew he liked it when it happened, and obviously it was something Toki wanted to do since he initiated every single time. Even so, once Magnus was left alone in his apartment, there would come that not-so-small voice in the back of his head screaming doubts at him, as it liked it do.

After what you’ve done, you don’t deserve this. Especially not from him.

The next time Toki flew over, Magnus had promised to take him to that really nice aquarium over in Scottsdale. Toki had been talking about it for weeks and texting him pictures from their website. “They gots the movings stairs with a fish tanks all arounds you!” And he was right, they did, and Toki dragged Magnus up and down that escalator at least a dozen times.

Well, maybe dragged was a strong word. Aggressively encouraged, perhaps. Magnus wasn’t really a fish guy, but he had to admit his heart swelled with affection as Toki stared up at the curved glass of the tunnel, pointing out fish as he saw them and tugging at Magnus’ arm.

“Looks at that ones! Oh oh! That ones! And those ones! Oh, wowee!”

The touch pools were Toki’s favorite, though. He flinched with a squeak each time he poked a grippy sea anemone, and he gazed with wonder at the scuttling underside of a horseshoe crab as one of the handlers showed it off to him and a bunch of gathered kids. He tried to get Magnus to pet the stringrays but every time one started to glide close Magnus lost his nerve and popped his hand out of the water to a chorus of children’s laughter. He really wasn’t a fish guy. Still, the brief humiliation seemed worth it if only to hear Toki’s laughter like music over the other voices.

After a visit to the gift shop, they rode the bus back to the Home for Wayward Musicians where Magnus was still set up. Things were...better, he supposed. The job was good. He wouldn’t say rewarding exactly, but it was whatever. And he wasn’t being kept tabs on so strictly anymore, had more freedoms. Still didn’t have a car, but Toki had convinced Offdensen to have a proper lock installed in the door and to remove the security cameras. Dude wasn’t even their manager anymore and he was still taking care of shit. Magnus understood that inability to walk away.

Once inside, Toki took a running dive onto the sofa, hugging his new stuffed whale, sprawled out on his back. “This was the best days evers!”

Magnus peered down at him, resting elbows on the back cushions, exhausted and achy in his chest, but content. “Glad you had fun, buddy.”

“And you hads fun, toos?”

He did, actually. “Yeah.”

Toki smiled, smooshing his cheek into the fuzzy whale. “That’s good to hears.”

Magnus realized he was smiling back and cleared his throat, ears warm. “You wanna get a pizza or something? I dunno about you, but that jellyfish funnel cake in the food court didn’t really do it for me.”

Toki’s eyes twinkled. “Yes please! Ooo!” He sat straight up. “Cans we gets that place whats has the reallies good, um, tir--tirs--um, tirmas--”

“Tiramisu? You mean Parlor?”

“Yeps!” Just as Magnus was about to fret about the cost, Toki added, “I wants to pays for it, toos.”

“What? No way, you’re visiting me. You’re not paying for dinner.” That hurt to say because Parlor was fucking expensive as hell, but it was the principle of the damn thing. He was trying to be a less shitty person, after all. And besides, Toki was only able to come see him every couple weeks, so in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t too terrible.

“But you pays for the aquariums,” Toki said. “And the bus. Ands my whale.”

Magnus felt like he was arguing over the check at the end of a date. No, no, honey, of course you’re not paying. Put your wallet away, this is my treat.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re my guest and I wasn’t raised in a fucking barn. I’ve got this, so don’t you even--uh, what’re you doing?” He almost laughed. “Are you texting right in the middle of me fucking talking to you?”

Toki was on his phone, tapping away with his thumbs, the whale nestled in his arms. His tongue poked out and Magnus fell silent, watching it play across his wet lips. Oh, that was...oh.

After a moment, Toki held up his screen with a smug grin. “Ha! Reads it and weeps!”

Magnus blinked hard to clear the daze from his head and squinted. Order Completed - Thank You! Oh, that crafty bastard had ordered the pizza online! “Hey, not cool, man. You can’t just do that!”

Toki sat there and giggled up at him. “But I dids it!”

The pizza came (Toki had picked Magnus’ favorite, the margherita, damn him) and they ate and watched Dirty Harry and had a few beers. Magnus was still feeling a little gripey about Toki getting the upper hand, but about halfway through the movie Toki finished off the last bite of his tiramisu and reclined into Magnus’ shoulder, and that improved his mood more than he wanted to admit.

“I likes this movie.”

“It’s a classic for a reason,” Magnus said, casually throwing his arm around the guy. Couch cuddles were a normal thing for them now--just something else he refused to think about too hard. It was enough to just enjoy it.

As he settled in a little closer, Toki made a small, relaxed sound in the back of his throat that could’ve easily doubled as a moan, and Magnus’ heart throbbed with a weird skip. His breath caught for a second and heat pooled heavy in his hips. Fuck, he was not doing this right now. He was too old to get hot and bothered just from the sound of someone’s voice. And it didn’t help that Toki kept shifting and rubbing up on him.

Thoughts racing, he traced fingers up and down Toki’s arm and tried to keep his breathing steady for the rest of the movie, barely noticing when Toki snickered at the tits in the topless bar or gasped as Harry dodged bullets fired through the roof of the school bus. When it ended Toki yawned into his whale and announced that he should probably have the jet brought around and start the long flight back home.

Magnus suddenly realized he didn’t want Toki to go at all. Sometimes he had thoughts like that, but never this strong. He wanted to hold Toki snug to him and tell him to call the jet off. He wanted to watch another movie. Play a fucking game. Talk. Anything to keep him in the apartment. But he didn’t say anything, just let Toki get up from his arms and stretch until his fit stomach peeked out between shirt and pants.

He averted his eyes, saw the whale still left on the couch. “You taking this guy?”

“Nopes, he can lives with you. He keeps you company whiles I’m gone so you don’ts gets lonely, okay?"

Magnus’ throat tightened just a bit. “Okay.”

They walked to the door and Toki grabbed him around the middle in a loose hug, grinning up at him. “It was goods to sees you, Magnus. You ams doins, um, reallies great, and I’ms, um.” The grin twitched a little and he went kinda pink high up on his cheekbones. “I’ms prouds of you. S-Sorries, that sounds silly, I thinks...”

“No,” Magnus said quickly, “it’s, uh. It’s fine. That’s good to hear, actually. You, uh--” He swallowed. “--you make it easier, y’know.”

Toki’s eyes went wide and round and looked like two twin aquariums in his head. “Toki...helps?”

“Well...yeah, of course you do, buddy. Of course you do.”

“Oh.” Toki trembled against him. “Ohh, wowee.” Then he craned his neck up and pushed his lips to Magnus’, kissing him firmly. He was delicious, tasting of rich coffee and sugary marscapone. Magnus savored it and waited for him to pull away like he usually did, but Toki twisted fingers in his shirt and moaned and didn’t let him go.

Holy shit, this was new.

And Magnus wanted it.

He reached to cup Toki’s jaw delicately with one hand, his other sliding down to hold him at the small of his back. Toki shuddered and his mouth fell open, deepening the kiss, and he forced Magnus backwards until they thudded into the wall.

“Oof--”

“Sorries.”

“S’fine.”

They continued their crushing kiss and Magnus drew Toki’s hips against his own. Toki gasped, rocked into him, and fuck the guy was already hard. All right, so this was certainly a thing that was happening.

Magnus slipped his hands under the hem of Toki’s shirt to grip at his waist, marveling as core muscles flexed and moved beneath his fingers. How was he in such good shape? What did he do? Magnus tried to think back to when he was that young, all the energy in the world, could get his dick up at the drop of a hat. Better times, man. Could’ve done without the raging smack habit, but, y’know, live and learn.

Fuck, Toki wasn’t slowing down. His breath was fast and needful as Magnus raked hands over him everywhere he could touch. “Magnus--” The kiss broke for a second, long enough for Toki’s pleas to leak out. “More--”

Magnus brushed lips teasingly along Toki’s jaw, his earlobe, down the length of his neck, earning a shaky “oh, fucks”. The earthy smell of the day’s sweat filled his nose, but also the distant scent of strawberries. God damn, was that his shampoo? It made his mouth water and his senses swoon. As he reached the base of his throat, Toki let his head tip back into Magnus’ waiting hand, surrendering to him with a shivering groan.

All right, now was Magnus was hard. He could get off just listening to this. But as he took a moment to adjust himself in his jeans, reality, unfortunately, caught up to him. Every doubt he’d been stuffing down, every nagging feeling that lingered in the wake of Toki’s goodbye kisses, they crowded in on him now and demanded to be dealt with. He pulled back and Toki rubbed bleary eyes, obviously confused.

“What’s wrongs?”

Magnus tried to steady his breath. He didn’t know how to explain himself. “Just, uh. I dunno, Toki. Is this...okay?”

Toki seemed to sober a bit at the question. “Is whats okay?”

“What we’re doing.”

“Magnus.” Toki heaved a frustrated sigh. “Is totallies normal for two mens to kiss each others and be--”

“I know that,” Magnus said, and he couldn’t help the slight laugh that huffed out of him. “I know that very well, trust me. No, I meant, like, us specifically. Is this okay for us.”

“I thinks sos. Why wouldn’ts it?”

“Because of, well--” Over Toki’s shirt, he pressed a palm to his back where he knew the knife scar still marked his skin. “This.”

Toki had shown him the scar a few months ago, was almost excited to. He’d said the lights had made him heal faster and better than he should’ve, and the scar was only barely raised and felt smooth to the touch. Magnus still didn’t know what he thought about lights and gods and prophecies. It all felt so far away from him, and when he thought about what he had seen that night, the star and the bolts of white electricity, Toki felt far away too, even moreso than he was already.

“Oh,” said Toki. “Right. That.”

“Yeah.”

“I know we don’ts...talks about it very much,” Toki said, looking down and fiddling with the buttons on Magnus’ shirt. They really should talk about it more, Magnus resolved. It would be good for both of them. “But, um. Evens though you hurt me and dids bad things, ams givins you the second chance. I know you wasn’ts my friends before, but you ams my friends now. And you makes me happy, and I cares about you, so I’ms not gonna gives up on you.”

Magnus’ heart beat in his throat. That just might’ve been the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. “I...care about you, too.” He tried to squeeze out more words, like thank you for one, but there was an honest to god possibility he’d start to choke up.

Toki seemed to understand his difficulty and smiled as he brought Magnus’ hand back to the curve of his cheek. “Kiss me agains.”

“If youre sure it’s okay.”

“Is more than okays.”

This time it was tender and unhurried, still just as heated but without the frantic urgency, very unlike any kiss Magnus has ever experienced. There was a love in it, something gentle, something that made him ache so sweetly inside and at the same time catch fire.

“I don’ts wants to go,” Toki sighed into his mouth.

“Then don’t go,” Magnus said, burning, their foreheads touching. “I’m so fucking tired of missing you when you’re gone. Stay with me tonight? Please?” To say please, to ask for such a thing aloud so blatantly, it was like cracking his chest open all over again, exposing his heart.

Toki nodded, rubbing their noses together, and he took Magnus by the wrists and drew him away from the door. “Lets me takes you to bed.”

“Toki...”

“Lets me takes care of you.”

Magnus allowed himself to be led. And in the comforting darkness of the bedroom, with his arms curled over Toki’s strong shoulders, he allowed himself to be loved.

#metalocalypse #magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #magtok #hammertooth #my writing #i haven't slept in like 36 plus hours please excuse any typos #i thiiiiink it's okay though #also i'm gonna be posting this to my ao3 like everything else i've been doing #i'm HeyMurphy over here #oh and thank you again for the great prompt!!!!#Anonymous

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bardic-inspo · 4 years

Note

🌻🌿 :)

Thank you for the ask! :)

Answers are for my SoSu, Natasha Sokolova.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

Seeing people look after their loved ones warms Nat’s heart. There’s a lot of cruelty in the world, and it can be hard to decipher who to trust. This is usually her first indicator that someone might be worthwhile. Examples include seeing Nick’s kindness towards Ellie and Piper looking after her little sister. Nat guesses, by watching his behavior, that MacCready has a kid before he actually volunteered that information. That commonality is what initially convinces them to stick with each other.

Nat loves to add fuel to someone’s passion (Mac’s love for comics, Piper’s passion for writing/journalism, Nick’s detective work). It gets her giddy to see someone she cares about be giddy. When she finds out Preston wanted to learn more about science as a kid, she starts anonymously leaving textbooks and science mags she finds at his door.

Other little things that make her happy: finding flower seeds, new music, and movies from pre-war times. With help from Sturges and Tinker Tom, they get a TV working at some point in one of the settlements. She’s over the moon whenever they find a new, intact recording she can share with her friends/family.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

Little touches are a big thing for Nat. Before they come close to admitting feelings, and really before it’s anything to admit to, Nat and Mac start holding hands. It’s just brief little moments, a quick squeeze to convey a reassuring presence. Even now that they’re together, it’s a common sort of ritual for them, especially when one (or both) of them are on edge/nervous about something.

When Nat can’t get to Mac and she’s in a situation that’s got her scared, she’ll grip the toy soldier he gave her instead. It’s always in her pocket. It just about melts Mac when he finds out. Similarly, he acquires a really faded old photograph of Nat at some point, and keeps it folded in his breast pocket wherever he goes. It’s sort of like saying “hey, I always want a piece of you with me.”

On Mac’s end, he’s a bit heavier with PDA. When he can tell Nat’s having a hard time, and it’s not something he can fix, he’ll initiate snuggles. On a macro level, everything they do to save the other’s kid is probably the biggest gesture of affection they could give to each other.

In her other relationships, it takes Nat a while to course correct on some of the mistakes she makes. Keeping promises, even if it takes her a long time, is how she ends up proving to those people that she does care. She’ll also drop anonymous gifties here and there that she finds on her travels if something reminds her of her friends.

#natasha sokolova #mactasha #my oc #fanfic #bring the gasoline

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pyotatochip · 5 years

Text

just like dancing | hyunjin x reader

what’s up losers. this one goes out to @starhhj thanks for always hurting me so good <3

just like dancing | hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader wordcount: 4k inspired by: sidekick by walk the moon summary: meeting up with a photographer for a day of modelling turns into making a maybe forever friend.

ur a model

well. aspiring model.

ur instagram is a buncha pictures that u make ur friends take of you whenever y'all hang out

u have booked a couple photoshoots and submitted them to magazines

u even got published a couple times!!!!

not in anything big, just photography journals and portraiture mags

BUT IT'S SOMETHING!!!!

photoshoots are hella expensive tho fuckin. rip ur wallet

so u join a facebook group, which is something u never thought u would do

the idea was that aspiring photographers and aspiring models would meet up, get experience, and maybe make professional relationships

you? young and cute

all these photographers? 36 yr old dudes

they always invite you to their studios in their houses

to do artsy half nude shoots

so u were pretty unwilling to meet up with most of them

(understandable)

but then this one schmuck posts in the group, just when u so happen to be looking for weekend plans

“looking for a model this saturday, autumn themed shoot at han river. the leaves are really pretty right now, i wanna catch them before too many fall”

han river was a pretty public place, so u DEFINITELY felt safer

and like, ur school is pretty close to there, so ur familiar with the area

u comment “i'm free all day, give me a time and i'll meet you there”

after it posted, you clicked on his profile and

fuck

he was not 36

and he was CUTE

u freaked the fuck out

this kid looked like he was ur age. and he was hot.

should u delete the comment?

why would u do that?

bc ur nervous?

why are u nervous?

bc the photographer is a hottie?

is that really a good excuse?

before u could debate with urself much longer, ur comment received a like and u got a private message

hyunjin: hi! u look great! meet at the main gates of yeouido park at 9am?

“u look great!”

“U LOOK GREAT!”

(jooe sunbaenim is quaking)

screech

you: so early! okay! what kinda look are u going for?

hyunjin: haha i wanna get that fall morning light!!! i’d like it to be pretty autumnal. warm colors, maybe a sweater/scarf/jacket combo? if u have something like that. minimal makeup & hair, if you're into that stuff. hopefully that's all okay (^ム^)

you: sounds good! see you saturday!

you spend the next few days at school literally just thinking about how ur meeting up with a cutie on saturday

u rlly dont know what to do with urself

i show ur friend a pic of him and she's like “HOOYKY FUXKJGN GODJ”

which was basically your initial reaction too

but then shes like “he looks familiar??? is he a model too???”

u have literally no idea but it's completely possible

like, it's a waste to have that face exclusively behind the camera

and suddenly the two of u are like. obsessively going through his instagram bc WHAT THE FUCK he’s like….. REALLY GOOD

like, he does a lot of portraits, but the focus isn't necessarily always the person in the photo

the composition and background are just as important in every shot and it…. shakes u

there’s a few pictures of him too, all of which are v aesthetic

but how could they not be??? have u seen his face????

he also tags literally every person in his pictures whether they’re models or just his friends while they’re hanging out

and he photocreds everyone who takes pics of him!!

you are literally…. fallin’ in love

because he was cute and had a good eye and wrote cute captions and was so humble!!!

ur friend is like “wow we stan a pro”

“he looks seriously familiar tho, right?”

she's like “yeah i'm confused why have i seen his face before”

and ur shook bc like… if u had seen this boy irl there's no way you would forget how cute he is

finally,,, it's the weekend

you get on the train and head to han river early in the morning, dressed up and made up for your ~autumn photoshoot~

as soon as you get to the gates ur like.. holy fuck

it's so pretty

the leaves are a mix of orange and red and green and there's a couple dusting the ground too

no wonder hyunjin wanted to shoot here

ur kinda aimlessly wandering around the gate when u suddenly spot

him

he’s wearing a bomber jacket and has a camera bag over his shoulder

and his neck is literally at a 90° angle while he's looking at his phone

ur like…. that cant be ok

u get a notif while ur walking up to him and its a message from him asking if u were on ur way

“actually, i can't make it”

he looks up and immediately laughs. “hi! y/n?”

u wave. “hi hyunjin!! nice to meet you!!”

y'all exchange pleasantries and he's suddenly like

“your outfit is literally perfect” he steps back to look at u. “exactly what i had in mind”

u put up a peace sign. he laughs again.

uh oh

u really like his laugh

and his smile

and his everything

uh oh

he leads you further into the park where there's less people and more trees

“i brought another jacket and a couple of scarves in case u wanted something different” u say as he's helping you take off ur backpack

“oooooo a professional”

“not even”

he asks you if he can take a boomerang of u for his instagram story and u do a lil twirl

he gasps

“that was cute!!!!”

he giggles while he's posting it

what is with this kid and his giggles

u cant

if he keeps doin it at this rate, it'll probably be the death of u

which is

cool

he puts your backpack on and pulls his camera out of his bag. “let's take some pics in this outfit and then i'll peek at the other options. i like this look a lot”

and then… he just starts taking pictures

u literally laugh

“where do you want me?”

“wherever,” he goes, checking the pics real fast. “i tend to go for candid shots”

suddenly,,, his entire instagram flashes in your brain

the pictures of people laughing and mid walk and reading books

u thought all the models were just. really comfy and professionals and shit

IT WAS ALL A LIE

“so uhhh…” u literally dont know what to do

u have Never done a shoot Like This

“just walk,” he said. “look around. i'll follow”

you: no fear

hyunjin: just walk

you: one fear

u nervously laugh again and he's hitting his shutter like A MILLION TIMES A SECOND

“okay…… i guess i'll walk then”

u push his shoulder while u walk past him bc he's cheesin at u way too hard for u to handle

“ow”

“that didn't hurt”

“it hurt my heart :(“

ur walking backwards and laughing and he's just. only looking at you through his camera.

so. u wander.

u take a lovely morning walk down the pretty paths at han river

u really were so scared that u would be completely directionless, but hyunjin ends up asking you to do specific things also

“go up on those rocks”

“i'm literally wearing slippery ass boots do you want me to die”

“do it for the shot, y/n”

sIGHHHHHH

so ur up on some rocks trying not to fall into a fucking river

and when hyunjin shows u the pics he takes….

okay

yeah

he was right

the entire time he was shooting, he would just strike up conversation to make you comfy

asking how long you've been pursuing modelling

if u wanna do it as a career or if its just a hobby

about ur family

about ur pets

(he asks a lot about pets)

ur sitting on a bench and he's crouched a few feet away to get those ~angles~ when he asks

“where do u go to school?”

“kyunggi”

hyunjin gasps. “no way! me too!”

you fuckin ALMOST DIE

because u fuckin brainblast and have a recovered memory of seeing hyunjin In Your School's Uniform in the lunchroom and suddenly IT ALL MAKES SENSE

you hop up from the bench and like. YELL.

“OKAY I THOUGHT YOU LOOKED REALLY FAMILIAR ARE YOU KIDDING”

he stands and literally screams and u are. so shocked. “i thought you looked really familiar too!!!! i figured i just had seen your pics on the facebook group!!!! i highkey stalked ur instagram bc i couldn't figure out where i knew you from!!”

okay, wig

he stalked you also which is….. great

“what year are you???”

“i'm a junior!”

you push him.

“boi what the fuck! me too!”

“no way!!!” he's laughing “that's crazy!”

he literally pulls out his phone and opens instagram

u have never seen a person use instagram stories as much as this bitch

like, he intermittently pulls out his phone to get shots for his story

u almost threw hands when u were sliding around on some stupid wet rocks bc he was like “JUMP AGAIN I NEED IT FOR A BOOMERANG”

he does this cute lil hair flip and adjusts his bangs before he starts recording and u…. kinda wanna cry

“I KNEW Y/N LOOKED FAMILIAR”

he spins so ur in the shot with him and puts his arm over your shoulders

“WE'RE LITERALLY IN THE SAME YEAR AT THE SAME SCHOOL”

u laugh out loud

he laughs with you and u have to cover ur mouth so an uwu doesn't fall out

u try not to focus on his literally perfect eye smile as he hunches over his phone to post to his story

like,,,

those crescents

are so cute

and he has this lingering grin every time he laughs

and like. wow. lips. amirite. ladies and gents.

“i cant believe u go to kyunggi,” u say. bc u cant.

“what are the odds. out of all the people in that group, we end up meeting up”

u almost made a joke about it being destiny but then u were like oo no thats creepy dont say that

then hyunjins gasps

and u look at him

and he just looks at you wide eyed

and fucking

whispers

“destiny”

you scream laugh

he's laughing too

but on a real level ur like why would that have been super creepy if u said it but it was cute as hell (and a little heart fluttery) when he did?

he goes on saying it's crazy that you had never had any classes together over the years

“or any clubs,” u said

“yeah!!! what clubs do you do??”

“photography! which is why i'm shocked!!!”

hyunjin gasps again

wtf is up with this boy and his gasps

“i was gonna do photography but they meet the same days as dance!”

BITCH

WHAT THE FUCK

“I DONT DO DANCE BC THEY MEET THE SAME DAYS AS PHOTOGRAPHY”

his entire jaw drops off his damn face

“YOU DANCE TOO?”

“I’M JUST AS SHOCKED AS YOU ARE”

u literally can't believe

“we've been barely missing each other all this time when we could have been best friends :(“

oh ow

ouch hyunjin

that got u right in ur weak heart

like literally u might have a heart condition now bc he just hit u with the “we could have been best friends”

“sorry i already have a best friend”

DGDGSH WHY DID YOU SAY THAT

then he's laughing and ur like… oh fuck wheew

“well, sorry, i'm replacing them now. we have to catch up on lost time.”

and honestly………. he's right

number 1: y'all are both photography nerds

even tho you have begun to skew on the modelling side of it, u always loved taking pictures of scenery and u knew way too much about how cameras worked

and hyunjin really was like a pro

u had watched him adjust settings on his camera for white balance and exposure and everything

and judging by his instagram, he set himself up for some flawless editing too

number 2: y'all are both dance nerds

he tells u basically all his friends are in the dance club and have formed a lil dance crew bc of it

u say u used to take classes when u were younger but now u just go to the gym and hide in a practice room for a few hours every week

he does hip hop! which is so predictable but u still act all surprised

u tell him u used to do ballet but ur much more into urban dance these days

number 3: y'all both don't know how to stop laughing

like literally if either of you do anything remotely funny the other one is fucked for five minutes

ur pretty sure 90% of the pics hyunjin was taking were of you covering your face because ur literally GUFFAWING

and like, y'all ain't even that funny

but the more you laugh the less funny shit has to be for you to be crying

hyunjin told u to stop making him laugh bc his fingers were getting weak and he didnt wanna drop his camera

you, trying not to giggle: its ok u have a strap around ur neck u can drop it

hyunjin, tears flowing freely: PLEASE LET ME BREATHE

number 4: y'all both LOVE UR PETS

like idk man he tells u about kkami and u freak the fuck out because he's just SO EXCITED ABT HIS PUP

and hyunjin almost ditches u right then n there when u say ur more of a cat person BUT he forgives u because ur cat is literally named hot dog

this is highkey the most fun you've ever had on a shoot

like, you feel so comfortable with hyunjin

and every time you take breaks to peek at the pictures he's been taking

u like … literally stop breathing

he's so talented ;;

you eventually swap jackets and scarves and wander around more

and literal hours later hyunjin's like

“are u hungry”

u stare. “always”

he laughs. “do you wanna go to the convenience store and make ramen”

“i thought you'd never ask”

so y'all go to the conbini and pick out ya fave ramen packets

(and some chips and candy bc u have literally no self control)

hyunjin really tries to buy your food for you but you yell at him while ur checking out bc Boi. No.

the cashier: watched the two of you look at food and bump into each other constantly, touching each others arms and giggling the whole time

you: leave me the fuck alone hwang hyunjin or i'm calling the cops!!!

the cashier: ????????

u make ur ramen at the handy dandy hot water dispenser and carefully bring it back to a seating area in the park

“be careful it's hot!!!”

“hyunjin please, u act like i'm not a ramen pro”

“i just didnt want u to burn ur cute lil mouth, damn”

ur entire being goes WEE WOO WEE WOO

u literally almost choke on nothing and you just cough to try to play it off

hyunjin is having none of it

he's laughing his ass off

“wow that got you better than i expected”

“fuck off hwang”

he stands up to leave and u laugh and grab his sleeve

he's giggling before he even sits again

y'all eat ur ramen and chat more about school and hobbies

he tells u about this one time he almost got admitted into a cult

you: wow… pretty AND dumb

hyunjin, flustered: h-hey!

you tell him about how your cat is a rescue and his heart melts

there's a minute where you're staring at nothing in the distance eating chips

and hyunjin is just staring at you

his brain: hoe dont do it

his heart: doki doki

his brain: oh my god

“hey… are you still free all day?”

u look at him. “yeah, why?”

he opens a bag of gummies. “i'm supposed to meet up with some friends to go bowling in like an hour but i wanna keep hanging out. wanna come?”

you groan. “i'm so bad at bowling”

“we can be on a team,” he offers you a gummy bear and you take it. “i'll carry you.”

pls explain why an image of him holding you bridal style popped into ur head sgdhhf

“haha okay. as long as ur friends aren't lame.”

“they are, but i'll be there so it's fine”

“fair enough. i'm in.”

so y'all hop on a bus and head to the bowling alley that (apparently) hyunjin and his buddies frequent

(he's playing pickles with you in the back of the bus and you're giggling so hard that ur struggling to tell him to cut it the fuck out so you don't disturb the people sitting next to you)

((but also feeling his entire body press against you isn't the worst))

you've been to this bowling alley before

it's popular among younger folks because it's cheap lol

the two of you walk in and one of his friends immediately starts yelling

u freeze “dude i thought u said we were gonna be early”

he looked at his phone “we literally are”

this blonde kid is yelling hyunjin's name and ur wide eyed while u follow

“UR LATE”

“I'M NOT”

“IT'S 2:20”

“WE SAID 2:30!!!”

“TELL THAT TO LITERALLY EVERYONE WHO SHOWED UP AT TWO!!!!!”

hyunjin looks over to the group of his friends already bowling a game “oh”

u bust out laughing

hyunjin gets all flustered like “i-i thought it was 2:30!!!”

“who's ur friend, my perpetually late son”

“o-oh,,, this is y/n”

his friend sticks out his hand for you to shake. “hi, i'm chan. were you the model today?”

you grin “are you saying i look like a model?”

“OKAY!” hyunjin grabs your shoulders and you giggle when chan stutters without responding while hyunjin drags you to the counter to rent shoes and pay for a game

hyunjin is: flustered

he's all embarrassed because he was late and got yelled at by his fake dad

and then u went and,,,, u were so smooth with chan

he wondered if you had been flirting with him all morning because you actually liked him or,,, ur just a flirt

he grabbed your wallet out of your hand and shoved it in his pocket so that he could pay for your shoes and game for you.

“hyunjin!!!!!”

“you wouldn't let me buy you food and you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me if you argue i swear i'll throw you down a lane”

you pout but you let him pay

and ur heart,,, it goes off, dude

like,,,, maybe,,,,,,, u would let him throw you sgdgshsh

y'all walk over to the lane his friends are on, bowling shoes in hand

“y/n!”

your face lights tf up. “seungmin!!”

hyunjin looks between the two of you probably six times while you hug before finally going “w-what”

you and seungmin look at each other, then at hyunjin

hyunjin: you know each other

you and seungmin, in sync: photography club

hyunjin: alright, well,

he announces to everyone your name and you were his new best friend and that if any of them had a problem with it they could talk to his fist

you, softly, but with feeling: f-fuck

y'all change your shoes and watch as his friends finish up their game

while they play, hyunjin points each person out and tells you their name, helping you learn all these new people

since u guys were twenty (20) minutes late, they were already almost done with the first game

they were all pretty good.

well. most of them were.

the guy hyunjin pointed out as jisung kept getting gutter, but he was having fun

everyone else kept getting strikes or spares and u were like oh god

you keep telling hyunjin that ur really bad at bowling

hyunjin: i'll teach you. it'll be like ghost.

you, softly, but with more feeling: f-fUck

you, realization washing over you: wait how would you even-

hyunjin: *giggles*

hyunjin's giggles.

send tweet.

the entire time you were entirely too conscious of how close he was to you

you could feel the burning on your shoulder, thigh, knee - all the contact points where his body bumped into yours

your knee bobbed involuntarily while you watched the game end, nervously anticipating your turn to hit the gutter

and suddenly, hyunjin's hand was gently placed on your knee

it stopped bobbing

you looked at his hand, then at him

he smiled, but kept looking forward

“relax. even if you're bad, i'll hype you up.”

it was barely above a whisper so you wondered for a sec if he was even talking to you

hhhhHHHHH THIS BOY

yall start bowling.

he was. not all talk.

like who the fuck is good at bowling

hyunjin, apparently

he fuckin. chucked that ball down the lane

it made a smooth curve and took out. every. pin.

you stared at the empty lane in disbelief as hyunjin got a couple high fives from his friends making his way towards you

"not bad, right?"

"bro what the fuck"

he laughed and held out a hand to help you up "we bowl a lot"

you didnt even process fully that he was pulling you out of your seat because it was your turn.

ur hands: sweaty

ur arms: spaghetti

ur vomit: on ur sweater already

not actually

u picked up the ball hyunjin had helped you pick and looked at him like a deer in headlights

"bro i havent bowled since i was six"

he giggled. "you can do this"

he walked with u and showed you his starting stance, gently adjusting the way your wrists twisted and patting your hip

u. tried to not blush. no word on how well you did.

he guided you through your walk up and when u let go of the ball..

…

……

YOU DIDNT HIT GUTTER

you SCREAMED

"BRO I HIT A PIN!!!!!!!!!!!!"

hyunjin gave you a Sick High Ten, laughing "now you gotta hit the other nine!"

you froze

fuck

the others were starting to calm down from the excitement of your first half-frame, anticipating your second hit

you watched your ball return from the lane n went over to grab it

hyunjin looked at you Once and was likr….. is that caspar the ghost

the color had DRAINED from you

u…. u hit a pin…… thats like the best u've ever done

n now you gotta TOP THAT?

"its like dancing," he said suddenly. u looked at him, desperate to hear advice in terms u understood. "even if you can go through the motions, it doesnt necessarily make you good. you have to trust your body to remember the motions, give it a little finesse, and that's when you start to get Really good."

you blinked at him

"was that supposed to be helpful"

"can you Shut the Fuck Up and Bowl"

you took a deep breath, adjusting your stance as hyunjin reminded you of the steps you needed to take

another breath

steps

swing

let go…..

roollllingngg…………

*HIGH PITCHED WAILING*

"I HIT FOUR PINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

hyunjin scoops u up in a hug, spinning you around

ur too busy SCREAMING to register whats happening until he puts you down

u stare at him a second

he stares at you

"GOOD JOB Y/N!!!!!"

you turn to seungmin, who also scoops you into a hug, the rest of the boys crowding around you

you didnt even have a chance to be embarrassed about the weird eye contact you n hyunjin made

or about how. everyone in the bowling alley was staring at you guys.

because like…… suddenly

you just made a bunch of new friends

and one of them

helped you hit a pin for the first time.

and maybe….

he was still holding your hand

and maybe that felt really nice.

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #skz #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin scenario #hwang hyunjin imagine

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Once Upon A Time (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: Hey lovely people!So I’ve been working on this lovely songfic for the past 3 months and it’s finally here. A big thank you to my two wonderfull betas, Charlotte and Mags. Without them this fic wouldn’t exist. Thank you Charlotte for cleaning up the mess in my mind and always believing me. Thank you Mags for cleaning up the mess of a fic and bringing the best out of me and this fic. I couldn’t have done this without you (and without everyone on the AQ discord).

The song I used is “Once Upon A Time” from Bare A Pop Opera Have fun crying your eyes out to this one :)

Please tell me what you think! Hope you love it as much as I do - can i say that? - idk but i will. Enjoy my loves!

TW: Religion, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks

Wordcount: 14693

Once upon a time

I first held your hand

Vanessa meets the ice-cold beauty on a very unspectacular day. The rain is pouring outside of the dust covered windows of a dance studio in the suburbs of Los Angeles as a steady rhythm makes the walls cave in, free spirits throwing up their hearts on the dance floor. Crimson painted lips let out a small laugh as she carefully studies all of her students, realizing that they are as annoying as always, way too loud-mouthed, and full of adrenaline - just like their teacher. Vanessa introduced a new choreography that day, hoping to share her passion with the youngest of her students, daring them to be as bold and creative as their young minds allow them to be. The kids twirl around on the wooden floor, each beat erupting in a new movement. Flashy grins fill the room as students let their fantasies unwind. Children swirling through the air, swinging their brightly painted wings, dancing to the rhythm of their souls, rather than to the one playing from the loudspeakers. A sly smirk appears on her lips as she looks over her newest work of art, full of pride.

With a small clap and a ‘Mary, we are finished for today’, the class ends, students erupting into heartfelt laughter and chatter. Within seconds the dance room starts to lose its character, as student after student leaves through the wooden doorway. Scanning the room, Vanessa slowly gathers her bag stained with red paint. She’s mentally planning out her well deserved weekend - full of “The Notebook” retwaches and banging parties in between - when she spots one of her students, Plastique, hovering in the hallway.

Before she can even tease Plastique for having a staring contest with the floor, Vanessa catches the sight of her - a glowing beauty entering the hall with a head held high. Her perfectly sleek ponytail swinging with every step, sending a shiver down the woman’s spine. Tongue tied and wide-eyed, she stares as the blonde strolls towards her youngest student. With broad shoulders straightened in a regal poise, she seems to be walking on air, as a reserved smile appears on her otherwise indifferent face. Curious feet carry the brunette towards the stranger, before she can even sort out her spinning thoughts. Her pulse quickens, and she silently prays for her heart not to fall out from her chest - a hot flush rushes through her body as she catches the beauty staring back.

With a slight cough, she introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Vanessa Mateo, Plastique’s dance teacher,” She hesitates a little before continuing, “but my students call me Vanjie”.

The blonde looks her up and down, raising a brow as she extends her hand. Another shiver, much more intense than before, goes through Vanessa’s being as her doe eyes meet grey thunderstorms. Vanjie shakes her hand after catching herself staring at her counterpart in awe for an embarrassingly long time, praying for the blonde not to notice her already sweating palms.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. I’m here to pick up my goddaughter,” she replies in a steady voice, lips curved into a smirk. Her fingers linger on Vannessa’s tanned skin for a second too long, causing the other woman’s breath to hitch in her throat.

And love was not a crime

Ground beans and freshly baked pies sweeten the air. Two pairs of hands wrapped around steaming mugs and two toothy grins. Shy doe eyes with fluttering lashes flirt in silence.

The two women have made it a habit of meeting up on Fridays, after Vanessa’s classes ended, get a coffee or two and let go of all the pent up annoyance from the week. Heated rambles and soothing advice fill the air between them, creating a bubble for just the two of them. Even silence was cozy with the other by their side, simply appreciating each other’s presence, feeling their own hearts warming up with every meeting. Neither of them initially expected a lasting bond, and yet, the moment Brooke sat down next to Vanessa, she could feel a bouquet of flowers blooming in her soul, her body buzzing, full of warmth and gratefulness. The shorter girl never felt less judged, more treasured and more safe than with Brooke Lynn by her side. And slowly but surely, the ice queen accepted the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her company, even began to look forward to her weekly meetups with the loud Puerto Rican.

Brooke smiles around the rim of her cup as Vanessa rambles about her equally loud roommate falling for another “street-rat”. Her hands fumble in the air, grand gestures accompanying her captivating story. Laughter fills their little bubble, breathing life into two equally exhausted souls. Yet every time the Latina fixates on those stormy eyes, her heart shakes, bends and inflates like a big balloon, as it keeps growing fond of the woman by her side, tripping over words while Brooke’s smile widens. A slight flush on Vanessa’s cheeks always follows, rose petals replacing the blood cells in her veins - painting her cheeks a pretty shade of red.

“Hoe, that can’t be true!” Vanessa screeches, trying to lower her voice after receiving disapproving looks from the elderly visitors of the small cafe, long-drained cups discarded on the otherwise empty table, both forgetting the meaning of time.

“No, I’m telling you, I just never had the time to date. Never found the man of my dreams… but you know, he is probably busy shagging some other woman.” Brooke lets out a nervous giggle as a heavy lump clogs up her throat, regretting having shared this with Vanessa.

She has known the other woman for quite some time now, but was it soon enough to let her see all of her insecurities? Silence falls between them as Brooke desperately tries to avoid the all too familiar doe eyes directly in front of her, dread filling up her lungs, slowly replacing the air around her as she exhales heavily. Her eyes flicker across the café, trying to find something, anything, to take the edge off.

“Have you ever thought about, you know…” Vanessa softens her voice, a slight frown appearing between her brows as she weighs up how to phrase the question burning at the tip of her tongue.

“Is everything alright, can I get you guys anything? Two more coffees perhaps?” Vanessa is cut off by a waitress with a beaming smile and an awful sense of timing.

“No, thank you, but we would like the cheque please?” Brooke flashes the tiny Latina an unsure smile while the waitress leaves the two of them to sit in silence, Vanessa’s unfinished question hanging in the air.

The brunette carefully observes the woman right in front of her, waiting for a reaction as she twirls her caramel brown hair around her finger. With a single cough, she mentally prepares to revoice the question, but before Vanessa gets a chance, the waitress returns with their cheque. With a deep sigh the brunette sits back in her cream coloured chair and crosses her arms, accepting defeat.

Brooke hands the waitress a five dollar bill with a small “Thank you”, before grabbing her belongings. Vanessa mirrors the blonde’s action as she swallows her way too curious inquiry. Brooke, polite as always, holds the café’s bright pink door open for her, before waving goodbye to the lovely owner, a new found friend of theirs.

“Would you mind going for a walk to the park with me? I’ve still got some time left before I need to be home…” Brooke trails off, playing with one of her earrings, trying not to look directly at the brunette.

“I would love to.” Vanessa grins and joins the blonde’s side, her initial question long forgotten. A light flush covers the Canadian’s cheeks, brightly lit eyes watch the little powerhouse next to her bounce across the crosswalk.

They walk together, sparks flying through the chilly air as nervous hands brush against each other, while Brooke realizes that she’s found herself weirdly drawn to the brunette with big sparkly eyes. She observes the ball of joy skipping next to her, brash words and deep laughter resounds between the trees.

A bright smile is plastered on the shorter woman’s face as she rambles about everything and nothing at the same time, pointing out odd looking shapes of roots and tumbling ducklings along the way. Every time Brooke looks at Vanessa, something undefinable pulls at her heart. A thin string of hope connecting two lonely souls; a warm feeling gradually replaces Brooke’s otherwise cold interior, slowly melting the thick ice built up around what some would consider to be her heart. With every shallow breath, it begins to beat a bit faster, and her cheeks start to burn whenever the girl lays eyes on her. It’s that moment when an unholy seed is planted in her chest.

A silent ache in her being, one that barely scratches her lungs, but leaves her breathless for a second, catches her off guard. Vanessa’s vibrant laugh and intoxicating smile makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She’s never felt like this before, so used to always keeping people at an arm length - valuing her freedom and her ability not to depend on anyone with her own happiness. As the realization hits her, she is afraid of what it might mean. No, it couldn’t… No, she would never. She slowly shakes off her spiralling thoughts, accepting this all must be an overreaction, simply knowing that her parents taught her better than this, never considers that the mind has its own ways.

The night sky darkens around the two familiar figures as they fall into comfortable silence. Each enjoying the quietness of nature that surrounds them, each mind spiralling on its own accord. With every step Vanessa takes, her heart pumps the blood in her tiny body a little faster, red like rose petals, flooding every inch of her being after weeks of accumulation. Her eyes carefully follow every move the other woman makes, admiring her simple elegance. Craving her closeness.

“The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?” she states, innocently.

“We’re in the city, Nessa, the stars are hardly visible,” Brooke lets out a mocking huff.

A memory illuminates her spiraling thoughts - the Canadian and the Latina giggling on a hilltop out of the city, dancing along to the music in their hearts, drenched in the moonlight - gone within an instant, passing by like a shooting star.

“I’ve meant the ones I can see sparklin’ in your eyes.” A sheepish smile appears on Vanessa’s lips as the scratches the back of her neck.

“You say this to all of your friends?” She jokes back, because friends is what Brooke needs them to be. She comes to a halt in front of her apartment complex, a slight frown gracing her forehead. Just friends.

“No,” a breathy whisper, barely a tease - a reminder of what she couldn’t have. “Just you.”

In a private world where

You said don’t look down?

The static hum of a TV in the background and smooth olive fingertips on her hips. A deep sigh escapes her cherry-kissed lips as she closes her eyes and frantically tries to catch her breath. Fists desperately gripping cotton pillows, a tightened chest denying sweet oxygen to enter her burning lungs, as soft wet kisses are planted across her neck. A little Puerto Rican goddess seated in her lap, lavishing every inch of her silky skin with adoring attention. Groans fill the heavy air as unspoken words swirl around the intertwined bodies. Hands grasping at virgin skin, marking their desire on every inch they can reach, as one particular lost soul shuts her eyes from reality. Colourful constellations imprint on holy skin. Rose-stained fingernails scratch lines onto a willing lover.

With each feather-light touch and each tug of skin, Brooke fights her overwhelming fear of the unrighteous scene in front of her eyes. Clinging to the darkness around her shameful being, only allowing her skin to sin. Scared of a person she doesn’t recognize, a lover she never dared to have. Yet deep down she knows, she just needs to see. Needs to take in all of the lust, all of the passion. Watch eager lips on a silent frame, roses growing on her skin. Every movement with so much care and precision, revoking needy sounds from her gaping mouth, godly sounds that were only reserved for the Latina beauty. Brooke couldn’t keep her hands from caressing Vanessa’s body, eyeing her every reaction, careful not to get pricked by her thorns. Staring at blown out pupils, getting lost in swirly brown eyes full of lust and adoration.

Her fingers flinch as Vanessa’s lips pucker at her touch, deep red blood adornishing the ice queen’s fingertips. Sickly sweet thorns piercing through white skin, staining it with deep rooted promises. It’s the exact moment Brooke vows her long lost soul to let go. With a deep breath, she buries her mauve nails in the brunette’s hair and pulls her mouth to her trembling figure.

Desperate teeth on bruised skin, painting reminders of losing control. Arching backs releasing unspoken words, speaking their own language. Demanding fingers chasing her own release, as she forces her mind to simply forget.

‘God loves you, Brooke, you can do this for him’

A sting in her heart, another breath caught in her throat. Tears springing to her eyes. She shakes her head, trying to escape the biblical quotes imprinted in her mind. Casting off all her consciousness, desperately following her primal urge. With one last trembling breath, she grounds her body onto the squirming and willing brunette underneath her, and just let’s go.

But then I did and now you’re lost above me

It’s when the first sun rays fall through the curtains that Brooke’s guilt-stained memories begin to eat her alive. Her shaken heart stumbles as frightened eyes take in the blooming mess right in front of her. Sickly sweet hands closed around her throat, heavy feathers buzzing in her bones. A silent sob escapes her bruised lips, sin-stained fingers grasping at her exposed figure. Cyan waves crashing at the shore, drowning her frame. Tightly hugging what it is left of her dignity. Vanessa is still sound asleep to her right, unaware of the hurricane breaking lose. The blonde’s ice-cold heart weighs heavy in her chest as realization begins to settle within her mind. ‘What have I done?’ Like she had been visited by the Devil herself, she dashes out of the bed. Desperately scrambling for every item of clothing she can find, shaky fingers attempt to clothe her bare soul. She spins around one last time, fearing every next step she will have to take. With one last forbidden kiss to Vanessa’s forehead, she is gone. Only leaving dried up rose petals behind.

So much left to say

Trapped alone here

With my best-laid plans astray

Months pass and Brooke Lynn still finds reminders of her favourite mistake imprinted on her soul. She desperately attempts to wash off every sign of their shared night. Scratched skin and thrown up thoughts, as she prays to the showerhead to cleanse her from her sins. Silent sobs, red stained porcelain skin - results of attempts to scrub away every memory until rotted rose petals cover the ground her shaking figure stands on. A silent scream stumbles from her forever blemished lips as her head hits the bathroom floor.

Night after night, the snow queen kisses bearded men who grip roughly at her hips and push her against walls in dark alleys with even darker passion, bruised constellations forming on her skin. She desperately tries to choke the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind with the aftershave she chases like oxygen. Lies spill so easily from a burned throat as she attempts to dry out the seed of doubt in her soul. Every kiss just a rehearsed act, the flick of a tongue, a silent moan. Only the most convincing actors play the part. She tries to learn a foreign language, staging a new scene each day - attempts to let them guide her to a hidden piece of heaven on this Earth, praying to find forgiveness in each kiss. Yet they never teach her how to forget dried up rose petals and the taste of her name.

Vanessa spends days filled with loneliness, mourning the past. Months of coffee dates, moonlight dancing and late night shopping - all turned into stone. Maybe she had misunderstood the hints, misinterpreted the signals. Fire and ice alive just for a single moment in time. Vanessa regrets never pouring out her smitten heart to Brooke. The roses and daisies, lavender and berries, all fading away in her chest. Maybe they were simply destined to be friends all along and Vanessa had just messed up, letting the burning fire in her get the best of her. Because the lonely Latina indeed craved her, craved all of her. With every touch and every glance, the flowery garden of affection in her soul grew. She wanted to break Brooke’s icy walls, melt away all the pain and let her come undone. Get down to the nitty-gritty of her soul, exposing her to a force unknown. Yet she only got to admire her personal hurricane up close once, before Brooke took away everything she had left to give. Because loving her is a losing game. Just a small-town girl in a big arcade, addicted to a losing game.

So she throws herself into work and parties too much - all while attempting to dampen the fire in her soul, even though tequila only fuels the red flame instead of bringing it down to a simmering heat. Vanessa loses her heart on the dance floor, grounding her body, rubbing her burning soul onto every tall blonde that catches her eye. Playfully, she whispers sweet nothings to willing partners, gives away every inch of herself, desperately awaiting a revelation, a savior. And after all her drunk shenanigans, she closes her eyes and can still feel Brooke’s mauve painted nails scratching every inch of her. Imagining softly painted lips bruising her up, instead of chapped kisses barely grazing her skin, is her saving grace. Equally intoxicated lovers never tug on her hair like the ice queen did, don’t imprint their desire for the Latina on her body so artistically like the other woman. No one gives her the pleasure she craves like a drowning human craves oxygen - the deeply satisfying ecstasy the blonde gave her. And no one, simply no one, touches her heart like Brooke Lynn.

Standing scared outside a cold church

Soul search, seeking some lost answer

From a God who loves me

Brooke Lynn goes up North again, visits her family and old friends. Taking a well deserved vacation - at least that’s what she told her employees. Her mother greets her with open arms, asking too many questions, majority of which Brooke has to leave unanswered. Most conversations fly past her consciousness nowadays, leaving her mind blank; she works on auto-pilot, building up a new comfortingly safe routine. Visiting her childhood church again is a part of her plan, attempting to dig up some virtue, hoping to find forgiveness. It has been years since she last set foot into the stone cold building. Years of build up pain and shame breaking in a crescendo as her body crashes down, kneeling in front of a wooden cross. “Please forgive me, father.”

As sickly sweet poems begging for forgiveness escape her still bruised lips, everyone pretends not to hear the longing desire humming within her heartbeat. Night after night she lays awake, striving to drown the rhythm of rainbow within her soul.

“Lord Jesus, for too long I’ve kept you out of my life. I know that I am a sinner and that I cannot save myself. No longer will I close the door when I hear you knocking. By faith I gratefully receive your gift of salvation. I am ready to trust you again,” with a shaken voice, the shell of a woman urgently repeats the words stumbling from her lips as she is laying alone in the comfort of her own bed. Tears leak out of her darkened eyes even after her breathing has evened and her consciousness faded away. A torn apart heart craves healing while the mind attempts to rest.

From then on she speaks to God every day. Praying to forget.

‘God loves you Brooke Lynn, but not your sin. You can do this for him.’

Her shaking fingers itch for a rosary more and more with each night. A silent prayer on her lips as faded memories and forbidden dreams flood back to the surface - each of them continuously burning her wrinkled soul, only thriving on poisoned air, capturing a broken heart. All she wishes for is calmness - a privilege Brooke’s damned soul is not worthy of. Pictures now disrupt her restless slumber. Red spit on burned out soil, a grey face melting away. Butterflies and daisies scratching bloody feet, berries and flowers adornishing a decaying shell of a lover. An anxious soul dances on clouds as Venus feeds her the venom of eternity. Broken glass mourns a broken bond as her consciousness fades away for the second time that night.

Can I turn to You in my need?

An unbearable heat builds up in the tiny dance studio. Young students repeatedly practice their choreography for the upcoming regionals, each pair of stumbling feet steadily increasing the temperature within the already stifling room. Frustrated groans fill the air as their ruthless teacher pushes them for another round. Children miss their cues and barely hit the beat, and Vanessa pinches the bridge of her nose, brows knitting in a frustrated frown. Leaning against the chipped wall, she slowly watches her students sloppily wobble through the brunette’s precisely crafted choreography. A sick feeling of disappointment - no, just failure - spreads in Vanessa’s chest. Crinkled eyes watch tired limbs in wrong positions ruining her well rehearsed craft.

The Latina had spend weeks perfecting each step, making sure each movement sparked a purpose, each gesture told a story. It didn’t matter that Vanessa couldn’t stand to see herself in the mirror while constructing a passionate dance for her students to follow, to immerse themselves in. Nor does it matter that it took the skilled teacher much longer than it should have, each ounce of creativity drowned from her overworked mind. A flow of artistry used to live within her, flowing through her veins, just like the rhythm that claimed her soul a long time ago. But now every time she stares into the stained mirrors of an empty studio, a stranger appears at the other side of the glass. Eyes so empty, a mouth so silent and a heart slightly chipped. She desperately tries to keep it together, so she chooses to focus on her students’ flaws instead. She picks them apart one by one. Each mistake of each child highlighted by Vanessa’s grim voice ringing through the clustered room, mocking their imperfect performances. Comments leave her dried up lips in a harsh tone, hitting her students in the face, correcting their posture with a lack of respect, dragging down their innocent souls.

“Scarlet, for the third time today, it’s a left turn and then a drop, not a right turn and a simple flourish - it’s not that hard, Mary.” Impatient words escape through clenched teeth, letting boiling hot frustration get the best of her.

“I know, but It’s just really fast, and I-” a wombly children’s voice quietly tries to defend her mistake, rubbing her eyes to hide glassy tears.

“No buts. We’ve been over this way too many times, just get into the gig.” Throwing her hands in the air, Vanessa looks around, directing her message to all of her students, “y’all aren’t here for no reason, so you better step your pussies up to get these cookies.”

“It’s not like Scarlet’s never made that mistake Miss V, but now, all of the sudden, you give a fuck. Somehow, all of us aren’t good enough for you today. I call bullshit,” Yvie defends her friend, challenging Vanessa with her pointed tone. Yvie was right, she has been unnecessarily harsh today, for reasons unknown to the children. A heat wave flushes through her rock solid body, fists tensing at her sides, fully knowing she couldn’t let that kind of behaviour pass. Vanessa has never deemed herself to be a strict teacher, but in that moment, she just snapped.

“It’s because you all aren’t giving your goddamn best. We’ve been over this so fucking much, y’all should know it by heart by now, Mary. We have a competition to win - you guys can’t just-” as her muscles start quivering and purely harsh words leave her aching throat, she attempts to catch herself with a deep breath. “Anyways - todos vosotros me ponen de los nervios, I won’t discuss this any further. Class dismissed.”

She draws in another slow, steadying breath, plastering an obviously fake smile on her chapped lips. In an attempt at a carefully controlled voice she adds, “I better see something good from all of you tomorrow morning, no shit show.”

In one swift motion she turns around, ignoring the wide blown eyes of frightened children, combing her hair with her shaking fingertips while packing all of her belongings to her slightly worn out sports bag.

She tries to keep it together, plasters another forced smile on her weakened lips, a band aid to fix her broken heart - at least for now - as she coldly wishes her students a good night, grasping at every string of her being to keep herself together.

After she dismissed the class, she lets her thoughts wander, not paying too much attention to the string of curse words leaving her mouth. Scratched skin, heavy lungs and an exhausted mind rot away. Eyes closed, steady breathing. Focus, Mary, focus. Her heart yearningly awaits Brooke Lynn’s return. Needing to see the blonde beauty walk through the halls of the dance school, just like the day she met her, even though deep down she knows that her friend won’t come back to her.

The lost figure lets herself glide onto the wooden floor, pulling her knees up to her chin, and tries to calm her breathing, still feeling the burning fire simmering in her veins. Tears of frustration escape a heated grimace as she slams her right fist against the floor. How could she do that to her? A sweat stained forehead falls into her lap, red nails dig deep into her own skin, anger growing within her.

“Hey, Miss Vanjie, I was just wondering, I am - is everything alright?” Big, bright child eyes stare at her flushed face, a mind full of worries presented to her, curious.

“Por Dios, shouldn’t you have left already?” In one sweep she is up on her feet again, shaking off her startled expression. Certainly won’t let no goddamn child look taller than her.

“I - I just wanted to help, because, you know, you were really mean today, Miss V. And I thought, maybe - maybe you are upset”

Vanessa’s world stands still for a moment, shaking hands tightly folded into fists. How could she let her emotions get the best of her? An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment spreads in her chest, tightening with every breath. She failed to keep her personal problems from affecting her ability to teach - Jeez, she shouldn’t be doing this.

“Shit,” she curses silently, “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.” Her almost robotic voice fills the air, nearly regretting her outburst. Nearly.

Her swirling thoughts come to a halt as Plastique’s mother, Nina, approaches Vanessa as well, softly laying her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and asking for some privacy. As the girl grabs her bag and moves to the changing room, Vanessa dares to face the well known calm after the storm. Kind hearted emerald eyes pierce through the burning steam surrounding the brunette tornado.

“Would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to be an ass to your students today?“ a steady voice without any ounce judgment asks, only fueling Vanessa’s pounding heartbeat.

“I don’t know why that matters, Mary. I felt some type of way and that’s it - it’s not my fucking fault my students can’t distinguish left from right.” Her body tenses with every punctuated word.

“But that’s not what this is about, isn’t it?” Nina’s head is tilted to the side, her face wearing a sympathetic smile.

“No, it’s not, but that’s none of your business.” The younger woman puts on a brave face; attempts to hide her inner turmoil from her counterpart, pretending to unsee the damage her lack of self control has caused. Fists still balled up tight, fighting the urge to punch the stained mirror at her side.

“It is my business if your lack of professionalism results in my daughter, and other children, being crushed by your harsh words.” Her smile falls for a second, before pity reaches her kind eyes again, as she finally acknowledges the hurt in the young woman’s gaze. “Look, Vanessa, I know it’s not easy, but-”

“No, it’s not fucking easy. I don’t feel like this for no reason.” She couldn’t take it anymore. Her voice increasing in volume, cutting of Nina, as she barely registers anything or anyone besides the woman through a narrowed vision.

“I know, but you gotta keep your calm, dear,” the kind hearted woman tries to reason, yet the blood pounding in the brunette’s ears keeps drowning out the words.

Vanessa takes a step back and throws her hands in the air, letting out an infuriated groan, before attacking her scalp with sharp-cut nails.

“Jeez, I thought we were closer than for you to be so condesc- condescen- for you to judge me. It’s not my fault some of them actually complained about me poppin off,” bitter words leak out of her mouth, not only raising her voice, but also her hand again.

“You could have pulled them aside-”

“They all fucked up, I am not hiding it from them, hoe, so they better learn to take some criti- criticism.” Flared up nostrils and the world around her painted in dark red. It didn’t matter that she was in the wrong - all of her build up emotions came crashing in a crescendo around her, making her believe that maybe her outburst was justified.

The setting sun highlights the destructive potential of the burning match.

“That’s not criticism anymore, Vanessa, it’s straight up bullying.” Nina voicing the truth is an icy wave hitting her upfront, drenching the brunette from head to toes. Cold, ghostly fingers wrap around her throat and an unbearable weight crashing her bones.

“I don’t fucking bully my children, I never bully them, I could never bully them, for fucks sake, I just, I-” her building volume crashes into a heart wrenching sob. Red nails forcefully tug at caramel hair, fighting her inevitable destruction.

“Hey-” Nina shuffles closer and wraps one of her arms securely around Vanessa’s waist, petting the bruised fingertips holding onto her own frizzy and uncombed hair. “Shh - just take a deep breath.”

Her breathing becomes erratic again as silent sobs bubble up her throat. “I shouldn’t. I-I don’t know what to do, Nina, but - she just left. And I-”

“I know,” Nina shushes the frightened deer in her embrace, barely recognizing the headstrong woman who just passionately fought her moments ago. Nina silently holds pieces of the once ever-so-joyful and loud-mouthed girl in her arms, slowly taking in all that’s happened so far. Viciously poisoned words replaced by hopeless destruction within her small frame.

Nina knows she shouldn’t be here, Brooke had begged her to not speak a word to Vanessa about her departure. But Nina also knows that she can’t just let the young one suffer on her own. Something broke within her heart, seeing her so shattered. Just a shell of the woman she used to be.

“I don’t even know why I care so much, it’s not like she said she loved me and shit, but-”

Nina silently holds the brunette as glassy tears wet her delicate blouse. She sighs as she realizes this must have been something more serious than “a fight between two friends”. Just one look at the broken girl in her embrace says enough.

“-but you love her,” Nina finishes.

Vanessa doesn’t have to say a single word for Nina to know that she has hit the right nerve. The burned out girl simply closes her eyes as cyan waves flood her paralyzed mind. A muted soul drowning, because she wasn’t there.

Would You take me back or watch me bleed?

Are You there? There at all?

Time keeps moving and the planet Earth keeps spinning, yet Brooke Lynn cannot find the person she desperately longs to be. Her body and mind betray her God-loving soul as she rutts against her bedsheets, one finger pressed to her bundle of nerves. A droplet of heaven on sinner’s skin will never heal a soul not worth saving. So her heart begins to shake as she comes undone to the thought of her. Because holy water on forbidden soil still grew the damned fruit of Eden.

Rosary prayers are replaced by deep, toxic drags of flower painted cigarettes. A golden cross weighs heavy on her chest - the last reminder of her once so innocent soul. It mocks her with its presence - everlasting, reminding her of her failure to keep control, the one skill she had always taken pride in. With a deep breath she runs her shaking fingertips through her messy, freshly cut hair and opens it’s clip, let’s it fall to the marbled floor.

Weeks pass before Nina calls, begging her to come back to the States and telling her how much misses her. Brooke Lynn let’s rehearsed lines pour from her throat, promising to get back to her soon. She scribbles on notebooks as she listens to Nina’s trembling voice, trying to ground herself into reality.

“You can’t just kill the beast, throw the gun away and pray away its death, Brooke, that’s not how life works,” Nina finally drops the bomb.

“What kind of beast are you even talking about, Nina? I am way too sober to deconstruct your metaphors right now,“ Brooke steadies her breathing, tries to sound oblivious to whatever Nina might be hinting at. She picks up her chewed up pen again, doodling on a scraped note, trying to distract her thoughts from spiralling too deep.

“Don’t play dumb, Brooke, we both know what I am trying to say. You can’t just disappear out of everyone’s lives without even saying goodbye, you can’t just…” A deep breath resounds on the other side of the line, making Brooke realize how serious Nina actually is. “She misses you, Brooke, she misses you, like, a lot.”

Brooke’s heavy heart sinks even further, turning to stone with each word punctuated by the other woman. “That sounds like her problem”, she mutters through clenched teeth, cautiously looking away from any feelings she still harbours for the Puerto Rican goddess.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Brooke could practically see Nina’s clenched fists and furrowed brows, nearly screaming at her from the other side of the line.

“Don’t call me that,” she exhales loudly, trying to ground her slightly shaken voice. She never intended to confess anything to Nina, her sinful nature was between her and God.

“But - that’s your name!”

“Yeah, and I hate it when you say it like that. It sounds as if i killed an innocent puppy.” She doesn’t need to say it, Nina already knows.

“It’s because you kind of did,” her best friend lets out a frustrated laugh. “Well, Brooke. What I am attempting to say is that whatever you may be going through, I am here for you. I just want to help you, sweetheart, I know you are beating yourself up about everything that has happened between the two of you.” Brooke wishes Nina would be at least condescending, reminding her of the God-loving daughter she could be. Yet all she receives is an everloving soul, a heart so big it can see past her mistakes, past her sins.

She can’t bear to hear it anymore, can’t take it. She bites at the skin around her nails, trying to distract herself from the desire to slam her fist against the table.

“You haven’t seen me in weeks, Nina, how could you even know?”

“I can see your misery all the way from the States, that’s how bad you’ve gotten. Look, I know you are afraid of dealing with the conflict inside of you, but we both know the Bible doesn’t say anything about-” With every spoken word the fragile woman gasps for more air, drowning in a sea full of fear. Cold hands of truth wrapped around her delicate throat.

“Please, don’t, Nina,” she whimpers.

“Brooke…” A short moment of silence fills the air between the two friends. “There is no point in running away. You are just pushing away the people who love you for who you are,” a pleading voice doesn’t fully reach the woman in need.

“Like you?”

“I actually meant Vanjie, but to be honest with you, it hurts me as well seeing you like this, I just…” On the other side of the line, Nina closes her eyes praying to God from the high above. “Just please come back. I miss you. Plastique misses you. We all miss you.”

“I can’t, Nina, I just can’t.” A single tear falls down her rigid face. “I am so sorry,” she mumbles before hanging up on her. The confidence she has build over the past weeks has been replaced by consuming guilt in a blink of an eye. With shaking fingers she slowly picks up the golden cross from the marble floor, its weight overwhelming her fastening heartbeat. She closes her eyes before fastening the chain around her throat again. Her heart still bounded by ice in a decaying chest. A spark of hope buried by self doubt. “One day,” she whispers to herself, “but not today.”

And as I fall from the person that I tried to be

Could You really love someone like me?

“Hey stranger - x”

Narrowed eyes stare at a way too brightly lit screen, shaking hands grasping Vanessa’s phone like a nicotine addict holding their first cigarette in weeks. Waves crashing around her, tearing down all that has been and all that ever could be, drowning the brunette in a whirlwind of emotions. Just take a deep breath, Vanessa, a deep breath. A hollow voice, a reminder of her broken heart, screeches inside of her, warning the girl, urging her no to answer. The heartache she had to endure, infused by her favorite ice queen, could last her a lifetime. She had sworn herself that she wouldn’t let her in again, attempted to erase the blonde bombshell from her memory for weeks. Still embarrassed of the scene she had caused at work, her deeply lit fire burning down the spectacle around her.

Yet just minutes later, her fingertips betray her overworked brain. They are typing a reply on their own accord, a way too heartfelt reply. Full of hatred and love and feeling of lost, pouring out the hurricane Brooke had ignited in her soul.

She catches herself before she can hit the send button. Rational thoughts replace the emptiness in her brain as shaky hands delete a message never meant to be seen by the thunderstorm eyes. She silently decides that written words can’t express Vanessa’s heartache and won’t ever depict the reality and the range of emotions she had to endure. Not daring to give Brooke Lynn the satisfaction of acknowledging the mess of emotions she had reduced Vanessa to.

The Latina takes a second look at her screen, her heart clenching at the written words. Strangers - that’s what they have become. She feels like she has been hit by the screen, awoken by a simple phrasing, causing disappointment to settle within her. In utter silence she chews up her lip as she can feel her heartbeat falter, missing a beat here and there.

A light chuckle escapes her lips, amused by her own misery.

How did she end up like this?

Vanessa always fell hard, that wasn’t new to her. But it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions that Brooke Lynn had left her with. Nothing compared to the fire in her soul, prepared to burn down a building in the process of fighting her longing for the ice queen.

“Can I call you?”

Another flash of light that burns too brightly, Vanessa’s eyes twitching in return. Questions ring inside of her head, almost too urgent to ask them out loud.

“Please - x”

It’s the message that breaks her. Brooke Lynn was never the one to beg. Vanessa always had been so certain that nothing could bring the ice queen down to her knees. As she feels the garden of love-colored flowers being revived in her chest, feathery light fingertips type a response as if having gained a mind of their own.

“We are not having this conversation over the phone.” She isn’t so sure if she even wants to have this conversation, too afraid of the burning fire in her soul, still wondering if this is all a dream.

“Okay”

The reply is short, something she didn’t expect. Vanessa had assumed that after all the weeks of silence Brooke wouldn’t give up that easily. Maybe she was wrong.

“Same place, same time? - x"

Once upon a time

All I needed was his hand in mine

Two familiar figures sit on a bench in the park, full of stardust and broken promises, facing the night sky, searching for long lost answers in the muted celestial bodies pinned onto the firmament. The cold air is clouded with unspoken words hanging heavily between the strangers. The brunette is playing with the hem of her shirt, still unsure why she agreed to this meeting at all. The blonde holds her head high, as her stiffened body tries to maintain her regal posture, still unsure why she had proposed the idea in the first place.

No, she knows, she definitely knows why. A full cigarette package in her overflowing handbag reminds her of words yet to be brought to light. Though right now, her usually overworked mind is completely empty, leaving the ice cold beauty at a complete loss of words. Burned edges hide behind a layer of cold skin. Suffocating rose seeds in her chest as she is desperately scrambling for words, trying to find her voice.

“Well, I think I owe you an explanation.” Brooke whispers as she stares longingly at the moon, avoiding Vanessa’s burning glare, the younger one’s neatly plucked brows bumped together in a scowl.

“Yes, you do, Mary. Also, you might add an apology if you’re feeling fancy,” Vanessa slurs through slightly gritted teeth, attempting to calm the flame blazing in her soul. Her flared nostrils still giving away her true emotions to the Canadian.

Brooke couldn’t blame her for going up in flames and charring the Canadian’s sin stained fingertips in the process.

“Okay, right, my explanation itself won’t be an apology, though, because nothing can ever justify hurting you. I just need to get this out, so you can see my side of the story and understand where I am coming from. I mean, I am sorry, truly sorry, don’t get me wrong, but what I am about to share shouldn’t be just an excuse for my actions and so-” rehearsed lines pour out of her dried out mouth, barely allowing her to gasp for air.

“Don’t forget to breath. I’d rather not have you fainting on me, hoe.” For a short second Brooke’s lips twitch into a barely recognisable smile, a reminder of long gone summernights, before a hauntingly tight grasp around the stone she has for a heart throws her back into reality.

“Yes, sorry.” Her body stiffens as the remark settles in. “Okay. So, I don’t know how to do this actually, I’ve never talked about any of this and yeah, serious stuff makes me tear up very easily… I’m sorry in advance and, yeah.” She takes a deep breath, clumsily attempting to gather her thoughts as she slightly dabbs around her already wet lash line. “I guess I just have to bite the bullet.”

The Puerto Rican keeps a close eye on Brooke Lynn, seeing her visibly shaken. The ever-so-cool Canadian suddenly fidgety, with shaky fingers resting in her lap and blown out pupils, biting her lips so hard, she must be drawing blood. Seeing the destruction the ice caused within her counterpart, Vanessa’s own flame starts to cool down. Finally able to see the ashes her blaze left behind.

“As you may, or may not know, I grew up in a very Christian household. We went to church every Sunday, spoke a prayer before every meal and regularly went to confession.” She doesn’t know how much she could actually bare to say out loud - barely reliving the memories was painful enough.

“So growing up as a child I was taught to believe many things that were tied to the Bible, one of them being a homosex-” the word gets stuck in her throat, memories of threatening dark voices screaming the word at the top of their lungs, spitting hatred at the feet of scared children, “- liking girls was a sin. At least once every few months it was brought up in service, fuelling everyone’s disgust for the celebration of this sin.”

Brooke’s voice starts to shake ever so slightly as she pinches the skin around her nuckles to bring herself back to the present.

“I mean, I never participated in any, you know, sinfully- I mean, any gay activities, but just the concept of it all still scared me shitless. So, you know, ehmm, until one day…” She takes in another deep shaky breath, preparing herself. “My mom once caught me kissing a girl. I was a child, I didn’t even know what kissing meant, and I just thought-” she stops herself. The memory too painful to conjure up in her mind. A warm steady hand sets on her shaking thigh, a single touch untangling her spiralling thoughts, keeping her grounded.

“So, I guess I was, I was just a girl lost among the teachings. All alone and scared.“

Silence fills the air, letting her confession linger in the space between the two broken women. Leftover, unspoken words deeply hidden at the back of her mind, tugging at her heart, causing her to lose her composure for a second. Another deep breath and the blonde dares to shily look up, only to find bright doe eyes, full of pitiful stars staring back at her.

"And then you came along.” She faces away from Vanessa again, not knowing what to say. Never having planned for a confession of her blooming feelings to be part of sharing her story. So used to carefully hiding away every fresh flower that had grown in her chest in a small casket at the back of her consciousness. She had thrown away the key to her deepest, darkest secret months ago, but all of a sudden its gates have been opened. Honest confessions dripping down her burning lips like sickly sweet honey from overflowing honeycombs.

“Meeting you was the most amazing, yet simultaneously horrifying moment in my entire life. I - you know - when you started flirting with me, I really tried to convince myself we could just be friends, good friends, like me and Nina.”

Vanessa’s fingers move from the Canadian’s thigh to her sweating palms, caressing them with ever so light touches.

“I wanted to be the God-loving daughter so badly, I wanted to make my family proud. But somehow, you were the one to unleash all of these feelings, all of those forbidden thoughts and I…” She looks to the ground for a moment, shame flickering across her face as she centers her breathing, tries to find the right words. “I didn’t know what to do. So I just ran. Away from you. Away from the deep roots of my sin.”

Bone crushing silence fills the space in their tiny bubble, making goosebumps cover Vanessa’s skin.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I know that I should have said something, but I was so scared, Nessa. So scared. I didn’t want anybody to know, I was so ashamed of my feelings for you and…” She finally looks up again, regret pooling in her stormy eyes.

“So what happened?” Curiosity slowly replacing the burning heat in Vanessa’s soul, still taking in all what the wounded woman presents to her - trusts her with.

“What do you mean?” Brooke asks with a breathy voice, slightly cocking her head and raising the arch of her perfectly painted brow.

“If you are so ashamed and didn’t want anybody to know, simply playing the fucking God obedient wife, than why are you here, Twinkle Toes?” Vanessa doesn’t hold back, having bottled up embering questions for way too long.

“Because- because if Nina could see past my sins, maybe so could I?"

Vanessa’s visibly cringes at the blonde’s choice of words. Pain contorting her face, her soul drenching in pity.

The vulnerable woman next to her seems like she doesn’t truly believe her spoken words either. Glassy eyes, a silent sniff - an attempt at finally putting her heart and mind at display.

"Baby, why do you keep calling your love for another woman a sin?” Vanessa’s soft words barely reach Brooke.

“But isn’t that what it is?” Big grey eyes stare at their last string of hope.

Brooke has never looked this young to the other woman as in this moment. Her lips pulled into a quivering pout, hands balled into anxious fists and her usually wavy, long bob resembling a bird nest due to her constantly raking her fingers through her hair. Putting her trust and vulnerability on display as her body fights against her. Lips continuously shaking with every word bubbling up from her tightened throat, needing a cough every few seconds to make her words come alive. Fingers drawing pictures in the air, questions her mind doesn’t dare to ask.

“No, baby. No, it’s not. You are not a sinner. My momma always told me that the God you believe in loves you, unconditionally and shit like that. Those people who justify hating someone for who they love are abomi- abomina-, awful.” She grabs both of Brooke’s hands, squeezing them tightly. It’s as much closeness as Vanessa dares to initiate, yet not enough for her to evaporate every ounce of self doubt out of Brooke Lynn’s body.

“It’s not that easy,” the blonde whispers, simply shaking her head and shifting her gaze to the night sky again.

“I know, but the bottom line is, Mami, Jesus preaches about love, not hatred. So fuck what evil people told you about your religion, because He was all about love, you know like ‘love thy neighbor’ and shit -” Vanessa’s heartfelt speech is interrupted by a quiet giggle from the woman desperately clutching at their intertwined hands, “- and that’s what matters the most.”

“I just don’t know. There must be a reason people preach against homosexuality so much.” Brooke’s eyes are harboring every homophobic prayer and countless lectures she had to endure, preaches of pain and the longing to heal, but also sing a song about her lack of courage to face her fears. At least on her own.

“Baby, where in the Bible does it say homosexuality is a sin?” Vanessa’s usually harsh voice turns into a soft whimper as trained fingertips draw circles on Brooke Lynn’s skin.

“Ehh.”

Both women know that Brooke’s loss for words isn’t just temporary, her counterpart simply outsmarted her - for once - fairly aware of the fact that there is no answer to this question. Brooke had to accept defeat, swallow her tongue and acknowledge that she can’t back up her internalized hatred. She closes her eyes for a short moment. A deep breath in and a deep breath out.

Having to question her upbringing is a new cross she’ll have to bear. But she certainly won’t have to carry it on her own.

"Exactly. I ain’t no preacher’s daughter, Mary, just a simple hoe, but even I know that faith should be about love and not hatred. You know what my mama always said?”

A long lost heart slowly finding her way back to the right path. Guided into a new direction.

“Na-ah?” Brooke shakes her head as she can taste her heart beating in her dried up throat, whimpering as olive fingertips trace her cheekbones.

“She always said: ‘no matter who you love Vanessa, you can always be a godly wife, even to your own wife’ - I mean, I am not about all of that religious life - but Brooke Lynn, I could show you that a life like this is possible."

The Latina underlines her proposition with a flutter of her lashes and a cheeky kiss to Brooke’s blushed cheeks.

"Vanessa,” barely a whisper escapes agape lips.

“You don’t have to say anything right now, just think about it.” Vanessa gifts Brooke Lynn a soft smile, squeezes her hand before her soft lips brush against the blonde’s temple. Two hearts skipping a beat at the same time as young rose buds surround two lost figures sitting on a bench of mended promises under the night sky.

Then I lost my way and

Now I know not what I do

The sweet melody of church bells fill the busy streets of the Hollywood Heights as kind-hearted strangers stroll down Franklin Avenue. Young birds sing songs of forgiveness, guiding lost souls to the place of worship. A short brunette is stood in front of the Hollywood United Methodist church, tightly squeezing one of the lost souls’ sweaty hand. She directs a big grin towards the shaking blonde, gifting her with wordless encouragement. Under a night sky full of broken hopes and dreams Vanessa had promised Brooke to find her a new godly home. So she had spent the past few weeks carefully skimming the gay-affirming churches in LA, the Methodist church just happened to be one of many in the area. Naturally, it had been a hassle to convince Brooke Lynn to give it a shot, explaining her that a Sunday Pride sermon would the most healing of them all. But puppy eyes, childlike pouts and lots of brief kisses finally convinced the weary woman.

Vanessa wouldn’t consider herself to be religious per se, however she understood that faith has always been a big part of Brooke Lynn’s life, and she would never in a million years take that away from the woman she loved. The night she had first heard her story, the strong woman collapsing into her arms, she had sworn to do whatever she could to help Brooke settle her internal struggle between faith and sexuality. Even if that meant tackling her own fears and diving head first into the deep unknown, just so that she could protect the Canadian from her self-destructive behaviour, showing her the love and safety she deserves. So here she was, a not so religious Latina dragging her love, whose entire body was trembling at the sheer sight of a church, to a Sunday morning sermon at the Hollywood campus.

Brooke Lynn had initially agreed to Vanessa’s plan, tears streaming out of her otherwise empty eyes, as she recognized this as her last chance, her last hope. Momentarily she was excited about the possibility of finally being free, her heart tightly gripping at a spark of faith. Vanessa’s words seeming like a cure to her curse. Yet the promise of a new beginning was soon overshadowed by violent memories intruding her newly calm mind.

Terrified eyes stare down the big red ribbon adorning the otherwise plain, yet regal exterior of the church. A thunderstorm takes place inside of Brooke Lynn, shaking her up. Her spiralling mind denying the Canadian the hope of salvation as shaky fingers grasp at a steady figure by her side, regretting ever agreeing to this mad idea. Each fingernail digs deeper into tan skin with every painfully sharp breath the lost woman inhales. The blonde’s pulse quickens with every step she forces herself to take towards the building, conjuring up judging faces in the shadows of the church, deep black claws holding her back.

The last time she had visited a place of worship she had come to face all of her sins, called them by their names, begged for forgiveness and desperately waited for her salvation. Still, she was never cleansed of her sins, never was saved by God’s good grace. Her soul still deeply stained with blood-red roses, giving into promises of a not so lonely future.

Yet deep down she still fears the consequences of giving into the temptation of Eden, fears being at God’s mercy. But Vanessa had sown a seed of hope into Brooke’s rotted mind, set a spark to the possibility of tasting a fruit that doesn’t bring down the heavenly garden. A believe she desperately wants to uphold, but isn’t so certain of anymore. The last time she prayed to her God, she was desperate for forgiveness of her sins. Her motivations remain the same this time around, but now she is just begging God for a different kind of forgiveness.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Vanessa,” she finally speaks up, voice trembling as she turns to her comfort blanket, her stepping stone, who attempts to calm the turmoil in her soul with just one look.

In no way she is ready to face her fears which drown her in self-doubt at night, wake her up screaming at the top of her lungs and leave her emotionless during the rest of the day. But would she ever be ready? Could she ever repair her splitted soul?

“You don’t have to go to the service, Brooke.” Sympathy radiates from Vanessa’s eyes as her pout pulls up into a comforting smile, “But I can assure that if you do, everything will be alright. I’ve visited this church with my mama before, and it’s the most welcoming church I’ve ever been to.”

The brunette wasn’t necessarily lying to her, more so leaving out the part of her falling asleep during the sermon, but Brooke doesn’t need to know that.

“But what if -” the blonde’s voice sounds wobbly with fear as she attempts to put her concerns into words. Bars behind her eyes holding the ever so strong woman captivated, anxiety is ruining her hopeful mind, tainting her will to be free at last. Worst case scenarios running wild as she chips off the leftovers of her nude nail polish.

“We’ve been over this, boo”, Vanessa cuts of the squirming woman by her side, not needing to hear Brooke voicing her fears out lot, already knowing what she is going to say. She silently instructs the blonde to take a deep breath, reviving her suffocating lungs, as Vanessa gives her hand a solidarity squeeze.

“This church celebrates diversity. No one will be judgemen-, judgement-, no one will judge you, Mami.” The brunette still struggling to gain Brooke’s trust every now and then.

Doubt still clouds the Canadian’s eyes. A heavy fog, slowly dissolving as the brunette punctuates each whispered word with as kiss to her cheek and jaw, “I’ll be right by your side, Mami, and hunt down everyone who even dares to look at you the wrong way.“

Olive skinned arms slowly wrap around a navy sundress, holding the blonde before she can fall apart. Soft fingertips drawing circles into exposed skin as a frantic heartbreak regains its normal rhythm.

In their intertwined state, the pair catches a glimpse of two men, both in their late thirties, walking into the church, one hand holding each other, the other gripping their children’s hands. Their laughter illuminating the entrance of the holy building. Contrasting with the image of the church Brooke Lynn had painted in her mind.

As Brooke’s erratic breathing slowly calms down due to Vanesa soothingly whispering nonsense into her ear, she can untangle herself from the shorter one without feeling dizziness clouding her vision. Silently tugging at the brunette’s hand as she finally dares to walk through the gates of the church, following the footsteps of the family of four who wordlessly touched her ever so guarded heart. The red ribbon hanging above them turns into a symbol of a comforting blessing instead of a curse.

Two quiet figures, lost in their own thoughts, walk down the aisle of a barely packed church. They take a seat on a wooden bench engraved with roses at the back of the hall, hidden from noisy eyes. Brooke Lynn carefully views the faces of the visitors, her mind scanning her surroundings for potential danger, looking out for disapproving frowns, waiting to hear slurs thrown in her direction. Yet all she can find is people as diverse and colourful as Vanessa promised them to be.

The pair made it just in time before the service starts to begin. A tanned hand on Brooke’s upper thigh, keeping her spirit in the present, hindering her mind from spiralling. The blonde attempts to focus on the sensation of Vanessa’s fingertips against her cotton dress, lightly caressing her thigh, as her muscles relax beneath the brunette’s touch. Goosebumps covering every inch Vanessa touches. Meanwhile, Brooke chooses to ignore the bottle of memories, a dangerous barrel about to explode at the back of her mind.

The service starts with a greeting and an opening prayer by a man in his fifties, one that Brooke Lynn doesn’t dare to look in the face directly. Her eyes burning holes into the wooden bench right in front of her, just focusing on the static voice of the pastor. An old habit that had protected her at home, had kept her panic attacks at church to a minimum. Holy words fill the air around her, stinging her sensitive skin, not fully reaching the woman in need just yet.

The moment sin free fingertips open up the Holy Bible, lovingly caressing the leather cover, and the reading of the scripture begins, Brooke’s lungs forget how to carry breath at last. Her body stiffens as her throat starts caving in, thorns piercing holes in her sensitive thorax. A punch in her gut is added to her panicked state and the world around her just goes blanc. She can’t see or hear anything besides her own frantic attempt at trying to get enough oxygen into her system. She feels all too much and simultaneously doesn’t exactly know what she is feeling. Teary eyes shut close and try to unsee the cross right above her head.

”Please forgive me,“ she whimpers, as her voice painfully breaks.

Long fingernails dig deep into the softest part of her palm, drawing blood, as she tries to overhear the loud pulsing of blood in her hears. She is fully aware that oxygen is reaching her brain and flooding her system, yet she still feels like she is dying inside. Brooke seems to be the only passenger on a sinking Titanic. All alone in the ocean, screaming so loud, yet no one can hear.

Soft hands grasp at her tightened jaw, softly turning her head, before olive fingertips caress her red stained cheeks, wiping away any stray tears. The Canadian’s head rolls to the side, falling into Vanessa’s embrace. A deep sigh escapes her chewed up lips between muffled sobs.

"Shh, love, everything is alright,” Vanessa whispers, or at least as much as the woman with a truck driver voice can whisper. But she tries, for her. Keeping a low volume as she hums calming affirmations to the woman by her side.

Soft kisses are planted across still firmly shut eyelids as Brooke Lynn quietly thanks her past self for taking a seat at the back of the church, hopefully being able to slightly hide her still ongoing meltdown.

A deep breath, Brooke Lynn, a deep breath. The excruciating pain in her abdomen starts to fade with each stroke across her thigh, as honey runs down her throat, coating the thorns in her chest, protecting her lungs from ever lasting self-destruction. Another minute passes before she manages to crack her eyes open again. A face of an angel faces the wreck of a woman, shielding her from the service. Her saviour softly strokes the blonde’s beetlejuice red cheeks, fixing her heartache with a bandaid of change.

The voice of a woman, ever so calm and static, slowly enters the bubble Vanessa had created around the Canadian. The ongoing selmon, preached by a woman in her late forties, focuses on the importance of diversity in the church and the representation of LGBT+ individuals, reflecting love on Pride Sunday. As soon as the words reach the suffering woman, her head snaps back to the front, properly focusing on the selmon this time around. Her breath is still a bit heavy in her throat as her hand tightly grasps Vanessa for support, cautiously listening to the words spoken. She was so used to her body working on auto pilot during the mass, her mind usually circling around any mundane activity she could think off, trying to escape the preached words nagging at her soul. Yet all she ever needed was kind and wise words carefully unfolding the tangles of Brooke’s misery, breaking down the walls she had built up all those years ago. Hearing a member of a Christian church speak so lovingly about a commonly hated community was a better salvation than meaningless repentance could ever give her. The sight of the wooden cross above her head losing its power over her with each passing second and each kind word spoken.

“But today, in the fifth chapter of Roman, Paul says that we rejoice not only in the glory of God but also in our sufferings. The message is not that Paul and his readers rejoice because they are suffering, but rather that they rejoice in the midst of suffering. Part of the human condition is to experience good times and difficult ones. The Bible is full of stories of people who faced immense suffering, and remained faithful to our loving God in spite of the difficulties of their own lives. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us. Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. We must never lose infinite hope. Progress in our society could have not come to be if suffering were an impediment for future movement. Think about that in our own context today, think about all the movements that have taken place in our society, those that have challenged discrimination. Especially on this Pride Sunday. Each triumph allows for progress to be identified, and each setback creates energy for us to keep on, because hope does not disappoint. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd answers. Brooklyn whispering along, hiding her freshly shed tears behind a mask of devotion to her heavenly father. She feels a ghost of a hand hovering beneath her heart, holding it up for the world to see. Sensing an indescribable presence supporting her very being.

The monotone, yet soul saving salmon cracks Brooke’s carefully placed walls. Her mind spins like a merry-go-round, tightly holding onto each word inspired by a scripture that had burned scars into her skin just months ago. She never thought that her suffering could not be a punishment, always had assumed the torment she had to endure was of God’s will. But with Vanessa by her side, she starts to believe every word, feels the knot in her stomach unfolding as she mouths the words - hope does not disappoint.

The service ends with a worship tune, one that the Canadian had heard way too often during her time as a young altar servant. As the last notes vanish into thin air, Brooke slowly comes back to her senses. Her muscles begin to relax and her breathing comes out a lot smoother, slowly realizing that she just survived another mass. The blonde has witnessed a service filled with love and admiration for her kind of people with a companion by her side, showing her the way and guiding her through it. Her body completely relaxes for the first time this morning, almost utterly calm as she silently celebrates her victory of not bursting into flames the moment she had set a foot on the holy soil.

The blonde crawls out of their bench, her legs slightly shaking after all the babel her head had to withstand, ready to leave her first experience with a gay affirming church behind, as Vanessa grabs her hand, pulling her back into her embrace. Two heavy chests collide as Vanessa’s face forms into a shit eating grin. Two women stare at each other in the middle of a filled aisle, getting lost in each other’s eyes. A small smile settles on the taller one’s lips.

“I told you so,” the short one laughs out loud before playfully groping the Canadian’s ass, receiving a high pitched shriek in return.

“Not at church, Vanessa,” Brooke hisses as she scans the room for people who could have seen her inappropriate gesture, at least inappropriate for the place they are in.

“I just couldn’t help myself, Mami,” Vanessa professes as she flutters her lashes seductively before she gets forcefully dragged outside by her lover. Deep laughter bounces of the walls as two not-so-broken souls make their way home.

I bow my head and turn to You

The Candian’s clean-cut apartment overlooks the busy streets of LA, traffic being an ever present white noise, one that recharges Vanessa, making her more giddy and jittery than in any other environment. Cheerful radiotunes flow through Brooke Lynn’s light blue kitchen walls and bounce off her white tiles surrounding the stove, as she hums along to a catchy pop song while finally doing the dishes. Simultaneously she tries to listen to Vanessa’s commentary to ‘The Office’ with an amused smile, as she shimmies along to the soft bass filling the air. Muted voices reach the kitchen every once in awhile, spilling over from the running TV in the living room as Vanessa’s voice mixes in, keeping Brooke’s mind from running in circles.

Vanessa had immediately taken a seat next to Apollo and Henry on the black leather couch, both of them snuggling up to the Latina after the two emotionally exhausted women had returned from the service, starting a re-watch of their favourite show as soon as Vanessa got a hold of the TV remote. One that she had originally forced Brooke to join. Just half an hour in, the blonde excused herself, violent thoughts ruining the peaceful mind, and took on any chore that would help repairing the shattered glasshouse in her soul. One that obviously isn’t fixable with cellotape.

"Booooo, you can’t possibly know what’s going on if you’re in the kitchen,” Vanessa whines, not even five minutes after Brooke left her side to polish the dishes.

“Nessa, the volume is high enough that even our neighbors will know what’s going on between Jim and Pam,” Brooke replies matter of factly while drying off one of the last plates.

"But it’s not the same if you can’t see what’s happening."

Vanessa doesn’t get a reply this time around. Dishes simply clattering in the distance.

"Broookiiieee,” the Latina whines again, dragging out each syllable.

Brooke can practically see the brunette’s plump pout quivering and her bright puppy eyes begging her to come over through the wall and decides to throw away her towel on her spotless kitchen counter with a sigh, making her way over to the needy brunette again - not able to resist her.

Vanessa greets her with grabby hands and another whine as Brooke settles by her side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around Vanessa’s waist.

“You are unbearable,” Brooke Lynn mumbles into the Latina’s curly hair before placing a shy kiss on her vanilla scented forehead. With a content hum she lays her heavy and still foggy head on Vanessa’s shoulder, while bringing her attention back to the TV. Giving her mind some space, allowing herself to just not think - embracing the emptiness. Simply enjoying being close to her ‘favourite human’ - calling her lover a more adequate name was simply too soon.

A welcoming warmth spreads through Vanessa’s body as goosebumps grace her skin wherever the Canadian’s touch reaches. With a peaceful sigh she happily receives any loving gesture Brooke might have to offer, appreciates every brush of skin against hers. A rush of serotonin flooding her system with each sweet word whispered into her ear and chaste kiss planted on her cheek. Vanessa knows that the older woman still isn’t used to showing her affection for the brunette freely, so she considers every small moment that expressed more than words could say a victory.

The two sit together, entangled with each other, focusing on the ongoing TV show with Vanessa throwing in an obnoxiously loud comment every now and then. But soon her focus shifts to the beauty next to her, as the setting sun illuminates the living room through the large windows, making the blonde glow from within. The Latina quietly observes how the TV screen reflects in her stormy eyes, and the way her long lashes cast a soft shadow on her high cheekbones. Carefully, she traces the dried up tear tracks on the blonde’s cheek, getting her full attention within a second. Her stomach twists at the blank expression she receives.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about the service today, Mami?” Vanessa asks with the softest version of her voice, as she twirls a blond strand of hair around her finger.

“Ohh, it was nice you know,” the Canadian offhandedly comments, not brave enough to face the younger one yet, and simply straightens her posture as her eyes fixate on the TV screen in front of her, “the woman holding the selmon was a bit boring, tho’.”

The show is slowly losing its appeal, Brooke’s darkened eyes now flick across the room, trying to find something she can focus on without losing track of what she is sharing with the woman by her side. An attempt to close off her heart once again.

All of a sudden, a warm hand appears on her shaking thigh, a reminder that she can’t fool the woman who already knows her darkest thoughts without speaking them into existence. Numb grey eyes watch olive fingertips draw circles on her leg, wondering if the silent spell imprinted on her skin could ever keep away the demons in her mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, the message was really nice, nearly brought me to tears, but she really can’t preach. She definitely should apply for a seminar or something like that…” she trails off, still not able to face the loving figure right by her side. Her sweating palms ball into loose fists. A brave soldier fighting her own mind on the battleground of the shared love.

Both women are completely aware of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, thighs brushing as heavy breathing fills the silence between them. The Canadian’s mind desperately tries to suppress the events of the morning, clings to the present as if it was her last lifeline. Focuses on the pounding in her ears and her heartbeat increasing with each soft fingertip caressing her skin, coaxing her shattered soul.

“Brooke,” Vanessa speaks up again, softly placing her hand above Brooke Lynn’s fidgeting fingers. Her heart breaks at the sight next to her.

“She is probably a nice woman, you know, just not that well spoken and all-” her nervous rambling sets in, trying to restrain the words she really wants to say out loud, bubbling up in her throat.

“Brooke, are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

The blonde finally really looks at Vanessa again, pity painting a compassionate picture on her flawless face. A shameful head hangs low, staring at the Latina through heavy eyelids, her mouth agape as she searches for the right words. Her heart heavy in her chest, she slowly shakes her dizzy head. No, she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room.

Silence falls between the two women, as the older one freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes fixated on the space between Vanessa’s eyes - staring - trying to find her words, trying to clear her messy mind. A deep breath, hold it in, exhale slowly. Repeat.

“I just, I don’t know what came over me. I really thought you being there with me - I -” a lump in her throat hindering her from spilling the truth like an overflowing sink.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it it’s fine, Mami. But it might help to figure it all out and shit,” Vanessa interferes Brooke’s rambling, interlocking their fingers - attempts to give her some comfort while reassuring the Canadian that she’s not alone.

Vanessa’s never been good at serious conversations. She is always the one to loosen up a tense moment or overly emotional situation with a joke or two, prefers seeing a loved one laugh because of the Puerto Rican woman stumbling over her own words,than seeing them cry. But what Vanessa had witnessed this morning had startled her, left her a bit shaken up. It wasn’t just a friend crying over a fuckboy or accidentally deleting their bachelor’s thesis. This was a silent and heart wrenching cry for help which she couldn’t brush off. The state she had seen her in was heartbreaking to say the least. An event she couldn’t simply forget, couldn’t leave unspoken about.

“It’s just that the moment they started reading from the scripture I was suddenly back in my old church, waiting to hear homophobic slurs fall from pastor’s lips, and it somehow felt like the walls kept caving in and all,” she whispers out loud, eyes closed, hands tightly gripping at Vanessa’s figure.

Breath in, breath out.

“I lost it today. I genuinely lost it. Looking back at it, it doesn’t seem to bad. I keep telling myself that people have it worse, that I am not that fucked up. But I genuinely thought I would go up in flames, die from my sins and so on.” Another deep breath, an attempt to calm her shaking voice, an attempt to buy her some time. “But even though I might have had to endure one of my worst days today, I don’t wanna give up just yet, Nessa.”

Pleading eyes stare into concerned doe ones framed by furrowed brows. Each hand squeeze and each calming word are like medicine for her sick soul. A lost soul finding her way back home, as she hopes to find her saving grace within the love and compassion the brunette so freely gives to her.

As Vanessa silently tucks a strand of blonde stray hair behind her ear and studies her, like she wants unravel her soul and love her entire being, Brooke just knows it’s her - it’s always been Vanessa.

She is the one.

“I can’t give up now. You know that God used to be such a big part of my life, and I wanna find my way back to him, eventually. The service today truly wasn’t the best I’ve ever visited, and I kinda miss a lot of our old traditions we had at church, which I obviously got accustomed to. Just the vibe in general was so different, something that really threw me off.”

Another pause. A healing woman too distracted by olive toned fingertips temptingly caressing her sides, wandering south without the owner’s intention.

“Yet despite all of this, the selmon somehow ignited a spark in me, reminded me where I truly belong - in God’s arms - and I don’t wanna let it die just yet,” Brooke attempts to explain, not being able to express what she is truly feeling through the limited space within mundane words.

“So you wanna go back?” The Latina lifts a perfectly painted brow, hands settle by her side as her lips fall agape into an O-shape while asking her question.

“No. Not at all.” She firmly shakes her head, a slight shiver running down her porcelain skin just at the thought of having to go there again. “But maybe we could take a look at St Thomas? It’s an epostical church. Only if you would come with me, though…” Brooke timidly voices her plan after a small pause, biting the skin around her nails again.

“Why this one?”

“You know, Nina said some of her les-, lesbian friends go there. It’s apparently a bit more traditional, which in hindsight could trigger another panic attack, but it’s still affirming,” she sighs deeply, realising she doesn’t even know what she actually wants just yet, “I don’t know what to do, Nessa. I just know that I don’t wanna give up just yet. I guess I finally found a point of convergence, so I can’t let either go. But that doesn’t mean I can’t prioritize one over the other currently.”

“And what exactly would you prior- priority-, shit, pick over the other, Mami?” The brunette softly asks, one brow raised as she nervously chews up her bottom lip. Her mouth runs dry, causing her to swallow hard. What if her love chooses her faith over Vanessa? Would she let her go? Fight for her to stay or just accept defeat?

Tiny poisonous bugs crawl in her veins, a threat to the blooming garden of affection in her heart. Her skin itching as electricity shoots through her limbs and her leg shaking as she anxiously anticipates an answer.

“You.”

One cut clear word makes Vanessa’s world stand still for a second, before it goes back to spinning at twice its original speed. Brows raised high as she stares at the blonde beauty wide eyed in disbelief.

“Pinch me, bitch.” A dead serious face reduces the blonde to a giggling mess right in front of her, biting her lip to smile along with her contagious laugh, before a tiny whisper in her head extinguishes every ounce of doubt. Maybe she really loves her back. The brunette’s lips raise into a smug grin, her heart beating at a record speed.

“There’s no need for that, sweetheart,” she interferes with another heartfelt laughter. “I think I really love you, Vanessa, and even though I didn’t really wanna admit it, I have to face the truth.” She gives herself another second before continuing, takes in all of the different emotions playing out on Vanessa’s face. Joy, fear, and at last - love.

“I have enough time to figure out my struggle with religion, but I don’t wanna lose any time I’ve got with you over an internal battle I can’t win,” the shaking in her voice intensifies with each word until she can barely pronounce anything at all properly. Her mind feverishly taking in all sensations, a spark of electricity shooting through her bones the moment Vanessa’s slim arms wrap around her with a loud yelp.

Fireworks have been ignited in the brunnette, joy buzzing through her veins as she climbs into the older woman’s lap. Her cheeks burning from a straining smile stretched across her face. Skin on skin, transmitting heat to the other, simply feeling alive as Vanessa carefully listens to Brooke Lynn’s increasing heartbeat.

A small tear settles at the Canadian’s lash line. A tear full of hope, love, and the prospect of a wonderful future ahead. Shaking fingertips dab at the wet spot, grey eyes looking up to the ceiling. The lost woman only just realizing that her home is in the tiny Latina’s arms, finally accepting that Vanessa never brought her off the right path, but that she was the right way all along. The path that could lead her to self-acceptance and to God.

“Don’t make me cry, boo,” the brunette replies as she stifles a small sob as well, softly biting down on a knuckle, pinching herself.

“It’s just that there is still a long road of self-acceptance ahead of me. Hurdles to overcome - like my family’s reaction to all of this.“ The Canadian gestures between the two of them with sadness tainted smile burdening her otherwise happy complexion. “But I still wanna tackle live by your side and keep taking baby steps from now. ”

Brooke punctuates her heartfelt speech by grabbing Vanessa’s hand and soothingly caressing the flesh she had just pinned between her teeth. Bright stormy eyes, as calm as the brunette had ever seen, stare into sparkling doe ones, toothy grins falling into place.

“I know I’ll find my way back to religion one day, might even become the ‘godly wife’ you deserve,” she says with a small giggle referring to her mother’s words, giving Vanessa’s soft hands a small squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to her dry knuckles, “but right now I just wanna focus on you - giving us a shot. And I would be very grateful if you would take my hand along the way.”

Brooke pulls the wide eyed brunette as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of her, giving their souls a chance to grow an everlasting bond. Cats snuggle closer to the two intertwined lovers and Vanessa let’s her love-clouded head fall onto Brooke’s shoulder. A deep content sigh escapes the Puerto Rican’s lips.

As the blonde beauty places a lingering kiss at the corner of Vanessa’s mouth, the brunnette still finds an ounce of doubt lingering behind the stormy eyes. Everything was turning out all too well. The younger one should have known this couldn’t be real.

“Do you really want this?” Vanessa barely whispers, too afraid of the answer she might receive. Fear leaking out of her desperate eyes with each second passing in silence as the tiny woman squirms in Brooke’s lap. A cold hand steadies her shaking thighs, keeping her in place.

Brooke Lynn knows that she wants all of it. She wants a little house with a white picket fence, giddy children, and cats roaming her own heavenly garden. Vanessa and herself - hand in hand - building a family. She wants to be a godly wife to this stunning goddess. No, Brooke doesn’t only simply want it, she craves it deep down. A seed of love sown into her chest the moment she had meet the Latina. It scares her. But she knows that it’s a good kind of fear. One that wraps you up slowly, constricting your whole essence, until you accept your fate. Turning the lingering fear into a comfort blanket of hope, embracing it.

She wants to say all of that and even more, scream her love for the brunette at the top of her lungs, yet simply answers with “Yes,” as she longingly stares at Vanessa’s lips.

Doe eyes light up at the simple word and peach painted lips crash into hers. Soft lips slightly brushing against each other, luring out a slight hum from the Latina. Teeth gracefully tugging at her bottom lip, making her eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down the brunette’s spine. Bodies curving into each other, hands roaming, and noses bumping into each other as giggles fill the space between their lips. Two lovesick woman desperately trying to hold onto the other, fearing their dream to disappear. Cheeks flushing and sparks flying as two souls intertwine, dancing to the song of love.

And as the two women find their loving home within each other, droplets of heavenly water baptize God’s lost daughters’ souls, finalizing their bond. A spell that cannot be broken.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #smut #fluff #lesbian au #fic challenge #musical theatre challenge #dreamyunicorngirl #musical theatre au #tw religion #tw panic attacks #tw internalized homophobia #submission

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