#perks of having an athlete mother that will drag you out of your room to train

[laugtherhyena]

Holding

#Akira is physically strong-ish. at least stronger than the avarage Dra female character? #perks of having an athlete mother that will drag you out of your room to train #that's why i even made her arms a bit on the thicker side in her sprites #that combined with the fact that Benitsuru is build like a twig means Akira can pick her up pretty easily #then proceed to spin and/or jump up and down while doing so #Beni looks either indifferent or red as a tomato most of the time when this happens #but sometimes she'll laugh about it. a good time :] #akira tomori hatano #benitsuru ando #fankid #oc #fan character #dra #sketch #doodle #hyena scribbles

[spiltscribbles]

The One With The Princess Leia Bikini

~Notes: This gets sorta smutty.... :S

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Send Me A Friends Episode/Storyline?  |  Rebogs Ar Love, Reblog Are Life!

.-

Sirius tosses a glare at an indignant James sitting across the counter from him, affronted on everything he has ever stood for.

“Brooklyn Nine Nine is way better than some stupid, ruddy drama about doctors.”

“Take that back you prick!”

“’S true!”

”Gray’s Anatomy paints the manic  highs and lows of their jobs with dignity and realism.” James argues with an imperious tilt of his head. “The storylines don’t even compare!”

“There was a bomb at their wedding!”

“There was a bomb lodged in someone’s arsehole!”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort, but stutters on his words when one of their ducks steps out of his room, spitting up something green before he  begins to peck at the sofa cushion.

“Good morning Pronsie,” James crows, walking over to cradle him into his arms and kisses the top of his head.

“Mate, you have to stop feeding him the peanut butter, ’s making them crazed,” Sirius tells him sagely  before taking a spoonful out of the jar for himself.

“They’re just demanding,” James sniffs, perking up once Lily walks into their apartment. “You agree, love, don’t you?”

“What?” She asks, single brow kinked as she grabs a bottle of water  from the fridge, still dressed in her athletic wear from her run. “That your ducks are demonic.”

“See!” Sirius shouts.

“They’re just a wee bit ill, poor things,” James says with a cluck of his tongue, gingerly petting Prongs’s feathers and wandering over to Lily for a quick peck to her sweaty forehead.

“Ill in the heads,” Sirius retorts lowly, grabbing for his discarded Guinness.

James casts him a heated glower, never halting his gentle caresses to Prongs’s feathered back. “Maybe I should call Mum, she’d know how to help.”

“Oi, right, because your veterinarian mother has nothing better to do.”

“She likes the marauders wanker!”

“Okay, did not come here to interrupt one of your lover’s quarrels,” Lily sighs, forever suffering, as she loosens and regathers  her  hair anxiously, tying the red main   into a messy topknot.

“Rude,” Sirius and James chorus with the same peeved inflection.

“I’m exhausted you berks! Dorcas has been staying at our place ever since Marlene went on that tour around the continent to find new athletes for the firm to sign.”

“Oof, is it nasty?” James asks, gently placing Prongs the duck to the ground and straightening back up.

“She’s in a real strop over it, yeah. Re’s with her now.”

“Lils, you underestimate Cas,,” Sirius snorts, bending down and giving into Prongs’s silent plea for a snack, holding out a chunk of peanut butter for him to nibble at. “She’s not gonna let something so temporary fuck her up. They’ve been going out for over a year now.” Sirius studiously ignores the little nagging voice in his own head— one that frighteningly sounds like Mrs Potter of all people— Tooting at him that he’d certainly not be this nonchalant if Remus had to go on some research sabbatical in Rome or Athens for half as long as Marlene’s three month stint.

“You are so full of it Black,” Lily sneers, and he really wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somehow secretly found out how to read minds on her downtime from the restaurant.

“Dorcas is a diamond,” James says cheerfully. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain soon enough.” As if right on queue they hear a booming crash coming from across the hall in Lily and Remus’s apartment. “Or erm— Maybe she won’t?”

"Prats,” Lily mutters lowly before pivoting on her heels leading the way for the three sum to frantically  scramble and follow suit.

Sirius is all levels of confused once they walk in  only to findDorcas starfished flat on the ground with her curls still soaked from what must’ve been a shower and grasping tight to a pink hairbrush. Remus’s standing over her with his hands on his hips, and lips pinched ever so slightly, the face he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to solve a particularly difficult dilemma. And it might be smarmy of him, but Sirius can’t help feeling a little parched when he sees the way Remus’s drenched T-shirt clings to his perfect form— near see-through.

“Is everything okay?” Lily asks as she steps closer, frowning bewilderedly.

“We just had a bit of an incident when Dorcas saw a clunk of blonde hair in the brush  that Marlene shares with her.”Remus explains, excepting the kiss Sirius offers him in hello. “And well, ahem then she found a garment that Marlene had left behind…  And well things escalated.”

“I’m going to be alone for forever,” Dorcas moans, making his point for him.

“I love it when you’re the dramatic one, Cas,” Sirius crows, narrowly dodging the aforementioned brush that Dorcas launches at his head. “Nice aim!”

“Leave me so I can whither away!”

“Nonsense, love, you two will be fine.” James interjects good naturedly.

“Let’s get some frozen yogurt, yeah?  Get your mind off of everything,” Lily suggests lightly, helping pull her up by the hands with Remus, Sirius’s own never leaving Remus’s back pocket.

“Can we go to the place with the jellybean  toppings,” Dorcas asks with a pout, head resting on Lily’s shoulder— dark tresses falling into strawberry blonde.

“Course, sweetheart,” she assures with a glowing smile.

Breathing in deep, Dorcas nods slowly, stretching her neck just slightly so to kiss Remus’s cheek in thanks  before she lets Lily cart her off into her room to get changed.

“I better put the marauders into their crate if we’re going to be out long,” James announces, effectively leaving Remus and Sirius finally, blissfully, alone.

“Is this the part where I tell you that I thought you only get wet when I’m around?” Sirius asks cheekily, rounding on his boyfriend with a smirk already painted over his face.

“You can,” Remus relents with a one armed shrug. “But only if you want to not speak with me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius lets out an endeared huff, head shaking slightly before he dips down to greet him properly. “Morning gorgeous,” he beams,  cupping his hands around Remus’s face before kissing him nice and thorough.

“I missed you last  night,” Remus says, foreheads pressed up against each other as his hands wander up and down Sirius’s back muscles appreciatively, landing on his forearms with a small squeeze.

“I had to concentrate on that proposal for the new  tube stop that Moody wanted by today.” Sirius tips back his head, toes curling ever so slightly at the way Remus is mouthing along the column of his neck, nipping at the hinge of Sirius’s jaw with particular focus.  “And believe it or not Messr Lupin, but you prove a formidable distraction."

“Is that right?” Remus smiles against his skin, pressing him even closer.  “And did you finish all that paperwork, architect Black?”

“Hmm, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you?” Sirius can’t help but laugh, especially when Remus pulls back,  blinking up  owlishly at him. “Oh don’t give me the innocent act, gorgeous. I’ve been able to see through that since the first night we met.”

Remus’s face turns a fetching pink, snickering slightly as he presses back up against him. “Can’t. Help. It.” Remus says between another round of peppered kisses on the lobe of Sirius’s ear, the hallow of his cheek and corner of his mouth too. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re touched in the head, just a ball of hornyness.” Sirius accuses, tugs him close once more and slants their lips together while one hand slings around Remus’s narrow waste and the other begins to knead into his ass muscle. “Shall we take this back to your room? Do this properly without any clothing?”

Remus flushes, fingers toying with the collar of Sirius’s shirt as he swallows down, hard.”Could you— Erm, could you maybe wear those glasses you use sometimes for when you’re reading those long contracts?”

Absolutely preening,, Sirius cards a hand through Remus’s caramel curls, scraping his nails gently against his scalp. “And the professorial kink makes another appearance in the bed ladies and gents.” He announces to the empty room, as if he’s  a twentieth century gameshow host.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a kink, per se.” Remus argues haughtily, cheeks infused red, and teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“‘S okay gorgeous, I think your swottyness is rather cute.” Sirius goads, pecks Remus’s mouth lightly before dragging him off to his room to finally get at some bare skin. 

“It’s not because I’m a swot that I like seeing you like that,” Remus harrumphs, watching as Sirius sheds off his top before sitting leisurely on the bed, feeling bloody incandescent when Remus mounts his lap, nuzzling his nose against Sirius’s neck with his arms resting against his broad shoulders.

“I’d wager you have dirty librarian fantasies too,” Sirius laughs through the kisses, thrusting upwards so that Remus’s bum bounces slightly against his hardness, fucking miraculous.

“Hah— Hmm,” Remus breathes a bit more laboredly as he settles back down. “And what if I do,” he asks primly, unwittingly making it so a thrill runs down Sirius’s spine with the thought of his boyfriend— the bloke who is most certainly  the love of his god forsaken life— picturing the different ways he wants Sirius— above him and under him, all around him and deep inside of him. And Christ, what a beautiful thought.

“’S not a problem with me goldilocks,” Sirius tells him with a slight catch to his voice, not having expected that the idea would effect him so thoroughly. “Tell me do you like me stern? Maybe you turned in some late books and I had to teach you a lesson.”

“If I’m being honest, love, you don’t talk much in the fantasy,” Remus laughs when Sirius bolts upwards, flipping him so that he’s beneath Sirius and his hair is fanned on the pillow like a gilded halo.

“Fucking lies,” Sirius slips a hand through the hem of Remus’s sweats, unsurprised to find that he’s not wearing any boxer briefs, knowing full and well how Remus prefers to sleep in the nude.” “You love it when I’m waxing poetic about you, and when I’m harsh at you. When I tell you about how your mouth is meant to suck my cock, how I want to put you over my lap and spank that perfect little arse of yours.” Sirius wraps his hand around Remus’s length, twisting it slightly before  starting to pump, absolutely beaming at how he’s already begun to get Remus to get that oh so beautiful glazed look over his eyes, turning him undone with a few strategic touches and perfectly crafted, perfectly illicit mutterings. “When I call you gorgeous and a filthy little slag and when I fuck into you even after you’re already spent.”

Remus’s hips rock up, eyes squint shut when Sirius uses his free hand to thumb at one of his delightfully pink nipples and pinches it for good measure while he quickens the pace of his hand sliding up and down Remus’s shaft. “Tell me how much you crave that, love. How much you love being good for me, how much you love it when I show you how.”

“Sirius— Hold on,” Remus begs, voice coming out in an almost whine— haggard and breathy and high pitched— while both his hands knot into  Sirius’s dark hair, quaking so hard that Sirius knows he’s got him on the edge. 

Tenderly, he dips down his head, lips pressed against Remus’s ear and hot tendrils of breath skirting against his skin. Shh, ‘s fine, baby,” he promises him, stroking him through the climax. “’S okay, just let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck— Sirius!” Remus chokes out, hips thrusting rapidly as he chases that relief and slumping back once his orgasm quite literally pulses out, coating Sirius’s hand and abs and some on Remus’s jumper too.

“You really are gorgeous,” Sirius tells him with a smile, gingerly kissing the lids of his still shut eyes before grappling for the little baggie of wet wipes they’ve begun keeping in Remus’s night stand drawer for moments like these.

“I hate how you could do that to me,” Remus tells him with heavy breaths as Sirius cleans up, taps his side lightly so Remus rises up his hips and Sirius tosses his pants to the corner, followed by Remus’s now spoiled jumper. He really couldn’t wait to get his hands off of him after a day apart.

“Oi! ‘S not my fault that the thought of me as some stodgy  librarian is what   gets you going, Moonbeam.” Sirius rebukes, pulls up the comforter so that it pools around their hips, while he lies back leisurely with Remus’s head propped up on his chest.

“We’re breaking up,” Remus tells him flatly, tracing small circles against Sirius’s tanned skin, interrupted by intermittent pecks.

“Cruel,” Sirius pouts, still carding a hair through Remus’s mussed curls, can’t imagine ever living without this, not after so many years of never ending yearning and countless almosts and taking one step forwards before being pushed two back so many times that it made them bloody barmy.

But they’re here now. Sirius has Remus in ways he never thought he’d ever want to claim a person— and lets himself be claimed in the same ways right back. Sirius knows Remus and all of Remus’s little quirks—  loves him all the more for it. He knows the way Remus likes his tea when he wakes up at three in the morning and can’t go back to bed, how it’s different from the tea he prefers to drink in the afternoons. Knows the way Remus licks the lip of the mug before every sip. Sirius knows Remus’s favorite book for each of his various moods, and knows that on those quiet days— the ones when Remus doesn’t like talking much at all— that Remus only needs time, needs to know that Sirius’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning with sunlit smiles and kisses that taste like violet skies and cinnamon scones and promises meant to be kept.

And of course Sirius will be there, of course he’d have Remus in any and all ways that he’d let him— He knows it in his bones that Remus feels that same crippling sort of devotion for him right back, knows that it’s a once in a life time sort of ordeal. He knows that he’s grateful for every breath they share with one another.

“”A man could take only so much smugness from his boyfriend,” Remus tells Sirius petulantly, the words belied by how he tenderly kisses his chest.

“No but Remus, darling, tel me. Who makes more of an appearance in the sexy thought time? Librarian me or the image of me in the rugby kit.” 

Remus moves to flip him the bird while he nips at the patch of skin he was just lapping at with quiet reverence.

“Ouch!”

“I hate that I told you that.” Remus fumes, actually embarrassed looking as he pulls away from him.

Sirius is frantic when he circles his arms around Remus’s torso and brings his body  back to lie over his own. “Nah, no, gorgeous,  I like it. Gets me going. The idea that you’re so lost on me that you picture me in those different outfits.” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss of apology to the temple of his head.

“’S not weird Sirius!”

“Course it’s not baby,” Sirius soothes, hand caressing his side meaningfully.

“You’re bloody fit— you know that! ’s totally normal that I’d wanna wank off to my beautiful damn boyfriend.”

“Completely, no one’s arguing against you, baby.”

“Hmm,” Remus huffs before springing up suddenly, pinning Sirius with a suspicious glower. “So what, you don’t ever picture me like that? In your favorite sorts of fantasies.”

Sirius throws back his head, laughing at how distressed he looks. God he’s in love with such a bellend. “Cor! Remus, me calling you Prince Ponce all those years before we finally just shagged wasn’t simply  because you had a royal scepter  up your arse that I wanted to replace with my  prii—“ Remus shoves Sirius hard enough so he won’t finish that line, and honestly? Valid.

“So what? That’s all?” Remus fumes, settling away from him once more.  “You’ve only ever imagined me as some sorta golden boy you wanted to get your grubby hands on?”

“Course not, love, there’s like hundreds I think of.”

“Like what?” Remus needles, and Sirius feels his cheeks burn scarlet as he has to avert his gaze, knowing precisely what his top fantasy is and too nervous to actually say it out loud.

“Oh c’mon Sirius,” Remus sighs, obviously having read the doubt blotched all over his face. “I’ve seen you piss while eating an ice cream cone in a public beach, and that was before we began even dating.”

“’S not my fault that Marlene got stung by that bloody jellyfish!”

“We’ve crossed the possibility of being embarrassed in front of the other long ago,” Remus continues as if Sirius hadn’t interrupted. 

“Ugh fine,” Sirius grouses, tossing himself back on the mattress. “But you swear not to poke fun?”

“You have my word,” Remus says evenly, and gestures at him to continue.

“Okay— Well you don’t know this because we met so much later. But when Jem and I were younger— back in secondary school, maybe.” He coughs only slightly, gaze razor focussed on where he’s tugging on a stray strand of string hanging off the comforter, feeling suddenly very hot under Remus’s appraising gaze. “We, erm. Ahem. We were really bloody bored this one weekend so we watched the Star Wards prequels, you know. Just because everyone’s seen them and all.”

“Mmm, right. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”

“I’m getting there tosser,” Sirius harrumphs, still doesn’t meet his hazel eyes, even if he’s a bit brassed off.

“All right, well don’t let me stop you.”

“Right, well— Hah.  You know the Empire Strikes Back,” Sirius asks tentatively.

“Course I do,” Remus nods, faltering just slightly once he pieces it together. “Oh.”

“’S just a thing I’ve thought about since I was like thirteen—“ Sirius explains lamely. 

“And you’d— You’d like to see me in that get up?” Remus asks, voice betraying his inhibition.

Sirius has a mild heart attack thinking of Remus— his Remus— in that golden bikini and doing it just  for Sirius and Jesus fuck he can’t even breathe. “Yeah— Yes, ahem, I would really like that.”

“All right,” Remus says with a nod and Sirius’s not really sure what he means by that. Whether it’s a thank you for sharing or a you have my permission to think of it or what, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask when there’s the sound of something else crashing in the background followed by  the muffled curse of a voice that is so painfully Peter that it hurts.

“Right, well let’s see if he’s broken anything, shall we?”

.-

A week goes by.

Sirius never really thinks of the conversation they had, supposes it was merely a passing fancy for Remus to be validated that Sirius has those same heated thoughts about him. (Which of fucking course he does. Remus’s the epitome of what it means to be beautiful. A God damn angel— Of bloody course Sirius is completely lost on him. But hey, it might’ve been just one of those insecurities of his, a hurtle  that needed to be past over for them to proceed in their relationship. So yeah,  whatever.) Sirius doesn’t think of it again.

Though the refrain from that is thrown out the God forsaken window on a typical Wednesday morning in the office, when Sirius gets the Snapchat notification that quite literally turns his brain into a stew of slush.

There’s a meeting with Benedict Carro who’s asked the firm to build his newest golf club in Devon, and Sirius is just collecting some of the charts and preliminary sketches from his desk for the impending meeting with the old git.  So he really doesn’t think much of it when he sees his phone light up with a message from Remus, is expecting it to be a picture of his adorably  scrunched up face or of a new addition to his ridiculous collection of candles, or maybe even of the ducks wandering across the hall like they’re occasionally want to do.

What Sirius most certainly does not expect to see is a fucking photograph of two distinct costumes lying on his bed, and the line “Look what came today,” written on the black bar.

���Mother of God,” Sirius thinks that he might be in the midst of an actual fucking seizure, feels his heart palpitating irregularly and his breaths catching and his insides fucking imploding all at once.

He can’t believe that this is a thing that is happening. That Remus went out and bought them just to surprise Sirius with and now he’s teasing him mercilessly because Sirius’s in love with a wicked fucking mastermind. And just, holy fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Mr Black, Mr Carro and his associates are here,” Sirius’s newest assistant— Benjy Fenwick, says in a tone that makes it obvious that he’s been trying to get Sirius’s attention for quite a while now and is about fed up. Sirius is really tempted to flip his phone around and show him a photograph of how insanely sexy Remus is, then he’ll surely understand the reason why Sirius’s been dissolved into a puddle of pure longing for the day to be over. But he ultimately reasons that wouldn’t be exactly appropriate, technically being Benjy’s boss and all, even though they’re nearly the same age.

But yeah— not a good look.

So he hurriedly texts back that Remus is the absolute devil incarnate before shutting off his phone and following Benjy into one of the meeting rooms in the back— trying to muster an air of nonchalance even if the image of Remus in that God damn Princess Leia bikini, is permanently  scorched into his every thought.

.-

“Sirius spent the rest of that afternoon sending admittedly explicit texts to Remus about all the things he wants to do to him that night, and practically sores back to their building when he leaves work.

Thankfully Remus had taken care of getting the place to their selves that night, so all Sirius has to do now is jump around from foot to foot in his room, beyond jittery in anticipation of Remus finally coming out the closet dressed in Sirius’s greatest fantasy of all time.

“Is the music absolutely necessary?” Remus calls out through the closed door.

“Yes,” Sirius says in a tone that’s about two octaves higher than his usual speaking voice, so beyond flustered. “’S for the ambiance Lupin!”

“Oy, if I had known this was such a thing for you, I would’ve done it earlier,” Remus snorts, walking out in a white bathrobe that gives nothing away as he eyes Sirius in the Han Solo outfit he got— complete with a fake blaster pistol and its holster. “You look so cute.”

“You’re a God,” Sirius tells him in aw, reaching a gentle hand over to run through  his dark, tawny curls. 

Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius catches the smirk he’s wrestling down on his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Sirius breathes, padding up closer to him and kissing Remus slow and thorough, a tender hand caressing his cheek.

“God save the queen, that reference  actually did something for me,” Remus chuckles, but Sirius can’t respond, has permanently lost all ability to function or piece together words once he spots how Remus loosens the knot on his robe and slinks it off to reveal miles and miles of bare skin, only slightly concealed by the golden bikini of his fantasies, even complete with purple little frills that dangle off the hips.

Sirius realizes that he must’ve been gaping by the way Remus waves a hand in front of his face, “Earth to Sirius? Is this not how you pictured it? Did I get the wrong model or—“ Sirius shuts him up with a heated and desperate kiss that leaves them both breathless by the time they separate.

“Remus, please, for the love of God, get on that bed and wait for me to decide what I want to do with you."

With a  small grin turning up the corner of his lips, Remus nods eagerly, perching up on the edge of Sirius’s bed and blinking up at him— practically imploring  for Sirius to finally just have his wicked way with him already.

Sirius mildly thinks that he doesn’t deserve such a gift, but gets distracted when Remus separates his legs a little further and he can spot the way his dick is poking out the metallic colored panties, throbbing with anticipation.

“Budge up, I want your back against the headboard,” Sirius demands lowly, and Remus is quick to comply.

On his knees, Sirius shuffles up close enough to clamp his hands on Remus’s inner thighs, pulls them further apart as he smacks a hard kiss to Remus’s mouth, slowly moving to  nose at the edge of his cheek and ear as he tells him in a very quiet, very deliberate tone to keep his hands above his head. “You’re a good boy, baby, so I won’t tie them, but you’re gonna keep them up there and you’re not gonna move them, okay?”

Remus, already completely flushed, nods vigorously. He prefers staying quiet when they get like this— Sirius would ordinarily prod at him a little to get some words out, but he’s far too distracted right now.

He kisses across Remus’s protruding collarbone, thinks of how swan like and gentle his features are. How Remus’s a work of art and how he wants Sirius more than breathing, how that’s splayed all over his face, especially now.  And God, how heady of a thrill.

Sirius kisses down the line of his chest and stomach muscles with slow precision, nuzzles against the material of the bikini before he nearly breaks the left strap trying to get at Remus’s left nipple, teeth grinding and playing with the ball— biting a little harder when Remus whimpers, trying to cant his hips upwards.

Sirius pulls back, pinching his side lightly. “Stay still,” he reproves, excepts it wen Remus quietly apologizes, ducking his head down to the other nipple now, his hands tenderly petting against Remus’s sides as he sucks on it with the same ferocity.

“Sir—Sirius, please,” Remus begs from above him, head tossed back to show off the long trail of his beautiful neck.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, baby,” Sirius tells him in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, beginning to mouth against the light feathering of pale hair that runs down Remus’s torso, leading to his dick.

“I’m sorry,” Remus tells him, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you,” Sirius kisses the point right beneath his naval, and he ducks down to what he was trying to get at in the first place 

“Turn around,” he tells him, words clipped. “ON all fours.”

Remus looks relieved to finally be able and do something as he tells him “Yes,” and flips over,  already rigid with anticipation.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Sirius tells him, places a hand on the small of Remus’s back for leverage as he kisses the smattering of freckles that dance over  Remus’s thighs. God he has such amazing thighs, strong and elegant and Sirius’s favorite thing is when he gets to kiss them like this, to nip at them and hear the little, abrupt inhale that Remus sucks in at the touch. “Stay good for me, okay,” Sirius tells him as he takes his hands and he spreads open Remus’s asscheeks, revealing the little, dark hole Sirius has spent many a night moaning exaltations towards.

Softly, and with hot breaths Sirius pulls to the side the weak material of the thong, peppers kisses all around Remus’s ass before dipping down deeper and lapping a tongue against the tiny, fluttering ring of wrinkled skin.

“Sirius, please,” Remus moans pushing closer to the hot sensation.

“I got you, sweetheart,” Sirius tells him, lips pressed against him as Sirius kisses the entrance adoringly—tongue plunging  inside deeper, harder, slower. And he loves this, the sensation of it, of Remus coming undone in his very hands.

Sirius is about to wrap a hand around the length of him, to stroke in tandem with his worshiping with his mouth, but suddenly there little moment of bliss is cut by the sound of insistent and boisterous knocking.

“Ignore it,”

“It could be important,” Remus argues weakly, obviously all levels of regretful as he peers over his shoulder.

“Fuck it, who cares, ’s my flat and they can sod off!”

Remus presses his lips together, looking like he might agree, but then comes a new round of rapping, and Sirius sees the resolve in his face.

“Oh bloody hell! Fine!” Sirius fumes, scrambling up. “But if it’s someone trying to sell me shit, I’ve got the legal obligation to punch them in the face!”

“Of course darling,” Remus smiles at him, and it’s the only thing that gives Sirius enough strength to swagger towards the front and open the door without already being in mid shout. Though, what he doesn’t expect to happen is to find his adoptive mother of all fucking people on the other side.

“Mum?”

“Sirius? Love?” Dr Potter greets, eyeing him worriedly with a tsk, bringing a small, brown hand to his forehead as if to take his temperature and making it so Sirius flinches back. “Why do you look all red, and honey it’s not October yet, what’s with the outfit?”

“Mum!, why are you here!” Sirius asks instead, avoiding the question all together, voice completely strangled.

“Oh, well James called me to check up on the ducks this Friday, but I was in town with an old girlfriend, so I reckoned I’d just pop over, see if you guys needed anything for me to bring you.” She explains blithely, still looking up at him with concern. “Your taking care of yourself, aren’t you dearest? You’re not working too hard?”

Sirius panics, tries to think of a perfectly plausible excuse besides the obvious— So but of course that’s right when Remus decides to shout from the bed. “Sirius who’s at the door?” And no! Jesus no!

“Remus? Lovey?” his mum calls back.

“Oh— Erm. Dr Potter.” Remus has stepped out of his room now, mercifully already back in his robe. “I didn’t know we were expecting you,” he says  with a pale color tinting his pillar, like he’s about to be sick.

Okay, yup, Sirius’s erection has died forever now after hearing Remus speaking to Sirius’s bloody mother dressed like that.

Fuck his life.

“Are you boys okay? Did I— Did I interrupt something?”

“Mum! James is just out to dinner with Lily! We’re fine, honest! And erm, we can’t wait to see you Friday night!”

“Oh dearest, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you  guys— ah dressed up—“ Dr Potter flushes, but there is definite amusement glittering in her eyes, and that’s right when Sirius slams his hand against his face and retreats back to the bedroom, barely hearing it when she bids farewell to Remus and tells Sirius to call her tomorrow.

“I reckon we won’t be continuing?” Remus asks, a total giggle to his words. Holy fucking shite! Everyone in his life are such pricks!

“I’m jumping off the balcony!” Sirius screams back in response, plunging his head into the pillows and contemplating everything that’s brought him to this point.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist~

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #Marauders #harry potter series #spilt ink #this is trash tbh #plz clown me #I also edited it from an old Firstprince one shot but I'm not writing Friends AU for them anymore #or like never really started lol #so I fixed it #for My OTP #FIC: Friends AU

[judgement-free-sideblog]

The enemy of love is the truth

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Summary: They were happy just as friends, but one morning the call from an old trauma may change everything.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, history of drug use, mental health issues, cursing, angst, a little smut, violence.

I want to apologize in advance, I did my fare share of smut between 2008 and 2011, jesus we called them lemons back then (I'm so old, sorry) but in my native language. And even if I wasn't out of practice translating that kind of scenes is a complete nightmare, so I'm so sorry for what you are going to read.

■Part I  ■ Part II ■Part III ■ Part IV ■ Part V ■ Part VI ■ Part VII ■ Part VIII | Final ■

Part VI

"She invited you to ex's wedding?" Charlie said squatting out of breath, it was almost 8:00 am and they had been running since 7:00. "Don't you think it will be a bit inappropriate? I mean what if she still have feelings for that guy? God I need to lie down"

"Technically I invited myself..." Tom started also taking big breaths "Oh don't look at me like that, she they broke up long time ago, and even if she is not over him she would need support there, isn't that right Bobby??" He knelt to pet his dog, who looked at them puzzled by how tired they seemed to be.

"So, when is the big day?" He said finally standing up.

"Saturday, but apparently we are going to a small diner on friday night, the whole event is in a Hotel in West Yorkshire, and I don't feel like driving four hours in the same day"

"If I don't know you better I would say you're a brilliant bastard" he said choking out a laugh.

"Why?"

"Nice romantic hotel in the country, the emotional vulnerability of seeing your ex getting married, the comfort of the nice blue eyes of a loving friend" he said making and exaggerate gesture to Tom's face "But is you so ai assume you won't even share a room platonically"

"You are completely out of your mind" he said laughing "although it is a nice place, look" He showed him the electronic invitation where both bride and groom smiled to each other in front of the hotel.

"Is that the guy? Well she certainly had a type" he said studying the picture "I mean if he were older or a bit more fit he would look just like you" Tom look at the picture again not finding the resemblance "I'll tell you something if you guys finally do hook up could you wait until March to tell people? I said 3 years and 1 month and Zawe said 3 years exactly and I don't feel like letting her win."

"Do you really have a betting pool about us? Don't worry, I wouldn't tell you anything even of something happens" he said with a chuckle and they continued their run.

On friday at 3:00 p.m. he showed up at Y/N's place, with Charlie's words still resonating in his head, he found her in a beautiful burgundy off shoulder column cocktail dress and black heels, making this the third time he ever saw her in a dress, it was a big difference from the usual sneakers and hoodies, not a bad one but he couldn't help a bit of jealousy thinking this was for someone else.

"Stop staring at me, I know it's ridiculous and I'm gonna break my bloody neck with this things" She said showing him the fragile tip of one of the heels, he smiled founding his friend true nature even in that situation. "Stupid dress codes, is it too late to stay home? I have a rosé in the fridge wwith your name on it if you let me..."

"And losing the opportunity of seeing you roll your eyes at every old men comments on the country's economy?" He said putting her back inside the car and immediately after offering her hand to enter the car "Not a chance. You look lovely by the way"

"I won't roll my eyes at them, believe it or not, I do know how to handle myself in social events" She put on her seatbelt and he started the car turning on the GPS "Is the idea of meeting our old friends from uni and his parents what freaks me out, they must think I'm some kind of monster"

Our for some reason that word hurt more than it should, he brushed off the idea from his head again, jealous was an useless emotion to him and a dangerous one too in some people, and he was determined to not let them get the best of him.

"I don't think they would have invited you if they felt like that, or at least not to the rehearsal dinner too if that was the case." He said taking an exit indicated in the GPS.

"You clearly don't know Agnes Hawtrey" He briefly turn to her intrigued "David's mother, she is a rich harpy obsessed with showing everyone all the money their family has. I feel sorry for her future daughter in law, but since they actually getting married I assume she is not some Liberal brat who thinks spending Christmas in Libya is appropriate" She said imitating an high pitch voice with a posh accent.

"Why Libya?"

"Medecins sans frontiers" She answered "I volunteered to work with them in my holidays and David followed me a couple times. Agnes hated me for it, I actually think she was happy when I left him."

"Do you speak french?" He asked again trying to change the subject.

"Enough to work with them, but I'm completely rusty by now" she answered "I know it's too much effort to escape a suffocating relationship" the angry beast that had formed in his chest began to fade thanks to the idea of she not being entirely happy with the other guy, so he decided to approach the problem differently.

"I don't understand how do you end up together in the first place, you are too much of a free spirit to be around someone like that" He said, by now the city was getting behind them and he could start driving faster.

"Well my family is actually quite wealthy" She started causing a puzzled expression in his face "I reject any form of help from them and live on my own, but I did play my part in society for a while, so it seemed meant to be at the time. Of course I turned out to be a rotten apple and at some point I believe I was his excuse to hide how much he didn't enjoy their life style. I told you he was no saint, and maybe those where our finest moments" She said with a nostalgic smile, as if she remembered an specially pleasing memory. "But real life happened, you know? You are gonna like him don't worry"

"Well he sounds like a decent men" he said bitterly because his idea backfired "Music?"

They spend the rest of the trip talking about meaningless topics and singing along with the radio, by the time they eentered Yorkshire it was seven in the afternoon and the sun was standing to hide, the Waterton Perk hotel was magnificent, romantic and secluded as Charlie said, in the middle of a lake connected to land by a bridge full with trees naked by the winter that make the mansion looking more as something out of a fairytale.

He helped her out of the car and enjoyed having her body close to him while they crossed the bridge preventing her to fall with her heels. They entered a small lounge where people where waiting for the dinner to be served. As she had said earlier that week most of the people attending were old family friends of the bride and groom, and not many young faces were in the crowd. Except from those who he believed were the Uni friends, he introduced himself and even took a picture with one of the girls who had a similar reaction as Y/N when she met him.

Y/N was now chatting, a few meters away, more comfortable with them expecting the arrival of the main guests, while a couple of people were distracting Tom, complimenting his performance as Coriolanus a few years back and praising his Robert Down, so he couldn't notice the old woman, elegantly dressed in a light gray dress walking towards Y/N and dragging her apart from her friends, until she start talking in that high pitch voice Y/N had imitated very well earlier.

"How dare you showing your face in here?" The woman said to her while the young woman only remind silent not meeting her gaze "You spoiled ridiculous brat, after what you did to my boy, you should be ashamed..."

"Relax Agnes," She finally said lifting her look, Tom then was about to intervene but he could se a quiet rage behind her otherwise unaffected face, and felt forced to stay and watch "Let me remind you that your son invited me. And the last time I checked you are not David, also if you cared a little about your precious boy you wouldn't be making a fool of yourself in front of your guests" People where now standing very close to them listening every word the women said.

"You are right dear," Agnes started with a tone that said just the opposite, but smiling regaining her composure "After all how can I expect manners from a little trash from Devon anyway" Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh at the remark against her hometown and looked at her while the elder woman turned her back on her.

"Of course because the loose daughter of a fisherman as you called me can't be a suitable in law for you, I honestly pity the poor woman who has to have you in her life, I hope you can control her since you couldn't do it with me...

Her sentence die in the air because an old hand full of rings slapped her before she could finish, a red mark started forming in Y/N face, an she was fighting the tears, both from the humiliation and the hurt, from coming out of her eyes. Tom could see Agnes hand getting ready to hit her again while he tried to reach Y/N when a hand stopped her out of nowhere and spoke with a deep angry voice.

"That's enough mother" The infamous David was there, holding her mother still and standing in front of Y/N as a shield, all welled dressed and athletic, she looked tiny behind him and the beast inside Tom's chest started growling again. "Dad I asked you to watch her, Diane will be here any minute and I can't have this happening right now" The man who Tom assume was his father took agnes outside of the room and the rest of the people returned to their conversations as if nothing happened, finally allowing him to get closer. "Are you ok baby?" He said looking finally at Y/N offering his handkerchief to wipe her tears, that last word burned like fire in Tom's ears, he was now facing her with his back to Tom, and the bright smile that she gave him when she answered was making him sick

"It's okay sweetheart" She give back the handkerchief and give the man a good look "Let her have it, she has wanted to do that for 15 years, it's only fare, you look amazing, I'm so happy for you" She hugged him and the familiarity he showed holding her, made Tom's blood boil, he wanted to get him apart from her immediately, and take her far away from him and the poisonous thought of they together for years was corrupting his mind, there it was, jealousy cold and simple, the only thing his mind kept telling him was: He had her, and you don't. He had her for years, just the way you want her, she was his.

"And where is your something like that, I'm dying to met the lad" He said letting her go.

"Right behind you" she said completely ignoring the change in Tom's expression who was looking at the two with his mind apparently somewhere else. "Tom this is David." She said calling his name and breaking the murderous thoughts he was having.

"Sorry I wake you up the other night mate... Bloody hell you beautiful minx you did it!" He said loudly hugging her by the shoulder and then, much to his displeasure, Tom "Years obsessed with him, and drooling to his posters in our house and here you are inviting him to my wedding, I must say girl you made it! congratulations." She started turning red again but this time from the embarrassment, and Tom finally relaxed, something about David's personality make it impossible for him to be angry, maybe it was the fact that he was genuinely happy and how could he not? It was his wedding after all.

"Posters?" He asked enjoying the desperation in Y/N eyes urging him to change the subject.

"Posters, dvds, tshirts, you name it, she dragged me to watch your movies like four times each time they were on the cinema and then watched them on repeat at our flat" He recalled with exasperation "Don't get me wrong you are a fine looking man but not my type"

"Oh god, I think I'm going to find your mother to slap me again" She said covering her face "Please, I beg you stop talking"

"Let the man finish, it's the most compelling history" Tom said and while he put his arm around her waist taking her close to him.

"I'm glad to see you two together, I was so relieved when she said she was bringing someone, not like she needs anyone" He said anticipating her reaction proving to Tom just how much he knew her "But you two look actually happy together, and she's the most wonderful person" Y/N was about to clear things out when Tom wink at her and pressed her a little closer to him.

"She actually is, and we are very happy" He said giving him one of signature smiles "Is that your bride?" A young looking woman entered the room with a beautiful pale pink dress, and she looked at them completely baffled.

"Oh yes baby, that's my Diane" the man said and Tom felt ashamed for his brief jealous attack as the man seemed to call everyone baby. "Guess who we wake up the other morning dear?" The man said urging the girl to join them.

"Oh my goodness" The woman started "Are you...?" Tom smiled and politely introduce himself, and David then introduced both women "I am so sorry about the other morning, I told David to wait until noon when we were in Pakistan but he called you anyways, it was four in the morning right?"

"Yes, but never mind, what where you doing in Pakistan?" Y/N said now holding tight Tom's waist too.

"Building a hospital, Diane's foundation hired me a couple years ago and that's how we met, we've been living there for like five months, we were just going to elope a few weeks back, but I did this so I wouldn't cause my mother an aneurysm, but she had to accept my conditions to make it happen" He said proudly.

"Like inviting me?"

"That was actually my demand" Diane said with a little blush on her face "I really wanted to meet you, I heard so many wonderful things about you I thought maybe it was time for you to be friends again"

"And I told her we never stopped being friends in the first place, but she is stubborn, and I can't resist her" they started kissing like there were no one else in the room and Tom and Y/N look at each other nervously.

"Oi! Leave something for tomorrow" on of their friends called them from the dining room "The food is here come on"

The rest of the night went by without any other incident, apart for the perpetual state of happiness that David showed for Tom's presence, by the time the rest of the gests went to find their rooms Y/N and Tom were taking a last walk in the cold night, it was until they were at the entrance of the bridge that he noticed they were holding hands.

"Your boyfriend is quite a nice gentleman" he said teasing her.

"By the amount of wine he was trying to make you drink I would think he wants to be your boyfriend" she responded quickly. "Why did you told him we were together?" She question him now completely serious.

"I didn't thought you wanted to explain the nature of our relationship after what happened with his mother. So until the wedding is over I suppose I'm your boyfriend. How is your face by the way?" He said, not giving importance to the matter while they kept walking.

"It has been better. And thank you I suppose you are right, and it is nice to imagine what could have been, if I haven't been an idiot at the restaurant all those years ago, and not scaring you into not calling back" He stopped suddenly making them broke contact.

"That's why you think I didn't called?" He asked perplex "I couldn't care less about that ridiculous tantrum, if anything I was more interested in you for it" she was too astonished by his declaration to talk so he continued "I didn't asked you out again because you said I'll see you around I assumed you didn't want to be involved with me that way so I didn't push it."

"Well..." She started quietly with a sad half smile in her face "I did say that, with that precise intention, but secretly hoping for you to call anyway, and I even considered to ask you out myself, but then we became friends and, I don't know it was for the best, but nights like this one make me wonder if we made a mistake."

"Please never say that again" He took her face with both hands his hands and looked deeply in her eyes "Every day I have spend with you regardless of what our relationship may be, has been a blessing. I wouldn't change it for the world" she let go a sigh and her breath turn into vapor in the night, making them realize the cold weather. "I think we should get back inside, you are gonna freeze out here love, and what kind of fake boyfriend will I be if I let you become an ice lolly?". He offered her his arm so they could get back inside, his mind thinking too about how much he wanted to call her the minute he got home that day, but as always trying to respect her he didn't , and as always he calmed his regrets telling himself it was for the best, even if every passing day he felt more and more the opposite.

The room they had book was nice and comfortable, the big canopy bed in the middle was a beautiful promise of a long night of sleep and the window had a beautiful look at the lake. They both will be lying if they said this was the first night they have spend together, falling asleep talking in Tom's couch had happened more than half a dozen times, and even if Y/N never accepted it in front of her friends, she had stayed a couple of nights with him watching Bobby getting better, even sleeping in the same bed completley completely consumed by fatigue, so there was no awkwardness between them about consciously sharing the bed.

She took her heels off and found her silky romper pyjama in her suit case next to her travel size copy of Wuthering Heights, wich she occasionally read when she traveled and with the look outside the mansion it seemed appropriate, Y/N sit in the armchair in the corner of the room to read, waiting for Tom to get out of the shower, after reading four times the same paragraph without getting anything from it she realized just how tired she was.

She heard the door opened and saw him getting out of the shower whit just a pair of black loose sweatpants dangling from his hips and a thin line of pubic hair crawling up from the waistband dying in his perfect abs, drying his hair with a towel.

"What?" He asked her looking at her finally. "Do you feel alright darling?"

"I'm just tired" she said quickly taking her clothes and getting into the bathroom for a much needed cold shower. When she stepped out after drying her hair she almost fell down because he had turned out all of the lights and was already deeply sleeping, she'll have time to nagging him about how inconsiderate that was in the morning, she entered the bed and close her eyes trying to drift apart and think about nothing when she felt his arms suddenly trapping her and bringing her closer to him by her waist.

She didn't mind since they had cuddled like that before, even when this particular time she could feel the bare skin of his chest in her back, but then the hand that was holding her started moving slowly caressing her belly and some parts she often felt self conscious about, then slowly moving down to her thigh, she was about to finally move and stop him when she felt his breath behind her back and his deep voice in her ear.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes" Y/N said in a tiny whisper while his hand found her way under the fabric of her romper.

"Are you cold again?" He asked this time brushing his nose in her neck, every inch of her skin was reacting to his touch and the deep tone of his voice was making her wet "you are shaking"

"It's not about that" she answered incapable of moving only embracing the magnificent sensations she was receiving.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" His hand had finally found her lacy panties and he had stopped only touching the seam waiting for her permission to continue. "Do you want this to happen?" He said stopping his movements completely, she could feel her heart racing and all logic flying away.

"Yes, I want it" she said finally and he caressed her womanhood over the thin fabric, making her soaked, while his other hand tried to remove the top part of her jumper sliding down the traps leaving her braless chest exposed.

"Naughty girl" He said with a chuckle leaving a trace of kisses in her back and cupping her breast in his hand playing with her niple until it was hard and them pinching it to get her in that point between pain and pleasure.

He move apart the fabric of her panties and let one of his long digits inside her making her moan in pleasure and impatiently brushing her thighs together desperate for more friction, she could feel his arousal pressing firmly in her buttocks, and all this anticipation was only to torture her.

"Don't be impatient my dear" he said letting in another finger and curling them inside her, touching her right on the spot to make her lost her mind "Tell me that you want it Y/N" he order her and she let go another moan.

"Fuck me Tom, fuck me please!" She said and he immediately took his fingers out to pin her in the bed under him.

He finished taking the rest of her clothes in one movement and opened her legs ready to enter her, he give her one last deep look with those piercing blue eyes and he bend to kiss her...

"You should take a shower or at least put on something more comfortable" Tom face said suddenly wearing his glasses and fully clothed. Y/N blink twice, before shaking the sleepiness, and trying to figure out what was happening. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, but I thought you may want to shower before going to sleep"

She finally opened her eyes completely and could see him out of the shower on his pijamas, her silky romper still waiting for her to take a shower and her book comfortably resting on the lamp stand next to her.

"Yeah sure, I'm too tired I must have fallen asleep, thanks for waking me up" she said avoiding his look and desperately picking up her fresh clothes.

"Sure love, you can't be at the wedding with a crooked neck" he said picking up the book she was reading. "You were moving a lot so I imagine that armchair can't be comfortable" he said with a distracted smile and she went straight to the bathroom before turning red of embarrassment.

Y/N slammed the bathroom door closed, and Tom stood next to the armchair looking where she was just moments before, once he heard the water fall in the shower he massaged his temples, trying to erase from his mind what he had seen but it was impossible and he really didn't want to forget it. She was sweating and panting when he got out of the shower, and the neckline of her dress a was a little lower than usual perfectly countoring her breasts.

He stood there looking at her and it took him just one more second to realized what kind of dream she must've been having. Blushing and feeling like a pervert he walked back into the bathroom determined to make as much noise as he could to wake her up when he heard her moan. Fuck me Tom, fuck me please! He walked back to her and before the blood abandoned his brain entirely, to migrate to his lower region, he did the logical thing and wake her up.

He exhaled feeling like and idiot. This was going to be a long weekend.

#Tom Hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut #charlie cox #zawe ashton #robert and emma betrayal #great britain #bobby hiddleston #love #friendship #smut #angst #sweet dreams #lucid dreaming #slap #monster in law

[evalinkatrineberg]

Practice Prompt 3

There was no break in the activity when we all finally arrived at the palace. The moment the limousine parked and we all stepped out, we were ushered inside by a group of palace staff. As they hurried us through the corridors, they pointed out some of the rooms, such as the Grand Ballroom, as places we would need to know in the future, but beyond that, there was little to no conversation until we arrived at a different ballroom, where we were told makeovers would be happening.

Ah, makeovers. I had almost forgotten about that.

It had been mentioned in the weeks leading up to my arrival here. There had been a tailor from the palace who had come to my house, and measured me for my new wardrobe. He hadn’t been unkind, but it was clear from the wince on his face when he first saw me as I opened the front door for him that he believed he had his work cut out for him. Though, maybe that was because I had been wearing only athletic shorts and a sports bra when he had arrived. Not exactly the wardrobe expected of a Three, but I hadn’t been planning on leaving the house that day, so I hadn’t gotten dressed up.

While he had measured me, Lydia had given him an exhaustive list of colors that looked good on me, and those that I absolutely could not pull off. Any shades of blue were good, along with dark shades of red, and pale pinks. Black was a classic, of course. No white or silver - they washed me out. Pale yellows and dark greens were okay, but not ideal. Absolutely no purple or orange - I just couldn’t look good in those colors, according to Lydia. The tailor had just nodded, continuing to take measurements without any further indication that he had heard what my sister was saying.

I wondered if he had actually taken her advice into consideration.

“And Lady Evalin can go to station seven!”

At the sound of my name, I perked up. A young woman with long brown hair, who appeared to be running the show, pointed towards a hair station in the back right corner of the ballroom. Before I could even acknowledge that I had heard her, some of the palace staff nudged me along, their chattering lost in the din of voices that filled the room, roaring like an ocean in my ears. Was this flurry of activity what I should expect of life from here on out?

I was used to low-level chaos, sure. Life was always busy when you had a big family. This, however, was on a whole different level. It was almost as if I now had thirty-four siblings instead of just four, and we were all getting ready for the same formal event. Except, we also had to compete against each other at this formal event.

Maybe Lukas had been right, all those weeks ago. Maybe I was in way over my head. Given what had occurred yesterday, though, I was tempted to argue that he wasn’t one to talk. He was certainly in way over his head, whether he knew it or not.

“Well, who do we have here?”

The stylist standing behind the chair was a man with the palest blonde hair I had ever seen, offering me a broad smile that stretched from ear to ear as I came closer. He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties. There were no wrinkles on his face, and there was a hint of kindness in his brown eyes.

“Evalin,” I answered as the palace staff who had walked me over gestured for me to sit down in the chair.

The stylist place an apron around my shoulders before he began to give me his spiel. “Well, Lady Evalin, first things first, we’re going to need to get some before pictures for the special makeover program they’ll be doing on the Report on Wednesday.” With that, he motioned a photographer over to us.

The photographer immediately started snapping pictures of my hair, face, and nails. I could only imagine how worse for the wear I looked. It had been a long day of travel, and after losing sleep over my fights with Proctor and Lukas the night before I had left, I was positive that the bags under my eyes had to be huge.

And I couldn’t even joke that the bags under my eyes were designer yet.

My nails, at least, looked decent. I always did my best to keep them clean and trim, though I only ever used neutral polish shades. Accidentally smudging beige polish was a lot less noticeable than smudging brighter colors like red or purple, and I was certainly no artist.

My hair was another story. I could only imagine the havoc the humidity and wind had wreaked on my curls.

After a few more shots and some polite smiles, the stylists were off, moving over to their next victim. The moment they left, the stylist came to stand in front of me, placing his hands on his hips and asking, “So, what are you thinking for your makeover?”

I let out a nervous laugh, a tad unsure of how to respond. After a split second of internal debate, I decided that honesty was the best policy. “I’ve never really been into fashion or style, so I’m a bit out of my element here.” He frowned, but I continued. “You look like you really know what you’re doing, so if it’s okay, I’d like to hear what you’re thinking.”

Success. He smiled. “Well,” he began, moving over to a cart on my right, and beginning to rustle around through some of his supplies, “I have a few ideas of where this could go. First things first, though, we’ve got to ditch the glasses.”

I blinked, frowning. Was this a ploy of some sort? “But then I won’t be able to see.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “We’ve already had contact lenses made to your prescription.” With that, he leaned over, removing my glasses from my face and placing them on the rolling cart to my right. There was a white box with two raised bumps in his hand, though it instantly became blurry when my glasses were gone. I already missed their weight on my face.

“Lean your head back,” he instructed, a slight popping sound ensuing from the box in his hand. “I need you to keep your eyes open. This is going to feel weird at first, but you’ll get used to it. Your maids should be able to help you with getting them in and out until you get the hang of it.”

Oh, that was right. I was going to have maids.

We had never really had maids at home. Not that we couldn’t afford one, which was a fact my father often pointed out, but rather because my mother point-blank refused to hire one. She’d always insisted that our house wasn’t that big that we needed another set of hands to help with chores. She was adamant that us kids should learn how to do basic tasks, like washing dishes and doing laundry, for ourselves, anyway. I had always kind of wondered if her strong opinions on the matter had to do with her growing up in a lower caste, but I had always been too afraid to ask. The only time she did relent on letting other people outside of our family help with household tasks were in the few weeks after her father had passed away, when she had listened to my father’s wishes, and allowed a crew of cleaning ladies in to handle the vacuuming and the sweeping. I had never seen our home as shiny and sparkling as it had been those few weeks, but as soon as my mother was feeling like herself again, the cleaning crew had stopped coming, and we had been given the task of cleaning up after ourselves once again.

It was hard not to flinch as the stylist poked at my eyeball with one of his fingers, pulling the skin around my eyes back with his other hand. As soon as he had removed his hands, he said, “Good. Now blink.” I did, and he repeated the process for my other eye.

My stomach rolled as I leaned my head forward again, blinking a few times at the room around me. Something about seeing without having heavy frames on my face felt fundamentally wrong. I had been wearing glasses for nearly a decade now. It almost felt like a part of me was missing.

Stop being dramatic, I reprimanded myself. Suck it up, and get used to it.

“Now,” the stylist began, jumping into my line of vision once again, “on to your hair!”

I winced, wondering how much of my hair was just a puff ball on the back of my head at this point.

To his credit, the stylist only laughed at my reaction. “I could see this going two ways. Your hair, while primarily blonde, definitely has some red highlights in it. We could play that up, make you more of a strawberry blonde. Or, we could make you a little blonder! We could add some blonde highlights, and make your hair a little more gold in color, that way it would catch the light nicely.”

I sucked on a tooth, considering the options for a split second before making my decision. “Go for the blonde. I don’t think I have enough spunk to pull off a full head of red hair.”

“Fair enough.” He adjusted the apron around my shoulders, and then added. “We will need to chop some of this off, though.”

I could feel the color drain from my face as I asked, “How much?”

I had never in my life had short hair. What if I look horrible with it? I mean, sure, it would grow back, but not before I met the prince.

“Not too much,” he replied. “Just like, maybe up to your collarbones?”

“Won’t my hair get curlier then? Without the extra hair weighing it down?” That had always been the main reason my mother had stopped me from having my hair cut short in the past.

The stylist seemed to consider it for a moment, and then said, “We’ll cut it to just below your collarbones then, to play it safe.”

With that, he got to work, first separating my hair into different sections, and then taking smaller sections of my hair, and rubbing a brush dipped in something that looked like paint over those sections. Once that was completed, he wrapped the section in a foil, and moved on to the next one. After doing that a few times, he waved some other people over to help him.

I winced once I realized what was happening. “Sorry, I have a lot of hair!”

“That’s not your fault,” he responded, laughing.

One of the stylists he had called over to him added, “I wish I had this much hair.”

Even with the additional sets of hands, the process seemed to drag on for ages. Once they were eventually done, the stylist wheeled over a machine that looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. “This will help the color set faster,” was all he said, before turning the machine on.

The machine was hands-down the worst part of the day so far. I couldn’t tell whether the odor I was smelling was simply coming from the chemicals in my hair, or if something was burning, but whatever it was, it did nothing to help my already uneasy stomach.

As I sat there, a group of women came over, apparently to get started on my nails. The woman who seemed to be at the head of the group, a brunette with a soft face and cold hands, examined both my fingernails and my toenails before asking, “What do you think about a pale blue?”

I shrugged as best as I could with the machine over my head. “Sounds good to me!” It was a little different from my usual beige, but I could handle it.

With a nod from the brunette, the nail techs got to work, first filing my nails, then trimming my cuticles, and then, finally, applying a base coat. They had shaped my nails into more of a square shape than I was used to. Usually, at home, I just left my nails in their natural shape, which was slightly rounded at the tips. Sure, I would file them, but the shape never really changed.

After the second coat of polish had been applied, the first stylist I had met came back, powering off the machine and unwrapping one of the foils on the top of my head. Pleased with what he saw, he rolled the machine away and began pulling out the rest of the foils. As he began to wash my hair, the nail techs finished up, instructing me not to let my fingers or toes rub up against anything, lest the polish smudge. I nodded, thanking them as they wandered off to the next girl. I liked the color they had chosen. It reminded me of the snow we sometimes got around Christmas time, when my paternal grandparents would come to visit. My father often joked that they must bring the snow with them, because without fail, the first snow of the season always occurred when they visited.

The stylist rubbed my wet hair with a towel quickly, and then set it down. I could hear the clattering of the scissors before he even asked, “Ready?”

“Yes.” My voice was little more than a breathless whisper as I closed my eyes, bracing for the snipping sound I knew I was about to hear. It came not a moment sooner than I had expected it to.

The first cut was the hardest. After that, the rest of his cuts were smaller, more precise - like he was just evening out what he had already done. My head felt a little lighter, a little less weighed down, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much of that sensation was real, and how much of it I was just making up in my own mind.

As he continued, another woman approached, carrying a box full of what I could only imagine was makeup. Besides clothes, makeup was the only thing I hadn’t received yet, that I could think of. “Hello,” she said in way of greeting, setting her box down on the very edge of the rolling cart to my right. “I’m here to do your makeup.” She didn’t even look at me until her box was opened, revealing more makeup than I had seen in one spot in my entire life.

I had thought that my mother had a lot of makeup. She had half a bathroom drawer dedicated to her beauty supplies.

I was, apparently, wrong.

I should be used to being wrong, at this point.

The woman came closer, looking at my face like she was looking through a microscope. She moved from one side to the other, tapping a finger against her cheek as she did so. Every now and then she would offer a comment along the lines of, “You have nice eyebrows,” or, “Clear skin, that’s good!” I felt like a lab rat or a zoo animal, trapped in a cage that was really of my own making.

When she stepped away, she began to offer her professional recommendation. “I say we play up the eyes - maybe eyelash extensions? Definitely a red lip. I’m going to lay off on the foundation, let your freckles shine through, but I do want to add a bit of contour and blush. We’ve got to play up the diva image a little.”

I frowned. “People think I’m a diva?” I was almost kind of surprised, and a bit disappointed in myself, at how sad my voice sounded. I really shouldn’t care what other people think. If the last twenty-four hours had proven anything, it was that. Yet, some core part of me didn’t want people to think that I was a diva. Was I a diva? I didn’t think so. At the very least, I sure hoped that I wasn’t.

The makeup artist laughed, pulling some powders and brushes out of her box. “I don’t think many people know what to think. The picture they showed on the Report - of you in the car - that screamed diva. It was like a glamour shot! Your background information, though, doesn’t scream diva. I, personally, wouldn’t go looking for divas in the bio department of any university.”

I nodded, attempting to process what she had just told me. People thought that the picture of me that flashed on the screen during the Report was a glamour shot? I hadn’t even really liked the picture! I didn’t think it really looked like many of the photos I had taken in the past. Regardless, if people were expecting me to be a diva, I was afraid they were going to be sorely disappointed.

After about half an hour of silence, save for comments such as, “Close your eyes,” and, “Open your lips,” she was done. Around that time, the stylist finished with my hair as well, fluffing it up a bit in his hands before pointing me in the direction of a rack of clothing. I thanked him and made my way over there, where I was greeted by another stylist, who asked me to pick a dress and shoes, and informed me that what I was seeing were only my day dresses, and that my evening gowns were already in my room.

I blanched at that. The wardrobe in front of me was already so extensive - I had never owned this many nice gowns in my life, even coming from a pretty well-off family. I walked along the rack slowly, running my fingers over the different materials of each of the dresses, waiting for one to hit me.

There. A pale blue dress caught my eye. Within a few minutes, I found a pair of beige heels to go with it, and quickly changed out of my old clothes and in to the dress. As soon as that was done, I was ushered over to a couch, where I was informed I would be having after photos taken while I waited to be asked a few questions. The process moved fairly quickly, and within moments, it was my turn for the questions. The woman conducting the interview assured me that this was in no way the official interview we’d be doing on the Report in the near future, but rather for the makeover special they would be airing soon.

“So, Evalin Berg, yes?” There was a hint of ice in the interviewer’s voice, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. The look she was fixing me with was almost identical to the one Proctor had given me throughout the majority of our conversation yesterday.

I did my best to ignore it. “Yes, that’s me!” A nervous laugh escaped my lips, and I fidgeted in my seat, wringing my hands in my lap.

“Tell us about your makeover!”

I smiled, trying to figure out where to begin. “Well, the stylist cut my hair a bit shorter, and added some blonde highlights. They also painted my nails the same color as my dress, though I wasn’t planning on that.” I laughed again, moving one hand and holding it forward a bit, so the camera could see.

“And what a lovely dress that is!” The interviewer’s smile was so forced it hurt my face just to look at it.

“Thank you!” I beamed. “It’s so much softer than I thought it would be!”

“How has the rest of your experience been so far?”

I forced myself to smile, even though the complete change in topic threw me for a little bit of a loop. “Exciting, for the most part. It’s been very cool to meet the other girls. They’re all so talented and accomplished. I can’t wait to finally get to meet the prince, though!”

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Speaking of the other girls, is there anyone in particular you’re worried about, competition-wise?”

I gave a close-lipped smile in return. “It’s hard to say, at the moment, because I haven’t gotten to meet everybody yet, and in the end, it really depends on what the prince is looking for, doesn’t it? We’re all so different - there’s bound to be any number of things that could make one of us stand out in his eyes.”

“That’s very true,” the interviewer responded with a wry laugh. “Well, that will be all. Thank you for your time.”

I stood up. “Thank you.”

With that, I walked over to another couch, where a few other girls were milling about. Apparently, I was one of the first girls done with the makeover process, and the palace staff wanted to wait for a few more girls to finish before leading us to our rooms. I had to wonder how that could be the case, considering my hair alone had to have taken a couple of hours to finish.

I was glad to be off my feet again, though. The last twenty-four hours had left me exhausted both mentally and physically. Maybe I’d be able to take a nap before dinner. That would be nice. At the very least, it might help reduce the bags beneath my eyes. I hoped they didn’t stand out too much in the pictures they had taken today.

I sighed quietly to myself. This was the first long day in a series of long days, and it was high time I get used to it. I was made of tougher stuff than this. If I could make it through four hour long organic chemistry labs, then I could make it through a simple makeover, for crying out loud! I just needed to get my head back in the game - back into the palace, not in Carolina.

This would be my home for the indefinite future, and I’d better get used to it.

#selectionoc

[ceceliadx]

Wolf Moon

Word Count: 2826

Stiles x OC

Warning: None Davina’s POV

Moving to a new town is definitely not how I expected to start my sophomore year. But my mother and father were determined to get me and my twin brother, Damien, away from the dangers of the Calavera’s in Mexico. You see, me and my family are different from most. We are all werewolves. Me and my twin brother are born werewolves. My mother and father were both bitten by the same alpha, who died a while ago, so now they have no leader or pack.

My father, Antonio, is from Spain but moved here when he was young which led him to meet my mother, Marie. They were high school sweethearts, they fell in love and then married young. Then they had me and my brother. 

We had lived in Mexico for a few years as my father had been given a job opportunity to work there. It wasn’t until a couple of months ago that he figured out that he was working with hunters who targeted the supernatural. When the hunters found out what my family were they tortured him and my mother and threatened me and my brothers life. They had us trapped for a couple of weeks.

We had never killed innocent people in our lives. As Talia Hale, a friend of the family and who was also a werewolf, said “We’re predators, but we don’t have to be killers.” 

A motto that my mother and father stuck by after she died in her family’s house fire.

The hunters continued to torture my mother and father until one day, we were able to escape them. As soon as we escaped, we packed up all our stuff and moved here. Beacon Hills.

…..          

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock blaring in my ear, ahh the perks of werewolf hearing, and I jump up out of bed to get ready for my first day of my new school. I take a quick shower and then go back in my room to look through the boxes for my clothes, as I still haven’t unpacked. I decided to wear a white long sleeved top, a baby pink skirt with tights, a black leather jacket and my black combat boots to complete the look. I hope this was a good outfit for the first day as I wanted to make a good impression. I then straighten my long brown hair and add a little bit of makeup. I look at myself in the mirror to make sure I am happy with what I look like and then head downstairs to see my parents.

“Hi honey, are you excited for your first day?” My mother says, as she rushes about the kitchen to make sure she has everything for her new job. Damien is already at the table eating breakfast with my father.

“Yeah, I guess, I’m really excited to see what classes they have there.” 

“I’m sure you will both fit in just fine. Just be yourselves.” My father chimes in as he gets up from the table to go to work. Him and my brother fist bump as a goodbye and then he walks over to me to give me a kiss on the head 

“If things start to get a bit out of control for you guys just use your mantra, I will see you guys later on, goodbye!” Alpha,Beta,Omega.

“Goodbye dad!” Me and Damien say in sync, while he kisses my mother goodbye.

I sit at the table with my brother for a while and we talk about what we think school will be like and if we will have the same classes. I hope we do as my anxiety goes through the roof when he isn’t around. Me and Damein are close, I mean what would you expect from twins, and he always acts as the protective ‘older by a minute and will never let me forget it’ brother. I honestly couldn’t imagine not having him around as we are each other’s anchor. Not only does he help me when things get out of control but he also calms me. 

Even though I am a werewolf my anxiety and panic attacks can get out of hand sometimes and it’s nice to have someone around that can calm me down. And you know the myth about twins feeling each other's pain. Well, we can. 

“Right, c’mon kids, I have to get your butts to school, don’t want to be late on the first day now!” My mother exclaims as she rushes us out the door and into the car.

…..

Me and Damien are waiting in the office of the school with the principal as there is also another new girl that is starting today also. The principal then walks out of the office and meets up with the new girl who was on the phone, complaining to her mom that she has forgotten a pen, as soon as he comes in he directs us to our first class which I think is English. Me and Damien gave the new girl an awkward smile, which she returns, before we all followed the principal to the class. He walks into the class and everyone immediately looks up at the three of us.

“Class, this is our new students Allison Argent, Davina Hilliard and Damien Hilliard. Please do your best to make them feel welcome.” He introduces us before he walks out of the room. We all walk to the empty seats when my eyes connect with someone in particular.

He had gorgeous honey brown eyes and a buzz cut that suited him very well. He also had moles scattered all over his face, as his eyes connected with mine he gave me a small smile, which I returned, I then sat behind him as Damien took the seat next to me and Allison took the seat beside the buzz cut boy. The boy in front of Allison turned around and gave her a pen and Allison thanked him for it. Me and Damien looked at each other confused at how he would know that she had forgotten a pen and then it clicked, he was a werewolf. I wasn’t aware that there were any other werewolves in Beacon Hills besides the Hale family, but we have also just moved here so what do we know?

The teacher begins “We’ll begin with Kafka’s Metomorphasis on page 133” and we all start doing our work.

…..

After the bell rings for the end of class I go to my locker which is beside Damien’s and sort out what books I need for the classes I have for the rest of the day. As I close my locker Allison, a red headed girl and a boy comes up to us. The boy starts talking to Damien and I catch that his name is Jackson. He starts talking about lacrosse to my brother when the red headed girl starts talking to me.

“Your outfit is amazing, I wouldn't personally go for the shoes as i’m more of a heel girl but it’s killer none of the less, i’m Lydia” 

“I’m Davina, but you can just call me Dee” I try to say as confidently as possible. I never had any girlfriends at my old schools as I'm always with Damein. I turn to the new girl

“It’s Allison, right?” She nods as a reply obviously still nervous about the first day.

Me and the girls start small talk as my brother and Jackson say that they are going to get ready for lacrosse. Damien is very athletic so it’s no surprise to me that he will get into the lacrosse team.

“You can come sit with us and watch them practise if you like?” Lydia turns to walk away not giving me a chance to answer. Allison then chimes in “I don’t think she’ll let you say no so, you better just follow her” she chuckles and then I giggle in response and follow them out to the field. 

Me and the girls sit down on the bench and my eyes find Damien and we both smile at each other. I then see the boy who gave Allison the pen in the class receive a smack in the face from the coach, well that coach seems like a dick, and then walk over to the goal.

“Who is that?” Allison asks Lydia about said boy.

“Him? I’m not sure who he is? Why?” she asks. But my focus is on him as I'm pretty sure he can hear everything we’re saying. Definitely a werewolf. 

“He’s in our English class” Allison states while keeping her gaze on him. The ref blows the whistle and the boy falls to his knees like he’s in pain. What the hell is going on with him? Is he new at being a werewolf? Or does he just suck at hiding it? He ends up getting hit in the face by the ball and everyone starts laughing. The next player goes up and throws the ball to the goal and the boy catches it. Everyone seems surprised even the boy himself.

“Yeah!” I hear and my eyes catch the back of the buzz cut boy’s head. There’s something intriguing about him, I mean he’s definitely good looking. I cast my eyes away and see the boy catch every ball at the goal. Pretty impressive.

“He seems like he’s pretty good” Allison comments with a smile.

Lydia mutters in a surprised tone “yeah really good”

I then see Jackson stop the next player so he can go instead. I sense some sort of hostility between the two and it gets pretty intense for a second as Jackson runs up and swings the ball at the goal, but the boy still catches the ball. The buzz cut boy stands up and cheers for him and so does Lydia, smirking at Jackson as if to say ‘haha’. The boy throws the ball back to the ref with a smirk on his face. He has to be a new werewolf and he has no idea what's about to come. Yes being a werewolf is great and all but not when there is a full moon. Learning to control the animal part of you as a human is difficult and takes time. Hopefully he has someone there for him.

…..

The school day ends and I'm pleased to say that it wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. Me and Damien had to walk home as my mom is still at her work at the hospital.

Lydia and Allison gave me their phone numbers earlier on today, it’s nice to have some girlfriends. I mean Damien’s great but I do need to try and make some friends of my own. I walk into my bedroom and flop down on my bed, as I turn on my back I get a notification on my phone and it’s from Lydia.

‘I totally forgot to tell you I'm having a party at mine this weekend, you and your brother should come!xx’

‘I sure Damien would love to go, parties aren’t really my thing though xx’

‘Awh, don’t be silly, you and Damien will be coming and if you guys don’t show up, i’ll come to your house and drag you out myself!xx’ 

I chuckle and reply ‘okay sure, thank you for the invitation xx’

“Yo Damien! Lydia’s invited us to a party at hers this weekend and were going” I shout through to him. He comes through to my room and sits on the end of my bed 

“I thought parties weren’t your scene Dee?” 

“Yeah, well if we don’t go Lydia says she’s going to drag us out the house” I say with a giggle. He turns to me and agrees that we should go. He then leaves the room and I fall asleep, already tired from today.

…..

The week fly’s by and now it’s time for Lydia’s party. I shower and wash my hair and let it air dry while I pick out my outfit. I picked out a black vest top and some denim shorts. Simple but still okay for a party I guess. I then go over to my vanity and blow dry and straighten my hair. I apply a little makeup and some pink-y nude lipstick and get dressed. 

Our mom drives us to the party and Damien immediately goes over to the lacrosse team and starts talking. He got in first line with the team so I was happy for him. I go to the kitchen and get myself a drink when I see Allison walking in with Scott. I smile when she sees me and she walks up to me and gives me a hug. We make small talk while Scott stands there awkwardly. Allison then says her goodbye’s as she leads Scott out into the backyard. I give them both a wave goodbye and go back to drinking. 

Half an hour later and the party is in full swing. I haven’t really spoken to anyone yet as I don’t really know where to put myself. I don’t have much more time to think about that as I bump into someone’s chest. I look up as I’m about to say sorry and realise that it’s the buzz cut boy from school. Frozen in place and staring into those beautiful golden orbs of his I try to put myself back together, I look back down and realise that I’ve spilt drink all over him.

“Omg! I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to spill drink on you, I turned around and you were just there, let me get so-”

The buzz cut boy interrupts my rambling “Hey, take a breath, it’s fine I should have watched where I was going. I’m Stiles.” He puts out his hand for me to shake and I do. “I’m Davina, but you can just call me Dee.” I smile and he smiles back. 

We chatted for a little while and he introduced me to some of his friends. Stiles is actually a pretty nice guy. He has this amazing sarcastic humour which I love and he is able to make everyone around him laugh. As he was telling us a story, Scott comes in from the backyard breathing heavily and stumbling all over the place. Most people probably think he’s drunk but I know that it was the full moon that was affecting him. Plus werewolves can’t get drunk. Which let me tell you sucks. 

Stiles also notices Scott and sounds genuinely worried about him. Does he know about the supernatural? No he can’t know, right? I see Allison run after Scott and so does Stiles, but I stay in the house. I don’t want people to be suspicious of me or Damien. But I couldn’t help but feel bad for Scott. He’s new at all of this and trust me this lifestyle isn’t for everyone. But, at least he didn’t die. The bite either changes you or kills you. 

A little while later everyone was starting to head home so Damien and I got a lift home from the party. When we get in I go straight to my room and text Lydia to thank her for inviting me. I then message Allison to see if she got home okay as to her it looks like Scott bailed on her. When she replied I was surprised when she told me a guy named Derek gave her a lift home. I thought Derek left Beacon Hills after the fire?

I sat down at my vanity and took my makeup off. I wrapped my hair in a bun and changed into my PJ’s. After using the bathroom, I went to go to sleep when I got a text notification from an unknown number

‘Hey, it’s Stiles, I got your number from Allison, it was nice seeing you at the party, hopefully we’ll speak soon!’

‘Awh, hey, yeah it was nice seeing you, i’ll see you at school!’ 

I then put my phone on charge and fell asleep.

…..

It is now the second week of school and already the end of another school day. I was walking out with Allison when I heard Scott walking up to us. Before he got to speak I turned to Allison

“Hey, I'll let you guys talk, text me later Ally okay?” She nodded to me and then turned her attention back to Scott who started apologising for what happened at Lydia’s party. I was sitting waiting for my dad to pick me up when I heard Scott’s heart rate pick up. I looked over to him to see what he was staring at. Allison's father stood there smiling at him but, Scott didn’t seem happy to see him, no it definitely wasn’t happiness, it was fear. Now, what the hell was that about?

Author’s Note

Hi I just want to say this is my first time ever writing like this. I do not think of myself as a writer so I am sorry if this is terrible, but I had a splurge of creativity come over me and I decided to give it a shot! Please give me feedback if you want more or if I've made any mistakes, thank you! Cx

#teen wolf #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #smut #teen wolf rewrite

[worddevdealswithml]

Failed Step One (And Two (And Three))

Chapter 5: Turned to Ash (The downsides of fighting dragons)

Of all the things she’d expected to be time consuming, finding a way to carry the gear that didn’t look stupid hadn’t been one of them, but, no, it turned out that it was tricky to keep a full kit of fencing attire in a bag small enough to strut while you wore it.

She needed to strut, too; she needed every psychological advantage she could get, because even with the fact that she’d spent nearly an hour practicing beforehand, she still wasn’t sure if Adrien’s plan was really… The smartest?

And yet, she’d agreed to it, and she couldn’t back down.

Kagami lived in… admittedly, a respectably sized house.  Most people would have called it large, though Chloe was not most people.

She didn’t know what exact function the man who greeted her served, but he seemed to be… A butler?  Maybe an assistant, like Nathalie was in Adrien’s house.

She decided against asking him; better not to admit any ignorance.

He led her through a set of long hallways, which, strangely, didn’t have anyone else passing through them; the house was larger than Adrien’s but all the quieter for it.

Eventually, they came to a large, empty room.

“The changing rooms are right over there,” said the man, gesturing lightly at a door in the wall. “Miss Kagami is always punctual.”

And then… He left.

Chloe was alone, in enemy territory.

Great.

With nowhere else to go except roaming unsupervised around the house, walked through the door.

As was common with changing rooms, there was a jog in the hallway, and then-

The first thing her eye caught on was the flash of red fabric over the door to one of the rooms three stalls.

Her eyes resolved it into a red skirt, with a red tie next to it, and after a second, the cream blazer and black shirt pieced their way into her vision.

Chloe almost stopped breathing for a second, as one might upon realizing that they’d walked into a room with a sleeping dragon.

She wasn’t ready just yet to wake her.

Also, she was really starting to curse Adrien for getting her into this mess.

With a step that was slightly lighter than she’d expected to need, Chloe pushed through the room, which, as she had time to focus on it a bit longer, she realized was a locker room, as well as a changing room, much like the one at school.

Then, she was past the door to the stall, and started getting dressed.

She had, of course, packed a set of athletic clothes to wear under the gear; after all, she’d have to walk out of here after this match, and no matter what, she did not want to get clothes wrinkled in the process.

Wrinkled clothes were a victory for Kagami.

--

She wasn’t surprised that Chloe had shown up; she did, after all, seem pathologically incapable of resisting a challenge to her supposed ‘supremacy.’

Kagami finished getting dressed, and without a word, placed her clothes in the locker that was always reserved for her, and left the room.

And then she was back, standing in the room that, besides her classroom and her bedroom, she spent the most time in on a daily basis.

She began stretching out, warming up for what she expected would be a landslide victory; better to be overprepared than underprepared, certainly.

She heard Chloe come out, but resolutely remained faced away.

One minute dragged by, and then two, as she ran through every step, every strike, every counter that she knew, less in the hopes of making them better for the fight, and more to make sure that they were all fresh in her mind.

Had it been Adrien she was fighting…  But it wasn’t.

Finally, after what felt like an interminable wait, she managed to engineer something in her warm-up that gave her a reason to turn around.

Chloe, for it had to be Chloe, (the suit was in her signature colors, and nobody else would have done that) had a leg up on one of the benches in the room, and had stretched her whole body forward, so that her back was practically aligned with her leg.

Kagami…  Honestly, she wouldn’t have considered Chloe as the sort to actually have any physical skills, but that level of flexibility didn’t seem like the sort of thing that came without effort.

Thankfully, at the instant she’d looked, Chloe hadn’t been looking back at her, so the momentary hesitation wasn’t visible as she returned to her warm-ups.

Give it… Another minute, say.  That should be long enough that Chloe couldn’t accuse her of rushing her, and then…

Kagami would have been lying if she said that her heart didn’t speed up, slightly, as she kept running through her steps.

Despite Adrien’s assurances, she still wasn’t quite able to quash the feeling that she was doing something wrong.

Except, now, she couldn’t tell Chloe to leave.

Well… She could, but what was her plan for after that?  And, more to the point, the fact that she’d just sent away a visitor would get back to her mother, which meant that she’d be forced to explain why Chloe had been here in the first place, and either be forced to explain, or leave her mother to draw her own conclusions.

Yeah.

That would be great.

Kagami withdrew her phone, and, with a practiced motion, pulled her glove away enough to start the timer. She took a soft, silent breath, and took the center of the floor.

Then, she turned, silently, to face Chloe.

This time, Chloe was watching, and Kagami was in her element.

She could see the clench of her hand around her foil, and the too-careful way she stepped forward.

She was nervous, and uncomfortable with her weapon, but trying to hide it.

Flexible or not, she’d never fenced before, if Adrien’s information was correct.

Chloe took a position, a fair distance away.

Now…

Kagami steadied herself, and brought herself to the ready position.

Chloe went still.

The silence stretched out, and…

Despite her best interests, behind the mask, Kagami couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto her face.

Chloe didn’t know where to start.

She was looking, for the first time, at someone who actually knew how to fence, and the point aimed neatly towards her, and the distance between them suddenly seemed insurmountable.

Kagami hadn’t known that feeling in years, but she still remembered it.

It always felt like your opponent was far closer to you than you were to them.

What now, Chloe?

Give up?  Stand there forever?

Or… Push forward, and find out exactly how far apart they were?

Or, would she offer some excuse?

Another long second passed.

Chloe lunged forward.

--

Kagami practically brushed aside the stab, and in an instanbt, Chloe felt the sensation of a point in her stomach.

She’d barely even seen a blur.

She pulled away again.

The same distance stretched out between them, as it had before.

Right…

Okay.

She hadn’t expected this to be easy.

If she wanted to win, her only chance was to rely on her number of attempts to give her some opening, so…

Again.

--

Minutes passed, and Kagami had to admit, Chloe was, admittedly, pushing through her initial uncertainty, with a frankly surprising degree of success.

Success, at least, in that she was repeatedly throwing weak assaults at Kagami, with no actual effect.

She’d apparently realized that she was far too slow to keep up, but was making a mockery of herself in her attempts to go faster.  All she was doing was bringing her failures closer together.

It was too easy to offer a challenge, but Kagami couldn’t help enjoying it all the same.

She couldn’t see Chloe’s face, but as the minutes slipped by, she could feel the desperation mounting behind the mask.  She tried new angles, trying to flail her way into blocking Kagami’s counters, and then seemingly random defenses, which, in fairness, occasionally approximated something correct, but never well enough to give her a proper chance.

And every time she advanced, Kagami turned the attack back on her, as easily as one might swat a fly, and every time, she watched for that little twitch that she was coming to recognize as a sign of annoyance.

20 minutes passed, and then 30, and then…

Just before 40, Chloe managed to turn back Kagami’s counter-attack, which, to be sure, she hadn’t expected, but which Chloe had apparently expected even less, as she barely seemed to register it in time for Kagami to retake the initiative, this time with more success.

Still, Chloe had perked up in a way that was frankly annoying, and she seemed to fight with renewed vigor after that, despite the fact that Kagami didn’t give her another inch the whole rest of the hour.

And then, the timer expired, a ringing filling the air.

Kagami returned one more strike, and then, as they pulled away again, lightly tapped her blade against Chloe’s, more out muscle memory than anything else.  It should have been a sign of respect for an enemy, but today, it was perfunctory.

Then, as easily as if Chloe had ceased to exist, she made for the changing room.

There was a silence behind her, and then… Chloe followed, because, after all, what choice did she have?

Kagami didn’t look back as she entered the changing room, letting her silence itself be an insult, and her helmet cover the small satisfied smile she didn’t quite feel like putting in the effort to stifle.

“I want a rematch,” said Chloe, behind her.

She stopped.

A rematch?  Really?

Chloe really wanted another hour of constant defeat?

Now, of course, the first had been quite satisfying, but satisfying in a way that, well, left Kagami satisfied.

“Next week.  Same time.  Same place.”

Now, though, the satisfaction was slipping slightly, because apparently Chloe still hadn’t learned her lesson.

--

There was a long, long silence, as Kagami stood there, faced away from her.

She’d successfully blocked once, and next time, she’d be expecting it; she’d be ready, and she’d counter, and sooner or later, it would land.

And Kagami…?

“Then you will lose again, next week,” she said, and kept walking.

And Chloe, behind her mask, didn’t let her expression shift.

Kagami had made another statement, as good as an order.

Well then.  It was time to remind her that Chloe didn’t listen to her.

#Miraculous Ladybug #ML #Miraculous #ML Fanfic #Miraculous Fanfic #Failed step 1 #Kagami Tsurugi #Chloe Bourgeois #Chlogami

[be-dazzled]

She’s In Your Court #SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser FFnet link: click here Tumblr: all chapters + misc, 1, 2, 3, 4 Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance Rating: M for sensitive language

Summary: Gray Fullbuster is a player both in love and in life. He plays Professional Basketball and is being groomed to be in line with Basketball Legends Michael Jordan, Lebron James, Kobe Bryant and Stephen Curry. There’s just one problem, Gray Fullbuster is a play-ah. His life is a giant mess of crazy parties, waking up with random women and waking up in random women’s apartments. Just living the life.

The opinion of the public on him is waning. To save the million-dollar endorsements in the verge of disappearing, Gray needs to change his image. Therefore, Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and Most Valuable Player, will be in the next season of “My Star Can Dance”.

There’s another problem: it seems like his star isn’t that bright since his partner, one of Fiore’s prominent ballerinas, doesn’t know him? His billboard is hanging in front of her dancing school! And it was a good billboard since all he was wearing was his six-pack and an Aztec bandana. How come she didn’t notice?

How we gonna move together? Just come closer If we don't move together Come closer

– Move Together, James Bay

…

 “Dancing is like making-love.”

 How ridiculous.

 Juvia gathered the loose tussles of her silky blue hair and tied it in a bun. She scoffed at the words of her mother. In the entire trip from her home to the studio, all she could think about was how the hell could dancing be like making love and how ridiculous a notion it was. Making-love with the conceited Hoopster? Juvia felt her cheeks burn. Definitely and 101% pure craziness. Gray sweating and panting. Naked. A rush of yearning hit her.

 Juvia slapped herself numerous times in front of the mirror. When did she become such a pervert?

 “See what happens when that woman say crazy things. So irresponsible.”

 She shouldn’t let that woman get to her head. Otherwise, she would spend the whole day thinking about things she should not be thinking about. Especially, when the bighead Hoopster came to mind. Wait, he shouldn’t even be in her mind. Juvia puffed air in and out to even her breathing and to calm her erratic heartbeat. She should stop taking advice from the older Lockser.

 Juvia checked herself out in the mirror before she stepped out of the dressing room for practice. Olivia’s words were pushed at the back of her mind. She needs them to stay there – at the farthest back of her mind. When she thought she was finally out in the clear, Juvia bumped into a hard, sturdy body that almost thrown her off balance. Speak of the devil. Juvia almost jumped out of her skin when she realized who it was.

 “Will you stop lurking around? You’re scaring people.”

 Gray didn’t argue with her nor retorted.

 That’s odd.

 Gray would usually say and do things that completely annoyed her, ninety-five percent of the time. The remaining five percent was Juvia thinking how those lips could do so much more. Instead, Gray just obediently trailed behind her to the practice room.

 Really odd.

 She noticed that change in him but not how flushed Gray became.

 Saturdays used to be the days Gray get to spend in his bed. Sometimes, next to a beautiful naked woman he met the night before. Other times, just him and his thousand-thread count sheet. He always preferred the former. Today, however, was different. It was only a quarter after five and he was already dragging himself into his expensive shower, alone.

 The sun was barely up and the Fiore Knight’s star player was already out on the streets. All because the determined ballerina threatened to cut his thing if he did not get his act together. Juvia Lockser was a heartless dictator when it came to dancing. Now, he wasn’t quite sure if he had stumbled upon good fortune or simply the opposite.

 With that turn of events, he found himself driving down the school not only on weekdays but on weekends too. Not to mention that the team officially received the invitation for the intercontinental basketball games. Fiore Knights would represent the country. So, unsurprisingly, Briar, his team manager, was on his case all the time. He was all grumpy about the arrangement at first: Basketball training in the day and dance practice at night. It was like living a double life. The arrangement was taking a toll on him. He wasn’t getting any younger and he wasn’t Hannah Montana either.

 Gray glanced at the passenger seat where he dumped his duffel earlier. The elegant invitation sat on top of it. He smiled at himself. Lately, he wasn’t too tired to drive to the dance school. Lately, he was looking forward to it.

The school security guard greeted him with youthful enthusiasm. The middle-aged man was a big fan of Gray’s. He told him outright the very first time they met. He even asked for an autograph.

 Gray ascended the grand staircase that connected the ground floor to the second floor. As he was about to step into the practice room, Gray heard something. Hoopster was a curious cat. So, he followed the sound to where it took him. The next thing he knew, Gray found himself standing outside the women’s dressing room.

 This was bad.

 Gray reprimanded himself. As he was about to turn around, he heard a familiar voice. He stuck around to confirm his suspicion.

 “How ridiculous.”

 Gray’s ears perked up when he heard Juvia complaining.

 “See what happens when that woman say crazy things. So irresponsible.”

 Gray debated at first whether to leave or stay and listen. He took the door slightly open as sign and decided on the latter. What kind of woman changed in a room without locking it? He ordered himself to turn around and walk away but his feet wouldn’t listen.

 This was really bad.

 Bunhead would seriously beat the hell out of him when she realized that he was ogling her outside the dressing room. But it was her fault, right? For leaving the door unlocked, ajar even. Of course, Juvia wouldn’t take that excuse so he better leave now.

 But he’s feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes were glued at the figure now taking her shirt off.

 This was ‘apocalypse’ bad.

 He watched as Juvia Lockser gathered her hair behind, revealing her slender and delicate neck. Her generous breasts stared him through the mirror. Gray’s mouth ran dry. Under different circumstances, Gray would trace the bare skin of the woman whose back was on him. He would pull him against him and feel every inch of her body. He would shower kisses on the most delicate and sensitive parts of it too.

 Gray has seen a lot of naked bodies before, exceptional ones. He even rocked their worlds. Somehow, however, he found the sight before him more appealing – revealing little skin. Showing some, the right ones, but nothing more. It was sexier.

 But that didn’t last long. Gray felt a little disappointed when Bunhead put on a loose shirt over her head. He jumped back when he realized Juvia was about to turn around and discover him. The peeping Hoopster hid at the side and started to panic when he heard the door creak open. There was nowhere to hide! He needed to make up a story of why he was standing outside the women’s dressing room and fast. Else, he’d be nursing a giant lump on his forehead. He’d be lucky if that’s all he would need to take care of.

 Time was running out. Time pressure moved Gray’s feet. But instead of taking him away from the dressing room, they took him inside?

 This was the end for Grayden Harrison Fullbuster. The world would remember him fondly.

 Gray’s head throbbed when Juvia let out an ear-splitting scream.

 “Will you stop lurking around? You’re scaring people.”

 He didn’t say anything. How could he? Gray quietly dallied behind her.

 Was he still alive? Gray felt his body to make sure he was still there. Phew. That was close. Now, he just needed to calm himself down before Juvia noticed anything.

              Gray and Juvia have been practicing for weeks now. They started each rehearsal with a stretch routine. Then, not one to waste time, Juvia quickly selected a tune on her iPod connected to the practice room’s sound system. James Bay’s Move Together filled the entire room. Gray could almost memorize it now; he hummed to the rhythm.

             Juvia walked to the center of the room, waiting for her partner. She swayed her head to get into the rhythm.

             “Ready?” Juvia asked.

             “Born ready.”

             Juvia chuckled at Hoopster’s usual overconfidence. He’s finally back on being the annoying, self-centered airhead she knew.

             Gray walked toward his partner and placed himself behind her. (It was hard for him.) The image of Juvia changing in the dressing room earlier was etched in his mind. It was stirring some feeling inside him again: the need to touch, to feel, to move his lips all over. He needed to stop it before he thought or done something inappropriate. So, he stared at a distance, trying to resist the temptation. It proved hard to do so since Gray was standing so close behind her that he could feel her warmth all over him.

             His resolve was fading quickly because Juvia smelt really, really nice. Strawberries and champagne.

Gray Fullbuster, Fiore Knight’s Team Captain and basketball superstar, even with his vigorous training as a professional athlete, struggled to catch his breath. He had amazing cardio routine but dancing sure wasn’t a walk in the park. Who would have thought dancing in tutus could be that competitive.

 Weeks of practice somehow had improved the routine. But the unsatisfied impression on Juvia’s face said it needed more. Gray should really up his game. He gave himself an internal PEP talk; one he gave himself before the final quarter of a big game. With sharp breath, he rose from the floor to get into position. Juvia, however, had something different in mind.

 Juvia offered her partner a warm towel and a bottle of water. She balanced a cordless phone and a directory on her other hand.

 “I’m getting take-out. Do you want anything? Pizza, Chinese, or…” She trailed off. Juvia just thought of something.

 “Or what?”

 “Well, there’s this nice Italian place near here.”

 Juvia made sure she sounded as casual as possible. Of course, she had to. It was the big-head she was talking to, after all. Weird ideas ran in his brains all day.

 “Are you asking me on a date?”

 “I’m not.” Juvia quickly denied.  

 See? Weird ideas.

 Juvia turned about. She wanted to avoid the moron staring at her with a playful smile and a meaningful look.

 “It’s just… it’s some sort of thank you. It’s a Saturday and you didn’t have to do this but you’re here. So, don’t get any wrong idea.”

 He didn’t believe her or at least his mischievous grin said he didn’t. It was getting on her nerves.

 “Are we gonna order or what?” She made sure the irritation was obvious.

 “I like that Italian place idea. Is it okay if we look like this?”

 The both of them were on their practice clothes. It would look inappropriate if they went out wearing jogging pants and shirt. But the place Juvia was talking about was family-owned and that’s what she loved about it. It had a personal touch and homey feel.

 “Yeah. It’s nothing fancy so we’ll be okay.”

 Gray offered his car but Juvia rather walked. She told him it’s not that far so walking shouldn’t be a problem.

  Gray lived at the opposite side of the town – the upper, high class part. He was practically a stranger to the place so he let Bunhead lead the way. He put on the usual celebrity go-to disguise: bull-cap and sunglasses. He noticed, beneath the brim of his black bull-cap, that the buildings they passed by looked identical with each other in that block. Except for the establishment at the corner with the ‘Fratelli’s sign mounted on top of the entrance. Gray followed after Juvia when she turned the corner and entered the Italian-themed restaurant.

 The place was rather small and crowded. The walls were made of faded gray and brown bricks, giving an old-world feel. Paintings and pictures of different sizes and different art styles hanged on the wall. Gray recognized some of the people on the photos; athletes, celebrities, and other public personalities. The common thing, he noticed, that these people shared was that they were all Italian.

 The four-sitter tables were arranged so close to each other that one could hear what the people from the neighboring tables were talking about. The only thing that separated the kitchen from the dining area was a floor-to-ceiling wine rack. Gray took a mental note to check those wines later.

 It seemed like Juvia wasn’t only familiar with the place; it looked like she knew it in and out. She maneuvered the crowded area like a pro and led him to the two-person table near the kitchen.

 “Here’s okay, right?” She confirmed.

 Gray realized that the table was discreetly obscured by a tall indoor plant. If Juvia didn’t lead him there, Gray would never notice that there was a table in that area. He chose the chair which faced away from the public. As much as he loved attention, experience told him his fans could get a little out of hand. Plus, he wanted to enjoy lunch with Bunhead, alone.

   “Since, I guess, you’re kinda famous.”

 Juvia has a way of downplaying his enormous celebrity status; which rubbed Gray the wrong way. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy about it, since she was aware that Gray was somewhat a celebrity, or feel insulted for dimming his star status with the word ‘kinda’.

 “I’m not just kinda famous, you know.” He corrected as he took his glasses and bull-cap off. “I absolutely am.” Gray waved the black Rayban Wayfarer before he set them on the table. He fixed his hair too, messed-up by the bull-cap before he sat.

 “One time, when I was descending our company plane, a really hot flight attendant grabbed my ass.”

 Gray enjoyed reminiscing those times. He really got into a good mood retelling his ‘I’m famous’ stories.

 “She said she was a fan. (Because who wouldn’t be?) And then the whole time she– and it’s not important.”

 But he decided not to continue since Juvia was already scowling at him.

 It wasn’t too long when a buffed man in a white chef uniform approached them. Gray has been in a lot of restaurants, even fancy ones, not to distinguish the uniform. He also recognized him from the photos on the wall.

 “Finally found a boyfriend?”

 Before the man could continue on his greeting, Gray saw the surprise on his face. It probably dawned on him who Juvia was seated opposite to.

 “You’re Gray Fullbu…” The Chef stopped himself mid-name. As soon as he realized that a celebrity walked into the restaurant and his loud mouth might attract some fans, he lowered his voice as he continued.

 “You’re Gray Fullbuster.” The excitement was still there.

 Gray nodded in response, admitting to the fact.

 With his mouth still open in surprise, the Chef looked at Juvia.

 “Can’t believe you’re dating Fiore Knight’s Captain!”

 It sounded weird as he tried to lower his voice while he suppressed his excitement.

 “A ballerina and an athlete? Wow. Adult life’s cheerleader and football captain. It’s like High School all over again.”

 “We’re not dating.” She blankly denied. “We’re having the usual.”

 Not only was she really hungry but Juvia also wanted to dismiss her nosy and assuming friend before he embarrassed her in front of Hoopster. Bunhead wasn’t only a regular customer but also a close friend of the Chef/Owner – Bickslow.

 “Finally, huh?” Gray began interrogating.

 “What?”

 “Well, the word ‘finally’ implies that it’s been a while.”

 “It’s none of your business.” Juvia, understanding what the Hoopster was getting at and not wanting to engage with him, flatly told him off.

 She deliberately avoided his gaze and started to regret inviting him over for lunch. Olivia’s words haunted her, however. Like a plague that you just couldn’t shake off. Albeit irritating, her mother was right. She could at least open up a little bit to him.

 “Yes, it has been.” She said in a voice which wanted to tell him and not wanting to tell him.

 “I’m sorry?”

 “I said yes it’s been a while.” Her cheeks were burning. “Anyways…”

 She tried to change the subject but Gray cut in.

 “You guys dated?”

 “What?”

 Juvia didn’t understand to whom he was referring to. Dated who? When she finally put two in two together, she laughed at the idea.

 “Bickslow and I go way back. We’re just friends.”

 “If you say so.” Gray didn’t add anything nor did he tease. But something was telling Juvia he did not believe her one-hundred percent. She didn’t want to admit but it sounded like there was a little bit of bitterness in his voice. Couldn’t a man and woman be just friends? And most importantly, was he jealous?

 “So I’ve been researching you–”

 “–You mean stalking?”

 Gray loved to tease.

 “Researching.” She insisted. “And I found this interview in a magazine.”

 “The sexy kind of magazine?”

 Gray’s thick eyebrows danced playfully.

 “Will you stop interrupting?”

 “Fine.” Gray took a sip of the red wine from his glass; compliments by the Chef. “Go on.” Sounding like a detective listening to a prospective client.

 “I read that you’ve been playing basketball since High School.”

 “Yeah. My dad trained me.”

 Juvia felt the change in the atmosphere and the change in Gray’s midnight eyes.

 “I see.”

 Juvia took a sip out of her own glass, avoiding staring at Gray. He became really quiet and a bit detached. It felt like a wall suddenly isolated him. The man now sitting opposite Juvia was different from the usual, overfriendly Gray. She knew why. It wasn’t a secret.

 When Gray was sixteen he was being groomed to be the next Michael Jordan. His dad, Silver Fullbuster, was hands on in training him. They trained day and night. Gray would always say in his interviews that even if it was exhausting at times; he always enjoyed training with his dad. Gray loved and adored his father so much.

 “How about you? How long have you been dancing?”

 Juvia looked up from her glass of wine. She peeked at his midnight eyes. She felt guilty. Although he had a smile on, Gray’s playful eyes lost their previous glint.

 “Probably since I was four.” She laughed nervously. “Dancing is actually all I know.” It surprised even Juvia to realize that dancing was all she knew.

 “I don’t believe that.”

 Juvia wasn’t sure but it seemed like a glimpse of that annoying, mischievous Hoopster was peeking back at the surface. To be honest, she was quite relieved. She wanted to know more about him but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to know the real Gray.

 Gray leaned closer; which took Juvia by surprise.

 “I bet you are good at a lot of things, too.”

 Juvia didn’t know what came over her. Next thing she knew, she was a breath away from Gray.  Mirroring Gray’s meaningful smirk, she said something in a low, teasing voice.

 “You have no idea.”

 It was probably the wine.

 Juvia couldn’t thank Bickslow enough for his perfect timing. He brought the order personally, which he only did for special customers, balancing the plates in both hands. He expertly placed each plate in front of the guests, the smell of the spaghetti bolognese tickling their nostrils.

 (Note: I would like to thank ffnet user: Martygruvialover for pointing out that Chicken Cajun is not an Italian food. I sincerely apologize to anyone who got offended by this mistake.)

 Juvia savored the delicious smell of the Italian dish. It reminded her of the many lunches she shared with her parents. This was their favorite place.

 “She does that all the time.”

 Bickslow’s comment forced her eyes open. She gave him a face that said ‘you’re still here?’ He probably knew Juvia too well to get the message. Bickslow raised his hands in surrender, wished his guests a lovely meal and returned to the kitchen. He mouthed the words ‘good job’ with a matching two thumbs up before he disappeared behind the wine rack. The ever supportive Bickslow. Juvia rolled her eyes.

 Juvia’s gaze landed on Hoopster. He had this amused look on his face she has seen for the first time. She couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the look he was giving her.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 It didn’t look ‘nothing’ because Gray couldn’t stop smiling. Juvia knew better not to dwell on it, though. Besides, it would just make her more self-conscious than she already was.

 “This is Bickslow’s specialty.”

 Juvia forked a few strands of pasta and twirled it so it wrapped around the teeth of the fork. She looked really excited as she did. It really was an amusing scene to look at. Then, she stared at Gray, waiting expectantly for him to have a taste. Gray obliged.

 She was right. The pasta did taste really delicious. He took another forkful. Which painted a big and proud smile on Juvia. She watched Gray lick his lips clean from time to time. A fuzzy feeling was brewing in her stomach. His inviting lips were so tempting that Juvia almost obliged.

 “How did you know about this place?” He asked after he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

 Juvia was taken aback. It wasn’t because the question surprised her but because she was suddenly pulled out of thinking about Gray’s lips. It took her a second to recover before she replied.

 “My dad always brings me here.”

 Gray suddenly realized he had never seen Juvia’s father.

 “Your dad? I haven’t met him nor seen him in the studio.”

 “Oh, that’s because he’s always out of the country.”

 Juvia’s father was an Ambassador. He travels abroad most of the time and was only in the country for a week or two every month. She explained how her mom goes overseas just to meet him. She wanted to come too but she couldn’t leave the studio.

 Gray continued asking Juvia things about herself. He answered a few of her questions, too. In the middle of lunch they found themselves talking just about anything: from the basic slam-book questions to funny stories about Gray’s teammates. Juvia never laughed that much in ages! She couldn’t wait to meet the members of Fiore Knights; sounded like a fun bunch.

 They talked about a few guilty pleasures; like her embarrassing taste in rap music, his obsession with Queen Beyonce, and his love for Mariah Carey’s music. Gray even sampled her with a small part of MC’s Obsessed, singing in falsetto.

 “God, that’s high.” He complained after he almost choked on the high note.

 Juvia laughed her heart out.

 The constant teasing was still there, too. Even if Juvia still reacted irritably, if she had to admit it to herself, Gray wasn’t as irritating as before.

  The two managed to come back to the studio without Gray attracting any attention. The lunch went well. Except that time they debated who should pay the bill. Juvia was quick at swatting Gray’s hands when he reached for it. She insisted it was her treat. Hoopster respected that. With his ego the size of the universe, Juvia was surprised he let her pay. She appreciated it.

 Juvia had to admit: somehow, her mother was right. She felt more comfortable around Hoopster. In the afternoon dance practice, they were more in sync; less dropping, less stepping on her toes. She was also growing out of her self-consciousness. Juvia felt less icky when he touched her. They were able to execute the more touchy choreography better than before.

 The afternoon practice wrapped better than the previous ones. The routine needed more polishing but there was evidently significant improvement. That thing that she thought was missing was already there – chemistry.

 After the practice, Gray took a quick shower; like he always did. He went back to the practice room with only his pants on. Juvia was used to that picture; just his denim jeans on and his six packs in full display. It wasn’t her first time seeing those packs in person. She has seen them in some billboards scattered around the city. She dreamt about touching them once. Maybe even twice. She wasn’t sure. Probably more times than she wanted to admit. So, she acted like she was all cool about it. But deep inside, her twenty-five year old hormones were raging.

 Gray used a clean towel to dry his hair. He dropped the damp towel inside his duffle and picked out a clean shirt from in it. He was a perceptive person and was well-aware of the assets he carried. He caught Bunhead staring at his packs on more than one occasion. So he puts on a show when he got dressed; deliberately facing her way and showing his hard and glorious six packs when they flexed. He was sure Juvia swallowed hard when he did.

 “You know, if you really want to watch me undress, all you have to do is ask.” He goaded.

 “As if.”

 And Juvia would avoid his gaze.

 Something dropped when he pulled his clean shirt out of the duffle. He picked it up and handed it to Bunhead; who had a quizzical look on her face when she received it. Before she could ask, Gray was already headed towards the door; his bulky Nike duffle slung over one shoulder. He announced that he was going to pick her up at seven.

 “It’s a date.” He declared with his famous knee-weakening wink.

 Juvia finally understood why Gray’s fans faint at the sight of that wink. She almost did.

Writer’s Corner: Okay so as suggested by @juviaesthetic, I revised this chapter to reflect the change in the storyline. I hope you guys look for ward for Gray and Juvia’s Not-A-Date.

#gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gray x juvia #she's in your court #siyc #basketball x ballet #gruvia #gruvia au

[ghostmartyr]

Fic: A Terrible Idea [7/?]

Fandom: Attack on Titan Title: A Terrible Idea Author: Immi Rating: PG-13 Summary: Ymir’s pursuit of the hot cheerleader was meant to stay strictly lustful. But it’s a high school AU with a ship tag, so you know, fuck that. Notes: Hey, so if you’re just seeing evidence of this fic now thanks to the Galliard ship tags, this is a yumikuri fic, but this chapter is in Galliard’s pov, and so his romantic woes are unavoidable and awkward. And hopefully entertaining. Obviously it’s not meant as a standalone, but it probably can be read as one for the sake of ship feels.

Segment summary: Porco is a bi disaster.

I II III IV V  VI

This wasn’t happening.

Mr. Smith had a standing policy. Help out cleaning his classroom at the end of the week, get extra credit as judged by the custodian. Porco did not need the extra credit, Ymir could fuck right off with that, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. Kenny’d had them fighting for Levi’s approval through chores since second grade. He knew how to clean a room.

For anyone who cared to know, that meant he was easy to find on Friday afternoons, scraping gum off desks with Connie and Sasha (who did need the extra credit).

Reiner Braun was not supposed to care.

He wasn’t supposed to be sitting on a desk Porco had just cleaned, pretending to be cool, while people who did care were prepping for practice like the coaching staff told them to. Good to know this was the work ethic that kept him off the team.

“Hi,” he’d said, smiling that toothpaste commercial grin Porco’s way, stepping into the history room like he belonged there.

He didn’t. He had history with Mr. Dok. Reiner had no reason at all to be sitting on a desk in Mr. Smith’s classroom, shooting finger guns at Connie and breathing so deeply that the buttons on his polo shirt were straining to keep his oversized muscles from bursting free.

That wasn’t some kind of accident.

Marcel joked that Reiner was too swol for things like clothes. Marcel, being a normal person, didn’t get it. Porco had survived a year of PE with Reiner before. Mr. Quarterback Superstar had a thing for flexing in front of mirrors. He would come to school shirtless every day if he could. Wearing clothes that barely fit, showing off the body that everyone fell over themselves to praise every time his team scored him a touchdown, was as close as he could get.

Ymir said he was too much of a square to use steroids. He was, but there was no natural reason for someone’s arms to be that big. Marcel was ten times the athlete Reiner was, and he still looked like a person, not a teenage bodybuilder.

“I was looking to hit you up, and Marcel said you’d be here,” Reiner had said, propping his sculpted ass on top of Porco’s hard work. Yeah sure, Levi wouldn’t notice that at all.

Now Reiner was looking at him like Porco had anything to do with this conversation. It wasn’t even a conversation. Reiner just decided to walk in and ruin his day, and since that couldn’t be enough, he was trying to turn it into a group project.

Did he somehow not remember what those went like? Those five weeks of third grade where they were paired in art were the longest of their short lives, Kenny getting called in three separate times—culminating in him being permanently barred from PTA thanks to Reiner’s mother (what was her problem)—and last Porco had stepped in that room, the air conditioning vent was still clogged with papier-mâché.

Not to mention last year’s English mess. It was like he lived to tear down Porco’s grade point average.

Cluing in a little in the stony silence, Reiner got to the point.

“Your sister’s friends with Historia Reiss, right?”

The point was that this was actually fucking happening.

“She is not my sister,” Porco said, sourly.

Reiner barely had eyebrows, but what was there knit together. “Ymir?” he said, like Porco couldn’t figure out who they were talking about on his own. “Marcel said you guys were family.”

There was something sick about Reiner using Marcel’s good nature as a weapon. Porco glowered at the concerned pouting thing his lips were doing. He hoped Reiner knew it made him look stupid.

Porco cleared his throat. The words weren’t showing up the first try. “She’s Ymir. What do you care?”

Reiner perked up. Like, his whole body bounced like a spring. “You know how homecoming’s next week?”

No, really? That thing the student council had thrown away their budget for to get banners covering every other hallway? That was happening? Who could have guessed.

Porco nodded obediently, jaw clenched. Ymir had dragged him into enough school plays for him to know when he was supposed to be following a script. Not that Reiner would care. He had his pep talk face on. Sunshine confidence was leaking out of his pores. He was impossible to talk to when he got like this. He was impossible most of the time anyway, but it was somehow worse when he had that sparkle in his eyes to go with his teeth.

“I,” Reiner announced, “want to ask Historia to the dance.”

Porco’s concept of a just and fair world crumbled.

“What.”

“Yeah,” Reiner said, somehow not hearing the blood-curdling scream resounding in Porco’s chest. “It seems like the thing to do, you know? Every school has a power couple. Doesn’t hurt that she’s some kind of saint. She raised more money for the cheerleaders’ fundraiser than they’ve had in years, and—”

And what, he didn’t get enough pretty blond when he looked in the mirror? Blood pumped loudly in Porco’s ears. Reiner’s visage blurred.

Perfect logic. No, let’s not date someone we know, and maybe like for reasons that aren’t total crap, let’s go with the person who matches some absurd popularity scale that neither one of us really deserves. Such sense. Much thought. Wow.

Where did he get off, anyway, thinking about asking someone out on such short notice? Asking someone out he clearly didn’t know anything about, and dragging Porco into it because he wouldn’t know tact if it bit him on his perfect ass, and holy fuck, Historia Reiss?

Really?

Connie and Sasha were scrubbing windows. The squeaking matched his grinding teeth.

Was taste just not a thing? Did he miss something? Was walking around like an alien abductee in now?

Reiner had never even talked to her, if he had he wouldn’t need a damn proxy to hold his behemoth hand.

He was talking to Porco just fine—he was still fucking talking, so clearly conversational skills gave him some kind of buzz—but sure, no, go for the opposite of that. Treating each other like equal human beings who didn’t need stilts to be at eye level was way too conventional and un-creepy for the undisputed lord of the school.

“—pretty, too—”

Porco saw red.

“Fuck off, she’s already dating my sister!”

…

…

The windows stopped squeaking.

Reiner’s mouth stayed open, without sound, and that was so damn preferable Porco was going to kill something, hopefully him. The pressure in his head let off, and a crisp twinge of satisfaction took its place.

For the five seconds of peace he had before his brain caught up.

“Oh,” Reiner said.

Connie and Sasha were both staring, looking like summer break had come back early.

Oh, Porco thought.

Oh no.

“I guess that doesn’t work, then.”

Reiner lifted himself off the desk, arms flexing for pure show. The creases in his ill-fitting shirt said his abs were doing all the work, and Porco didn’t know why that mattered, but he was in hell now, and some of that meant watching Reiner-the-human-specimen getting to his feet in slow motion while flames crept up Porco’s face.

This was not happening.

“They aren’t public about it,” Porco blurted. Dawning horror made his voice come out echoey. He made as much eye contact with Reiner as he could stand. “Don’t go—they aren’t… Don’t spread it around.”

Reiner’s face melted into compassionate understanding. Awful look for him. “No problem. I wouldn’t—hey,” his hand was on Porco’s shoulder and he wanted to bite it off, “I know how it can be.” What did that mean. “Don’t worry about a thing, man. I’ve got your back. And theirs.”

He was smiling. Why was he smiling. Porco needed him to stop.

“You should let Ymir know they’re a really cute couple.”

They weren’t, and there was no way Reiner had ever had that thought until five seconds ago.

He gave Porco’s shoulder an extra pat. “I’ll catch you at practice.”

The silence left in Reiner’s wake when he exited the classroom was how most horror movies started.

Porco looked at Connie.

Connie looked at Sasha.

Sasha looked delighted.

“Ymir finally has a girlfriend?”

Hell.

----

Staying in Mr. Smith’s room until every other human being in the school was gone was not going to work out. Ymir would find him and laugh at him. Then maybe never speak to him again. Marcel would find him and want to know what was wrong. Levi would find him, ignore him, and tell Kenny something was wrong.

Pieck would find him, and be so wonderful he’d want to tell her what was wrong.

Pieck did find him.

She stood in the doorway, leaning too heavily against it. Her arms hated going a full week with crutches. Ymir usually made good on playing pack mule for her backpack, but there was a limit to how much they could help. It sucked.

Pieck smiled through the shadows under her eyes. “It’s not like you to take so long with the cleaning, Pock.”

There were days when that smile was all Porco needed to love life. Today was one of them before Reiner showed up and got him to ruin everything. Porco stopped viciously scrubbing his desk with a paper towel. “Pieck,” he said, “have you ever done something really stupid.”

“No, never,” was the real answer to that. Pieck was the only person he had ever met who was immune to bad decisions. He’d known her since they were five. She was just gifted like that. Even Marcel had his screw-ups. Like being friends with quarterbacks.

Pieck rested her chin on top of her crutch. “Oh dear, what have you done?”

He frowned at his abused paper towel. Cleanser and force had torn a hole in it.

“Reiner wanted to ask Historia out to the homecoming dance.” And that was still the most fucking irritating thing to think, forget saying it out loud. If these people wanted a blonde, short, emotionless girl to rip their hearts out of their chests, they should hit up Annie. All the same stupid kinks, none of the delusion that there was something real there.

He’d told Ymir that and she told him to shut his whore mouth.

Pieck cocked her head. “He hasn’t heard? She’s not going.”

…

Well fuck that, too. Historia Reiss was some kind of cursed object designed to fuck with his life. Days after talking to Reiner weren’t supposed to get worse. Before Ymir and her stupid crush that he wasn’t allowed to call a crush without her whining, him alone in a room with Reiner was peak misery.

He sucked the injustice up and glowered at his desk. His stomach wouldn’t stop squirming. “I told Reiner Ymir’s dating Historia,” he said.

He could hear Pieck’s brain humming in the empty space of a thousand missing comments about how tactless and idiotic that combination of words was. And he’d said it in front of Connie. Sasha could remember when not to gossip. Her best friend knowing the gossip and giggling with her in study hall helped with that. Connie could not keep his mouth shut. That was how he kept losing the stashes of weed he tried to hide around school. He told people about them. Regularly.

Porco’s fingers flexed.

Ymir was never going to forgive him.

It was over her sex life—which she didn’t even have, it didn’t matter how many times she called it that—so what’d he care, but.

“Less accurate things have been said,” Pieck said. Her crutches thumped across Mr. Smith’s floor.

Porco moodily ripped his paper towel into smaller pieces. “Yeah, dating isn’t really what she’s after.”

“Isn’t it?”

Porco gave Pieck a look. It melted in the face of her smile. It was a lot closer than the doorway now, and proximity upped its powers to reincarnation levels of healing. He probably didn’t deserve that right now. Fucking Reiner. He murdered the butterflies and focused on the much easier target of Ymir being a horrible person. “You’ve had to listen to her just as much as I have. I don’t think she knows what romance is.”

And if she did, she definitely didn’t care about it. He knew enough about Historia now to feel like a pervert by association.

Pieck sat down on the desk next to his. She twirled one of her crutches. “And we all know that people never evade their feelings by telling themselves it’s something else.”

Porco snorted. “Are you kidding me? No one really does that.”

Especially not Ymir. He could almost say he liked that about her, when she wasn’t making her main mission in life having sex with a girl she barely knew. If Historia turned out to be a serial killer, she had the money and family lawyers to get away with it. They’d already sprung one family member out of jail. It wasn’t like he and Marcel and Kenny could back up the legal fees to bring someone like that to justice. He wouldn’t even get a chance to say I told you so.

“Well,” Pieck said, after a delayed pause, “you would know your sister best.”

“Not my sister.” His mouth got tired of saying that over and over again, and it was doubly annoying with people who knew what was up, but Pieck just smiled at him, sending rainbow cotton candy fluff to fuzz up his brain.

“She won’t hate you, Pock.”

Porco rolled his eyes. Mr. Smith needed to do something about his air conditioning. He was overheating.

“She won’t,” Pieck repeated. Her calloused hand stroked the back of his before cupping it warmly. “She knows how important Reiner is to you—”

“Pieck.”

She squeezed his hand. “And even if she didn’t,” Pieck continued, like she wasn’t leaving him scarred for life by making his heart swoop through the air and crash into a brick wall at the same time, “she will be delighted to have something to hold over your head. You are now the horrible person who started the rumor that she’s interested in feelings. You’re going to be doing her chores for weeks.”

Hurrah. He could hear all about how badly he was folding the sheets she planned to defile her not-girlfriend on. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

Pieck patted him compassionately on the head. “Never.”

Porco scoffed and looked out the window.

Stupid air conditioning.

Fucking Ymir.

Next

#gallirei #gallipieck #yumikuri #shingeki no fanfic #fic #mine

[yeaahishowedupatyourparty]

Chapter One: Blythe Radcliffe

“Damn it!”   “Almost...” “What time did I get?” Blythe panted. She dragged her fuchsia gloves over her face and immediately regretted it, feeling stray balls of cotton stick to her sweaty brow. “Forty-nine minutes, seventeen seconds...” her father, Henry, replied. Something in the way he jogged alongside her with a flippant attitude only irritated her more. “Just four minutes off of your best.”           Pushing open the wrought iron gates, customised with a swirling gold ‘R’ for ‘Radcliffe’ on each side, Blythe let her frustration out on the gravelled driveway, scuffing the toe of her pristine trainer against the sandy chippings.   “Don’t sweat it, sport,” Henry continued, “You’ve got a lot to think about this morning, I could tell you were distracted before we even got to the park.”             Blythe gave what she hoped looked like an appreciative smile. Although, if she was being honest, she didn’t appreciate the sentiment in the slightest. In the twenty-four years he’d spent raising her, she assumed her father had learnt that if she wasn’t the best at whatever she was doing, she wasn’t happy.   “Well, let’s hope I make a better breakfast guest than I do an athlete.” Her words came out sharper than she’d intended, but the irritation mounting in her chest made it impossible for an apology of any shape or size to pass through.         Instead, she widened her strides and created more distance between herself, her father and their family guards, pushing open the heavy oak doors of Radcliffe Manor. Two brass lions, named George and Patrick by her six-year-old self, sat proudly on either side of them acting as bookends to the immaculate hedge that bordered the house.            Once upon a time, Blythe’s favourite thing to do was mount herself upon their backs and imagine she was riding into a make-believe battle which would always have the same ending; her winning and taking her rightful place as Queen of the Amethyst Islands. It might’ve no longer been acceptable to be seen riding garden statues but her fantasy remained the same. The only difference being that as she grew older, the sparkling daydream became a cold and hungry ambition lurking at the end of a ruthless one-tracked mind. “What took you both so long?!” the voice of her mother exclaimed before Blythe had barely managed to kick off her shoes, causing one of their housekeepers to scurry over to pick them up and then leave completely unnoticed. “I was slow,” Blythe shrugged. She studied her mother loitering at the bottom of their curved staircase, fiddling with an antique vase of hydrangeas as if she just so happened to be passing through the entrance hall as they arrived home.   “We got distracted in the town centre, the Independence Day decorations are spectacular this year, Anthea! We must remember to thank the council at the next gathering,” Henry chimed in, closing the doors behind him. The crow’s feet by his narrow blue eyes became more prominent as he approached his wife with a genuine beam, planting a kiss on her cheek. Blythe subconsciously ran the pads of her gloves over her face, as if to smooth out her own skin.           She knew she’d always possessed most of her father’s genes; the slender frame, thick, autumnal hair and high cheekbones were definitely the perks. But it also meant dealing with beady, narrow eyes paired with eyebrows that could barely be seen when exposed to the sun, and a nose that she felt was far too prominent to ever look pleasing from the side. Maybe it was harsh of her to say so, but Blythe would have sooner taken her mother’s doe eyes and heart-shaped face, even if it meant having large hips and a concrete heart.   The glow of the October sun shone through the huge, cathedral-styled windows that lined the front wall of the house, casting vague and fading shadows over the floorboards.        Blythe peeled off her gloves and shoved them in the pocket of her fleece. She barely acknowledged Lucius and Noel, their family’s guards, slip past them and disappear into the central sitting room. In her defence, they weren’t the most memorable of men. As her family’s personal guards, it was their duty to linger in the background as the constant yet comforting aura of stealth that circled the Radcliffe’s estate.    Even in such a low-risk setting with little to stay on guard about, they remained stoic. Sometimes Blythe wondered if they’d even had a non-Radcliffe related conversation before.   “I’m going to take a shower,” she announced. “A quick one,” Anthea took the liberty of adding, untangling herself from Henry’s affections and staring her daughter down with the same heavy gaze she always looked at her with. It’d been loading Blythe’s shoulders with what felt like the weight of the world for as long as she could remember. “The next steamboat to the mainland departs at eight-fifteen, leaving us forty-five minutes to arrive at the palace in comfortable time for the King’s Breakfast. I’ve had Eliza lay your clothes out on your bed for you.” Blythe gave a straight-mouthed smile, not even bothering to make her eyes match the half-hearted attempt at acting as if she had any gratitude towards her mother at all.     The King’s Breakfast. She could actually hear the capital letters at the beginning of each word in how her mother had articulated them; as if together they built the most important phrase to ever be spoken into existence.         Even when Blythe shut her eyes, allowing the citrus scented soaps and cordial water from the shower to trickle over her senses, she could still hear Anthea’s voice echoing around the jewel green en-suite. Her words condensed against the glazed windows, lodged themselves in the drainpipes and inscribed themselves over and over on the thin layer of steam covering her bronze-framed mirror until Blythe had no choice but to acknowledge them. They grew larger and larger; The King’s Breakfast, The King’s Breakfast, The King’s Breakfast; hogging the space both in the room and her mind’s eye, making her shoulders hunch from the internal claustrophobia.          “Enough,” she hissed, either surprised at the fact that she’d vocalised what she was thinking into an empty room or that she hadn’t expected to scorn herself in such a way. She didn’t give herself time to decide. Abruptly shutting off the water, Blythe pulled back the frosted shower guard and reached for one of the soft, pastel towels that hung patiently on the heated radiator by the bath-tub.   By the time Eliza had been sent up to Blythe’s room as her mother’s passive-aggressive reminder of the time, Blythe had just finished glossing her lips over with her favourite lipstick. It was from the Amethyst Royal Collection, founded and worn religiously by the King’s Mother and former Queen Consort, Marianne de Beaumont. Blythe’s signature shade was Imperial Desire, a bold red that popped significantly brighter than the deep Lovers Midnight that her mother often used.        “Your Highness, your mother has sent for you. She’s waiting in the entrance hall” Eliza said meekly. Blythe watched through the reflection of her vanity table as Eliza anxiously wrung her hands, clearly close to crumbling under the pressure of serving the Radcliffe Household on Amethyst Independence Day. Pathetic, honestly. “Of course, thank you Eliza,” Blythe smiled sweetly, satisfied to see the girl’s slight shoulders visibly relax under the fabric of her drab uniform. It meant that she still had meticulous control over her image; she didn’t particularly care for Eliza, but judging by the way she gave a deep curtsey and left the room with a triumphant smile, it wasn’t obvious.      Anthea always kept the stable ladies-in-waiting and handmaids for herself, leaving Blythe with the trembling newbies. She suspected that it was because, thanks to the Law of the Monarch, written by the kingdom’s founding fathers themselves, Blythe was and always would be higher in society than her mother and it made her envious. Or, at the very least, she hoped she was embarrassed about it.            Blythe had always enjoyed History in school for that very reason. Not only was everybody obsessed with the twelve founding fathers who departed from different corners of the globe to claim a piece of the Amethyst Islands as their own, but she also got to bask in the glory of being related to one of them. Nothing satisfied her more than the applause of awestruck looks and jealous grunts from her classmates when their professor would nod in her direction at the mention of Thomas E. Radcliffe, founder of the British Settlement Island.   Her absolute favourite lessons were the ones that deep-dived into the Law of the Monarch, and how the founding fathers had met in City Hall every single day for a year and a half, establishing how they’d run their new country. The result was the first ever Democratic Monarchy; the people would decide which father would be crowned as King and from there, their bloodline would inherit the throne.   Blythe intentionally took her time as she wandered into her closet, on a mission to find the perfect purse to match her outfit as well as raise her mother’s blood-pressure. Sometimes she resented the fact that the people of Amethyst had voted for Jacques de Beaumont of the French Settlement to be their first King. Had they voted for Thomas, she would’ve had the throne secured with only her father’s reign to eagerly wait out. But all wasn’t lost, the first half of being a ‘Democratic Monarchy’ was her saving grace; ‘In the event of the reigning monarch’s abdication, timely or unforeseen demise, or removal from the throne, their eldest, biological child will inherit the throne and succeed as the ruler of the Amethyst Mainland and the twelve Settlement Islands.   Under the circumstance in which there are no legible heirs, parliament will activate the Law of the Monarch; calling for the election of a new royal bloodline. Potential successors will be selected from the eldest children of the twelve Founding Families, and of the opposite sex from the last reigning monarch.’   It was a passage that Blythe had committed to memory. In the unlikely event that King Gabriel de Beaumont would take a step back, there was a small chance that Blythe would become Queen of the Amethyst Islands. She was a crown princess and that was something she had clung to for as long as she’d been aware of it.      Her fingers vacantly caressed a velvety, cream clutch that hung on one of the many gold-plated pegs in her wardrobe. Obviously, there were eleven other girls who were also crown princesses and belonged to their respective settlement islands. She knew them very well. But she also knew that none of them had planned, rehearsed and fantasied about the day they could potentially ascend to the throne with the same precision that she had. Down on Thomas’s Quay, the docile autumn breeze had picked up momentum, causing the deep purple flag of the Amethyst Kingdom to flap furiously on its mast at the end of the dock. Blythe turned gracefully on her heel and looked up at the wide promenade crowded with excited strangers for as far as her eyes could see. A group of girls around her age had taken over a bench that overlooked the ocean, standing on it to snap the perfect picture of her family for their social media feeds. Beside them, an elderly couple leant against the sandy wall that ran the length of the promenade and fondly smiled down at them. Blythe lifted her mouth into the pleasant smile she’d rehearsed in the mirror one thousand times over and gave a wave that was simultaneously for everybody and nobody.         “What a turnout, hey?” Henry smiled, giving an energetic wave to the crowd before turning his back on them. Even still, the flashes from the paparazzi cameras clicked furiously. He placed one comforting hand on Blythe’s shoulder and the other on the small of Anthea’s back as the three of them descended down the dock. Between the crowd’s hysteria and the wind beating against the ocean waves, Blythe just about caught the compliment that left her mother’s lips.   “You look beautiful, Blythe.” She dipped her head slightly. For some reason, Blythe felt reluctant to show genuine gratitude towards her mother’s compliment. It was much easier to just carry on resenting her. “I’ve always said that teal was your colour. It looks gorgeous on ghostly complexions.”       That’s more like it, mother, she thought to herself through a clenched smile. There was always an obligatory nit-pick to go hand in hand with the otherwise harmless comment. Anthea was the Queen of Nit-Picking and pulling things apart for no solid reason, and her target of choice was more often than not her only daughter.   This was hardly the time for a tiff, though. Not only were there hundreds of eyes watching their every move, but Blythe knew that she had a job to do. Her mother could wait.   “Your Highness.” A balding man with rosy cheeks bowed to her before addressing her parents, “Sir...Ma'am...” She instantly recognised him. He was one of the many captains who transported passengers from island to island via the steamboat service. Blythe often saw him during her morning travels to the main island for shopping trips in the Captial or, on rarer occasions like this, visits to the palace. “Thank you,” she said. Graciously, she clasped the gentlemen’s gloved hand in her own and gave him a warm smile, subtly angling her body in the direction of the paparazzi on the promenade. The captain beamed and bowed even lower, causing the crowd above to cheer in adoration. People could call her many things, but she made sure that tactless would never be one of them.         The pearly white steamboats had become somewhat of a trademark to the Amethyst Islands. In the tourist shops on the main island, Blythe had seen hundreds of figurines of them, all destined to be snatched off the shelves and locked away as memorabilia. Each one was replicated with lilac and gold accents running along the railings of each deck and a bright purple wheel. She was sure they even made ones that flew little satin Amethyst flags now, embossed with the golden coat of arms that appeared everywhere if you paid enough attention.       “After spending his whole life on these islands, you would think the illusion of a purple ocean wouldn’t phase him anymore,” Anthea said. The cushioned bench in their sheltered booth dipped slightly as she sat down. Blythe shifted, straightening a non-existent crease in the skirt of her dress and then tugged gently at its empire waistline. “It does look nice,” she offered. Folding her hands in her lap, she kept her eyes fixed on her father, who leant over the railings and was seemingly unphased by the wind that blew around his thick tufts of greying, wavy hair.   “They do,” Anthea agreed. Blythe would’ve been surprised if it hadn’t been the most popular opinion in the kingdom.         Despite playing no part in putting them there, everybody felt a sense of pride towards the amethysts that sat on the seabed. They were embedded in the sand in the form of rocks and geodes, as well as mounted on the walls of mystical-looking caves along the main island’s coastline. Marine biologists, geologists and anybody else who decided to make it their business theorised that the rocks had even been there in the pre-historic era. Meanwhile, activists and self-proclaimed do-gooders were constantly rattling on about how there would’ve been even more if the invaders hadn’t come specifically to mine and make a profit off of them. That included Thomas E. Radcliffe. Blythe didn’t like to associate herself with politics; not publicly anyway. “Are you ready for today, Blythe?” Anthea’s voice pulled her out of her daydream, clouded by the glittering light show of sunlight fragmenting against the ocean's purple waves. “I really think you’ve made good progress with King Gabriel. Everybody has been asking me if you’d be attending his Independence Day festivities, which can only mean one thing.” Blythe reigned in an eyeroll. There it was again. King Gabriel; capital K, capital G. “They suspect we could be together,” Blythe said, finishing her mother’s sentence for her.   “Exactly! Play your cards right today and suspecting will become knowing,”   “Unless he doesn’t ask me to be his girlfriend.”          Anthea’s shoulders stiffened at her daughter’s comment, clutching her chin sharply between her thumb and middle finger in one swift movement. Blythe flinched, but quickly gained composure, meeting her mother’s unshakeable stare with unstable breaths. “You’re going to ensure that he does, though, aren’t you?” Her question wasn’t a question. The way her words seeped through the atmosphere like a deadly virus made that clear. “Your father and I have worked hard for the life you live now, harder than you know. All I ask in return is for you to secure yourself as Queen Consort.” Blythe felt as though her nails were piercing through her skin, but she refused to wince or even react to the pain. “It isn’t that hard.”   “I’m capable,” Blythe snapped, more as a reminder to herself than Anthea. It took her a moment to realise her mother had let go of her. The sensation of a million tiny razor blades burrowed under her skin and coursed across her nerves. “Good.” Anthea rose to her feet, slipping her hand into her purse and tossing a travel hairbrush into Blythe’s lap. “And brush the ends of your hair, you always manage to get them tangled. Even under the shelter. Unbelievable.”   Do not cry. Blythe watched with blurred vision as her mother left the booth and stepped out on to the main deck to join her father, looping a slender arm carefully through his and waved elegantly at the crowd that had amounted across the beach of the main island. It was even bigger than the one back on the British Settlement.          With one aggravated jerk of her knee, Blythe watched the brush roll across the smooth satin of her dress and fall on to the floor with a solitary clatter. Her fists clenched at the material as she exhaled in through her nose...and out through her mouth...in...and then out again.        It never got easier. Blythe Radcliffe wasn’t, and would never be, enough on her own. To her mother, she only meant something if she was Blythe Radcliffe, the love interest, the soon-to-be girlfriend, and the future wife of the dreamy and shockingly single King Gabriel de Beaumont of the Amethyst Islands. If he’d just followed protocol and found a wife before his father’s fatal heart-attack, she wouldn’t be dealing with any of this to begin with. And for that, she almost hated him as much as she hated her mother. Lifting her chin, Blythe gently pushed open the door and painted on yet another rehearsed and effortless smile. The sharp and salty aroma of the Amethyst Ocean revigorated her mind as she glided across the main deck to join her parents at the railings. The roar of the crowd’s excitement grew louder with every wave their boat sailed through. Keeping her eyes fixed on the palace that towered over anything else on the main island, Blythe unintentionally shoved her mother’s shoulder out of the way and stood in the middle of her parents.        At the sight of her, onlookers began to curtsey and frantically wave, their eyes glowing in awe at the presence of somebody who – if fate decided to deal a certain hand – could be their potential Queen. Or, more likely than that, be their future Queen Consort.   She was no longer pretending, Blythe felt powerful and it was in that moment she made a clear decision; she didn’t want to marry, she wanted to rule.

#janeysprojects

[tominicholland]

Time of Your Life

Pairing: Harry Holland x Protagonist (brief, planned), Tom Holland x Protagonist (main, planned)

Synopsis: Jacob Batalon’s youngest cousin (Protagonist) is now – as of August – 18 years old. At the nearly-ripe age of 17, she accompanied her cousin to the Spider-Man: Homecoming premiere where she grows acquainted with the younger crowd of the star-studded cast and – most importantly – piques the interest of two Holland boys, Harry (who’s the same age) and Tom (who’s three years her senior).

Author’s Note: TOM HOLLAND AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD FINALLY MAKE THEIR WAY INTO THIS STORY WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO. In other news, this is kind of lengthy because it goes into a whole story about the protagonist’s school crush, Jake, and how much of an ass he is and how the Holy Trinity helps her forget the douche, and yeah. Such excitement!1!!!!! If you like stories about girls getting over fuckbois, read this!!!!! 

Trigger Warnings: Protagonist has somewhat of a breakdown, there’s mentions of suicide but they’re brief (not even central to the plot) 

Word Count: 2,992 

Part I // Part II //Part III: The Holy Trinities   In which the protagonist learns of the two holiest trinities out there: Intellectualism, False Hope, and Loneliness; Tom Holland, Jacob Batalon and Harrison Osterfield. 

My role in student government (ASB) was plain and simple as the Attorney General. Like the Attorney General of the United States, I basically represent the ASB in conflicts and preside over the “legal” aspects of clubs, such as the drafting of their charters and other procedural duties. Each day I’d be allowed to leave Study Period fifteen minutes early to assume my position at the front desk of the Student Government office and consume my lunch before parents, staff and students came barging in with worthless questions and futile threats. Study Period was with Vicky, Sam, Imani and Carlos in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class that day, and we noticed that he was unusually irked with us. Normally, he’d pull up a sixth chair whenever First Period classes served as Study Period homeroom and openly prattle on with his favourite students, but that he didn’t seem quite in the mood. Neither did I, after Third Period, in between.

I’d already had a whole block period – two hours – of the four of my friends jabbering about how, technically, if the premiere was going to supplant my prom experience, Harry Holland could be my “date,” and I’d grown sick of it. On top of that, during Third Period AP Calculus, I’d dozed off after the sugar in the Slurpee wore on me. Jake was in the class with me and, just like in Mr. Rosenblatt’s class, he sat across the room from me. Instead of ignoring me, his chair was perfectly positioned to give him a spectacular view of my drool dripping onto my textbook and the scaly calculator imprint on my cheek when I finally woke up from that glorious slumber.

Jake had somewhat of a laugh and a smirk and a snigger, with dark coiffure of John F. Kennedy, Jr. volume. His lips were thin and his eyebrows the polar opposite, but somehow the lines of hair above his eyes remained symmetrical and tame. When he turned to the side, his profile was perfectly chiselled – his jaw and cheekbones formed a perfect triangle-like dip when he would suck his cheeks in, and his nose was big but not too big. And he had light brown skin, the perfect mixture of his father’s and mother’s. It was miraculous that this was what my mental capacities generated with a lack of sleep, and even more of a blessing that Jake was laughing more to himself that to his friends who were perplexed by rotations problems.

This reel of Jake’s amusement from my struggle to stay awake replayed and replayed in my head as I was fighting my anxiety to saunter towards Mr. Rosenblatt. Jake sat in the chair closest to his desk and the wall, so he had a perfect view of Mr. Rosenblatt on his desktop and anyone who came up to ask him questions.

As I approached Mr. Rosenblatt I saw Jake’s head perk up a little. His phony attentiveness became clear as his eyes skimmed lines of Shakespeare and averted to me. The brown circles rested on the left corners of his eyes as his smirk curled on the right side of his mouth. Indubitable eavesdropping done by the prettiest boy in school, and it was on my conversation.

I cleared my throat: “Mr. Rosenblatt?”

“Yes, Ms. Maja,” he scrunched up his nose like a little mole rat. Mr. Rosenblatt kind of looked like one but no one scrutinized his looks because we all knew he had breast cancer, and for our class, he’d missed the most days for chemotherapy. It fell under some cardinal sin to give him shit because he was dying.  

“I just wanted to ask if I could go to the ASB right now instead of later,” I prefaced. “I finished part of the CRQ’s in class but I wasn’t feeling well in calculus –”

Jake deadass cackled.

“Uhm, Jake?” Mr. Rosenblatt inquired. “Do you have anything to contribute to this bilateral conversation?”

“I’ll make it trilateral by letting you know that Maja did indeed fall into a deep slumber in calculus and I watched it from an admirer’s distance,” Jake’s charmingly apprised our teacher and caused Mr. Rosenblatt to chuckle along with him.

“Well, if that’s the case Ms. Maja, I’ll let you go to the ASB. It must be quieter there,” Mr. Rosenblatt was right. Everyone was still in Study Period and no parents, staff nor students could pester those in the office until lunch.

I felt all heat escape from my face as I turned a pale colour and dragged myself back to my seat to get my things. I reached for my backpack as Vicky asked, “Hey, where are you going?” 

“The ASB,” I said. I yanked my bag from the back of my chair and tossed it over my shoulder. My right hand shoved the door open when she exclaimed that all of them would join me; I used my foot as a door prop and said in a stern tone, “No. I’m gonna take a nap in the beanbag in the back office. I can’t talk.” I didn’t even have to fake being tired. A yawn escaped me at the perfect time.

“Oh… ok,” she said, taken aback. Somehow she and the others couldn’t put two and two together, that I was stressed above all things about this even though it was a month away, and if I really thought about it, it a few weeks away, and if I really, really, really wanted to torture myself, I’d realize that it was three school weeks away, right after exams.

Study Period was only about thirty-five minutes, so I had twenty minutes of napping time in total. Ideally I’d use the fifteen minutes to gather lunch, but seeing as I’d stopped by 7-11 earlier I bought myself some Hot Cheetos and a Caesar Salad to serve for my afternoon meal. I did, however, trot to the vending machine outside the office to get a blue Gatorade.

When I came back I popped my salad open and ripped the chip bag and dug in. The bell rang and I heard all the eager underclassmen literally racing each other to the lunch lines. I rolled my eyes and disturbed the desktop in front of me, launched Google Chrome and opened Twitter, hoping to find some interesting articles.  

The door swung open after a good ten minutes, while I was enjoying a New Yorker article by Jia Tolentino, who disparaged some book by Ivanka Trump. Lo and behold, it was Jake; lo and behold, I was stupid and almost choked on my salad.

“Oooh,” he teased. “Just the Attorney General I wanted to see.”

“I’m the only Attorney General,” I sassed.

“I know, I know,” he knew then that he’d be more circumspect in his statements. “I’m in the same AP Government class with you in Preston’s room. I gotta know how this shit works, right?”

He slammed his hands on the counter in front of me, stood on the tips of his toes and peered down at my screen. “God, you’re such a nerd,” he poked. “Always reading some dumb shit that’s not so dumb.”

He let the balls of feet drop back to the ground, placed his elbows on the counter, crossed them, and then let his chin rest on the formative lump of his hands. Jake was a south paw and his left hand overlapped his right. Always.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help you with?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” he had that smirk again, which oozed of a sort of brazenness and insolence that made me cower behind my laptop. “I want to take Sami to Prom.”

Everything by my eyes were completely frozen, and they gave him an icy glare.  

“Not your Sam,” this was a gratuitous reply. “Sami the soccer player.” I

 knew her – she was just as tall as I was (5’8), a bit more fit than I was (she was a tri-sport athlete, I merely did swim), was blonde (I could never compete there), and popular.

“And?” I’d no idea why he needed to tell me this.

“I just felt like I needed to tell you,” he teased.

Contrary to the strong woman I believed to myself to be in that moment, I was on the verge of tears. This was kind of brutal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he went back on the tip of his toes again and looked at me over the screen. This time he was sterner and his rosy cheeks of douchebaggery faded into the pallor of a self-aware asshole. “I was just shitting around. Don’t cry. This is like sophomore year all over again when I sat next to you. I don’t want to get in trouble with the ASB Dean for making the Attorney General cry so just.. j-just..” he started laughing to himself again, as one would laugh in a surreal situation.

I swiveled farther away from him. Thank god for swivel chairs.

“Look, I’m trying not to be an asshole here, okay? I’ve been meaning to tell you this since last week. I figured Sam’d already told you because she was right behind me when I said it –”

My nostrils flared and my pupils shrank.

“Yeah, I know she knew and I know you know. I was only entertaining the thought of asking you, even went so far and thinking what it’d be like to have you as a date. You can fill in the rest. But I didn’t not ask you because I was judging your friends. I didn’t ask you because I don’t want to be the asshole who leads you on.”

As intense and painful as this moment was for me, I did my best to relive it just to clarify to myself that there was no yelling, no melodrama. Jake said this to me in hushed tones in a span of ten minutes and left.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Fifth period AP Chem was just god-awful. Carlos was there with me and I didn’t feel like filling him in on Jake or letting him copy my quiz on poly-atomic ions, so I walked up to the front of the class while our teacher, Ms. Romualdez, was lecturing and moaned to her about how I had to go to the nurse. I was a depressed, sobbing mess and needed to go home no matter what. She understood, and all twelve other kids in the class understood in respectful silence. And even though I was annoyed with him, Carlos was gracious enough to walk me to the front office, where Nurse Kelly was.

Nurse Kelly was the most neglectful nurse to ever make a cameo in my life. She dutifully attended to students who had more tangible sicknesses, but when a mentally distraught child came in, she was notorious for simply calling their parents and asking if they were stable enough to walk home. Granted, though she wasn’t a therapist or psychologist, she could have at least done more to help people who were sick of high school, as most people should for the sake of the youth. However, on this specific day, I wasn’t having it. I needed her sloppy caretaking to get me a pass off the premises of Hell and back into my bed. And she happily obliged.

When I got home, my mom was so concerned about me. She cupped my face in her hands and screamed at me, “Don’t tell me you tried to kill yourself, please, not like that one girl we read about when you were in middle school!” “Phoebe King? What? Mom, mom no!” I ripped myself from her grip and started marching up the stairs. “Mom, just leave me alone, I started crying because I didn’t get any sleep last night and I don’t understand Chemistry and equivocation in Macbeth!” I was already in my room when I screamed this last part: “I’M SO STUPID I HAVE TO USE NO FEAR SHAKESPEARE ON SPARKNOTES BECAUSE I HATE THE FOOTNOTES!”

My face sank into my pillow and my body relaxed as I fell into an effortless nap – a nap where you can’t forge an entire plotline in your dreams and can only remember the climax of whatever your soul told you mind to project. I felt like I was enjoying it until my phone rang. It was a Facetime video call from Jacob.

“Hey, Cuz, he greeted me. His face was at the center of the screen and I could tell he was looking down at his phone. I didn’t think he was at his house because I didn’t recognize the color and texture of the ceiling. “How ya doing? Tita (Aunt) told me that you had a shitty day.”

“Oh yeah,” I rolled my eyes and sniffled a little. I saw my face in the little screen thing and saw that my eyes were ridiculously puffy and red. “I just told her I had a shit time at school.”

“Hey, man you know me, I dropped out of college and now you’re our only hope. Ya gotta become a doctor or something,” he joked, “because if anyone had a brain like yours and didn’t do anything with it, that’d be a waste.”

I smiled. Jacob always lifted me up when I felt like I wasn’t enough for the world academically, so he had a bunch of canned pep talks that would get me to cheer up no matter how incompatible they were with the situation I was in. My self-deprecation was, to Jacob, the root of all evil, so everything could be cured if he tried to talk that down. I had to stop him here, though, because this wasn’t an academic struggle or an inadequacy. I felt heartbroken because of a boy.

“It’s not because of school being hard or anything, it’s just that Jake pulled an asshole move on me today,” and so I went through the motions of everything, with Jacob barely making any interjections like “daaaaaammmmnnn” like he does in interviews. He’s an all-around attentive person.

“So it’s because you’re too smart for him,” this wasn’t a question he was asking, it was a fact.

“I guess. If you want to put it that way. He made fun of me from the get-go about me being bookish. Always thought I was an undercover college student,” I chuckled and sniffled at the same time. “But like, I feel like I’m experiencing the Holy Trinity that all the nerd girls go through in high school: intellectualism, false hope and loneliness.”

“Aw,” I heard a voice say from the background.

“Wait – am I on speaker?” I asked.

“Uhhhhh….” Jacob was collecting details to build a story as to why we weren’t talking in confidence.

“Kuya (brother, older male cousin)!” I screamed. “Who is that?”

“Listen, Maja, I’m so sorry but my Beats ran out of battery and your mom really pressed me to call you, and you know you’re like a sister to me and I thought you tried pulling some weird shit in school so I called you and –” Jacob’s phone was snatched from his hand. It flipped onto the faces of two white guys – one shirtless with a killer jaw and brown eyes and the other in a black v-neck shirt, blond hair and powdery blue eyes.

“Hey, Maja,” the one on the right with the blond hair greeted me with an awkward wave. He had a deep voice that rung out in an English accent, and he pronounced my name with the stress in the first syllable: “Maaw-huh.”

“Hey,” the other one waved shyly.

“This is Harrison, but you can call me Haz,” the blond one smiled.

“And I’m Tom, and you can call me Tom,” he laughed lightly at his joke before he realized the gravity of the situation as Jacob walked into the shot from behind them.

Jacob placed his arms around Tom and Haz and sighed. “You said you experienced the ‘Holy Trinity’ of high school, but we’re the Holy Trinity from Spider-Man and we’re here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harrison – I mean Haz – added. “We hope you don’t mind that Jacob’s been talking to us about you, and all that’s been happening regarding your attendance at the premiere.”

“But – but we didn’t know about all this stuff about this other Jake until now, darling” Tom interrupted. “That wasn’t at all expected and we’re sorry. Jake’s Beats did die and we were in the hotel room with him and we can’t go out because there’s a mob of fans trying to take a peek at the Spider-Man suit –”

“Shut up, Tom, she doesn’t want to hear this!” Haz exclaimed.

Tom. As in Tom Holland.

Harrison. As in Harrison Osterfield.

Spider-Man and his lovely assistant were joining forces with my cousin to cheer me up.

“Well, the point is, darling, is that we’re excited to finally meet you at the premiere and we’re going to do our best to make sure you have a damn good time that you can rub in that arsehole Jake’s face.”

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded along. “And Tom, you can cuss, you know.” Tom looked quizzically at Jacob.

“It’s just weird hearing you say ‘arse.’ You’re not a euphemistic kind of guy in hotel rooms, usually,” Jacob giggled.

“Jacob, I’m talking to a lady. More importantly, your little cousin,” Tom explained.

After a few awkward exchanges of excitement and anticipation, we ended the video chat (well, I did, because Tom had the phone in his hands and didn’t know how to end the call).

“Dammit, how do I turn it off?” he yelled as Jacob, Haz and I laughed.

“Bye!” I waved at the camera and hit the red button. Back to my home screen. All I could think about was how stupid I was for not screenshotting the video call for proof that I’d spoken with Tom and Haz.

#jacob batalon #tom holland #harrison osterfield #harry holland #spiderman: homecoming #p: mine #p: fic

[tourmaline147]

If You Must

By Tourmaline147

Summary-

Neil’s whole world went up in flames the minute he burned his mother’s dead body. Mary prepared him for almost every possible scenario, except this one. Now he’s stuck in the middle of California trying to restart his life.

Andrew’s world had been dark long before Neil Josten came into town. He’s been barely living the past few years but he was working on that.

Together these two strangers who only knew how to survive take on a new challenge: learning to live.

*** Featuring the other foxes, the bad guys, copious amounts of music, and, hopefully, happiness.

*** Basically a high school au with music. Enjoy.

read on ao3 here

CHAPTER 1- FRESHMAN YEAR- SUMMER

Chapter Warnings: mentioned character death (Mary, shocking I know), non-consensual drugging, brief mention of throwing up, implied/referenced rape/non-con, intrusive thoughts, homophobic language (Seth), mentions of Drake, Nathan, and abuse.

If you must mourn

***

When I was a child I’d sit for hours

Staring into open flame

Something in it had a power

Could barely tear my eyes away

***

In his fourteen years on the earth, Andrew Minyard had seen more than most people three times his age. After having been thrown from foster home to foster home, he had developed a sort of 6th sense for suspicious behavior. So, he liked to think he knew something strange when he saw it. And as he stared down at the mousy boy standing in the middle of the foyer he knew that this Neil Josten most definitely fit that word to a tee.

There was something that was just off about him. He wasn’t sure what tipped him off; it could have been his bad dye job, or his bland eyes, or the fact that he was clinging to his duffle bag like it contained his only supply of oxygen. These things alone were not enough to warrant suspicion; a lot of strange characters came to the foster home on Marbury and Fourth.

However, the two men that brought the kid into the building were unlike any of the other social workers Andrew had ever seen. Their suits were too nice and much too expensive. They also gave off a vibe of authority, something that made Andrew’s skin crawl even from his perch on the stairs overlooking the entryway.

It also didn’t help the new kid that Andrew was a naturally suspicious person.

Not that Andrew could afford not to be.

The suits had flanked Josten’s side since they had arrived and neither they nor Josten had said anything aside for their names since they had entered. Currently, they were waiting to be called into Madera’s office. They didn’t even seem to be bothered by the fact that she had left them standing there for almost half an hour. (Another very strange thing, honestly. Most people who came in wouldn’t stand to kept waiting that long. They must be really desperate to have Josten admitted there.)

The suits kept their bored stares trained on the “artistic” paintings on the walls, their thoughts and feelings masked by their impassive expressions. Josten’s face was also emotionless and his eyes were distant. The only indication that he was alive was his near constant fidgeting, and the periodical tightening of his grip on his bag. They stayed out there until Madera came out to greet them and then lead them into her office.

Everything must have been in order not long after she had shut the door, Madera was reopening it and leading them out of the room. Andrew turned and walked up the stairs before Madera could catch him spying.

He turned down the hall to where half of the bedrooms on that floor were located and leaned back against the wall between two of the doors. He waited casually in the hall for Madera to call them all down as she always did when there was a new kid.

And true to her predictable, predictable form, she called them down not a minute later. The doors of some of the rooms exploded open, banging back against the wall due to its inhabitant’s excitement and energy. He watched some of the younger kids perk up and race down the hall and stairs to meet the new kid, excited to see a new face. The older residents were more reluctant to leave their rooms, having seen too many foster kids pass through the halls to be impressed by yet another one. Andrew peeled himself off the wall and filed behind the last, straggling residents of the Marbury-and-Fourth hell.

They lined up to see the Josten, and Andrew found that, even up close, he was still unimpressed. Josten was small and stood with his head ducked and back hunched. By doing that he managed to make himself look almost impossibly smaller. It was like he was trying to make himself seem weak, like he was not a threat. Like he wanted to be invisible.

Andrew could understand the sentiment. Going through all of the seven circles of hell on earth tended to make someone want to be left alone. The only difference, really, was the method that they used to achieve their goal. Instead of hiding, Andrew opted for acting as imposing and threatening as possible, so that people would keep their distance. He wasn’t going to roll over and let people walk over him.

Not anymore.

But, as he studied Josten a little longer, he thought maybe the new kid wasn’t going to let that happen either. Though he wasn’t moving much, he sure as fuck wasn’t catatonic. his fingers never kept still, they were constantly fiddling with the straps of his bag, weaving and looping around the strap rapidly.

Andrew also didn’t miss the way Josten’s unimpressive eyes were sharp underneath the dull brown, the way his eyes were secretly studying them all even underneath his shitty fringe.

And really, what was up with that truly unflattering haircut? The suits got paid well enough to drop $500 on a suit but they couldn’t afford to get the pathetic kid a haircut?

Though, the longer he studied the suits and their unveiled disapproval of Josten’s attire, the more he thought Josten was more likely the one who refused a makeover. The clothes he wore were much too old to have just been given to him. Even if he had been gotten clothes from a thrift shop, they would have likely been in better condition than the clothes he was wearing right now. And, now that he thought about it, the hair did fairly well at hiding Josten’s identity from the people around him.

He looked dull enough and acted small enough to pass by without notice. He didn’t want to be identified. It was actually pretty clever.

It was just too bad that Josten’s pathetic attempts to remain unseen were the things that got him on Andrew’s radar in the first place.

Sucks to suck, asswipe.

Madera, on the other hand, payed no attention to the newcomer’s strange antics, clearly already thinking about all the other work she had to do.

“Alright, kids.” Madera rubbed her face, betraying her exhaustion “this is the new kid, Neil. Say hi Neil” she yawned, gesturing vaguely in his direction. Neil didn’t wave until a minute later but she was already moving on.

“Seth, he’s rooming with you since you’ve got a spare bunk” this last part she said to the tall, dark haired athlete on Andrew’s far right. He looked like he was about protest, but Madera was already beyond caring, running her hands through her greying hair as she turned and made her way back to her office. It was all quiet even as the door slammed closed, causing the new kid to flinch.

Interesting.

Seth was fuming but he complied, waving a blunt follow-me gesture to Neil as he began to head up the stairs. Neil followed, pulling his bag impossibly closer to his chest as he hurried up the stairs behind him. The other kids went their own ways while Andrew and his smaller roommate, Leroy, who had stowed himself to his left followed behind Seth and Neil.

Seth and Neil came to a stop when they arrived at the room beside the one that Leroy and Andrew shared. Seth leaned forward and opened the door revealing his- now his and Josten’s- room. He led the way in paying no mind to the prying eyes of Leroy and Andrew in the hallway.

Seth stopped in front of the bunkbed. “I already have top bunk so you’re going to just take the bottom one.”

Josten simply nodded and sat on the edge of the bed and readjusted his hold on his bag. He flexed his fingers absently to keep them from cramping, eyes already distant. He never fully let go of the bag, though.

Leroy inched into the room while Andrew leaned against the doorframe. When Seth saw Leroy enter, he waved him in with a sigh and Leroy’s face lit up with excitement as he took up the place on the floor in front of Neil and stared at him expectantly.

Leroy was a young kid, not one of the youngest at Marbury, but nowhere near the oldest. He always had a friendly smile and he was the only one that never complained about having to share a room with Andrew, despite the fact that he was incredibly intimidated by the older kid.

Leroy always had too much enthusiasm- something Andrew didn’t understand how anyone could possess, especially someone who had been stuck in the system. The only thing that seemed to ever drag him down was boredom. Andrew could relate. And like Andrew, Leroy had found the same reprieve from their summer boredom: Josten. Being the center of attention to a nine year old was not something to envy. Andrew might have felt bad for the new kid, if he wasn’t also curious to see what Leroy could pry out of him.

Leroy leg bobbed up and down restlessly as he waited for Josten to say something. When he remained silent, he took it upon himself to make the first move.

“What’s your last name?”

Josten blinked and came back to earth. The look he gave Leroy was casual, but Andrew could see the sharp appraising look hidden under what Andrew could now see under closer inspection were obviously fake lenses. This made it even clearer that Josten was hiding something. It made the hackles on the back of Andrew’s neck rise and he could feel tension twisting up his spine.

“Josten,” he replied smoothly. More like Lied smoothly.

Leroy believed it anyway. That made him perk up even more and lean forward excitedly.

“Why are you here? Do you still have parents? Because we haven’t seen you here before.”

“My mom’s an addict. She’s in rehab right know. I’ll probably be back with her soon,” Neil replied.

Andrew couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his throat at that blatant lie. Like he hadn’t seen Josten checking the place for exits and assessing the lineup of residents for risks since the moment he walked in. As if he couldn’t see the way Neil’s eyes darted around cataloguing exits. As if he couldn’t see the way Josten was poised and prepared make a shot for the exit at the first available opportunity.

A runner, he surmised. Finally he found the word. He rolled the word around in his mind. Runner. It fit. He looked back at him and knew it was correct.

And, more than that, he was alone.

Andrew knew what someone looked like when they had no one. When they were used to keeping themselves alive. And Neil was that picture, personified. He went from place to place, disappearing and reappearing like a ghost.

At his noise, Neil’s eyes turned sharply to him, narrowing almost imperceptibly. Interesting. It seemed that the little ghost was more alive than he let on.

“Yes?” he asked. The challenge so subtle that if he hadn’t been paying attention he might not have noticed it. He felt the pleasant bubbling of interest in his stomach. Seemed that there was more to the kid than a weak spine and cowered stance.

Leroy became visibly tense when he realized who Neil was talking to.

Andrew ignored it and locked eyes with Neil.

“Nothing,” he replied lightly, feigning nonchalance.

Seth rolled his eyes and gestured for Neil to follow him. “I don’t have time for your wordless shit today, Minyard. Neil, Leroy come on. Let’s get this done.”

Leroy followed him eagerly out the door, Neil not far behind him. He didn’t take off his bag and store it in the room, instead opting to readjust the strap over his shoulder so he could carry the bag with him easily throughout the rest of the house tour. Whatever was in that bag was obviously important and something he was obviously not willing to let it out of his sight.

Andrew’s fingers itched to go digging through it, to pull out his secrets. He had learned a lot since he had taken little raven Kevin under his wing. There was more than one type of trauma people could endure. And as he watched Josten with his duffle and knew that this wasn’t just another kid with the typical sob story. Nobody carried that much baggage and wasn’t a threat.

Ha.

Baggage.

As Neil passed by Andrew on his way through the door he pointedly tugged his bag closer and gave Andrew a deadly glare before continuing after Seth and Leroy, who was busy chattering away.

Dramatic much.

But as he watched Neil walk away, he felt it confirm of his suspicions. There way definitely something up with Neil and Andrew was definitely going to find out what it was. Starting with that duffle bag.

He smiled internally. This was going to be fun.

***

Neil had always considered himself a man of many words. He knew thousands of words in half a dozen languages. Though he hadn’t always been able to use them, he always was able to satisfy himself by being able to articulate his thoughts with the appropriate word or phrase. When the world so often was spinning out of control, it was nice to be able to describe it. It was grounding, in a way.

Yet despite his extensive knowledge of the English language, as well as a few others, he couldn’t seem to find a single word out there that he could use to describe Andrew Minyard.

Oh, wait. Never mind, he could.

Asshole.

Yes. He thought to himself. That word seemed to fit the surly blond kid perfectly.

He tried to act intimidating. He was able to pull it off to an extent. It was impressive really, considering his short stature. And holy shit that kid was small. He was so small he was even shorter than Neil. How old was this kid, like twelve or something?

Neil had only been at this weird house thing a little over a week and the smaller guy was really starting to piss him off. Immensely. He could feel his eyes on him throughout the day, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep himself in check. The only thing holding him back was the fact that he couldn’t afford to give himself a bad reputation.

After- everything that happened- he had been trying to keep a low profile, slide under the radar. Like he had with his mother. Even though he didn’t really need to anymore. He didn’t need to run anymore.

His father was in jail.

His mother was dead.

She is dead. He repeated firmly. She’s dead.

He had to keep reminding himself she was dead. He chastised himself for not having it down by now. She would have beaten him if she had been alive.

But she wasn’t.

She’s dead. D.E.A.D.

He used to spend almost every moment with her by his side and now her absence was achingly obvious.

He found he needed to remind himself constantly. He repeated it to himself like a mantra. Like one of the ones his mother used to have him repeat when he had to learn information about their new identities.

“Remember, Abram. Your name is Alex. You are thirteen. You were born in Luxembourg. Your parents are divorced. Have been for three years. My name is now Lucy.” She never once took her eyes off the road. “Repeat it back to me.”

He remembered fidgeting in his seat but had no hesitation in speaking, almost as if the lies were a reflex. “Alex, 13, Luxembourg, divorced three years, Lucy-”

“Again.”

“Alex, 13-”

He shook his head, dragging himself from his memories. He clawed at his jeans, trying to ground himself.

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

She was dead and nothing was the same.

So much had changed that it felt as though months had passed instead of the mere weeks. The memories of her death and the aftermath were choppy and unclear. But he remembered.

He doubted that he would ever be able to forget.

He remembered it hadn’t taken long for Stewart and later Ichirou to get ahold of him after his mother died.

He remembered meeting with the Moriyama head.

He remembered the FBI.

He remembered the hot California sun as it beat down on him. He remembered hearing about California in the movies and it was never portrayed as hot as this. The temperature rose with every mile south.

The heat wasn’t like it was when he had been on the east coast. On the east coast the heat was clingy and clammy and cloying with humidity. It was a place where the line between skin, sweat, and heat was constantly unclear. Where you spent the day sticky with sweat and unable to escape it except when you managed to sneak into one of the air-conditioned stores and buildings that lined the streets. He remembered doing that with his mother when they used to live in Baltimore.

California was nothing like that. It was hot, but in a way that he imagined an oven would be hot. He could feel the sun baking him. Maybe that was why the people were always sun tanning in the movies. Bake and flip over once golden brown and all that. But the heat wasn’t inescapable like it was on the other side of the country; he was able to find respite under trees, where the heat was distant, abstract even, around him. He didn’t know heat was like this. He wanted to ask Mary which she preferred but he couldn’t because she was gone.

She was gone, gone, gone.

Stop. Don’t think about that.

Besides she now knew a whole new level of heat, having been engulfed by the flames-

Stop. Stop thinking about it. He tore his thoughts from her and back to the present, to his surroundings, to anything that distract him from his past.

But still, California was much hotter than he had expected it to be. California as a whole was different. It wasn’t really like he expected it to be at all. The beaches were cold but everywhere else was warm. And hot. So, so hot. There weren’t lush forests around every turn or snowy mountains or endless oceans. Instead there were miles and miles of rolling hills of dying shrubs and dusty mountains, dried rivers and abandoned cars. It looked like death, and not just because he had buried his mother there.

But maybe he was being unfair. Maybe he thought it was hot because he had spent several consecutive days making is way away from the California coast and into the interior on his way to Arizona.

He hoped Arizona wouldn’t be as hot (it was a futile, useless hope to have; no one had bothered to paint Arizona as anything less than Satan’s abandoned hell.

(Was there any water in Arizona? ((He knew there had to be some, logically, but still he wondered.) He would probably die of dehydration and his body would shrivel up until every drop of water had left him body and the sun could ignite his body into flames (like mother, like son))).

He didn’t know how long he had been walking.

That was a lie. He could remember every day after his mother died with painstaking clarity.

But he had always been good at lying.

It had only been a few days after his mother’s death and his father subsequent arrest before a black sedan pulled up next to him as he trekked down the highway. The elite car parked up ahead of him and its tinted windows rolled down to reveal Moriyama gang members. They all had slicked back hair, refined suits and expensive sunglasses. When they shuffled out of the car to usher him in, not a speck of dust deigned to mar their perfectly pressed suits. He marveled at those tailored cuffs and barely noticed their firm hands pushing him into the car, nor their bodies climbing in beside him before they slammed the door shut.

He felt almost resigned as he sat there. He knew it was only a matter of time. He wasn’t nearly as good at covering his tracks as his mother was. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight. The heat had drained his energy and he was so, so tired. At least there was air conditioning. Maybe he would die in relative comfort.

The ride to the isolated location was quiet, aside from the muffled scream of his self-preservation instincts through the haze of his exhaustion. The desert was still as he was ushered to a lone car parked in the middle of the California desert. He slid across the leather seat opposite the newly appointed head of the Moriyama gang- Ichirou Moriyama.

On the run he and his mother had heard whispers about Ichirou’s rise to power. It hadn’t taken long for him to take the helm of the company after his father’s untimely death. He was very good at taking initiative. Therefore, it was no surprise when he spoke first.

“Your father, as I’m sure you know, heads the Baltimore division of my business. You are aware of this, correct?”

Neil could only nod dumbly. His mother had informed him of everything. She didn’t see any benefit in him running around blind. Ignorance got people killed.

“After my father’s death, I decided to take it upon myself to reshape the company to fit my vision. It is a fairly simple plan, but it involves a lot of work,” He lifted his hands, inspection his manicure for any imperfections, “my plans for the business are to take what my father created and modifying it so that it fits with this century. But before I can begin implementing my ideas, I need to solidify and strength the structure of this organization. This, of course, means tying up loose ends. For example, cutting off areas that are leeching our resources and hemorrhaging funds very much needed for the business. I need the company to run smoothly. And I can’t have anything standing in my way. Do make myself clear?”

Neil nodded again, throat dry.

“Your father,” Ichirou continued, carelessly inspecting his nails, “is one of those loose ends.”

Neil could almost swear his heart stopped at that moment, but Ichirou plodded on, heedless or just uncaring of Neil’s sudden inability to breathe. His nails were of much more interest to him.

Though, in all fairness, they were impeccable.

“That’s where you come in,” he leveled his gaze at Neil. Neil tried to swallow but realized it was very difficult to do so when your throat was as dry as the dust outside the car.

“Your father has spent the last four years chasing you and your mother across the globe after she stole from his private funds and fled. He has wasted countless resources, time, and man power in pursuit of his petty revenge.

“Now I could just hand you over to him and have him get rid of you, putting an end to this foolishness once and for all. And sure, doing that would work, but for how long is unclear. I don’t know if he would fall victim to his desires again. And by giving him you, it would give the appearance that I approve of this sort of behavior. Something that I. Do. Not.

“My father was much too lenient with him due to their long-standing partnership. I, however, will not put up with it. Removing you father, though, will not be sufficient. He was able to form a very loyal inner circle. I would need to remove his most right hand partners, those whose loyalties lie with him and not the Moriyamas. That behavior is something that is just not acceptable. It is the whole reason that we remove our branches’ children from their care. I do not need people mistaking where their loyalties should lie. This is where you come in.

“I have no quarrel with you or your mother. Your mother came from a prestigious family- one that has strong ties with my own. Though she went against my family, she is dead so she has paid her due. You were but a child when she took you, but you are now old enough to show where your loyalties lie.

“I want you to testify against your father and his partners. This will bring down his control and allow me to replace his branch with people I feel are better suited for the job. People I trust. You will not say anything about the Moriyamas. From there you will be able to live your life in any way you so wish. We will be keeping tabs on you, of course” he leaned back to look at Neil, “and some day we will find a way to incorporate you into the business. Minimal involvement, but we will discuss that much later. Thoughts?”

Neil was desperately trying to regain his ability to speak, which he found was impeded yet again, though this time due to disbelief rather than fear.

“Yes” he replied, vehemently. “I will.”

“And you will not mention the Moriyamas?”

“I have no reason to. My issue lies with my father, not you. As long as he and his people leave me alone I would be happy to do anything for you.”

“Then it is settled.” He snapped his fingers and there was movement around him as the other gangsters opened the doors.

He barely remembered much after that. It was all a confusing haze. The firm grasp of Ichirou’s handshake. The blur of the road, obscured by the dust kicked up by the tires. The hot plastic of the payphone against his hands as he called the FBI number written on the back of some faded business card.

The next days were a high-speed mess of FBI meetings, interviews, personal statements, and recording devices shoved in his face. It was all so overwhelming and confusing, made even more so by the large time gaps that were appearing in his memory. At times he lost a few minutes, other times hours.

He remembered them sitting him down at a cold metal table in one of the interview rooms. They were telling him about the witness protection program was, and what it entailed, and how long he could expect to be there. He found himself speaking before he even knew he opened his mouth.

“No.”

And just like that, it all stopped. Everything came to a grinding halt. The haze around his mind was lifted and he could see. For the first time in days he could finally breathe again.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” he said, confidence building with every word. “I don’t want to be a part of the witness protection program. It would be like a prison. I haven’t done anything to deserve that” he had but they didn’t need to know what he and his mother had done to stay alive.

He swallowed and continued “Everything I have done I have done to stay alive. I’m not going to throw away everything I’ve done, everything my mother has done, just to end up there. I’m not trading one set of chains for another.”

They looked like they were going to protest but Nathaniel fixed them with such a look that all their arguments died in their throat. He knew it was the same look his father had. Maybe they were scared that they saw that man in the small boy in front of them. Maybe they were afraid. Maybe they should be. Frankly, Neil found he was too tired to care.

They scurried out of the room and after an indeterminate amount of time they came back, clearly unhappy, but with new sets of paperwork. They told him that he had to choose what name he wanted, and to make it good, because he couldn’t run anymore. Nathaniel stared at the forms for a long while, before finally picking up the pen and writing down the name on the last, unused passport he had from his time with his mother.

Neil Josten.

He hesitated a moment, overwhelmed by the thought of her, before adding to it.

Neil Abram Josten.

That name sounded right. It sounded like his own name. The one he was meant to have.

He filled out the rest of the forms, barely able to bring himself to look at the name again, the pain in his throat and chest so overwhelming. It wasn’t much longer until the forms were whisked away and the suits were gone, leaving him standing in the halls of Maybury. Trying to start again.

And he was trying. He had toned down his attitude because it would only draw attention. He had already learned to tamper down his temper over the years on the run, and he couldn’t afford to lose that self-control now. He couldn’t afford to screw up his life, especially when he couldn’t change his identity. Every decision he made would come back to him.  

So he made it work. It was easy to just smile and listen to Leroy’s chatter and to throw out a few tidbits to keep him going. It was even easier to be around Seth; the older boy didn’t even acknowledge that he existed most of the time. Instead Seth spent most of his time at work or sneaking out the window with a girl that Neil could always identify by the flash of blond hair he saw before she dropped from the window.

But Andrew- that prick- would not leave him alone. Sure, he never did anything outright to convey his distrust, but Neil knew Andrew was suspicious, just like he knew Andrew knew he knew that Andrew was suspicious of him. And, in turn, Neil couldn’t be in the Marbury house without being suspicious of Andrews every action and move.

So, as of now, they were at a sort of draw, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move. And Neil knew he wouldn’t be the first one. He had to keep way from any confrontation, despite how much he yearned for it. So he was stuck waiting for Andrew to strike.

But, for weeks, Andrew did nothing, and honestly Neil was starting to go out of his mind and his tongue itched to say something, his father’s temper threatening to rise from the ashes like a phoenix and burn his opponent. But every time he was about to say something, his mother came to mind and her death and the fact that he had a new start and the he couldn’t mess it up. Not after all the chances he had been give.

So every time Andrew got on his nerves he forced himself to count in every language he knew until his anger lessened to a simmer.

He had gotten very good at counting in several languages.

But with every counted second, Andrew didn’t appear any closer to making a move. He knew Andrew was watching him, sure. He could feel his eyes on him throughout the day. His gaze was intense much like the rest of him and Neil couldn’t help but notice that almost everyone in the home was intimidated by him. Even Leroy, Andrew’s roommate and one of the most easygoing people he had ever met, seemed to be on edge around him.

Neil had taken to carrying his bag around with him. He worried that if he left it alone, even for a moment, that Andrew would come in and take it. Once it had been clear to everyone in the house that Neil wasn’t going to let the bag out of his sight, he expected Andrew to resort to unsavory tactics to sate his curiosity.

He expected Andrew to use the element of surprise to take the bag, but he should have expected Andrew wouldn’t be so predictable. He never came in when he was vulnerable. He never barged in when he went to the bathroom and never came into the room at night. It surprised him but it was undeniably true. He knew that for sure.

He could always tell when someone entered or exited the room, but so far it had only ever been Seth who came and left the room at night, in order to see his girlfriend. Even said girlfriend never came in, instead opting to stand outside below their window or climb up the adjacent tree and make the most atrocious bird calls Neil had ever heard in his life.

At first he though the reason Andrew stayed away at night was because of Andrew’s long-standing animosity with Seth. Even at meals the two would barely even look in the direction of the other.

But with Seth gone so often, he wasn’t sure why Andrew never came in. There was no doubt in his mind that Andrew knew of Seth’s nightly escapades; he lived next door and had been living at Marbury much longer than Neil had (and again, the bird noises. Who did they think they were fooling?).

It was all very strange; it seemed that there was more than just Seth and Andrew’s longstanding antagonistic relationship barring Andrew from the room.

Maybe Andrew stayed away from the room because it was a territorial thing, but this didn’t relieve any tension he felt. Andrew could just be trying to lull him into a false sense of security and be waiting for Neil to let his guard down and then steal the bag. For this reason, he slept with his bag between his back and the wall, body tense and ready to fight at any moment.

It was no surprise, therefore that Neil’s vigilance was slowly wearing down. It had been more than a couple weeks since he first came arrived, and his focus was already beginning to deteriorate.

Not to mention, as effective as the bag was for constant travel, it was rather cumbersome for daily use. He still couldn’t quite find a way to store the bag during his morning runs, so he carried it with him. He liked to think it was good preparation for if he needed to run again, but he even that lie was becoming less believable by the day.

He trudged up the stairs to his room and he came to a stop outside the door. His hands hovered over the door handle eyes dropping to the floor. There was a light glowing beneath it. It was hard to notice since it was day time, but Neil had become skilled in detecting disturbances. He breathed in and prepared himself to catch Andrew in the act. He knew that that bastard had been planning something. He was just surprised he had been so careless. He was almost disappointed, really.

He clasped his hands firmly around the handle, and pushed it down and eased the door open. He let go of the handle and let the door swing open the rest of the way.

The person sitting in the chair was decidedly not Andrew. Very far from it, in fact. He had dark brown hair that was styled on top of his head so that it probably gave him an extra inch or two. Even though he was sitting, Neil could tell the boy was tall.

His short sleeve t-shirt sleeves were rolled up and he had turned the fan on to cool himself down. Neil noted the dark marks on the other’s inner arm. Track marks. He was more familiar than many other people his age of what they looked like, having stayed in shelters, abandoned buildings, and on the streets in some of the larger cities where he and his mother had stayed.

The other boy hadn’t noticed Neil’s entrance, too caught up in bopping his head along with the music coming out of his headphones. He was leaning back in the chair at Seth’s desk tapping out the rhythm in the tabletop. His eyes flicked in Neil’s direction a moment before he turned to face him, eyes going wide as he almost lost his balance.

He tugged off his headphones and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Holy shit man. You’re quite. I didn’t even hear you come in. you must be Seth’s new roommate. I’m Matt.

Matt. Neil had heard Seth mention that name before; he was always stopping by to give Seth a ride places because his car was always breaking down.

Neil was stunned at the genuine geniality in his voice and took the large hand offered to him.

“Yeah. I’m Neil. Are you the guy who’s always driving Seth places?”

He chuckled at that and nodded. “Guy’s car’s a piece of shit.”

Neil nodded and released Matt’s hand and then walked over to his bunk and sat down on it, never taking his eyes off of Matt. Matt retook his seat, staring at Neil curiously. They sat there a moment before Matt began speaking again.

“So, how old are you?”

“Going to be a freshman.”

Matt gave him a rueful smile. “Sucks, man. Freshman year’s rough. I’m a sophomore.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and looked Matt up and down skeptically.

Matt laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. I get that a lot. It’s the height.” he lifted his hand up to his head as if he were comparing their heights.

Neil found himself relax a bit around Matt. He didn’t seem nearly as volatile as Seth or half as conniving as Andrew. He gave the impression that he was just a generally friendly person. It was nice.

“So, how did you meet Seth?” Neil knew that Seth was going into his senior year in the fall. “Sports?”

Matt gave a small huff, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, yeah. But we met at Wymack’s first.”

The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. Matt seemed to get as much before he continued on.

“Wymack works with at risk kids in the community. The disenfranchised youth and all that. Most of the kids are from broken homes or are drug addicts.” He lifted his inner arm to Neil. “I know you noticed it. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t. I’ve embraced it already. Wymack helped me to do that. He’s really there for us. He helps us do something productive. He’s really into the arts and a lot of us are too. Being at his place gives us the space to practice or do whatever. It’s nice, especially because all of us don’t have that sort of safe space to do that.

“He meets a lot of kids, but not many hang around. Right now there’s only a few of us that do. He’s a good guy. And a really good person.” He scanned looked at Neil a moment before adding, “I think you’d like him.”

Neil doubted it. He hardly suspected that there could ever be such a thing as a nice adult, one that cared as much as Matt made it seem. It had to be impossible. But the fact that both Seth and Matt seemed to like him did something in his favor; getting on Seth’s good side was a miracle in itself. There were people he tolerated and then there were people he hated; there was rarely anything else. But before he could say anything, Seth blew into the room, tossing his stuff to the side.

“You ready to go?” he asked Matt, not even bothering to acknowledge Neil’s presence.

Matt stood, nodding. “I was thinking that we should bring Neil to Wymack’s with us. It’s about time for him to meet him.”

Seth didn’t look entirely thrilled at the prospect, and shrugged begrudgingly. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. But,” he pointed at Matt, “we’re not bringing the monster.”

Matt grimaced, but, as he turned back to look at Neil, enthusiasm seeped back into his expression.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to. I have-”

“Come on Neil. It’ll be fun. Free food.” He dangled the prospect out there like it was an impossible offer to turn down. “You get to meet Abby, too.”

Neil didn’t have the heart to turn him down. He picked up his bag and followed him out the door. He beamed at Neil and then turned to lead the way down the stairs. They made their way down to Matt’s truck. When the got there Matt unlocked the doors and they climbed on in.

He fiddled with his seatbelt and looked over at Seth who was sitting in the passenger seat, not even bothering to put on his seatbelt. “I thought you had a car.”

Matt scoffed and Neil could see even in the rearview mirror that Matt was holding back his laughter. “If you could call that piece of shit a car.”

“I don’t want to hear you dissing my ride.” Seth lashed out, crossing his arms as he sunk lower into his seat.

“Dude something goes wrong with it like every three months.”

“Shut up.”

Matt started the car and began driving.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to a closed store front. They climbed out of the truck (Neil had to do a bit more climbing that the other two) and then closed the doors behind them. Matt sidled up beside Neil and pointed above the closed storefront. “Wymack lives up there. Seth do you know who’s going to be there tonight?”

“I think everyone. The monster’s supposed to show, but I’m holding out for a tragic car crash on the way over.”

Matt frowned but he didn’t say anything. “And Aaron?”

“Bastard’s back from fucking rehab. Nicky wouldn’t fucking shut up about it all week.”

“Why you two spend so much time around each other, I don’t know.” He said shaking his head and Neil filed the information away for later. Not so much the fact that someone else didn’t get along with Seth, that was honestly far from surprising, but the names of the other people were interesting to hear about.

Matt dropped the conversation and just walked over to the side of the building. There was a staircase that lead to the second floor. He immediately led the way up the steps until they reached a green door. Matt leaned close to the shiny bronze numbers and fixed up his hair in the reflection. Seth snorted. Matt ignored him. Instead Matt pulled out his key ring and sifted through the keys until he came across the one he was looking for. He slotted the key in the lock and unlocked the door, letting them all in.

The apartment was crammed and cluttered, the walkway was plastered with pictures and art and newspaper clippings that made their way down the hall. There were small side tables stacked with stacks of magazines and newspapers making the cramped hallway even narrower. The hall ended by splitting to three prongs, each leading to a different room. One lead to the kitchen, the other to a closed door, and the last to he assumed was the living area.

Matt didn’t hesitate to walk into the living room. It was a spacious living area that, like the hallway, was cluttered around the edges, but relatively clear in the middle, aside from several teens lounging on the furniture.

There was a young, dark haired teed reading out of a thick music theory tome in his hands as he stretched out across the couch, his left hand in a black hand brace. There were also three girls sitting around the couch. At the sound of them entering all the girls turned and looked over.

The blond girl looked vaguely familiar and he was easily able to recognize her from the times he had seen her outside the window of his and Seth’s room. She had long hair that looked both effortless and also like there wasn’t a single hair where she didn’t want it to be. She had a haughty, yet appraising look in her eyes, betraying the intelligence she was trying to conceal. The other two girls were ones he had never seen before. One had short dark hair and skin who gave off the air of a powerful yet merciful ruler. She gave the impression of someone who would be brutally honest, but not unnecessarily cruel. He could tell she was someone who could get anything she needed to get done, done. The last girl possessed a sweet disposition, what with her pastel hair, pale skirt, and delicate cross jewelry. But he could sense something else about her, like a shark lurking beneath the surface of tranquil waters. There was something off about her, a fact that was made apparent by the fact that she was somehow qualified to be one of the wayfaring kids under Wymack’s guidance.

The blond girl stood up and breezed by Seth, giving Matt a quick hug, before approaching Neil. Her gaze swept up and down the length of his body, and she didn’t bother to hold back her look of distasted at the state of his clothing. However, she appeared much more approving when she looked at his face. In fact she seemed almost pleased. Figures, people’s faces are usually better to look at than their clothes.

Though maybe he should so something to his appearance if it grabbed so much attention.

Or maybe he didn’t need to do anything. He didn’t have to run anymore. He was pulled from his train of thought when she began speaking.

“My name’s Allison, and you are?” She held out her hand to him, all casual ease and confidence.

“Uh, Neil.” He took her hand hesitantly.

She ignored any discomfort he showed and plowed on. “Interesting. Grade?”

“Uh, freshman. In the fall.”

She made a small noise of distaste but smothered it quickly.

“Sophomore. And over there,” she gestured with the hand that wasn’t still occupied with his own, “are Dan and Renee.”

Dan stood up and walked over and held out her hand. Neil pulled his out of Allison’s and shook Dan’s. Her face lit up brightly, putting Neil at ease. Her handshake was much shorter than Allison’s had been. He didn’t know what that was about, though he could guess if the way she kept glancing over at Seth while she did it was any indication. His comfortable ease quickly vanished when Renee came over and waved. Something about her seemed off, her innocent appearance be damned. Flowing fabrics and lace didn’t do much to conceal daggers. He didn’t know how Wymack found her

A man walked into the room and Neil could only assume it was Wymack. He was carrying a stack of magazines and a hand towel and barely glanced at them as he walked in. “You couldn’t fucking knock. One of these days you’re going to have to learn that you can’t just barge into people’s homes unannounced.”

“If you didn’t want us to, you shouldn’t have given us a key” Seth snarked.

“Don’t be an asshole, Seth” Wymack said absently he glanced at the wall and then just decided to pile the magazines on top of an already precarious pile and turned to the teens. It was then that he noticed the new addition in the room. “Who’s this?”

Neil figured he must look a picture, a small kid with droopy, murky hair clutching a bag to his side like his life depended on it. Neil would have cringed at being seen as so weak before he remembered that was what he wanted. Though the reason was seeming less important the longer he stood under Wymack’s scrutiny. He didn’t want to be pitied.

But even more than that he wanted Wymack’s eyes to leave him. His large statute reminded him of his father and he felt ill at ease. He could almost hear his blood pumping in his ears and he was mentally counting the number of steps he would need to reach the door.

It took his a moment for his heart to slow down and for him to meet Wymack’s eyes. He was surprised to find that here was not pity in Wymack’s appraising glare, only curiosity. Neil felt better. Being seen as confusing was better than being seen as pathetic.

“You must be the new kid at Marbury.” He finished drying his hand before slowly extending it in Neil’s direction. “Wymack.”

Neil hesitated a moment before shaking it back. “Neil.”

“Nice to finally meet you Neil. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Neil didn’t know what he meant by that or who had been talking about him. It was probably Seth.

Wymack continued. “The unsociable one over there is my son Kevin.” He gestured to the dark haired kid sitting on the couch. Kevin didn’t bother to look up. Wymack sighed but continued. “As you can see the bunch is all here. Well almost, we’re still waiting for a few more.”

Seth audibly groaned. “Why the fuck do we have to keep letting that monster-”

Wymack shut him up with a look, and Seth conceded, mumbling.

“One of you can set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”

The doorbell rang off in the distance, and Wymack headed over to it continuing his rant with no real heat, his voice carrying over his shoulder and down the hall to them “See, manners. Ringing the doorbell. Like a fucking – Hey, Abby- civilized person.”

“I brought rolls.” She said holding them out.

“Sweet.” Seth reached over, but she expertly evaded him. She glanced at Neil and smiled.

“Hello. Who are you?”

“Neil.” He said. The more he said it the more it felt like his actual name.

She smiled brightly at him. “Nice to meet you Neil. I’ve heard about you from Seth. I was wondering when everyone was going to bring you around.” She shook his hand. “I’m a nurse at the hospital and also have a contract with Marbury.”

It was a bit much to take in all at once and he was a little overwhelmed by her. She wasn’t someone he could just forget; she had established that her job placed her in his life. If this dinner went poorly he could leave it and manage to avoid Matt, Wymack, Dan, Allison, and Renee if he wanted to. He couldn’t avoid Abby.

But what made a bigger impression on him than her permanent status in his current life was the presence she carried about her. Despite the power she unknowingly held over his life, she wasn’t a threat. He didn’t know what it was about her, maybe it was her unimposing manner or the fact that she smelled like fresh bread, but she seemed safe. Not that that meant she was. He better than most people knew that. He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening once more.

The door hurled towards the wall at an impressive speed, only narrowly prevented from hitting the wall by a lanky teen who barely managed to catch the door in time.

“Shit,” he said as he caught it. Smoothing his hand along the edge as if to reassure himself that it wouldn’t slip out of his fingers. “Shit.” And just as suddenly as he had entered, his expression morphed in one of enthusiasm as he flashed a bright smile to everyone in the room. “Hey everyone!”

“Hey Nicky” voices responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

He was so busy trying to figure out what those differing receptions meant about Nicky that he almost didn’t notice that the darker teen hadn’t arrived alone. From behind Nicky was stepped a small blond kid that looked unmistakably like Andrew.

Just at that moment Nicky’s eyes caught on Neil grin widening. “Who’s the new kid?” he walked over to Neil and held out his hand. “I’m Nicky. The silent one behind me is my cousin, Aaron.”

Neil shook his hand, confused.

The confusion must have shown on his face because Nicky took it upon himself to try and explain.

“Oh! His mom and my dad were siblings. My father met my mother in Mexico and then their lives were blessed when they had me.”

Neil nodded absently, but his other question still remained.

“Are you related to Andrew?”

“Um, yes. Why?” His face became pained. “Don’t tell me you met him before us. Some of us like to make good impressions.”

Seth scoffed. “Like you could ever make a good impression.”

“Fuck off, Seth.”

“I need you guys to bring the food over.” Wymack called from the kitchen.

Nicky seemed eager to end that particular conversation and hurried to the help.

Neil figured he’d have to make do with that answer and went over to help Wymack bring the food to the table. “Yes, sir.”

“Polite. Take note.” he said, pointing the tongs at the rest of the kids.

Nicky snorted.

They all set the food on the table and picked their seats. Wymack sat at one end of the table while Abby sat at the other. Neil sat next to Abby. Allison pulled up the chair next to him, pulling Renee into the seat next to her, but not before delivering a pointed glare in Seth’s direction. Dan settle in next to Wymack and Renee with Matt taking the chair across from her and next to Wymack, as well with Seth throwing himself in the seat next to him with a huff, glaring at Allison, while she pretended not to notice. Instead she seemed to have a sudden interest in Neil’s arm, patting it gently. Saying something. He didn’t really know. He wasn’t paying attention. He tucked his bag under his chair.

When Seth saw what he was doing he scoffed. “You still carrying around that bag? You have to set it down one of these days.”

“I will, when I don’t have to worry about someone looking through it.”

A variety of expressions washed everyone’s face, most of them decidedly unpleasant. All of them except Seth had some degree of a cringe on their face.

Dan just looked sad for him, and when she spoke she sounded exhausted beyond all measure. She rubbed her face “Please tell me that the monster doesn’t have it out for you.”

At that moment it all began clicking, and Neil wanted nothing more than to leave. He started to pick up his bag, getting ready to stand, but was startled back into his seat by a voice spoke up behind him.

“Where are you heading off to? Don’t tell me the little runaway is living up to his name.” Neil’s whole body tensed and he turned around to face Andrew.

“This was what I was saying about knocking.” Wymack muttered

“I’m not a runaway. I’m just staying in the home until my mom gets out of rehab.”

“Sure, sure.” Andrew waved him off. He stood back and let a woman around Abby and Wymack’s age slide into the seat next to Seth.

“This is Bee, Neil. The resident shrink. Get to know her. I can already tell you’ll need her guidance.” Neil narrowed his eyes in a glare at Andrew before facing the smiling woman.

She waved cheerily. “Hi, I’m Betsy Dobson, but most everyone calls be Bee.”

“Neil, ma’am.” He said absently, unable to pull his eyes away from Andrew, who was taking the seat across the table from him. He didn’t figure he would need to remember her name. He had no intention of going to see her.

They all settled down and began passing the dishes around the table. Everybody made the unspoken agreement to ignore the tension that had appeared between Andrew and Neil. Instead, several of the kids bickered about who would got dibs to what dish first. Neil passed each dish silently, watching everyone and studying their interactions.

They all fell into comfortable chatter occasionally exclaiming about whatever they felt was interesting. The only one who wasn’t speaking was Andrew. Neil snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. Andrew was slumped in his seat, legs sticking out in front of him, almost touching Neil’s under the table, though he kept a distance. Andrew was watching all their faces with an impassive look on his face. Until his eyes flickered over to Neil’s. They both sat there, frozen for a moment. Neil felt like a deer caught in the headlights until Andrew coolly looked away that Neil could breathe again.

Neil forced his attention back to the conversation at hand, but found it difficult to keep up with the four or so intersecting conversations. He marveled at the ease they all felt with each other, the way they were able to be so open and themselves. Neil couldn’t help but want the same thing for himself. It was a stupid, pointless desire but he wanted it all the same.

You could have this a voice, clearly rooted in dreams and fantasies, said. You’re out. This is your chance for a normal life. These could be the people to do it with.

And they could be. Neil had a pretty good sense about people at times and though these people seemed that they could be assholes, they didn’t come across as malevolent. How they could just be so open when they all were apparently “lost cause” kids was beyond him.

Though, maybe he could learn. Maybe-

A sharp pain shot up his leg and he pulled himself back to attention. His head whipped over in Andrew direction and he fixed him with a glare. Andrew simply gave him a blank look that said Pay attention. Neil frowned. Andrew turned his bored look away from him and back to the conversation at the table.

Neil fumed. He really hated that asshole.

But despite the fact that he wanted to piss Andrew off, that he didn’t zone out again. Instead he opted to listen to the conversations being volleyed around the table. With every conversation he was able to pick out small things about each of his dining mates.

He caught how Matt’s gaze would linger a little longer when he was talking to Dan, how his eyes would sneak back over to her for half a second when she wasn’t looking. He also noticed that sometimes she did the same.

Nicky was trying very hard to fit in. Almost too hard. He made it seem like it was his life mission to get Aaron involved. Like his acceptance hinged on whether or not he could get Aaron to contribute to the conversation.

Conversely, Aaron seemed like he would have rather been anywhere other than there. Only breaking off his glaring at Nicky to stab his food. Neil had never seen someone stab mashed potatoes with such ferocity.

Something was going on between Allison and Seth and neither of them was doing anything to hide it. Allison was pointedly not looking at Seth despite all his efforts to catch her eye. Instead she had her body almost completely facing Renee as they talked.

Wymack was talking with many of the people at the table, getting up to date on what was happening while also trying to get his son to be sociable, though he stopped about halfway through when it looked like it was a lost cause.

Kevin was reading his book underneath the table and trying to keep his father from noticing. Whatever he was reading was it was obviously that he was obsessed with it.

Abby and Betsy were taking about some sort of medication trail that was supposed to be implemented soon and how current legislation was preventing it.

Andrew, surprisingly enough, didn’t stay silent the entire night. He peppered his silence with sparse sentences that he threw to Wymack, Renee, and Betsy, of all people. However over the course of dinner he said less and less.

Towards the end of dinner Neil snuck another look at him and saw that Andrews’s eyes were distant, looking though the salt shaker on the table. In that moment, Neil couldn’t help his deep, petty instincts and gave Andrew’s shin a sharp kick under the table. It was almost remarkable to watch his eyes go from vacant to completely present in the span of a few seconds. Andrew looked up at him, and a small frown pinched his brows together. It was barely noticeable and he knew that if he hadn’t been watch he probably would have missed it.

Neil returned it with a glare. How do you like it, Asshole?

If he hadn’t been watching, Neil wouldn’t have noticed the way Andrew’s frown deepened, just barely. Fuck off.

Neil shrugged and looked away.

It wasn’t long before dinner was finished. There seemed to be some unspoken agreement what the meal was officially over, as everyone all began to get up and clear the table at the same time. He followed their lead, stacking his dishes to bring them into the kitchen.

“Neil, a word.” He startled, and if he had been holding his dishes, he might have dropped them. He had almost perfected hiding his starts every time he heard a voice that could belong to someone the same age as his father. However, the look Andrew gave him on the way to kitchen showed him that he hadn’t perfected it enough.

Neil turned to Wymack, confused. Wymack gestured over to him and walked to the adjoining living room. Neil followed, being careful to leave enough space between them. Wymack just looked at him, like he noticed, but didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to give you this.” He help out his hand in front of him, dangling a key.

“This is a key to the apartment. It doesn’t sound like you have anyone to support you right now, so just know that if you need anything, you can come here. You don’t have to. You could choose to never come here again. But you can. You’ll probably find one of them” He gestured to the group, who were somehow managing to argue about how to clean the dishes, “Here almost any day.”

He lifted up the second key on the keyring. “This one is to the file cabinet over there. This is the only key. You can stash your things in there so you can take a shit without having to haul it in with you. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you can come and ask me or Bee or Abby or any of the other kids. And when it gets closer to the school year, you can ask them or me for help signing up for your classes and everything.” He nodded his head at Neil’s hand and Neil obediently held it out. Wymack dropped the keyring into it and Neil held onto it, and stuck it in his pocket. Wymack nodded before heading back to the kitchen. “You have to scrape the food off before you wash it, you heathens. And for the love of- No, Seth you’re not washing them again.’

“Come on that was one time-“

And Neil was left standing in the living room, staring after them, bewildered and breathless. He felt as if he would float away. He was only anchored by the cool key pressing into his palm.

***

It was morning. Too fucking early in the morning.

Not that he hadn’t already been awake, but still.

He dragged himself out of bed after he heard Leroy leave the room and pulled on some clothes and padded down the stairs. He grabbed a bowl from the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal and walked over to the eating area.

As much as he didn’t care for it, Andrew still ate at the long table where the rest of the residents of Maybury ate their meals. And this morning, like almost every other morning, all of the residents were eating together.

Well, all of them except for Neil. He seemed to have this annoying habit of being out running and not getting back until breakfast was half over.

Seth settled in to the seat across from Leroy, who was sitting a ways off from Andrew, much to Andrew’s satisfaction. The more space people put between him and them, the better.

“I fucking swear, that kid’s so weird.” Seth muttered murderously as he stabbed at his cereal with his spoon.

Leroy hummed. “Who? Neil?”

“Yes, Neil.” He viciously stirred his corn flakes. “That bastard wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to go do- whatever it is he does. And he won’t even get changed in the room if I’m there. It’s not like I’m gay or anything. I’m not going to check out his dick, so I don’t know why he does that. And he does that stupid thing where you change out with one shirt without taking the other one off and it’s just. Stupid.” He exasperatedly flung his spoon into the bowl earning him a glare from Madera which he ignored. He raised his hands and began gesturing with them instead. “And I fucking swear, he must be fucking that bag or something, he never lets it go. I think he fucking sleeps with it.”

“We are all different.”

“There’s different and there’s weird ass freak.” He said pointedly before taking another bite of his breakfast.

Andrew listened to their conversation, his curiosity peaking for the umpteenth time since he had met the boy. He didn’t know what it meant that this kid was quickly becoming the most interesting part of his day. He decided not to dwell on that and instead on Josten’s suspicious behavior.

He was definitely hiding something. That much was obvious. Unfortunately for Andrew, that paranoid brat never seemed to leave his bag alone long enough for him to investigate, and it was thoroughly starting to piss him off. Despite not having any successful attempts at the bag, the exhaustion on Josten’s face was a nice consolation prize.

He knew that Josten’s tale of drug addict parents was a load of horse shit. Honestly.

He didn’t doubt that Josten’s home life was less than ideal; that much was obvious. But he doubted that it was caused by parental addiction. Andrew suspected he was from a bad home. Probably a very bad home if he was still refusing to change around Seth even after a few weeks. He didn’t know what sort of damage had been done but he knew it had to enough to be unmistakable under his clothes, but not enough to impede his movements.

Every morning he went out to run, bag still strapped to his back. He ran for a while but he always came back. He was fast, Andrew would give him that, with strong legs. Fitting for a runner he thought, drawing the train of thought away from where it was heading.

Josten had probably tried to run away before and had been caught. Probably multiple times.

He watched as Neil waked into the dining hall and trudged up the stairs in frustration. He had to figure what was in that bag.

***

After coming back from his run after breakfast Neil tossed his bag on the floor in frustration. He couldn’t stand carrying it around anymore.

Wymack was nice enough to let him store his bag in his old, locked file cabinet while he was there but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving it there over night or times when he wasn’t there. He needed to be able to easily access his bag if he needed to.

What it boiled down to was that Neil needed to get something to lock away the more sensitive items in his bag. Something impenetrable, something only he would be able to open.

He needed to get a safe, he concluded.

It would have to be today. Andrew always seemed to have to be gone from 3 to 4 every Wednesday, though for what, Neil had no clue. Neil took a seat on his bunk and looked at his watch. It was 2:45. He spent the time waiting for Andrew exit his room mapping out the route to the nearest shopping center and back. A good safe would be too big to carry along with his bag. Seth would be out working or with Alison for the foreseeable future. And most of the kids avoided the room like the plague for fear of facing Seth’s wrath.

Neil decided to take the risk and left his bag behind.

Neil exited the room silently, and went down the stairs and out the building before his speed walking smoothly shifted into a run as he made his way to the shopping center.

***

Neil Josten had surpassed suspicious and had become a walking mystery.

Scratch that- a fucking enigma.

The kid was trying to stay alive and Andrew felt himself captivated, to a degree by that passion. He hadn’t felt that way in- he didn’t know how long. But here was this kid, who was probably younger than him, fighting tooth and nail to save his own skin. And he kept his secrets clutched tightly to his chest, even now, when he was at Marbury. What had happened before to get him to end up here? What had been so bad that this secretive boy’s life got exposed and the authorities got involved?

Despite how much he would readily deny it, especially to Bee, he found Josten’s mysterious appearance and behavior interesting.

Maybe he had a really low bar for what constituted as interesting.

Things were getting too boring around that damn town.

And that wasn’t even an exaggeration. There was almost nothing to do. There wasn’t much to do around town, only a couple of parks, an ice cream parlor, a handful of restaurants, and a movie theater. He could always spend time around the other foxes, but he didn’t want to hear them bitching or asking him to help with their pointless ventures into the musical world. He got enough of that from Kevin.

Instead his days blurred together, one nondescript day bleeding into the next. It should have been reassuring, after everything he had gone through and his hectic switch from foster home to foster home, but the complacency left him on edge. He always felt like something was going to happen.

It was Wednesday, and he had a session with Bee again. They chatted easily, with her asking about his wellbeing and his week. He gave her the brief overview of what was going on with his job and what the other residents were doing this week and what annoying things Josten had done. He didn’t mention his suspicions to her much, though; he knew better than to make accusations without any proof. Besides, he didn’t think that Bee would approve of his unwillingness to cut Josten any slack. She’d probably want to help Josten or something; she had a thing about helping lost causes.

Actually, he should stop bring up Josten at all. It would be better that way. He cringed at the thought that he was becoming sort of attached to the scrawny boy. It wasn’t so much the kid himself that was interesting, but the air of mystery he possessed. The sooner he figured out what was in the bag, the sooner he could stop obsessing over him.

The kid probably wasn’t even that interesting. Few things ever were. Besides, Josten probably would be off sooner rather than later.

Also, he needed to stop bringing up the younger kid during his sessions with Bee; he didn’t like the pleased look on her face every time he mentioned the smaller kid.

“Stop smiling.”

“I can’t help it Andrew. I think that is the first time I’ve ever really see you take an interest in something that wasn’t tied to protecting other people.”

“I protect people because I take an interest in keeping them safe.”

“And that’s good, I’m not saying it isn’t. It’s very noble for you to want to protect others.”

Andrew wanted to scoff but he didn’t. Noble his ass.

”But Neil, isn’t like them, is he? Something about him is different. And you want to know what that something is. It’s good that you want something.

He frowned at her for that. She just sipped her cocoa.

He stayed frowning.

“I want nothing.”

When he finally got back to the house, he was irritated and just wanted quiet. Hopefully Leroy wouldn’t get it into his head to try and talk to him today.

He was almost to his room when he noticed it. He back tracked and then walked over to the room next to his own. Seth and Josten’s room door was closed. Seth was working, as hectic as Seth’s personality was, his daily schedule was fairly stable. But more important than that, Josten never had the door closed when he was inside. He seemed to like to have his escape route as easily accessible as possible.

He leant his ear against the door and listened. There were no sounds coming from inside.

He eased the door open carefully, just in case anyone was still in the room, and found that the lights were off and that the beds were empty. He slid in easily, gently closing the door behind him. The room was decorated with Seth’s magazines and posters hanging up on the wall. Though they might have been Josten’s.

Who was he kidding? He had seen the inside of the room enough already to know which trashy posters were Seth’s. Josten hadn’t added anything to that shit storm. He probably didn’t have anything like that when he ran. It would take up too much space in his bag.

But despite that Neil hadn’t taken the time to add anything to the room. There was nothing in there that really differed from how the room had been before he had moved in. The bottom bunk’s sheets were perfectly made, hiding any trace that they had been slept in. The only thing that could be associated with Josten was that bag.

Speaking of that bag…

He looked over at Josten’s bed and saw the strap of his bag peeking out from underneath. He pulled it out and sat down on his haunches. It was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t planning on staying like that for long.

He looked down at the bag before him, satisfied glee registering faintly. He situated it in front of himself and mentally took it part. The bag had obviously seen better days but it had been kept in fairly good condition. There were parts where it had been resewn and there were old mud stains on parts of the bottom. And the bag carried with it the smell of long hours of travel.

He remembered the time the Spears had taken him camping when he first started living with them. They pulled old suitcases and sleeping bags out of a shed. Every piece had an old, musty smell, that wouldn’t come out no matter how many times they waved them in the sun to air them out. He didn’t know that smell was so universal, or that it would be so nostalgia inducing.

He hadn’t even met Drake yet. He was nothing more than a story. Nothing more than a name that slipped fondly off of Cass’s lips.

It still would be fond. It still is. You know she would have chosen him over you. He’s her real son. She will always love him more than you. If she ever really loved you at all. You were just a stand in. A stand in for Drake. You were like a little puppy she got for Christmas- interesting at first but you know she’d get bored of you and pass you off to the next family. You’d lose you novelty just like the Christmas dogs. Ha. It’s fitting. You were Drake’s bitch-

Now’s not the time for this.

He leant forward and unzipped the bag and strategically began to pull out its contents. At the top were all the worn, ratty clothes that Josten had already worn at least five times in the weeks that he had been there. It really was a shame, because Josten had a nice face and a lean enough figure that he probably could have looked good if he ever decided to wear something that fit him or was made in this century. Andrew hated those fucking clothes.

And maybe he got a little more enjoyment than he would like to admit at chucking Josten’s clothes on the ground after he had sifted through them.

After the clothes were removed, the bag was fairly empty. The bag had always seemed so full. So it seemed that although Josten didn’t have a lot of clothing, there had obviously been enough to fill up most of the bag. But these monstrosities were not packed away alone. Far from it, in fact. There were still more contents lurking at the bottom of that bag.

Underneath all that ugly threadbare clothing and those fucking jorts, he was pleasantly surprised to feel the edges of something else. A few something elses.

He reached into the bag and pulled out the box that rested on the top, which happened to be a box of hair dye. The same color that Josten had been sporting his entire stay at Marbury. He checked the top of the box and found that it had been opened and used before.

He looked back at the cover. The woman on the front was sporting what he assumed was supposed to be sultry look, but instead looked like she was trying too hard. Underneath her face was a banner that promised silky smooth locks that were guaranteed to be better than anything else that could be produced with any other product. He looked at the color label. Earthy Onyx. What the fuck was that? Wasn’t onyx already a rock? What did they mean by earthy. He flipped the box over and read the descriptive label

With this patented color alteration serum, your hair can attain the color of the rich, tropical land of Hawai’i. Our color experts traveled the beautiful Hawaiian Islands and trekked the forests to find the richest browns that lay hidden deep in the earth, untouched by man. They also climbed to the top of the active volcanos to find the rich blacks of the volcanic rock that helped to form the Hawai’ian islands centuries ago. With this natural inspiration in mind, we combined these colors to give you more natural looking hair. That paired with-

He chucked the box to the side and pulled out the next item. He didn’t need a stupid hair dye ad rattling around in his brain for the rest of his life. Knowing his luck it would be the last thing he thought about before he finally croaked.

At the bottom of the bag was a binder and a thick black cloth rolled up and tied with a sturdy cord. He flipped open the binder and scanned its contents. Pages of math homework in plastic slips filled page after page of the binder. The only thing that differentiated them from normal homework were the doodles in the margins. They were fairly good, but they were small. There was no need to keep entire sheets of paper when a smaller part could be cut out. The fact that Josten insisted on running with this binder filled with dead weight was highly suspicious.

He found the slit at the edge of one of the plastic sheets and pried the edges apart. He looked into the plastic binder sheets and found things stashed away between the pages of the math homework. He found contact lenses (he was right) and several hundred dollar bills placed thinly between the pages.

That was indeed suspicious. Where had a fourteen year old gotten that much money? Dozens of possibilities flew through his mind but he brushed them away. He could think about it later.

He slipped the binder’s contents back into place and then set it aside.

He turned his attention to the last item in the bag: a short clunky roll of black fabric. He carefully undid the expertly knotted cord and felt his eyes widen. Unrolled it acted as a sheath that held several knives and other tools, each of which was securely strapped into place.

And they weren’t just shitty kitchen knives. These were high quality knives. Ones intended to deal out harm to an unwitting opponent, not much different from the ones he had stashed in his armbands. The ones he had gotten from Renee. But Renee had earned her knives on the street. In order to get them she had to be familiar with the many ways that they could be used to slash and kill if need be.

But these knives weren’t for street fights. They had a sort of class about them. He never thought he’d see classy knives anywhere except on TV. Not only were they fancy, but he could tell that they were carefully taken care of. There wasn’t a spot on the blade and he could bring himself to mar the shiny metal with a single fingerprint.

No, these knives were not for people who learned to fight on the streets; they were people who were raised to kill and fight. People born with a silver spoon in their mouth and a stainless steel knife in their hand.

The knives had unimaginably sharp edges for turning flesh to ribbons, and each blade was coated in a metal so reflective that the wielder to see the darkness in their own eyes before they plunged the knife into their victim’s back. The construction alone was exquisite, from the handle to the tip. And every inch of the blades were kept in pristine condition, no doubt carefully and consistently maintained.

How the fuck had he slipped these by the suits?

He rolled it up quickly and stashed it back in the bag before replacing the duffle bag’s contents. He made sure that everything was back in the same place and even took the care to refold the ugly jorts, which he knew he should have tossed, or at least given to Allison.

Though she might even see it as a sort of peace offering, or as an indication that he wanted to talk to her.

He made sure the jorts were securely in the bag.

He zipped it up and slid it back in place under the bed before quite sneaking back to his own room.

***

It ended up taking much longer than he expected. Many of the stores flat out didn’t have any safes in stock. What kind of home furnishing store didn’t have a safe? Were people really that naïve? In his opinion people who were able to buy furniture that fancy probably needed a safe.

The fourth store did have them, but many were much too small. What those tiny safes were supposed to hold, he didn’t know. Maybe jewels or wads of cash. Or office supplies. Actually probably just the jewels and cash. That actually made sense most people didn’t want to lock up their office supplies (which was ironic, he thought, because the only place that had safes was an office supply store).

He had almost lost hope by the time he reached the end of the aisle when he finally found one big enough to store his binder. It was a clumsy thing to carry and it made walking awkward and running impossible.

By the time he made it back to Marbury it was already a quarter past 4. He quickly made his way up the stairs and into his room. He shut the door behind him. He pulled out his bag and already felt something was off. He hoped it was nothing, but with a sinking feeling he knew what happened. He checked the tags of his shirt, which he specially bent in order to tell if they had been messed with and saw that they were flattened like the other tags. He lifted out his clothes to find his stuff hidden at the bottom. Anger began to burn inside him at the thought of that bastard digging through his stuff. Why couldn’t that fucker just leave him alone?

Neil zipped up his bag, tossed the binder and knives into the safe, and then locked it securely before he made it over to the room next door. Leroy was just walking up the stairs as Neil positioned himself outside the door to his and Andrew’s room, and his face lit up.

“Hey, Neil! How are you today? Did you go out? What did you do?”

Neil cut him off

“Is Andrew in? I need to talk to him.”

Leroy’s smile faded and a look of anxiety replaced it. “Uh, yeah. Do you need me to…?”

Neil waved his hand. “I think it would be better if I spoke to him alone”

Leroy’s face flooded with relief. He gave a quick nod before heading back down the stairs and away from the explosion that was bound to happen.

Neil turned back towards the door and slid in silently before closing the door behind him. Andrew was lounging on the top bunk, book in hand. At the sound of the door closing, his eyes flicked over to him, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

He had spent a lot of time since he had found that his stuff had been gone through to think about how he wanted to approach Andrew: he could go with a meek approach asking why he did it; he could also feign ignorance: or he could just cut the crap and bring it up.

But as he saw Andrew lying there as though he hadn’t done anything, he discarded his more simpering options. Neil figured that increasing the antagonism would be the best way to start this. Just so there would be no confusion. And it’s not like he had anything left to hide. Weak kids didn’t usually carry a whole set of knives and several thousand dollars. He looked up and Andrew and leaned back against the door, casually.

“How did you get up there? I didn’t think you could reach,” he asked. “Did Leroy have to help you?”

Andrew’s glare intensified and he snapped his book shut.

“Why are you in here?” he asked. “Surely you aren’t stupid enough to think this is your room?”

“Funny, I was about to say the same to you, considering you seemed to have mixed up my room with yours earlier today.” Andrew’s expression didn’t waver so Neil continued. “Stay out of my room and stay out of my stuff.”

“Oh, really,” Andrew pushed himself off the bed, landing on his feet. “And why should I do that? You’re hiding something and I intend to find out what it is.”

“Really, you don’t have anything better to do?”

“Oh, I do.” He said carelessly, crossing his arms. “I just can’t do it with your shifty ass sneaking around.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “Well, could you get this stupid hazing ritual of yours over with sometime soon. Like you, I want to get back to doing what I want without having to look over my shoulder or worry about someone digging through my stuff.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, considering him a moment.

“Friday.”

“Friday?’

“Friday. Here. 8 o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Neil pulled away from the wall. “Fine.”

Andrew nodded as Neil backed out of the room before slamming the door in his face.

Despite feeling that he just dug himself into a hole, Neil found he couldn’t care less.

Friday.

He had until Friday to come up for a convincing reason for the knives and money. Already dozens of lies was spinning in his mind.

His parents were abusive and he stole all their cookware before he ran away?

No. he wouldn’t believe that for a second

Brought knives for self-defense? No they were too nice.

His father was a butcher.

Haha. no.

Trying to protect his mother.

That didn’t explain-

The list kept growing longer and longer. He wasn’t sure, but whatever he settled on would have to be good. Would have to be good enough to convince the guy who had seen through him without even knowing him. He realized that he was still standing outside Andrew’s door. He turned and walked down the stairs. He needed to go for a run.

***

It was still light out by the time 8 o’clock rolled around on Friday. However, despite this, he didn’t feel any better about venturing out with Andrew. But he had never been one to be easily deterred.

Neil stood outside Andrew’s door ready for whatever disastrous outing Andrew had planned. Neil rapped on the door with one hand before leaning back, waiting. It only took a moment for Andrew to open the door. He stared blankly at Neil before opening the door enough to allow Neil to pass through. Leroy was laying on the bottom bunk and looked up brightly when he saw Neil walk in. He must have realized that it wasn’t time to talk because his smile dimmed a moment and he quickly picked up his game and hurried out the room.

“Hey, Neil. Guess I’ll see you later. Have fun guys.” He said quickly before disappearing out the door.

Neil turned back to Andrew who appeared to be studying Neil’s clothes.

“That won’t work.”

Neil scoffed. “I don’t really have much else besides this.”

“Trust me, I know.” He scoffed. Neil wanted to scoff right back. Who did this guy think he was? His clothes were fine.

“And,” Neil felt himself insisting, “It’s not like you told me much about where we’re going so I could dress accordingly. Oh wait,” he said sarcastically, snapping his fingers as if he suddenly remembered something, “you haven’t said anything about where we’re going.”

Andrew just gave him a look, before turning back to his closet, digging through it.

“For all I knew,” Neil plowed on “we were going to paint our nails and braid our hair and talk about boys or whatever.

“Your hair’s not long enough to braid.” Andrew said absently. “And I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not. I was just listing things that I heard people do at sleepovers.”

“I figured. You sound clueless as fuck. And as if I’d want to spend the night with you. Here,” he tossed a bundle of clothes at Neil. “These should fit.”

Neil looked down at the clothes in his hands and then back at Andrew, who was crossing his arms waiting for him to say something.

“I’m not… changing with you here.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “I heard you didn’t like changing around people. Didn’t figure you were so self-conscious.”

“What, you were talking about me changing? Is this what you do in your spare time? What other exciting things do you talk about?” he asked with mock interest. “Do you ask Seth to jot down whether I take a shit or a piss? Or do you wait outside the door yourself. If you’re really so curious I’ll tell you. It’s as weird as fuck but I’m not really one to judge.”

Andrew gave him an unimpressed look before rolling his eyes.

“Your buddy was saying it. He’s worried you think he’s going to check you out. He was very upset that you might think he’s gay or something.”

Neil couldn’t hold back the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t give a shit whether he’s gay or not. He needs to realize that there’s more going on than him.”

Andrew looked at him a moment before walking to the door.

“You have 5 minutes before I come back in here and drag your ass out.” He said before he turned on his heel left the room.

Neil didn’t trust that Andrew wouldn’t just open the door at any moment, but he figured that it was just a chance he was going to have to take. He quickly shed the clothes he had worn and left them in a pile on the floor. He stared at it a minute before balling the clothes up and draping them obnoxiously across Andrew’s bed. Andrew knew about the money and knives in his bag. If he told anyone about that, he would be out of there faster than a rabbit in a fox den. Though maybe, he thought as he pulled the shirt over his head, maybe it would be better off that way. Better to be away from prying eyes. Though, he figured, hopping on one leg trying to get on the black pants Andrew had given him, he didn’t know what he would get at those places. They could be worse for all he knew.

Neil tied his shoes and opened the door to find Andrew leaning against the wall casually. Neil was surprised that he hadn’t walked in, finding out the secrets he no doubt was curious about, but he hadn’t. Andrew glanced over at Neil when he heard the door open. He leant away from the wall, nodding towards the stairs and began to walk. They left the building and made their way down the street. They walked over to the bus stop and waited for it come by. The stood there silently until the bus came and they boarded.

They rode in silence. Some of the sights were familiar, though others didn’t appear to be.

When they finally reached their destination, Andrew pulled the cord to signal the stop and got ready to get off. Neil followed him off the bus. Their surrounding were vaguely familiar, but they were hard to place in the fading light. Andrew led the way to the back door of a sort of club. He made his way through the kitchen until they walked though double doors into the actual club. And the club was… yikes.

There was so much tasteless leather and so many useless chains adorning the scantily clad patrons. Neil knew that people criticized his clothes, but he didn’t really think that people could really judge him when there were people willingly going out dressed like extras in a vampire sex flick.

Andrew dodged through the dancers to the bar. There was a young individual in training beside an older bartender.

Andrew gestured at the younger. “Roland.”

Roland’s face lit up. “Andrew!” his gaze shifted over to Neil looking him up and down. ”And you brought a friend.”

“I need my usual and a standard for Neil.”

“I don’t drink.”

Roland just nodded before disappearing.

Neil wanted to ask how Andrew knew him but Roland had already reappeared with a glass of honey colored liquid and an opened soda for Neil.

“Enjoy,” she said as he offered them their drinks. “Though, probably away from the dance floor.”

Andrew slid him some money before turning. They found a somewhat empty spot on the outskirts of the dancefloor. The chairs were high off the ground and he felt so obviously out of place that he was sure they get carded and kicked out. Andrew had seemed to have no such worries, easily hefting himself up onto the barstool next to Neil’s own. Andrew gave him a nod before downing his drink. Neil, foolishly, took a sip of his, before almost gagging it up.

It had been so long since he had last has soda, so he wasn’t sure if it was always this sweet, or if there was something off. He had it still lifted to his lips and Andrew tipped it, causing the liquid to flood into his mouth. He dripped the can to ground and tried to open his mouth, but Andrew’s hand was over his mouth pinching his nose, holding him against the wall. He struggled a moment before swallowing the vile liquid. Andrew let go and Neil staggered off. Andrew probably didn’t think that Neil would be able to get very far under the influence of the drugs. He quickly made his way over to one of the exits he had found when the first arrived. He hurried out to side door and forced himself to throw up. He was able to get rid of some of whatever Andrew had given him, be he was already starting to feel the effects.

He felt is way along the walls of the alley, before making it out onto the street. His vision was beginning to blur around the edges and the world was beginning to sway. Or maybe it was just his body. He honestly wasn’t sure.

He burst out onto the sidewalk, trying to find a focal point. All the landmarks were distorted in the darkness, sparse lamplight and unearthly neon warping the streets into a haunting nightmare. Though he didn’t have much of the drugs, he knew that they weren’t helping his perception. All he knew was that he needed to get away, and he didn’t care were. It wasn’t long before he saw the familiar sight of the bus stop. The bus was pulling up just as he stumbled over to it. He fumbled through his pockets before finding his bus pass and swiping it and getting inside. He planted himself into a seat, head spinning. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake and focused. He barely was able to focus enough to get off at a hub stop, switching to a bus that took its riders to the nearby connecting towns.

He boarded one of the busses and put his head between his knees, and drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness.

It seemed like no time at all had passed, before he hear shouting. He blinked awake, to see the bus driver turned around to face him.

“Kid, this is the last stop. You have to get off.”

Neil nodded vaguely and stumbled off. He had no idea where he was but he decided that the fact that he could barely stand was a more pressing matter. He managed to wander a little farther before collapsing on a bench and passing out.

***

Fuck-fuck fuckity-fuck. Shit. Fuck.

He had been looking an hour and he still couldn’t find that son of a bitch. Neil fucking (and he was also certain that that was the little bastard’s middle name; that kid was probably born screaming trouble) Josten a pain in the ass.

But whether or not Neil was a pain in the ass didn’t do anything to help him ignore the fact that he was in shit. Wymack hadn’t taken it well when he had put Boyd through the ringer; he wouldn’t be happy to know that Andrew had put the newest member of the fox family through something similar.

Shit.

He should have followed Neil when he got up. He was fucking runner. Of course he would make it for the exit. Of course he had the exits so ingrained in his mind that he was able to find his way out when he was half drugged out of his mind. When Andrew ahd finally made it out of the club, Josten was already gone. He had vanished. Disappeared. Andrew made his way back to Marbury but Neil wasn’t there.

He searched the streets and couldn’t find him. Part of him was glad he couldn’t.

Maybe after he gets back he’ll leave.

Unless he’s dead.

Not your problem. You weren’t the one that let him out into traffic. He did that himself.

Nice try trying to get yourself off the hook. Really? You know it’s your fault. It always is. Everything that goes wrong is your fault. Cass. Aaron. What is the common denominator? You.

And back and forth his mind went. All night these thoughts raced through his head until the early morning light appeared and he still hadn’t found him.

Shit.

***

Neil woke up to the sound of squawking and cawing so loud he could feel it rattling and echoing around his skull and the sensation that only came when one spends the night with their face smashed up against harsh wood. He pushed himself up from where he had sprawled out on the bench to look at his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see from where he was. No people. No cars. The only thing that he could see were two seagulls perched on top of a lamppost, no doubt waiting for some unsuspecting person to become the recipient of their unwanted shit. And as he pried his eyes away from them to scan the rest of the area, he felt his stomach drop.

He had absolutely no idea where he was.

It was obvious that he had wondered farther from the bus stop that it had seemed the night before, because it was nowhere to be seem. He righted himself more fully and anchored himself with his hands to keep himself from swaying off the seat. As soon as he was steady he pulled up his foot and dug through his shoe. He had only put a few dollars in them, as he figured that he would have enough time to go back and get his stuff, should he ever need to go back.

He hadn’t expected to be fucking drugged.

He could almost hear his mother yelling at him for letting his guard down, for becoming too comfortable, and he couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with her sharp accusations.

He had been so incredibly stupid. He was lucky no one had come across him while he was sleeping. He was lucky he hadn’t walked into traffic. He was lucky he had lost Andrew. He was lucky he happened to stumble upon what appeared to be one of the most desolated areas to ever exist. He was lucky he wasn’t dead.

Or maybe that would have been a better fate. His head was pounding, his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest, and his throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. He closed his eyes to limit his senses in hopes that it would stave off his impending headache. He focused hard and finally was able to pick up the sound of people. He jerked himself to his feet and followed the noise.

He followed the sound to a local park. He zeroed in on the water fountains by the bathrooms. He dragged himself across the park until he reached that bless’d water fountain. The instant the cool water fell into his mouth he felt immediate relief. He decided he wouldn’t have minded staying there forever. He stayed their gulping in the fresh water until a kid came up behind and had to tell him his turn was up. He wiped away the water from his mouth and staggered away. He nodded and walked more steadily back to the bench.

From the bench he was finally able to get some sort of bearings and find the bus station. Next to the stop was a bulletin board with the bus schedule posted. It was laminated, but so old that the plastic was starting to peel in the corners, exposing the weathered paper. He looked at the itinerary and felt his heart sink. The bus only ran to the city during the week, not on the weekend. He wandered a bit farther until he found small shop and scoured the aisles until he found a map of the area and some water. He brought it all up to the counter.

The shop owner looked him up and down. “Rough night?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” He said absently. He looked around the store. “Do you have a phone? I need to call someone.”

The owner gave him a pitying look before turning the counter phone over to him.

Neil took the phone and typed in the number he needed and waited for him to pick up.

“What do you want?” an irritated voice answered.

“Hey, Kevin. This is Neil.” He twisted his fingers around the knotted phone cord. He hated this awkward conversation shit. “I need to talk to Wymack”

There was muffled sound a moment as the phone got passed from son to father“-fuck, kid. Where the hell are you? Seth called us last night when you went out and never came back.”

“Not sure. I’ll be back later. Just giving you warning, I’m going to be stopping by your place. I don’t think I can go back to Marbury right now.”

“Sure, it’s not a problem, but Neil-”

“Thanks, bye.” he said, putting the phone back on its receiver.

He nodded at the owner, and left crumpled bills and loose change on the counter as payment, before making his way out to the road. After studying the map a while, he figured he wasn’t more thirty miles away from town. He made his way for the freeway, holding out a thumb for cars heading in his direction.

It took a while before a young couple picked him up. It had been much easier to get a ride when it had been his mother and him. People were much more likely to help a mother and her young son, than to help some teen who looked like just got wasted the night before and slept on a park bench.

They took him about thirteen miles towards his destination and from there he found someone who could take him another nine. From there it was only about eight, which was easily manageable when he’s sober, and only a little less hung over.

Eventually he saw the old faded sign that was outside the town. He found a bus stop and used his pass to get back to Wymack’s place.

When he got to it, he almost let out a sigh of relief. He clambered up the stairs, fishing out his keys and sliding in. He almost wanted to collapse on the floor from exhaustion and fatigue, but managed to keep standing. It was obvious that no one had heard him enter because he could hear Wymack’s frustrated voice, obviously in the middle of an argument.

“-after last time. You almost screwed him over, Minyard. And what about this kid? What did he do that you felt you and to do whatever it is that you did last night.”

Neil was almost shocked to hear Andrew’s voice. “I did what I had to do.” Frustrated grumbling threatened to interrupt him, but Andrew held up a hand to silence him and continued on. “He was keeping something and he wasn’t going to say what otherwise.”

“Well drugging someone one isn’t exactly fucking ideal way to get information is it?” Neil asked, leaning against the wall, in way he hoped mimicked the anger pulsing through his veins and not just a slumped display of exhaustion.

“Look, the runaway came back, Coach” Andrew said gesturing to Neil. “All in one piece.”

“This isn’t simple like that, Minyard, and you know it.”

“Just let me talk to him.”

“There’s no fucking way-”

“No, we need to talk.” Neil agreed, seething.

Wymack shot him an incredulous look. “There’s no way I’m leaving you two alone together.”

“Don’t worry, Coach. I won’t kill him”

Wymack didn’t look like he believed him but he turned from Andrew to glance at Neil whose steady fuming gaze was on Andrew, before backing off, hands raised in surrender. “You have five minutes. Five,” he emphasized holding up his hands for them to see, “Unless I hear something breaking or someone dying from outside. If that happens, I’m coming in, understood?”

They nodded absently not breaking the deadlocked stare down they had. Neil didn’t turn to watch Wymack leave, but he heard the door close as he left.

“You’re lucky I’m not fucking going to kill you.”

“Oh, look, the runaway speaks.”

“You’re not denying it. You’ve seen what’s in my bag. You better believe that I know how to use it.”

“Ah, the bag. That’s what we’ve been needing to talk about.”

“Why won’t you let this go? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“No can do. I know you’re lying- about a lot of stuff. And I don’t fucking fancy sitting here twiddling my thumbs waiting for whatever hellfire storm is just waiting to fall on you. I can handle shit but I don’t like surprises.”

There was a darkness in his eyes that Neil couldn’t even begin to fathom as he said the last part. The darkness was one that Neil had only ever seen in his own eyes; not his father’s, his own. It was a darkness of having lived through too much and having to pretend like they hadn’t. It was the look of being very much alone for much too long.

He had always had his mother but they weren’t close. They were merely companions on their rollercoaster ride of pain and suffering. And although he knew Andrew was constantly around Aaron, Kevin, and Nicky, he also knew Andrew had suffered alone. And with that look, within that moment, Neil felt something shifting inside him. He wasn’t sure what it was or if he was going to like it, but something was changing and for some reason that filled him with apprehension.

“Any why should I tell you anything?” he threw out and he could feel the way the question hung out there between them. He could feel the tension, the way Andrew’s answer would determine how this conversation was going to go. Everything was balancing on the edge of a knife point and only Andrew could decide if someone would get stabbed.

“I know about the knives and the cash you have stashed. Madera might be interested to hear about it. She might take them away or kick you out.”

Neil didn’t even bother trying to hide his eye roll. “You think I’m scared of leaving? You’ve called me a runaway. Do you think you threats of making me leave are frightening? Your threats mean nothing to me.”

“Then why, “Andrew sneered, leaning forward, “haven’t you left yet?”

Neil opened his mouth, but he hesitated, the words catching on his throat like a burr on a wool sock.

“I like it here.” The admission was painful, the words tearing away his skin, laying his soul bare. He swallowed and continued “I’ve moved around a lot and I’d like to say in one spot for a while. But,” he added, “I won’t hesitate to leave if I need to. I won’t stay here with you holding this over my head, with the stress that any moment you’re going to loot through my stuff or drug me again. I’m not going to stay with this threat.” He voice was becoming more forced, stronger.

“What about a deal?”

Neil scoffed, eyebrow rising in amusement. “A deal?”

“Yes, a deal.”

“And what, oh wise one,” Neil leaned forward cockily, almost tauntingly “would this deal entail?”

“Two things. The first part would be a guarantee. I’ll stop digging through your stuff, drugging you, et cetera, et cetera, but,” he leaned forward too, his words breathed into his ear, “you stay.”

Neil shot back, brows hiding behind his bangs. ‘Why?”

Andrew shrugged carelessly “You’re interesting.” He said. As if it was obvious. As if it were simple.

Nothing in his life had ever been simple.

Neil didn’t know how to respond to that so he mentally shoved it aside for the time being. “What’s the second part?”

Andrew met his eyes, gaze unwavering. “Truth for a truth. Equals.”

“Truth for a truth?”

Andrew just looked at him.

Neil almost didn’t know he was speaking before the words escaped his lips.

“Fine.”

Andrew stared at him, before nodding. “I’ll go first. What are you hiding?”

He paused before looking around the room. He could see Wymack pacing in the kitchen and he knew Andrew had followed his gaze. “Not here. Somewhere private.”

He shrugged in a way that seemed to say fair enough.

Neil didn’t break eye contact with him as he shouted over his shoulder.

“We’re leaving Wymack. Thank you for everything.”

Andrew nodded and then led the way out the door.

***

All you have is your fire…

And the place you need to reach-

Don’t you ever tame your demons

But always keep ‘em on a leash

#ayyyyy #after about a month I finally post this on tumblr #stinking finally #the next chapter should be up soon #hopefully #if I stop being a #mess #if you need anything tagged let me know and I will tag it. #this is long #btw #this is titled after You by Keaton Henson #tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #my writing #mine

[quicksilversquared]

Scoring the Wedding

Alix and Kim's wedding is fast approaching, and all of their friends want to play a little trick on them during the reception. They need to do something funny, something classy, something that might embarrass the bride and groom a little but not too much....

Scoring kisses never hurt anybody, right?

based on a true story from my family

(AO3) (FF.net)

"All right everyone, gather 'round," Alya called over the chatter filling the room. "You'll have time to talk later. We have plans to make, remember?"

"That's what you've said before, and yet I still have no idea what you're talking about." Marinette gave her best friend a reproachful look as she abandoned the conversation she had been having with Rose and Juleka. "Are you going to tell us now, or are you going to keep on teasing us?"

"You'll find out. That is, if people stop talking and listen to me." Alya glared in the direction of her living room. Ivan and Adrien finally stopped talking, looking sheepish as they did. "Thank you."

"You mentioned some sort of revenge," Nathaniel said, frowning at Alya. He shifted on the couch arm he was perched on. "Care to explain?"

"Of course." Now that the attention of the room was fully on her, Alya straightened up, looking pleased. "So as you all know, Alix and Kim are getting married in two weeks, after they finish up with their reports and come back home. And as any of you who has ever had a significant other knows, they really like making a big deal about it whenever other people kiss in front of them."

"Which is hugely hypocritical of them," Adrien said with a grumble. "I thought they would stop when they got together."

Everyone nodded in agreement. At the time, the whole class had breathed a sigh of relief when the years endless challenges and taunts had led to Kim and Alix dating each other, but alas, their relief was short-lived. Alix and Kim trained with each other and tried to drag other people into challenges against both of them. When that failed, they challenged each other, just like they had before. On top of that, they had turned into possibly the most shameless couple in the world in terms of PDA. It was ironic, really, considering that they had delighted in catcalling and hooting whenever any of their friends shared a chaste kiss.

Alya pointed at Adrien. "Exactly. So I figured that this was a good time to tease them right back. They'll be kissing at the reception, correct?"

The question was aimed at Max, who nodded in agreement. "Affirmative. They will be sticking to the traditional kissing upon the clinking of two glasses at the reception dinner and possibly also through the dances." Max adjusted his glasses and consulted something on his phone. "They considered alternatives such as requiring people to sing a song or shoot a basket in order to get them to kiss, but Kim's mother nixed the idea as too complicated."

Adrien laughed. "And they wouldn't get to kiss as often if they did that. That probably convinced them to keep it simple too."

Ivan was frowning at Alya. "I'm not catcalling them at their reception. That's just rude."

"And boring, and predictable," Nino added, shifting so he was standing at Alya's side. "That wasn't what we were thinking of. We wanted to do something funny and out of the box, but we need your help to figure out what."

There was a long pause.

"Uh, I don't know what you're looking for," Mylene said at last. She, like most of the other people in the assembled group, looked confused.

Alya huffed. "I want to find some way to embarrass Kim and Alix when they're kissing without being tacky about it. I was hoping for some brainstorming to go on."

"I'm still a bit lost," Adrien admitted. "Like, what do you want us to do? Talk about Kim and Alix kissing like we're sports announcers or something? I wouldn't know what to say; that's more Alix and Kim's forte."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement. Everyone knew how both Kim and Alix had become sports announcers following school- Alix because it was something she had always been interested in, and Kim because it was the best choice for him after a knee injury ended his competitive running career- and they were fabulous at it. They had even been tapped to go to the Summer Olympics and cover several of the events there for the Paris viewers. That was where they were now, finishing up with the last few events. It was simultaneously very strange and very cool to turn on the TV to watch the Olympics and hear their friends' voices.

Surprisingly enough, both of them had managed to refrain from saying anything inappropriate on live TV so far.

Alya perked up. "Actually, I think you might be onto something. We could steal a microphone and be, like, 'Alix and Kim kiss again, a 2.5-second long liplock earning a score of three out of nine for passion and a one out of five for creativity, for a total of four out of a possible fifteen points-'"

"Fourteen points," Max corrected.

"Actually, that might work!" Nino exclaimed. He got dubious looks from nearly everyone in the room, which he dutifully ignored. "Not a complete announcement, but, like, scores. We could give everyone a whiteboard and a marker and every time Kim and Alix kiss, we give them a score! It's not super-obnoxious and then a bunch of people can do it, not just one. It'll be funnier that way, and people can ignore us if they want."

"But it'll still get a rise out of Kim and Alix," Alya said with a grin. Around the room, more than a few of the others looked interested. "Let's do it."

   The day of Alix and Kim's wedding dawned clear and bright. The wedding party got busy around ten as people frantically dashed back and forth, making sure that the decorations were in place in both the wedding hall and the reception area and that the bride and groom were ready. They had decided to go somewhat untraditional for both decorations and clothing, much to the horror of Alix's father, but it still looked fabulous. Whole plants replaced floral arrangements, blue banners replaced white, both bride and groom wore athletics-inspired formalwear (Dupain-Cheng originals, of course) and Alix was wearing sneakers (clean, at least) under her dress. There were still things to finish, of course, but it was under control.

Several blocks away, other preparations were being made.

"We've got a bunch of extra whiteboards," Alya told Marinette as they pulled the boards out of their packaging. "They were on sale in the larger packages so that's what Nino bought. Max persuaded a couple of Alix and Kim's coworkers and other friends to join us and he also said that it's possible that some people from Alix's or Kim's family might want to join in as well, so we'll just bring all of them."

"And you have enough markers?"

Alya held up several giant packages filled with thick black dry erase markers. "Yup!"

"This is going to be fun to smuggle in." Marinette let out a long sigh as she hefted up the giant stack of whiteboards. They were fairly thin compared to some of the other whiteboards Nino had said he had found, but with as many as they had, the stack was pretty heavy.

"It won't just be us carrying them. Juleka and Rose said they could carry some as well. We're lucky that big purses are in right now." Alya gestured to the pile of purses in her open closet. "Mylene said that she couldn't, since she's a bridesmaid, but if we divide this up between four bags we should be pretty good."

Marinette still looked unconvinced. "And we never talked about how we were actually going to get these handed out at the reception. We're going to be all spread out. Max and Mylene and Ivan are all going to be at the main table, right?"

"At first, yeah. But Max said that the seating isn't exactly fixed, so they could probably slip away and get their boards and maybe join other tables once things get going. I didn't catch all of it, of course, but they thought they could still do it, during the dances at the very least." Alya started dividing up the boards unto four piles. "Hopefully more. Max said that it's possible that the parents and other immediate family might sit closest to Alix and Kim instead the rest of the wedding party. He didn't know for sure."

Nino, who had just entered the room, raised an eyebrow at them. "Max didn't know something?"

Alya swatted at her fiancée. "Don't tease him. I think the plans were being kept somewhat flexible."

"Still, that's new. Max normally knows everything and hates when things are flexible."

"I doubt he actually had a choice. I got the impression that Kim's mother was doing a pretty good job of running the show." Adrien walked into the room behind Nino, carrying two garment bags over his arms. He rounded his friend so he could go perch on the arm of the couch Marinette was on. "Are you two done? We should probably be getting ready to go soon."

"Not all of us take hours to get ready, Mr. Model," Alya said with a grin as she divided up the pile of boards and markers. She handed a stack to Marinette and slid another stack into her oversized purse. "And it's not as though we need to be, like, crazy put together since we're not in the wedding party. But if it makes you feel better, I suppose I could slip into my dress now."

   They got to the wedding with plenty of time, even after waiting for Rose and Juleka to swing by to pick up their share of the whiteboards. The ceremony was fairly short, and then they all headed to the reception.

It took longer than Alya would have liked to get the boards handed out. The group of friends hadn't been able to sit together during the ceremony since they had come in at different times, and then the reception hall was a mess. Kim and Alix both had fairly large extended families, plus quite a few friends, former teammates, and coworkers that had all been invited. Alya and Marinette had tried to linger near the doors at first, but Kim's mother didn't let them stay long. She ushered them towards a far table, ignoring their protest as she herded them into their seats before leaving to divert more of the guests to tables.

"We didn't anticipate Kim's mother," Alya said sheepishly as Nino and Adrien settled next to her and Marinette. She craned her neck, trying to look around the room. "This won't work if there aren't a lot a lot of us doing it!"

"At least if Kim's mother gets everyone seated, the others will be able to find us more easily," Nino pointed out, accepting a board from Marinette and sliding it behind himself on his chair. Adrien took a board as well and slipped it into his suit. "We won't all be moving through the crowd, accidentally missing each other."

"And we should be fairly visible in this crowd," Adrien added with a grin. "Or rather, Nino and I are. You and Mari might be a little too short to stick out- oof!" Marinette had elbowed him in the stomach, making the couple that had just settled at the other end of the table eye them uncertainty. Adrien ignored them and pouted at Marinette. "Mari!"

She only stuck out her tongue at him in response.

"Rude, Agreste," Alya told him. "Mari and I aren't that small. You and Nino are just part-giant."

Adrien grinned.

It took a while, but Nino's prediction came true. Their former classmates found them without a huge problem and each took a whiteboard and a marker to smuggle away without raising too much suspicion. The two other couples now residing at their table had started sending them weird looks, but neither had commented about the whiteboards out loud. They could see Rose and Juleka covertly handing out boards across the room as well. They had apparently found a couple of Kim's cousins to join in as well. By the time Kim and Alix got downstairs and settled at their table, all of the boards had found homes and were ready to go.

Almost immediately, someone called for a kiss.

Kim and Alix glanced up at the room, startled for a moment before Alix's brother leaned over to prompt them. They kept the kiss short and chaste, only a quick brush of lips on lips.

Markers were uncapped. Numbers were scribbled. Then, almost as one, twenty-five whiteboards rose into the air, displaying a sea of 1's and 0.5's.

The burst of laughter that rose from the rest of the guests startled Alix and Kim , who had been too busy staring at each other to notice the boards. They glanced out at the rest of the room in confusion, but everyone had already stashed their boards away under their tables. The couple exchanged a puzzled glance and a shrug before turning their attention elsewhere.

"Oh, this is great," Alya chortled, watching with hawk eyes as Alix's brother talked with the couple, fighting to keep a straight face the entire time. Jalil's girlfriend was having a much harder time controlling the twitching corners of her mouth. "Just to plan!"

"How long do you think it'll take for Kim and Alix to catch on?" Nino asked, grinning. "Three kisses? Four?"

"Probably only three," Alya said as another clinking of glasses requested another kiss from the bride and groom. Kim and Alix responded faster this time, dipping in for another fast kiss to the cheers of the room. Everyone held up their same numbers again- well, almost everyone. Adrien exchanged his 1 for a 0.5 before he held up his board up. The cheers at the kiss were replaced by laughter again and this time, Kim managed to catch a brief glance of several of the boards before they got hidden. A slight frown crossed his face as he leaned down to say something to Alix, who in turn turned to ask Jalil a question. "Ooh, they're on to us now."

"That's the fun part, though," Adrien said with a grin. A server slid a basket of bread onto their table and he leaned forward to take a piece. "I wanna see their reactions. Otherwise they're just being confused and that's boring."

"For you, maybe. I think it's hilarious." Alya snatched a piece of bread and bit down on it. She tossed the rest of the piece down onto her napkin in a hurry when one of Kim's cousins called for another kiss. "Is it just me or are a lot of people calling for kisses pretty fast? I thought it only happened a few times throughout the reception."

"I think that cousin has a scoreboard. They just want to judge the kisses." Alya held up her board again as the couple shared yet another boring kiss. A few more 1's had decreased to 0.5's this time, which led to more snickering from the people paying attention to the scorecards. Both Kim and Alix glanced out quickly this time, catching the board as they started to lower. Kim looked puzzled, but Alix grinned. Flashing a smirk at the crowd, she pulled Kim back down for a longer, deeper kiss. Everyone cheered.

Numbers were erased and rewritten before boards were raised back up. This time, 4's and 5's dominated. When Alix saw them, she grinned triumphantly and pumped a fist.

From there on out, the kisses got longer as Kim and Alix tried to increase their scores. The few guests that had looked disgruntled about the scorecards at the beginning lost their sour looks as it became obvious that the bride and groom had no problem with it and they even started joining the rest of the crowd in checking out the scores after each kiss.

"I'm glad Alix and Kim have no problem with PDA," Adrien said after a particularly long kiss. He scribbled a 6.75 on his board and held it up. "I'd feel bad about doing this if they were shy about kissing in front of other people."

"Oh, no kidding." Marinette held up her board (with a 6.5) and grinned at the playful glare Kim shot her way. "There is no way people normally request this many kisses at a reception. People are doing it extra just to get the scores."

There was no denying that. The crowd had gotten more and more invested in the scores, to the point where they were ignoring the kissing couple in favor of watching the scores go up or down.

"Your scoring isn't even remotely standardized!" Kim yelled over the noise from the crowd as the scoreboards went down. "That was worth more than a five and a half, Nathaniel!"

"You're lacking in the creativity department!" Nathaniel called back. "That's a large component of your score!"

"You just made that up!"

"Traditionally, creativity is a component of the score for many sports," Max called from where he had ended up on the dance floor. Alix's brother had claimed Max's board when he got up. "For example, synchronized swimming has an Artistic Impression component and gymnastics has an artistry component in their execution score."

Kim made a face.

"I'm starting to feel like we maybe should be concerned about them keeping it appropriate," Adrien said after the couple's next kiss, which appeared to involve a lot of tongue. Two tables over, a mother covered her kid's eyes. "They're starting to toe that line."

"I'M GONNA START DOCKING POINTS FOR INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR!" Marinette yelled over to the sound of the crowd. Both Kim's and Alix's eyes flashed over to her and she sent them a narrow-eyed glare before gesturing to the kids stampeding past the next table over. Alix's eyes widened and she nodded in understanding.

The next ten minutes saw two more kisses and plenty of loud debating over scores. Kim had taken to checking the scores immediately after each kiss and arguing with people when the scores they gave him weren't high enough for his tastes. Following Nathaniel's lead, more people had started demanding creativity in the kisses, which Alix and Kim were trying to interpret as creative use of the tongue.

True to her promise, Marinette docked their score at that. Kim grumbled loudly.

"What all are you looking for for creativity?" one of the other men sitting at their table asked. "Are you just trolling them with that, or...?"

The four of them exchanged a look. "Dips would be nice," Adrien said after a moment. "Or anything besides just a boring kiss, really. If we were doing, like, points for difficulty that would have been cool too."

"Difficulty points for a kiss?" Nino sounded supremely doubtful. "Dude, then we'd have Kim kissing Alix while lifting her or something."

There was a long pause.

"Actually," Alya said slowly, giant grin on her face. "That would be more fun to watch."

  Fifteen minutes later, Ivan and Mylene moved out onto the dance floor. They looked a little nervous, which would look weird to the outside observer, but not to anyone who knew what was going on. They eased into the waltz easily enough, gradually relaxing into the steps. They drew the attention of the crowd without even trying thanks to Ivan's size, which was exactly what they wanted. The music grew to a crescendo and Ivan picked Mylene up easily, spinning her around through the air. They both leaned forward and exchanged a kiss while Mylene was still mid-air- it was a miracle that they didn't bash into each other harder than they meant to, really- before Ivan set her back down and they continued in their dance.

The whiteboards went up, this time with 9's and 10's.

There were yelps of protest from the main table, where Alix and Kim had settled back down after doing their obligatory couple's dance, father/daughter dance and mother/son dance. The newly married duo looked positively outraged that another couple had gotten higher scores than they had ad on their first try to boot. Ivan and Mylene smirked at that and continued serenely dancing around the room.

Unnoticed, Adrien and Marinette slipped onto the dance floor next. Marinette took a moment to get into step and they were spinning across the room. They danced for a minute, then worked their way towards the part of the dance floor that was visible to the majority of the room. They spun in several eye-catching circles, and then Adrien spun Marinette into a deep dip, letting the ends of her hair brush the floor before he kissed her and pulled her back upright. There were cheers at that, and then a sea of 10's went up into the air.

"You guys play unfair," Kim yelled from his seat. "C'mon, really? Give us a 10!"

"You gotta earn it!" Nino yelled back as Adrien and Marinette finished their dance and stepped off the floor. "We even gave you examples! How much easier can we make it? Or are you scared you won't be able to make the cut?"

That got a reaction.

Kim and Alix moved out onto the dance floor in a heartbeat. Guests moved out of their way, scooting to the edges of the room so they could watch the duo pull out their best moves. They swung quickly into a passable waltz (athletic as they were, neither Alix nor Kim really had the patience to learn how to dance properly) and circled around the dance floor. It didn't take long for them to try to pull off the same move that Ivan and Mylene had with the lift.

Unfortunately for them, Ivan and Mylene had done the lift before during their couples dance classes and knew how to do it well. Kim and Alix leaned forward a little too much and ended up knocking teeth instead of planting a light kiss on each other's lips.

"Ooh, I almost don't want to score that," Marinette said with a cringe as she wiped her board clean. That didn't stop her from quickly scribbling down a 5 and holding it up. "Maybe we should have told him that Ivan and Mylene have practiced that one before."

"They make it look easy," Adrien admitted, stealing a bite of cake off of Marinette's plate while she was still distracted. "Ivan told me that it took a lot of practice and the fact that Mylene is so small compared to him helped. I still think Kim and Alix could've pulled it off, though. They just didn't have their hands in the right places."

"You an expert on dancing now, Agreste?"

"Of course he is, Nino," Alya answered before Adrien could say anything. "Did you seriously forget who you were talking to? He's taken dance classes for practically his entire life."

"Only the occasional lesson," Adrien protested, but no one was listening. Their attention had been drawn back to the dance floor, where Kim had just guided Alix into a deep dip. Their kiss this time was much more careful, and when Kim pulled Alix back up to her feet (even from a distance, it looked like Alix's knuckles had gone white from clutching at Kim during the dip), he looked around triumphantly before scowling at the sea of 8's and 9's he got.

"Oh, come on!" Kim complained as Alix snickered next to him. "Really, you guys? What's the problem now? That was a ten!"

"You're too stiff!" Nathaniel called. The redhead looked like he was enjoying the whole ordeal way too much. "Relax!"

"Your face is too stiff!" Kim yelled right back before Alix pulled him back into the dance. Kim was still busy scowling at his snickering friends when Alix very deliberately tipped him off balance. He yelped as he stumbled and fell backwards, only for Alix to catch him just before he hit the floor. She smirked at his expression, then pressed a kiss to his lips and pulled him back upright to the sound of the guests cheering.

"I didn't know she was strong enough to catch him like that," Alya said with a laugh as she wrote a 10 on her board and held it up. All around the room, people were giving Alix full points. "For someone that small, she sure is strong."

"HAH! Suck on that, Kim!" Alix had let go of Kim and was dancing in triumphant circles around the cleared dance floor. "Perfect scores from everyone! Hah!" She pumped her fist in the air, giant smile on her face.

Kim only groaned.

Two hours later, everyone was finally starting to leave. Whiteboards got passed back to the people who had carried them in, and Kim and Alix finally stopped pulling crazy kissing stunts to say goodbye to their guests.

"You all suck, I hope you know that," Kim said with a laugh as their group filed towards the door and said their goodbyes. "You really do."

"You know you love us," Alya said with a laugh, leaning in to hug Alix. "And you looked like you were having fun with it. You weren't going to do those fabulous crazy kisses otherwise."

"Oh, I suppose, but I just want you to know something." Kim glared at them playfully, eyes narrowing as he pointed to each of them in turn.

"When all of y'all get married, we are coming for you."

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #Heartrate #le chein kim #Alix Kubdel #my mom's cousin got this same treatment at his wedding #he had joked about scoring the kisses at another family member's wedding so they decided to do it to him

[thegoing-gayhoax-blog]

Rhetorical Analysis: Bisexuality Doesn’t Exist, Apparently!

As an out and proud lesbian revisiting my conflicting past, I can assure you that the only confusion I experienced was the dissonance between my feelings and societal pressures and influences. The only phase I had was when I pretended to be straight for fourteen years. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve kissed boys, minimally explored their bodies. It did nothing for me, but my experience with girls and women were something else entirely. I felt the sparks. I felt the fireworks. The butterflies. And in hindsight, reflecting on my own quirky characteristics in my youth, it makes sense that I’ve always been a lesbian. This option was never presented to me - neither in my own home, in the media, in school. I was never exposed to this alternate reality, and it’s because it’s such a taboo topic. Still. That was why in 2014, when I caught wind of this new show titled “Faking It,” I was ecstatic. I was thrilled to have mainstream lesbian or women who love women portrayals. I was excited to see a romantic storyline unfolding between two female characters. I was happy to think that this show would support the community, dismantle the stereotypes, and present what real, queer love really looked like. The reality of this show was anything but.

This show encompassed a lot and managed to turn around their horrendous beginning, but it was well into the season. Essentially, the two main characters, Karma and Amy, were faking being lesbians to gain popularity. Karma hoped to gain a boyfriend with some sort of reverse psychology about making herself more desirable if he perceived her as a lesbian. Amy, on the other hand, really was questioning her sexuality and had developed deep feelings for Karma - and finally had an outlet to give her affection and expand on their platonic relationship. Easily problematic setup. The show went on to shroud the rest of the community, with a gay male lead, a transgender character, an intersex character, a homophobic mother that eventually accepted her daughter - the whole shebang. What I have qualms about is the premise of the show. It glorified the myth that one can “go gay” with the title itself: Faking It. This myth survives because of how they manipulate ethos. Different characters offer inaccurate opinions on identities they don’t experience. Their ethos rests on stereotypical, self-defined representations of being a lesbian and excludes the genuine experience of being a lesbian.

Shane

Shane’s ethos is comprised of his sexual orientation, his friendship with Liam, and his place in the social hierarchy of the school – being popular. Shane is a flamboyant, gay character that is best friends with Liam. Together, they are amongst the most popular at the school.

“Liam thinks I'm a lesbian.” This simple line captures the entire essence of the show, which was the driving force behind all of the drama and antics throughout the series. Ethos is a strong influence here between these two characters. Liam’s heightened credibility comes from Karma, the main character, liking him. Her crush on him makes Karma believe his influence is worth sacrificing herself and her best friend, Amy, by pretending to be lesbians. This assumption is then substantiated at a public gathering, where Shane catches wind of Liam’s inference. The rumor then gains ground fairly quickly, and it travels all the way to the orchestrator of homecoming. Along with Shane, they both try to accommodate this supposed closeted lesbian couple by saying “We accept everyone.” This pathos is playing up to the crowd and the girls. The appearance of an open and accepting environment enables and coaxes someone to come out, like they're trying to get them to. This is an appeal to fear, in a sense, because they don't want them to be plagued with the fear of adversity. She embraces their rumored predicament with this statement and her pathos is impeccable.

           To rally support from their assumption of Karma and Amy, Shane takes it upon himself to stand on a table as he makes his obnoxious announcement. This demands attention. People listen to him. The scene takes place in his house, and as a “popular,” he has easy access to most of the relevant student body. Speaking so clearly and profoundly, he has no shame and sees no problem in outing these two girls – regardless of the truth. Outing someone is troublesome in any sense, but it can be traumatic if it is not well received. Shane’s intentions were somewhat pure, but his execution is extremely flawed because he made the announcement to the entire student body, in retrospect, because that was how quickly the news traveled. Regarding Heinrichs, Shane tied together virtue and decorum to sway his environment to create a supportive sphere for Karma and Amy. Saying that Hester High needed a same-sex couple to win the homecoming court, and having everyone in the room second the notion was his virtue.

Shane is an openly gay character. If he suspects that Karma and Amy are lesbians, as a gay man, people are likely to believe him. Hence the gaydar: Gay people can typically spot another gay person from a mile away. His ethos comes from being gay, himself. His sexual orientation, along with his utmost confidence about Karma and Amy’s closeted lesbian situation solidified the notion that the rumor must have been true.

Liam

           Liam’s ethos is composed of three things: being a wealthy, attractive male, being an artist, and being Karma’s love interest. As a physically attractive male – white, dark hair and eyes, athletic build with washboard abs and firm muscles – he already gains credibility. If for nothing else, being cute tends to make his words more valid, his intelligence more superficial, his mistakes more forgivable.  As an artist (a sculptor), Karma attributes several qualities to him that make him sensitive and endearing rather than annoying and arrogant. As Karma’s love interest, he can virtually do no wrong. She’s so enamored by him and his aura that what she is met with at face value is exactly what she takes to heart and believes is true. Karma perfectly sums up his ethos with this line: “Liam's parents are rich, but he drives a beat-up biodiesel, which means he's socially aware. His best friends are a gay guy and a feminist, which means he's tolerant and accepting of strong women. And he's an artist, which means that deep down inside he's wounded.” This also works as his flawed craft. Due to Karma’s inferred characteristics of Liam, his craft is engorged. Later in the season, she came to him with her emotional strife, expecting him to be as sensitive as she’d assumed, and he could not play the part. When discussing politics, she found that he was not as socially aware as she’d pegged him, either. When confronted with his take on Karma and Amy’s faked relationship, he exposed some misogynistic biases and proved that he was not as tolerant of strong women. She’d attributed false craft.

           “Typical male, determined to prove your virility - by turning a lesbian straight,” Ivy retorted and scathed Liam so fiercely. She correctly accused him of this and he fit the ethos because he is a straight male – portraying typical behavior. The execution of this playing out on the show was Liam’s superficial attraction to Karma with the intention of having sex with a lesbian - fixing a lesbian. In short, he’d wanted to have sex with someone who was depriving him of it by preference. This was subconscious because he was attracted to them, both Karma and Amy, and he’d hoped for the possibilities of coitus. The prospect of a threesome also lingers in the mind of too many men, and this showed up in a later season. Lesbian relationships are not respected, because people often fetishize them. It’s hot. It’s kinky. It’s a fantasy. And though that can be true, it is a wholesome, valid relationship between two humans above all else. This has ties to the myth that one can “go gay” by implying that one can turn on and off their sexuality. A woman can be a lesbian one minute, and please a man the next. Liam’s perception of it was that Karma can be a lesbian all she wants, during the day, but at night, she’s going to be straight with him. He could make her straight, for an hour or two. The sexual anticipation of redemption, winning the prize of access to a lesbian’s core, invalidates the reason why someone identifies as a lesbian: the sole attraction to women. There is no place for a man, no penile satisfaction or gratification. However, Liam had already inserted himself into a concept he has no role in. It is not a negotiable, wishy-washy thing. It is not as flippant as they depicted it.

 Karma

           Karma’s character is a little more sullied than his, however. Her ethos comes from her bond and long-lasting friendship with Amy. Karma is manipulative and selfish by nature. Throughout the entire show, her ploys were for her own benefit. More often than not, she dragged Amy through the mud to make it happen, brutally reminding her of her loyalty by listing instances where she’d blackmailed Amy into supporting her. As for Amy, the ethos that heightened Karma’s appeal and gave her grounds to be taken advantage of so often were her romantic feelings for her. Amy harbored a secret love for Karma, doing anything for her because of it. The situation had perks initially, because she was attracted to Karma. Presenting herself as a lesbian provided her with an outlet to explore and simulate what a relationship with her would look like.

    “Everyone has a lesbian phase in college.”  Karma’s logos here is that this was expected and accepted behavior. Therefore, it should be fine to experiment and deviate a little for her own personal gain. And when she changed her mind later, it wouldn't be as reckless because it could be deemed her lesbian phase. The “lesbian phase” is essentially “going gay” with different terminology, and it carries much more weight than those who say it so flippantly intend. Being a lesbian is a journey, and it is not always as easy as kissing a person of the same sex and enjoying your new, gay lifestyle. If one doesn’t deal with the anxieties and uncertainties of coming out (or the fear of being outed), the fear of the possible adversity they might face (berating, bullying, abuse, threats, homelessness), or the insecurities they’re plagued with from developing feelings towards a person society condemns, they haven’t “gone” gay. It is not something that occurs overnight. Although “going gay” is not something that typically happens at all, coming out with a new revelation as strong as that tends to warp one’s credibility, later.

Bringing Heinrichs into context, she’s using induction. However, this logos is a fallacy because it is a generalization. Generalizations usually are impeded by the slippery slope, but this is problematic because it is ignorant. The use of the word “phase” is off-putting because especially for lesbian or queer women, it questions and challenges the validity of it. She used ignorance as proof. It perpetuates the idea that sexuality is once again a choice - whereas the real and only choice is choosing to explore your sexuality. Dismissing something as a phase and writing it off as something in passing is damaging. It’s deterrent behavior with the expectation of the perpetrator coming to their senses, but that does not account for those who never deviate from their “lesbian phase.” Some women die in their lesbian phases. Gay men, too.  

“Amy, we were invited to the hottest party of the year,” makes the prospect of it sound pretty enticing. The Kairos assisted the choice. The timing encouraged them to go along with it. The happenstance of all of the perks simultaneously made the concept more attractive. The timing of it all prompted less thought and more spontaneity for the instant gratifications of it. It was an easy persuasion to conduct for Karma. Amy sought popularity as well, though she did have qualms about how they were attaining it.

“Straight guys love lesbians, just watch any porno,” is another kicker. Although severely flawed logos, she uses that as more inspiration to follow through with their plan. She will act the part of a lesbian in order to make him fall for her. It seems logical, but is not. At all. Considering Heinrichs, this is the commonplace. It’s a weak stance to take because it has shaky foundations – also because her susceptibility to believing this is skewed because she hopes that this “fact” will work in her favor. This was a constant motif in this show as well. Karma’s entire rationale began with grabbing Liam’s attention, and when she couldn’t impress him on her own, being a lesbian sprouted into her mind. Another misconception is that female homosexuality is in some way to please and entertain a man. It does away with all of the intrinsic factors of being with another woman - the obvious attraction, the possible connection and intimacy shared, the possibility of a love being present. Female bodies are sexualized from birth. It’s almost pedophilic, the expectation of a woman to resemble a baby’s or a child’s with the absence of hair, the smooth silkiness of the skin, and the elasticity and flexibility of the body. It does not come as a surprise that men are attracted to lesbians - it presents them with more than one woman to ogle. This ventures into the realm of pornography, where depictions of lesbian activity are only accepted if the women engaging in the activities are gender-normative - identifying as female as well as presenting themselves as women. The mentioning of pornography in the script goes to show that this is a widely known phenomenon. This is bothersome because beyond the invasion of privacy of another watching something so intimate transpiring between two individuals, it is still directed towards the male gaze. The lipstick, the stilettos, the bareness of their bodies - it is catered to men, even when it is about women. Karma ignorantly supported that with her statement.

Karma loaded up on her Aristotelian appeals when speaking to Amy, there. She used her own ethos by reminding her of her allegiance with “your oldest and dearest friend.” Then, she squared it by packing it with pathos by identifying herself as “the one who never told anyone that you got pubes in the second grade.” She’s persuading her by reminding her of her past altruistic endeavors in Amy’s favor, so that Amy can compromise something for hers. The hole in her plan is that she’d overlooked the required effort of the two, and they cannot be compared. Keeping a mundane secret is not tantamount to sacrificing and exploiting your sexuality for popularity. This contributes to the myth because Karma is under the false notion that presenting a sexuality one does not have is the equivalent of being a good friend. Because they are best friends, Amy should violate her feelings and morality for Karma’s benefit. Because they are best friends, Amy should pretend to be something that she’s uncomfortable with. Because they are best friends, they should fake a relationship so that Karma can swindle a boy into falling for her. But this is not a valid scenario because sexuality cannot be faked, no matter what coercion takes place.

“I guess that makes me the butch one.” That’s not necessarily true. The two are not mutually exclusive, although it is perceived that way. Two women can be femmes, and two women can be butch, and sometimes, they can mingle. It does shed light on the fact that Karma is the feminine one and is getting attention from Liam, and if Amy is the butch one, she has no one fawning over her. That’s a desensitized morality of gender roles. “Being gay finally made me interesting,” Karma said, and with such conviction. The way people receive the news that someone is gay strikes me as overcompensation. Straight girls want gay best friends to go shopping with, but squirm away when he doesn't fit that flamboyant stereotype. Straight boys want a lesbian around so she can be one of the guys, but grow confused when she retains her femininity. This open-armed acceptance stretched a little too far and a little too thin when assessed in different contexts. Girls don't want the gay boys that don't present themselves as flaming homosexuals, sassy and sexy in the way they walk and talk. They don't have room for the more introverted gays (and trust me, there are many outside of the stereotype). It doesn't fit their aesthetic. Simultaneously and funnily enough, they seek gay best friends, but scorn and shy away from lesbians anywhere near their proximity. Males want lesbian companionship, but only the hot ones with the long hair, petite and feminine figures, and those who generally present themselves as women. And if another type of lesbian, say, a butch one, comes around, suddenly they aren't as friendly or forthcoming. It has as much to do with appearance as it does attraction. The infamous “I don't mind gay people as long as they don't flirt with me” trope exists in the minds of too many. It is across the board in males, too - even ones that would testify against being homophobic. Too often in that specific population, they seek friends of the opposite sex, but are adverse to ones of the same sex. This is a widespread problem that needs to be addressed, yet shows like Faking It continue to support the clause by having scenes that represent this without explaining why it is not accurate. Sexuality is not defined by the wardrobe of a person. A girl cannot tie a plaid shirt around her waist, throw on some baggy pants, and deem herself a lesbian.

“And in this school, you have to stand out to fit in, and I’m so ordinary,” is an unfortunate quote that does have parallels to the lives of many. “Let’s be lesbians,” Amy hesitantly agreed, but becoming a lesbian is not and should not be an option for being different. Even writing becoming a lesbian made me cringe, because no one just wakes up one day, deciding to be marginalized. Deciding to be discriminated against. Deciding to disappoint their parents and make their counterparts suddenly uncomfortable. Deciding to have their rights questioned – the value of their lives questioned. By contextualizing it, no one would choose such a thing. That is why venturing as far as identifying differently after an experiment is inherently damaging and demeaning to those who truly bear the burden of coming out.

Faking It and shows that fall victim to improper portrayals of the LGBT community walk a thin line. Diversity is necessary, but it needs to happen seamlessly. There should not be a token gay character, but a spectrum of different sexualities represented. Those representations should come without stereotypes. Those representations should come without disparaging homosexual lifestyles. I commend MTV for venturing to make this show, but I condemn them for presenting it so ignorantly.

#writing