#Open your eyes mon ami!! The light...the light is brilliant!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

exclipssesss · 4 years

Text

You're perfect, no matter what he says about you. [x reader]

Headcanons of all my current fav characters from different fandoms. This was supposed to be something just to emotionally heal me. So this does kinda based off real life experience, except the part where the bois comfort me, man why can't i buy these guys in ebay as my legal husbands?

Characters involved: Alastor [Hazbin Hotel], Lafayette [Hamilton The Musical].

Would probabpy make part two with other characters uwu

Warnings: Cursing, Physical abuse, Parental abuse, The mention of Anxiety.

Summary: S/o never had a great relationship with their dad, and after another fight (which ended horribly wrong) someone decided to comfort them.

Alastor.

Hazbin Hotel.

You were in the Hotel, coolio. Basically you were chilling on the couch when suddenly you fell asleep, and after a few hours passed you woke up to find yourself in your room with blankets covering you, you were confused on how you get there.

You then get out of bed and noticed charlie calling you, probably a new demon that wanna check into the hotel.

You saw a demon that is kind of similar to you but wAy more big and looked kind of scary, he was holding a cigarette. At first you shrugged it off since having the same form of a demon can both mean you guys have made the same sin, or you are related.

You didn't really mind it at first until you asked him to sign in to the hotel, and he looked at you as if you're stupid. He laughed that everyone draws their attention to the both of you, you laughed with him to avoid being awkward.

"You do realize that i am nowhere wanting to go to this stupid ass hotel right? Pathetic, demons wanting to do some redemption just to go to heaven? They can't even take their own consequences of being a dick. Yeah no bitch, i ain't going to this hotel, especially if it filled with pussies"

You stumbled back, he was similar to you but is nothing like you. Yes you swore, a lot, but not this harsh. He basically scowls at you and you just gave him a light glare back. He didn't seem to notice it tho.

Then, it snapped inside your head. No wonder his voice was so familiar. You looked at him and took the chance to find out, if it is true, then you're probably double dead. But you convince yourself that even if he tries to hurt you, you were at the hotel, someone is bound to help you.

"Um, oh, i forgot to introduce myself.. I'm [Y/n] [L/n], nice to meet you.. Sir.."

And you were right. His eyes was wide for a second before it was replaced with disgust, he yanked your hand and you almost lost your balance.

"Of-fucking-course you are. Now wonder your voice reminds me of some bitch. No surprise seeing you here in hell tho, you were always nothing but a disappointment. Even god thinks so."

You basically trembled as eyes were sticking on both you and your "father". He then let's go of you harshly and you stumbled back before falling, demons around weren't helping either. Although some of them gave you pitiful looks, so you decided that maybe they just too scared to interfere. I mean, you would too.

"See? Pathetic. Even as a demon you're trash, and now you're trying to do this whole hotel thing? HahaA--"

Something pulled your dad back, and he was met by a pair of a sickeningly dark pair of eyes that you've known too well.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm pretty sure that that kind of behaviour is not allowed here."

Your "father" was surprised to see Hell's one of the most powerful demons defending you, he almost gives out a somewhat proud smirk, only for it to turn into a scoff. Thankfully, he was decent enough not to mess with Alastor, as he immediately got out the doors and hopefully not coming back.

"My dearest, are you alright?" oh and he comforts you throughout the day too, he almost swears to kill your dad (if that's even possible) but you immediately told him not to.

Either way, he is precious and would do anything for you. Would recommend getting yourself an Alastor, 10/10.

Marquis de Lafayette.

Hamilton: an American musical.

Hamiltime.

(I'm changing the writing style just becuz I'm in the mood)

You just got back from a long day hanging out with the Schuyler Sisters, and also the boys of course. Funnily enough, you and Peggy get along really well, and for the boys? Lafayette's definitely your favorite. Actually he's more than just your 'favorite', you're not even sure yourself, you just felt safe and nice inside when you're around him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

A familiar deep voice that you've been scared for so long spoke up, you stopped dead on your tracks, trying to look calm. You then turned around to be met with a pair of deadly sharp and dark eyes piercing through you, in which you quietly gulped in response.

"I'm sorry i came back late, dad. I was with the Schuyler Sisters and-"

"You really think I'll believe that lying mouth of yours?"

Those words caught you off guard since you are, for a fact, not lying. You really were with Angelica and the others, and so you gave him your 'what are you talking about?' face, and he did not like that. He approached you, and you slowly but surely walked backwards, in hopes of getting away from him. When he was only a few inches from you, he spoke up again.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, who was that man with you? Who the fuck was he?" His voice low with growl as he fixed his sight to yours. You took another gulp of your own spit as he was starting to push you into a corner.

"I wasn't lying! I really was with The Sisters, that boy is just one of ou-"

Slapped

You could feel the hot print on your left cheek as it was burning with pain from the sudden hit, you hold it with your arm. This time you had enough, it was enough living in a world where girls don't have any rights, and you were absolutely not gonna let this man use that against you. Even if he is your blood.

"I'll ask you again, and this time i want an answer, not a rambling about some nonsense you pulled out of your ass."

You looked at him dead in the eye before finally giving an answer.

"Marquis de Lafayette. There, you have it. May i go now?" You said with disgust and anger lacing in every word. This made your so called dad shut up, before forcefully yanked you away. You ran to your room and find yourself falling asleep while crying, at this point all you wanna do was die. With all the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, you basically almost puked, and you still can't believe your mom left you with him. When you woke up, you checked the time. 11:36. At this rate, you could barely sleep again, and you didn't want to be in a house with that jerk anyways, so a brilliant-yet-kinda-dumb idea came to mind. You got out of the house quietly, you didn't want to even try spending the night there anymore, and to be honest, you didn't know where to go.

You could visit the Schuyler Sisters, yes, but going to the Schuyler Mansion at this time of night? Maybe not. You couldn't go to one of the boys' house either, that's just weird. And you didn't want to look like slut. So your thoughts just came to that one place, the place you and the rest of the gang met. The place where you and Lafayette met. The bar. Plus it's open twenty/four hours so it's not like you'll be trespassing.

And so you did what you thought you did. You go there, at first you thought that you would probably be alone in the bar considering how late it is, and that's a good thing considering the red burning mark on your cheek haven't left yet. But nope. The bar was actually kinda noisy, you looked inside to see Alex and his friends there getting drunk, and so you tried to avoid eye contact and go back outside. Well that was your plan until a certain drunk frenchman called you out.

"Mon amie, (Y/n)! Why are you here at this time of night? A beautiful mademoiselle like you shouldn't do that~" Lafayette slurred almost every word as he is drunk. You stopped dead on your tracks and turned around to smile at them, using your hair to cover the bruises left on your cheek. As you looked closely, you could see that Alexander is probably the only sober one out of the group, and not actually drunk.

"Yeah (Y/n), why are you here? Oh, you can come join us if you want to." Alex, the only stable one at the moment continued.

"That's a great idea Al! Come, mon amie! I'll buy you a drink."

Lord tell me how to say no to this-- But seriously, you wanted to go so badly but you barely even could walk out the moment you saw that smile. And so you just had to walk back, which all the boys cheered on.

"What's wrong, (Y/n)? You're awfully quiet,"

"Yeah, most of the time you're basically the one who can't shut up."

"Yo, talk if you want a free booze."

And yet you kept silent, although a silent chuckle can be heard only by yourself did rang through your ears. The boys were starting to get worried, especially with your new hairdo that covered half of your face.

"Huh, someone's actually denying free booze, something is wrong" Hercules said as he rubbed his nonexistent beard, Laurens just tried to swipe your hair away but you quickly slapped his hands away as soon as it was near your face.

"Sheesh, no touching your new hair, i get it. No need to slap me for it." He said with almost looks like a pout, this time the frenchman was asking you questions, and you didn't want to answer. But in the same time, you don't have the heart to ignore him.

"(Y/n), please, tell me what's wrong.. Why are you covering your face?" and now, you also wanted to die. That face, that damned face, god why can't you just ignore it like anyone else's? You let out a sigh as you finally lets all those emotions loose. Tears were pouring down your face almost as fast as Hercules chugging down a beer, and you could barely took any control of them. You buried your face in Laff's shoulder, him petting your head as you realease all your burdens and tears at the same time. The others were stunned, but is confused on what to do, so they just wait for you to stop crying before saying anything that could make you more emotional, if that's even possible.

You wiped your tears, and when you go to wipe the remaining liquid on your left eyes, you unconsciously exposed the big red mark on your left cheek. Boy, little did you know that they'll immediately turn into interrogators in less than a minute.

"(Y/n). What is this?" Hercules' voice rang first with what seems like anger, second came Alex, with his voice that sounded way more than just 'worried'.

"Who the fuck did this?" He said as he tried to put your hair behind your ear, you avoided his touch and just sinks more into Lafayette's embrace, who's weirdly being quiet through this, although his gaze didn't seem to left you at all.

"(Y/n), Let us take a look. I can't believe someone actually did that to you." It's true, you never told anyone about your 'daddy issues', you didn't want to gain any pitty. Time went on and it's almost One AM now, Laff's gaze didn't seem to have left you, in fact, they were stern, it didn't helped the fact that he haven't said anything in the past hour.

You ended up getting cornered and so you told them, about everything that was happened last night. They. Were. Furious. It didn't surprise you though, if your friend were going through the same thing, you'd probably ready to murder someone too.

"(Y/n), does zis 'ave something to do with me?" You immediately flinched. The reason you were slapped was because you didn't want to tell your dad about Lafayette, and he basically could see it through you. He immediately cursed himself, blaming everything that he thought he did wrong. With a little explanation and help from Alex and the others, you got him to calm down and kissed him in his cheek. In which he responds with a blush acrossed his face.

In the end, Lafayette asked you to stay with him for a while and said it was "the least he could do." Basically you were treated like a princess, nothing major happened other than cuddles and venting, he would pat your head and hold you close when you started crying. Sometimes he would kiss your forehead and says sweet nothings to you. He insisted to sleep on the couch while you took the bed, and ever since, the guys would act like your brothers, especially Laurens and Mulligan, they would actually shower you with new dresses and act proud whenever you and Lafayette had "a step forward". (They became your personal wingmans too.)

Not long after, The schuylers took you in, or more like - dragged you in. Philip Schuyler had left the Mansion to his daughters, and so which give them the opportunity to make you their roommates. You four would just chill at night and trash talk your dad when wanted to. (courtesy of big sis Angie™).

Alex on the other hand, was determined to make your dad looked like a fool, even though you told him countless times that he didn't need to do that. He would write about your dad with headlines like "Man Treats Daughter Worse Than Slave" or something like that. In which you laughed about, somehow you still feel bad about the amount of hate your dad gives, but you also feel as if he deserves it for hitting you all those years.

The last but not least, Lafayette. The man asked you out after you moved with the Schuylers, he said he's lonely now that you're not with him and he missed you, he also said that was the time he realized he had feelings for you. You immediately said yes and have been courting with him ever since. Honestly he's just the embodiment of love and cuddles, and you love him for every support he gave you.

#Lafayette x reader #Hamilton x reader #Hamilton fics #Lafayette scenarios #Alastor x reader #Alastor imagines #Hazbin hotel x reader #Hazbin hotel imagines #The radio demon #Vivziepop #Lin-Manuel Miranda #Fics #X readers #Angst #Angsty x reader #Self insert

198 notes · View notes

storytimefromthecreed · 4 years

Text

Be Our Guest

Bellec lead them deep into the streets of France, where the only thing darker than the shadows were the minds of its citizens. Whenever he caught the eye of one, Arno found himself so taken aback with sorrow that his footfalls slowed and he stared. When Bellec got too far ahead of him, Arno shook his head and jogged after him. Things in France were dark, and he was a fool to think light could survive here. Steeling himself, Arno removed these thoughts from his mind and stuck close to Bellec’s heels.

The gray stone building grew so that it looked like a castle by the time he’d arrived to it. Craning his neck to take it in, Arno found his breath caught in his throat and his jaw slack. The responsibility of the duty that he was finding bestowed to him suddenly seemed far more daunting now that it was becoming real.

“Keep up, pisspot.” Bellec gruffed, and Arno hurried after him. Their steps echoed off the stone floors, hitting the walls, and reached his ears. The place looked abandoned. Tapestry hung from the archways in tattlers, and there were no torches on the rings lining the walls. Bellec spoke not a word, but lead him deeper into the building, explaining as he went. “This is our Bureau. We train here, hold our meetings, discuss our plans, and are among our own kind.” When Bellec said that, Arno felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Invisible eyes were watching him, but he had no proof. “Right this way, pisspot. They’re going to want to meet you. Keep your head about you, speak only when spoken to, and don’t embarrass me.” Bellec’s jab would have gotten some retort from Arno had he not been so nervous. Instead, Arno nodded.

The wooden doors ran the height of the hallways, and Arno noticed the out of place rungs and beams that decorated the high walls and ceiling. He would have given it more thought, but Bellec pushed open the huge doors and they were inside a large room. Stairs on the left and right led up to form a level, and there were beams and rings on the walls and ceiling. The second floor had doors and halls, but not a person. On the floor was the symbol Arno knew to be the Assassins. It was when he was investigating this symbol that Bellec stepped forward and spoke. “I bring Arno Victor Dorian to the Bureau of Assassins to complete his training and induct him into the Brotherhood.” Bellec’s words echoed and Arno watched the shadows tensely.

For a minute, nothing happened, and Arno’s eyes began to ache as he scanned the room and found nothing. Beginning to think this was Bellec’s idea of a joke, Arno opened his mouth to yell at the old man for wasting his time when the voice made him jump.

“Ma beau, Monsieur.” A man was standing at the center of the second floor, right in front of them. How Arno had missed him, he had no idea. His heart raced, and a faint sweat touched his cheeks and forehead. The man was dressed in a green hood, and his face was covered save for the stern line that was his mouth. Arno tried to gulp, but his mouth was too dry. Then, the air shimmered as if the room was vibrating. The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair as the Assassin’s Bureau proudly presents, your training.”

The shadows began to shimmer and come alive as the man’s voice gently picked up. “Be. Our. Guest. Be our guest.” With a kick, he flicked his dark green hood to expose his face and the lights in the Bureau began to raise. “Put our service to the test. Tie your napkin 'round your neck, mon ami,” The man kicked towards the stairs, adjusting his tie and giving Arno a brilliant grin. “And we provide the rest.”

The man leapt on the railing and slid down, singing, “Soup du jour, hot hors d'oeuvres. Why, we only live to serve. Try the grey stuff, it's delicious.” With a flip, he landed and bowed low. Draping a hand across his body, he stood quickly and gestured to the darkness. “Don't believe me? Ask the dishes!”

The room lit up, and rows of people appeared. They were formed in kick lines and began to dance as the green-coated man sang, “They can sing, they can dance,” he danced past Arno and saluted him with two fingers before joining the end of the line, “after all, sir, this is France. And a dinner here is never second best.”

They began kicking and as they did, they surrounded Arno. More and more people filed in the room, and Arno couldn’t believe how many people could fit in. “Go on, unfold your menu. Take a glance and then you'll.” The green coat slid to his knees to Arno. “Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest.”

The room began to sing, “Beef ragout, cheese souffle, pie and pudding "en flambe.” The circle tightened before everyone turned around and leapt away. “We'll prepare and serve with flair, a culinary cabaret.””

Only Greencoat remained. Face to face with Arno, he grabbed Arno’s scarf and wrapped it around his head. Frowning madly, he ran one tear down his eye. “You're alone,” then his looked frightened at the dancers. Tugging Arno’s chest to him and he hid behind him, “And you're scared.” Before Arno could push him away, Greencoat released him with a charming smile. “But the banquet's all prepared.” He pushed the corners of Arno’s frown up and danced away to join the others. They all linked, and he spun someone. “No one's gloomy or complaining,” dipping them low, he winked, “while the flatware's entertaining.”

Another booming voice came in and a man placed his axe in the hands of another as he rolled up his sleeves. “We tell jokes,” he jut a thumb to a young Assassin in tan. This man did a back flip off the wall and landed in a handstand before flipping again and landing gracefully amongst the dancers. The Axeman sang, “He does tricks,” opening his arms, more Assassins joined the line, and everyone found a partner. “With my fellow candlesticks.”

Everyone sang, as they twirled and dipped. “And it's all in perfect taste that you can bet. Come on and lift your glass.” They lifted their partners, and the partners pressed their feet to their chests before backflipping off. “You've won your own free pass to be our guest.”

Greencoat opened his arms and swayed his hips, wiping his hand across his forehead. “If you're stressed. It's fine dining we suggest.”

Everyone sang, “Be our guest. Be our guest. Be our guest.”

Everything went dark for a moment, and fear flashed inside Arno. When the lights came back on, a single beam was on Greencoat. Sitting on a ledge, he draped a hand over his face. “Life is so unnerving. For a servant who's not serving.” The Assassins were scattered about in various poses of woe. “He's not whole without a soul to wait upon.”

Axeman clapped Greencoat’s shoulder, frowning. “Ah, those good old days when we were useful. Suddenly those good old days are gone.”

Ghost came in, kicking a rock. “Ten years we've been rusting. Needing so much more than dusting. Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills.” He flexed and then dropped the pose, returning to kicking the rock. “Most days we just lay around the Bureau.” He was close to Arno now. “Flabby, fat and lazy.” He put a hand on Arno’s shoulder and his frown turned completely around. Grinning, he gave Arno la biase. “You walked in and oops-a-daisy!” Doing a backflip off his chest, Ghost ran to join the others, singing, “It's a guest! It's a guest!”

“For fuck’s sake.” Bellec crossed his arms, not impressed. “Is this what you lot have been up to? When Mirabeau gets word of this-”

From the top of the stairs, the Mentor and Master himself emerged. The dancers froze, and Bellec smirked. Mirabeau’s eyes looked around the room, about to question what was going on, until his eyes landed on Arno. A smile stretched across his face, Mirabeau walked down the stairs with a skip in his step, “Sakes alive, well I'll be blessed. Wine's been poured and thank the Lord, I've had the napkins freshly pressed!” Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Assassins flocked, some on their knees, others hanging from the ceiling, their knees secured on swinging seats. They leaned in closely as Mirabeau began his instruction, and groups flocked away to convey his orders. “With dessert, he'll want tea, And my dear that's fine with me. While the cups do their soft shoeing, I'll be bubbling, I'll be brewing!” Mirabeau strolled over to him, and Arno felt safe with him. He had kind eyes and looked at all the Assassins as his children. “I'll get warm. Piping hot. Heaven's sakes! Is that a spot?” He pointed, and an Assassin hurried to clean it. “Clean it up! We want the company impressed. We've got a lot to do.” He gave Arno a smile. “Is it one lump or two? For you, our guest?

Arno put up two fingers, and as Assassins rushed off to get his tea, he was pulled into the dance. The company sang, “He's our guest! He's our guest! Our command is your request!” Arno was pulled from one Assassin to another, arms linked together, circling one way and the other before being turned to a new Assassin. His face hurt from laughing so much, but he never wanted this madness to end. “It's ten years since we had anybody here, and we're obsessed!”

Greencoat threw an arm around him, “With your meal, with your ease. Yes, indeed, we aim to please.”

Ghost appeared at his side threw his arm over Greencoat’s. “While the candlelight's still glowing, let us help you. We’ll keep going.”

Axeman appeared and pulled Arno from the two and back into the dance with a spin. “Course by course, one by one, 'til you shout, ‘Enough! I'm done!’” Arno was dizzy when he returned to the center of the circle. Around him, they danced, performing leaps and tricks, did partner dances. All these factors happened by themselves and in unison at the same time.

Before he could realize what had occurred, the circle closed in on him and he was in a tangle of arms. “Then we'll sing you off to sleep as you digest. Tonight you'll prop your feet up, but for now, let's eat up,” Then, he was soaring. It was terrifying at first, but when he landed in the tangle of limbs again, he laughed. They threw him up again, “Be our guest!” And each time, Arno broke into laughter. Tears in his eyes, his sides hurting, and happiness in his heart. “Be our guest. Be our guest. Please, be our guest!!”

“Come on, pisspot.” Bellec grumbled, and Arno ignored his sore mood.

“Don’t ruin this for me, old man. Call me pisspot once more and we’re going to have a problem.” Arno rolled out of his spot and Mirabeau had his tea ready. Maybe finding a home with the Assassins wouldn’t be as difficult as Arno had thought.

#Arno Victor Dorian #arno dorian #Assassin's creed unity #ac unity #axeman #greencoat #ghost #bellec #mirabeau #The Assassins Do Disney #this is how it should've happened

12 notes · View notes

wittyy-name · 5 years

Photo

June’s Seventh Patreon Oneshot is Now Available

As part of the Special Offer I hosted in June, every patron of the $35 tier got to give me a prompt for a oneshot. These oneshots will then be patreon exclusive and available for all patrons for $3 and up. Three more to go.

Prompt: The gang goes camping, Keith and Lance get lost, romance buds between them.

Klance - Camping au - 9,481 words Keith and Lance have a rocky history, and Lance is willing to admit it’s probably his fault. But he’s changed his ways, seen the light, developed a consuming crush, and is now totally ready to woo the pants off of Keith.

He’s been steadily inching closer over the past few months, but what better time to really buckle down and kiss the boy than a romantic camping trip out in the woods? Granted, their friends are all there, but that’s besides the point. Lance is great at camping, he’s totally going to impress Keith, and Keith will undoubtably swoon into his arms.

What could possibly go wrong?

If you want access to this oneshot, many others like it, drabbles, early access to chapters, outlines, and other rewards, please check out my Patreon!

Reblogs appreciated! Excerpt Below…

Patreon | Ko-fi | Twitter | Ao3 | Insta

[ EXCERPT... ]

Lance > I hope you’re ready to lose mullet > You’re going down

Keith > What are you talking about?

Lance > CAMPING keith, keep up > I’m gonna beat you at camping so hard

Keith > Camping isn’t a competition, Lance

Lance > Au contraire mon ami > Camping is a TOURNAMENT of competitions

Keith > Did you have to google how to spell that?

Lance > …… > Shut UP KeITH > I’m trying to set the stage here

Keith > Set the stage for what?

Lance > For the camping competition!!

Keith > IF this is a competition, which it isn’t, what makes you so sure you’ll win?

Lance > Because I have YEARS of family camping experience behind me and YEARS of beating my siblings

Keith > Dad and I used to go camping every other weekend

Lance > Oh ho ho > I spy a worthy opponent >:)

Keith > Stop

Lance > >:))))))))

Keith > I’m going to stop replying

Lance > We both know you can’t resist me > ….. > Keith > KEEEEEITH > Buddy stop ignoring me

Lance stares at his phone for a moment longer before huffing, lifting his head to glare at the black car ahead of them. He can just make out the shape of Keith’s messy hair in the backseat of the car. He knows for a fact that Keith is ignoring him just for the hell of it right now. Just to prove a point. Just to get under Lance’s skin.

Well, it’s working.

Two can play this game.

Lance > Keith I s2g > If you keep ignoring me I’m gonna have to do something drastic > Drastic times and drastic measures and all that > This is your last warning > I’ll give you something you can’t ignore >:)

He gives Keith a courteous thirty seconds before slapping his phone down and turning to Hunk, who had been blissfully mouthing along to their patented Best Friend Road Trip Playlist as he drove. “Hunk, speed up.”

He blinks, brows furrowing as he sneaks a sidelong glance at Lance. “What?”

“You heard me. Speed up.”

“Lance, there’s a car in front of me—“

“I know. I need you to pass them. But like, pause right beside them for a second.”

Hunk groans, head falling back against the headrest, it’s a noise that’s long suffering and exasperated, but Lance swears there’s some fondness and acceptance in there, too. He may not know where Lance is going with this, but he sure as hell knows the direction. “What’re you going to do this time?”

Lance doesn’t even try to hide his grin, wide and shameless, alight with mischief. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he says, but he’s already looking over his shoulder, waiting for the car next to them to pass so he can merge over.

“Hunk, buddy, my man, what’s the fun in road tripping with friends in a caravan if you can’t antagonize the other car when you pass?”

“But I wasn’t planning on passing them.”

“Please?” He asks, eyes wide and lip sticking out in a perfected youngest sibling pout. He leans over the center console, pressing his cheek up against Hunk’s arm. “Pretty please? You know I’d do it for you in a heart beat.”

Hunk glances down at him, a small smile on his lips even as he sighs. “I don’t antagonize our friends like you do.”

“It’s all part of my charm.”

“I say we do it,” Pidge says from the backseat. Matt’s passed out beside her, head flopped back and a thin line of drool sliding down his chin. She’s been lost in playing her Switch, but she sets it aside with the possibility of shenanigans.

“Why do you want to, anyway?” Hunk asks, and Lance huffs, indignant and overly bitter.

“Keith is ignoring me, so I wanna give him something he can’t ignore.”

“Mature,” Pidge says dryly, laced with amusement.

“Shut up, Pidge.”

“Weren’t you going to use this weekend to, and I quote, woo Keith?”

“Yes, and this is all part of my plan.”

“To annoy him?”

“I’m not annoying him!”

“I’m with Lance on this one,” Hunk says, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Keith is pretty blunt about things, and if Lance was actually annoying him, he’d say something about it. Instead he always keeps Lance going, and only ignores him to rile him up.”

“See?” Lance gestures to Hunk, twisting in his seat to scowl at Pidge. “It’s not annoying if Keith finds it endearing.”

“So what’re you gonna do that’s totally not annoying?”

Lance grins at that, and he sees the answering spark of curiosity in Pidge. “You’ll see.”

“Do it, Hunk. I wanna see what Lance has planned.”

And while he doesn’t admit it, Hunk does, too. It’s in the way his smile curls just a fraction wider, eyes glinting with his own brand of mischief and rampant curiosity. “Alright, hold on.”

“Hell yeah!”

As Hunk pulls out into the next Lane, Lance quickly unbuckles his seatbelt. “Whoa, what are you— Lance!” Hunk sneaks quick side long glances at him, eyes wide with shock and mouth hanging open. Behind them, Pidge cackles.

“Just keep going.” He waves a hand at Hunk as he gets up on his knees, turning in his seat to put his back tot he window, crouched on the seat like some sort of gargoyle. “Don’t forget to pause next to them for a second before passing them.”

“Oh my god,” Hunk mutters, gasping as Lance unbuttons his jeans. “Oh my god, Lance! You are not— oh, you so are. I can’t believe this.”

“You can, and you’re encouraging me because you’re still driving.”

“This is amazing,” Pidge gasps through laughter, scrambling to pull her phone out. “Hold on, I’m filming this.”

Hunk speeds up, muttering to himself the whole time but never once indicating that he’s not a hundred percent on board. As they pull up next to Shiro’s car, on the side where Keith is sitting, Lance shoves his thumbs into the waistband of both jeans and underwear, pulling them down and leaning back to press his ass against the window.

He’ll admit, it’s an awkward position. But judging from Pidge’s cackling and declarations of Oh my god, you should see their faces! and Hunk’s own startled laughter, it’s totally worth it.

Then Hunk puts the petal to the metal and speeds past them, merging back into the other lane ahead of Shiro. Only then does Lance pull his pants back up, settling back into his seat and re-buckling his seatbelt.

Pidge leans forward immediately to show him the video, and he relishes the horrified look on Shiro’s face, Adam’s startled laugh from the passenger seat, and Keith’s surprised face from the backseat. Eyes wide. Mouth hanging open. Completely in shock.

Beautiful.

His phone vibrates, and he reaches for it, grinning from ear to ear.

Keith > What the FUCK

Lance > Told you I’d give you something you can’t ignore ;)

Keith > If you think your skinny ass is enough to hold my attention, I’ve got some bad news for you

Lance > >:O !!!!! > RUDE!!!!

Just then, a car pulls past them, and he glances over in time to register that it’s Shiro’s car, and Keith is definitely flipping him off from the backseat.

He can’t help it. He laughs.

“Brilliant woo’ing technique,” Pidge says dryly.

“Thank you.” His chest flutters and squeezes, stomach doing these annoying flips. “I’m gonna get that boy to kiss me during this trip. Mark my words. Operation Impress Keith and Make Him Fall For Me is a go.”

Pidge scoffs, and Hunk reaches out, patting him on the arm. “Good luck, buddy.”

#klance #klance fanfiction #klance fanfic #voltron fanfiction #patreon #wittyywrites #camping au #vld keith #vld lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane

65 notes · View notes

you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus · 5 years

Text

Secret Admirer

Summary: For the first 14 days of February, Cyrus receives a small gift from his secret admirer. With the Valentine’s Day Dance coming up, will his secret admirer reveal himself and have the night of his dreams?

This is my Valentine’s Day Exchange Gift for @tyrus-endgayme-confirmed ! I hope you like it!

Word Count: 6851

Ships: Tyrus, Minor Ambi, Minor Muffy

Wednesday February 1st

TJ grabbed the towel from out of his bag, wiping off the sweat that had accumulated during practice. A few of his teammates clapped him on the back on their way out, and soon it was just him and Marty in the locker room.

“You played great today, man,” Marty said, taking a seat on the bench and unscrewing his water bottle, “we’re gonna crush the Raptors when we play them,”

“I hope so,” he mumbled, digging into his bag for a piece of paper; not just any piece of paper, but the piece of paper. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, folding up the paper neatly.

“Hm, depends, what am I getting out of it?” Marty challenged, capping his bottle and stuffing it into his duffel bag.

“The satisfaction that you’re helping a friend of yours with a love related issue?”

Marty perked right up, hopping over and slapping TJ’s arm repeatedly. “Oooh, TJ’s got the hots for someone,” he crooned, smiling mischievously.

“Shut up,” he muttered, pushing him aside and handing him the piece of paper, “just tape this up on locker 143,”

“Wait, that’s Cyrus’ locker,” he sputtered, earning an unenthusiastic glare from TJ.

“Good catch, dude. Glad to know you’re not totally clueless,” he said, patting him on the shoulder, “just go pin it up. I’m picking him up from school today and I want him to see it before we leave,”

“TJ and Cyrus, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-”

“Finish that rhyme and I’ll bench you for the season!” he called, heading towards his locker. Marty pulled his lips into a small smile, sneaking out the back door of the locker room and jogging down the hallway. It was mostly empty, save for a teacher or two, and the cleaning crew that came every night. He peered around, not wanting to be caught, and haphazardly stuck the note on Cyrus’ locker, ducking out of sight as quick as he could.

“I’m telling you, my answer was right,” Cyrus huffed, clutching his biology textbook to his chest, “she just didn’t want to go back and check because she didn’t want to admit that I was right,”

TJ chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine Ms. Wingood being that petty,” he replied, as the two of them stopped by Cyrus’ locker for him to drop off his stuff. Sure enough, there was a small scrap of notebook paper, folded in the shape of a heart on his locker.

“Must be the wrong locker,” Cyrus mumbled, ripping it off and opening it up to read it.

I think you’re one of the most beautiful people in the world, Cyrus.

Cyrus stared, dumbfounded. That was his name on the note. His name. This wasn’t a mistake. “What the. . .?” he trailed softly, running his fingers delicately along the writing.

“Someone’s clearly smitten with you,” TJ teased, trying to contain his amusement.

“Or it’s just some dumbass prank,” Cyrus corrected, exchanging his biology book for his english ones, and dropping them into his bag, “you’re driving me home, right?”

TJ nodded, starting towards the parking lot. “Just like I said I would, Underdog,” he commented, unlocking his car with the click of a button.

“I’ve got to tell Buffy about this,” he started, snapping a picture and quickly texting it to her.

And if TJ nearly hit a bush on the way out because he was too busy staring at Cyrus, nobody made a comment.

Thursday February 2

TJ had never been at school this early; the birds were hardly chirping, and most of the lights inside were off, or were just starting to warm up. He pushed through the entrance, dropping off his books at his own locker, when someone came up behind him.

“So what do you need me to do again?” the boy asked, looking up to TJ with tired eyes. Darren, one of the members of the basketball team, agreed to help TJ out with his ‘challenge’, but he didn’t imagine getting up this early.

“When you see Cyrus, give him these and tell him that his secret admirer made them for him,” TJ insisted, shoving a box of cookies towards the other boy, his eyes darting around the hallway for a certain boy.

“Here he comes,” he whispered, pushing Darren out of the way and dashing into the nearest classroom. Tentatively, he peered out of the window, trying to see what was going on without giving away his location.

“Cyrus, right?” Darren greeted, approaching the other boy, “these are for you. Your, uh, secret admirer told me to give them to you,”

Cyrus’ face scrunched up, carefully taking the box. He looked around at the other students; a few of them were watching him with a concentration that could only be described as endearingly creepy. “Who’s behind this? Are they recording this? Is this a prank?”

Dareen shrugged, tapping the box lightly. “Don’t shoot the messenger, dude. I was just told to give this to you this morning,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and pivoting away. Cyrus opened his locker, setting the box down lightly.

“Hey, Underdog!”

Cyrus whipped around, smiling tentatively when he saw TJ. “You will not believe what happened to me this morning,” he gushed, pulling out the box of cookies from inside his locker.

I have some idea. “What’s inside?” TJ asked, trying his best to conceal his smile.

“I’m not sure let me just,” he started, peeling back the sticker and opening up the box. Inside were around two dozen heart-shaped cookies, decorated with pink and red royal icing, “oh my gosh,”

TJ peered over his shoulder, biting back a smile. “Secret admirer?” he asked.

Cyrus nodded. “That’s what Darren said. It’s nice, I just-I really hope this isn’t some stupid prank,” he muttered, taking a cookie and handing one to TJ, “want one?”

TJ took it gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll see you after practice,”

As if on cue, Buffy ran up to Cyrus, poking his shoulder. “Did I just see TJ giving you a box of cookies that were heart shaped?”

Cyrus scowled, already halfway through a cookie; they were so good. “And now you don’t get one for being nosy,” he insisted, “no Darren gave me these. From my secret admirer,”

Buffy raised her brows, snatching the box and taking one for herself and one for Andi. “They went through all this work for you? That’s pretty sweet,”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Don’t make this a big deal,” he mumbled, walking off to class, cookies in hand.

Friday February 3

He was almost there; he could see Cyrus’ locker. Unfortunately, he could also see a certain pixie-haired girl standing near it. This couldn’t possibly go well. He tried to act casual as if he was walking in this direction for a good reason.

“Your locker is on the other side of the hallway,” she pointed out, “this is Cyrus’,”

Crap. “I know, I was just. . .getting help from a teacher,” he lied, walking into the nearest classroom and shutting the door. So much for that plan, he supposed. Luckily the room was empty, and he didn’t have to explain his actions.

“Hey, Cyrus!” Andi called, “ready for French?”

“Oui, oui, mon amie,” he puffed out, drawing out his French accent tremendously, “on y va,”

As soon as TJ saw that Cyrus and Andi were gone, he popped out of the classroom. Pulling out his phone, he pretended to look at it and stretch up, slapping another note on the boy’s locker. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least his anonymity was still in tact.

While he was doing homework later that day, TJ got a call from Cyrus. Putting it on speaker, he continued to try and do his work.

“Hey, Cy, what’s-”

“A poem, TJ!” he squealed, and TJ could practically hear his grin on the other side of the line.

“What are you talking about?”

“On my locker, there was a poem! Let me grab it so I can read it,” he said, and TJ heard the sound of papers shuffling on the other side of the line. He smiled to himself, and could feel a blush rising within him.

“Okay, here we go,” he started, clearing his throat, “Cyrus, you are the moon and the stars, the sun and every brilliant ray of light. With a smile so warm and inviting that it’s hard to picture any other expression on your face. You are the wildflower in a field of grass, the warm patch of grass on a cloudy day, and the gentle breeze on a summer’s day,”

TJ cringed internally; he didn’t like having his poetry read aloud, but he couldn’t really tell Cyrus this. He just listened to him, paying close attention to his inflection.

“Can you believe? That’s, like, the sweetest thing anyone has ever said about me!” he gushed, folding it back up, “do you have any idea who this person might be?”

TJ swallowed; he hated lying to Cyrus. “Not a clue,”

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to your work. See you tomorrow!” he hung up, and TJ shut his phone off. He couldn’t concentrate on his homework for the rest of the night.

Saturday February 4

TJ’s chest ached from running, his feet stinging. He could see the small, blue house close ahead, so he kept going, paper in hand. He knew Cyrus wouldn’t be home right now; he had dance rehearsal, which he hadn’t failed to point out in the daily. How dare they deprive him of his Saturday, he’d whined.

Hopping up the stairs, he taped the small piece of paper on the door, and scurried away. He felt a certain lightness to his step, smiling when he thought of the smile on Cyrus’ face.

Cyrus wobbled out of his dance class, feeling different. Luckily, Buffy was there to help him walk home. “How was class?”

He groaned, shooting her a look as he grabbed onto her arm. “I have a newfound respect for ballerinas,” he muttered, wincing with each step.

“Well, look on the bright side,” she offered, “at least when you go to the dance, you’ll be the best one on the floor,”

He snorted, rounding the corner. “Yeah, you say that as if I’m going to actually go to the dance,” he pointed out, shaking his head, “I’d just end up going alone,”

“Not alone,” she said softly, “you can go with me and Andi, like we always do,”

“You mean I tag along with you guys until Amber and Marty show up,” he corrected, sighing in relief when he saw his house in the distance.

Buffy hesitated, gnawing at her lip. “Well. . .what about your secret admirer?”

Cyrus shook his head. “That’s probably just a joke,” he shrugged it off, “and even if it wasn’t, I doubt they’d reveal themselves,”

Buffy offered a sympathetic smile, turning into his driveway. “I think the mail came,” she pointed to a small piece of paper, fluttering on the door. As they got closer, Cyrus realized that it wasn’t a piece of mail; no stamps, no address, no envelope, nothing. Peeling it off the door, he unfolded it and read it.

Valentine’s Day Dance. You and me?

It took everything in Buffy to not say ‘I told you so’, so instead she shook her friend lightly. “See? Look!”

Cyrus fought a smile off of his face, folding it back up and placing it into his pocket. “Whatever,” he mumbled, trying to keep his cool, but missing the mark by a long shot, “I’ll see you later,”

That night, while he was trying to finish some math problems, TJ got a text from Cyrus. It was a picture of the note on his door, followed by a text of random letters mashed together.

[scary captain: oooh? someone’s smitten for youuuu]

[underdog <33: i can’t even it’s so cute !! someone actually wants to go to the dance with me??]

[scary captain: what can i say, you’re quite the catch]

[underdog <33: someone sure seems to think so]

Sunday February 5

TJ sat around most of the day, not sure of what to do. He didn’t really feel like running to Cyrus’ house and placing another note on his door. Plus, he knew Cyrus was going to be home for probably the entire day, so that plan went out the window. He peeks outside through the curtains, and smiles upon seeing the flowers. It may be February, but at least some wildlife was alive. Suddenly, he has an idea, so he texts in the groupchat.

to: operation muffin

[scary captain: find as many flower petals as you can. meet me tmrw in front of my locker]

Monday February 6

“C’mon, I don’t want him to see us,” TJ groaned, brisk walking towards his locker. His friends came up to him and the box that he held, and they dumped all their petals in there. Pink, red, white, yellow, and every color in between spilled into the box. It looked like a rainbow threw up; how befitting.

They scattered, and feeling a bit more confident, he hurried towards Cyrus’ locker. All that confidence evaporated when he saw the lock. Crap. He didn’t know the code.

Luckily, Andi seemed to be passing by; maybe she would know? “Hey, Andi,” he called out, holding the box tight to his chest. Because if he dropped it, it would all be over.

“TJ, hi,” she greeted, a small smile on her face.

“Do you, uh, know Cyrus’ lock combination?” he asked, tapping his feet in his shoe. Andi’s happy expression morphed into one of confusion, knitting her brows together.

“Why?” she asked, crossing her arms, almost as a means of defense.

“Oh, uh. . .he, um, he stole one of my hoodies,” he lied, forcing a small smile, “yeah, and I. . .need it back,”

She looked him over once, twice. She was probably sure that he was lying, but she didn’t press it. She merely shrugged, tugging on her backpack straps. “Okay, um, it’s 2, then, 28, then 19,” she supplied, giving him one more look of confusion before walking off.

Sighing in relief, he turned the lock, using the numbers that Andi gave him, and sure enough, it opened. He peered around; not too many people were in the vicinity, and the ones that were around didn’t look like they were paying attention. Hurriedly, he dumped the petals in and slammed the locker shut, locking it.

“Okay, done,” he mumbled under his breath. He wanted to wait around for Cyrus and see his reaction, but he needed to meet up with his math teacher and touch base about the upcoming quiz. Oh well, Cyrus would probably tell him about it later.

Cyrus walked out of his biology class, tears glossing over his eyes. That was the worst test he’d ever taken; it might as well have been written in Chinese, he would have understood it all the same.

“Hey, Cyrus!”

A familiar figure came up behind him, slinging his arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. “How was class?”

Cyrus shook his head, looking up a little. He felt a little guilty for making TJ’s smile go away, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. “That was the hardest test I’ve ever taken. Failed it for sure,” he groaned, crossing his arms.

TJ frowned, pulling him in a little closer. “I’m sure you didn’t fail. You always say that, and then you do fine,” he noted.

Cyrus sighed. “Whatever, it’s over, I guess. History is next, can this day get any worse?” he grumbled, heading towards his locker. TJ wondered if Cyrus had seen what was inside.

He watched as Cyrus carefully turned his lock, like it was clockwork. The moment he tugged the locker open, all the petals spilled out, like a waterfall. A few of them spent considerable time in the air, before floating down and settling on the floor.

“What the-” Cyrus started, reaching into his locker and pulling out a large handful of petals, “do you think it’s from. . .?”

“Your secret admirer?” TJ supplied, a bit too quickly, “probably. I can’t imagine it being anyone else,” he added, squatting down to help Cyrus pick up the petals.

“I’m taking these home to press them in books,” Cyrus decided, a soft smile returning to his face.

“Feeling a little better?” TJ asked, handing him the rest of the petals.

Cyrus nodded, scooping all of the loose petals into a stray bag that he had floating around in his locker. “Yeah, thanks,” he smiled, “for, helping me pick these up, I mean,”

“Don’t mention it,”

Tuesday February 7

“And I keep getting all these little things, like in my locker and I just, I’m going to burst from happiness!”

Jonah smiled. “I’m really happy for you,” he noted, patting his shoulder, “whoever this is, they’re really cool for doing all these things,”

“Yeah, they are,” he mumbled, dreamily, leaning against the locker. Curse him for thinking of a certain blonde haired boy.

“Do you have any idea of who it might be?” Jonah asked, opening his locker and exchanging the books for his next class.

Cyrus shook his head. “I have an idea of who I want it to be,” he admitted, “but it would be stupid,”

Jonah smirked, shutting his locker with a gentle click. “TJ, right?”

Cyrus nearly fell, the ground feeling like it was crumbling underneath him. “What?” he squeaked, looking around.

Jonah chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, man. You think I can’t hear all the things you’re constantly mumbling under your breath about him? Or the way you look at him?”

Cyrus smacked his forehead. “Ah, silly,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he smiled, and Cyrus felt infinitely better.

Unfortunately, TJ did not. He saw a part of their exchange from afar, and all their laughter made him want to turn around and run the other direction. But that would be childish and silly. Two things TJ Kippen was most definitely not.

“Hey guys,” he says, with all the enthusiasm that he can muster. It’s lame, but it’s an attempt.

“Oh, hey TJ,” Jonah greets with a nod, “we were just talking about you,”

Cyrus elbows his side, feeling his cheeks heat up. He shot Jonah a look that read ‘I’ll kill you’, but before he could cause too much damage, there was more speaking.

“Really?” TJ questioned, and it almost looked like he was about to smile.

Jonah rubbed his arm, getting the message. “We, uh. . yeah, we were. . .talking about the upcoming basketball game,” he lied, with a bright grin on his face.

“Oh, okay,” he replied, glancing at Cyrus, “I’ll catch you later,” he says with a wave, walking off. Once he’s out of earshot, Cyrus gives Jonah a swift slap on his arm.

“Are you kidding me? Could you be any worse at this,” he groans, putting his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he didn’t notice,” Jonah supplied, walking off to his next class.

“Aaron, hey!” TJ whispers, kicking the desk beside him to get his attention, “can you give this to Cyrus when you see him?” He handed him a piece of paper, that had been folded up, and on the outside there was a small heart.

Aaron nodded, slipping it into his pocket for later.

It hardly felt like a Tuesday, according to Cyrus. The week had just started, and he was already looking forward to the weekend. Each class seemed to drag on and on. What was worse, in Cyrus’ opinion, was that whoever was this secret admirer of his didn’t give him anything today. He tried not to feel bad about it. Besides, it was probably just some joke anyways. Why was he so hung up on it?

“Uh, Cyrus, right?” someone called out, stumbling forward to try and get his attention.

“Yeah that’s me. . .Aaron, right?”

The boy nodded, fumbling with a piece of paper. “This is from T-” he bit his lip, shaking his head, “from, uh, from your secret admirer,” he corrected, handing him the piece of paper. Cyrus took it carefully, trying to suppress the building excitement that was blooming in his chest. Unfolding it, he found that it was a carefully sketched picture of him, concentrating on something. It was done in pencil, probably something done in a class, but it was beautiful.

“This is incredible,” he gawked, not even bothering to look up, “thanks for giving me this,”

“Oh, uh, I’m not. . .I’m not your secret admirer,” he flushed, rocking back on his heels.

Finally Cyrus looked up, folding the drawing again. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to imply that,” he laughed dryly, “I mean thanks for being the messenger,” he corrected, “I’ll see you around,”

Wednesday February 8

There’s less than a week until Valentine’s Day, and TJ feels like he’s going to explode. He’s kept this secret for so long and he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it for another week. Six days, actually.

He walked into school with flowers in his hand; forget-me-nots, along with a small note. Cyrus’ favorite. He always liked the name, because he talked about how he didn’t like being forgotten. And TJ never forgot that.

Unfortunately, neither did Buffy. When she spotted him, she made a beeline towards him, a determined look on her face.

“Flowers? You shouldn’t have,” she cooed, batting her lashes.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “As if, Driscoll,”

She shook her head. “Who are those actually for?”

TJ tried to brush it off; he wasn’t going to let Buffy Driscoll of all people get under his skin. “No one. They’re mine. Someone got them for me,”

She hummed, unconvinced, but surprisingly, she didn’t press any further. She gave him another look before walking away. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he started towards Cyrus’ locker, only to see him starting to walk in that same direction. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen TJ. In a moment of panic, he chucked the flowers towards the base of Cyrus’ locker and ducked into the nearest classroom.

“Breathe, TJ,” he told himself, placing a hand over his heart. He waited a few beats before peeking his head out of the room. And sure enough, Cyrus had the flowers in his hand. Casually, TJ waltzed out of the classroom and towards him.

“Wow, more gifts,” he chuckled, leaning against the lockers.

“And they’re my favorite flowers!” he beamed, opening his locker and neatly placing them in there, “they must have a spy on the inside to get this information,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later,”

“Later,”

Thursday February 9

“But you don’t get it, they’re my favorite flowers!” Cyrus cooed, walking side by side with Andi.

“I know that. You tell me all the time,” she pointed out, shaking her head.

He sighed, tugging on the straps of his backpack. With each day, he was getting more and more impatient with this secret admirer of his. He figured he’d find out who he was eventually, but he also knew he couldn’t wait much longer.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Andi muttered under her breath, plucking a note off of Cyrus’ locker and opening it up, “it says ‘I fall harder for you each day. Each day it gets a little harder to keep this a secret. But I promise you’ll know who I am by Valentine’s Day’”

Cyrus grabbed the note out of her hand, feeling mildly violated. “I did not approve you to read this,” he noted, but he was smiling, “and oh my gosh, that’s quite possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he murmured, “hey, you have history with TJ, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just,” he paused, “wondering if-”

“You wanted me to analyze his handwriting and compare it to the one on the note,” she deadpanned, offering a sympathetic smile.

He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She hit the nail on the head.

“You want it to be TJ,” she said softer, placing her hand on his arm.

Cyrus nodded, almost sadly. He wanted it to be TJ so badly, and a small flutter of hope existed, but he knew that deep down, it wouldn’t happen. Because he was Cyrus Goodman, and TJ was. . .TJ.

Friday February 10

Cyrus hadn’t seen TJ all morning, which usually he wasn’t too bummed about, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to show him the drawing he’d received. He’d pinned it up in his locker, holding it up with a few magnets to support it. It was beautiful.

“Cyrus, c’mon, we’re going to be late for class,” Buffy drawled, physically having to drag him away from where he was standing.

“But I didn’t get anything this morning, and I didn’t see TJ,” he whined, trudging along down the hallway.

Buffy shook her head, trying to piece two and two together. It made sense in retrospect; the flowers, the handwriting seemed pretty similar, and TJ wasn’t a bad artist. She smiled to herself. “I’m sure things will all fit into place,” she said, pushing him into the classroom.

By the end of the day, TJ had finally found himself a spare moment to rush by Cyrus’ locker. It was a bit of a messy job, but it was done. He didn’t want Cyrus to think that he’d forgotten about him.

“. . .and I’m telling you, it wasn’t the right answer,” Cyrus’ voice floated down the hallway, so TJ pretended to check his phone casually, staring at a black screen.

“TJ, hey! I haven’t seen you all day,” Cyrus beamed, bouncing right up to him.

He pocketed his phone immediately, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, so I missed the first two periods,”

Cyrus nodded, turning to face his locker. He swore he turned a shade of red one could only describe as unnatural. There on his locker was a cut out kiss, with a little thing of lip balm, with a small note that read “Pucker Up”.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled under his breath, quickly taking it down, “this is the flirtiest by far,”

“Something wrong with that?” he asked. He tried to make it sound casual, but it sounded worried and almost strained.

Cyrus giggles, placing the note in his locker and the lip balm in his pocket. “No, I just. . .wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, “I mean, I didn’t think anyone would want to kiss me of all people,”

“Are you insane? Who wouldn’t want to kiss you?” TJ blurted out, freezing up a little. He really just said whatever came to mind, didn’t he? “I mean, uh, you shouldn’t. . .shouldn’t say things like that about yourself,”

“Right,” Cyrus mumbled, the deep shade of red never fading from his face, “. . .any fun plans for the weekend?” he tried, filling the silence as they walked towards the exit.

“Nothing much, just. . .waiting for this Valentine’s Day dance,” he muttered.

“Oh, are you asking someone?” he asked nervously, toying with the hem of his shirt.

“. . .maybe,” he said with a smirk, carding a hand through his hair, “maybe, maybe not,”

“I hate when you say that, you know,” Cyrus chuckled, rounding the corner towards his house.

“I know,”

Saturday February 11

TJ wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t have plans. If Cyrus hadn’t have texted him asking if it was alright if he came over, he would be in his room staring at the wall.

“So,” TJ started, pausing the game of Mario Kart that they were currently on, “you ready for the dance?”

Cyrus shook his head like his life depended on it. “God, no,” he chuckled, leaning back against the couch cushions, “I’m just. . .nervous,” he admitted, “I mean, what if my secret admirer is a girl?”

TJ breathed out a laugh. “No offense, Cy, but it’s not exactly a secret to the school that you’re gay,” he pointed out.

“I know, I know,” he hesitated, fumbling with the controller, “but still, I just. . .I don’t know, I can’t help but feel like it’s some joke. Like someone has been doing this just to get a kick out of me,”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” TJ assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “plus, whoever he is, he’s really lucky,”

Cyrus tried to respond, but nothing came out. Because dammit, TJ Kippen was really beautiful up closer; the way his green eyes shined, all his little freckles that splayed across his face, the gentle smile that made all his worries melt away.

“I, uh, yeah. . .yeah,” he stammered out. It was a lame excuse of a response, but it was a string of words.

Sunday February 12

TJ tugged on his hoodie, pulling down the hood as far as it would go. It was a chilly Sunday, and he wished it wasn’t him doing this. He’d tried to ask one of his basketball teammates if they could, but apparently they all had other things to do. Either that or they were tired of being TJ’s messengers and listening to him gush about Cyrus.

Either way, that’s how TJ found himself walking to Cyrus’ house that day, note in hand and everything. It was basically deserted that morning, considering people were probably still at church, which he was grateful for. He really didn’t need someone catching him this late in the game.

“TJ?”

He froze, taking a step away from the door and swiftly turning around, making sure to keep his head low. Sure enough, he saw a familiar pair of sneakers and if he was being careless, he could see a head of curls.

“Buffy? What are you doing here?” he asked, scowling.

“Cyrus and I are supposed to hang out today, what are you doing here?” she challenged, a small smirk on her face, “taping a note to his door,” she tacked on.

He grumbled, the wind pushing back his hood a little. “Nothing,” he lied, “I’m, uh, I’m doing this for. . .someone,”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “I can read you like a book, TJ. You can’t lie to me. Well, you can but I’ll know,”

He groaned, crossing his arms. “What do you want?”

“I just wanna know,” she said simply, waiting a beat.

“. . .fine. It’s me, okay?” he gave in, defeated, “you can’t. . .you can’t tell him, okay?”

She clapped her hands together, walking up and plucking the note off of the door. “I won’t,” she promised, opening the door and stepping inside of the house. TJ shook his head. So much for secrecy.

“Cyrus!” Buffy called, pounding up the stairs with manic energy, “I have something for you!”

Cyrus was lying on his bed on his stomach, staring at the TV in front of him and watching whatever show was on the Food Network. “Unless it’s Alton Brown’s pie, I don’t want it,” he mumbled, holding onto the pillow.

“Oh,” she shrugged, “so I guess you don’t want this note from your secret admirer,” she sighed dramatically, holding it out.

He snapped out of his haze, sitting upright and snatching the note from her hand. He unfolded it, and it was a small doodle of a heart, with a small message inside that read ‘I hope you’re not disappointed when it’s me’.

Cyrus smiled, clutching it to his chest and flopping back down. “Do you know who it is?”

Buffy hesitated; she did promise TJ that she wouldn’t say anything about him. “I don’t not know who it is?”

He groaned, frowning. “Buffy, please, I’m dying here!”

“Alright, alright, calm down there, Shakespeare. You’ll find out in two days. You can wait till then,”

“I suppose,”

Monday February 13

How was it was it was already the day before Valentine’s Day? TJ felt like just yesterday it was the end of January, and now he was walking in with one of the last gifts. He handed it off to Blake, the alternate shooting guard for the team. TJ saw Cyrus at his locker, and instantly his day was better. Unfortunately, Buffy and Andi were off to the side making goo-goo eyes at him.

“What is the matter with you two?” he grumbled, approaching them.

“Aw, Kippen’s so smitten for Cyrus,” Buffy cooed, and Andi tried to swallow her laughter, “oh yeah, also I told Andi,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose; pick your battles, TJ. “Can’t keep a lid on it can you,” he muttered, shaking his head, “look just, keep it under wraps for one more day. Please,”

They both mimed zipping their lips and hurried along, bursting out in laughter as soon as they were out of sight of the captain. It didn’t take too long for a certain voice to travel down the hallway.

“TJ, you have to see this!” Cyrus squeaked, pushing the present into his hand, “this is the best one yet, look!” He started pulling out strips of paper, with some of his favorite quotes written down on them.

The things that make you strange are the things that make you powerful -- Ben Platt

You matter to me, simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody -- Waitress

Nothing is a beautiful as you, but these quotes can try -- Your Secret Admirer

“Oh my god,” Cyrus cooed, feeling his cheeks heat up, “this is the best gift ever,” he decided.

“Oh, uh, actually,” TJ mumbled, pulling something out of your bag, “your, uh, secret admirer told me to give you this,” he said, pushing a small trinket into Cyrus’ hand. It was a ceramic dinosaur that TJ had made in pottery class, with the help of the teacher and a photo reference. It was far from perfect, but it was an attempt.

Cyrus swore he was going to cry. “I-I love this,” he whispered, willing himself not to cry, “it’s. . .it’s so beautiful,”

TJ smiled, feeling a little prouder of his work. “Someone really cares about you,”

Cyrus nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah. . .they do,”

Tuesday February 14

The dreaded, or long awaited, day had arrived. Depends how you look at it. TJ had changed into seven different outfits within the span of ten minutes, and he ended up going with the first one anyways; a pink polo and nice jeans. He got up so early that morning, for fear of being late, that it was still dark outside when he was ready. Trying not to focus on that, he took the opportunity walking to school to try and rehearse what he was going to say, because he knew that he was going to fumble over his words.

On the way, he stopped by a flower shot to pick out a small bouquet of daffodils before continuing on his way. It was a relatively warm day for February, and TJ was grateful for that, considering he hadn’t worn a jacket.

When he arrived at school, he waited around his locker for a while, pacing back and forth so many times a teacher approached him to ask if he was alright. The hallways were littered with Valentine’s Day decorations and posters for the dance. He sighed; how was he supposed to tell him? No, this was going to be okay.

“TJ, hey!”

The moment he saw Cyrus, everything he’d rehearsed this morning went out the window. He barely even remembered where he was or what his name was. It was like he was transported to an alternate universe.

“Oh, uh, hi,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. Daffodils. Cyrus. Daffodils for Cyrus. Right. “These, uh, these are for you,” he added, pushing them into his hands, “from your secret admirer,”

Cyrus’ heart skipped a beat, he swore, and he all but stopped breathing. Was it. . .could it be? Was this actually happening?

“I’m on delivery duty,” he lied quickly, trying to cover his tracks for a little while longer. Yeah, this was going to be a lot harder than he previously thought.

Cyrus deflated; of course it wasn’t TJ. He was just making it out to be like that. “Oh,” he mumbled, dejected, fumbling with the flowers. At least they looked nice. “Thanks,”

TJ felt a pang of guilt rush through him. He couldn’t keep lying to himself and to Cyrus, it wasn’t fair. “Actually wait,” he hurried, “I. . .need to tell you something,”

Cyrus nodded, looking at him sincerely. “Go on,”

And of all the ways he thought he would feel at this moment, numb was not one of those options. All the anxiety and the fear and the excitement and adrenaline had all melted into nothingness, and left him feeling completely numb.

“It’s me,” he said quietly, shutting his eyes and bracing himself for rejection, “I’m your. . .secret admirer,”

Cyrus was speechless for a moment, before he broke out into a huge grin and started giggling. “Are you serious?” he breathed out, putting a hand on his forehead, “oh my god, I never would have thought,”

TJ opened his eyes slowly; even if he was facing rejection, it was nice to hear Cyrus laughing. “Are you. . .disappointed it’s me?”

Cyrus literally jaw-dropped at that. “Are you kidding? I’ve never been so happy in my life to hear something!”

Now it was TJ’s turn to be speechless. Did he hear that right? “Y-You are?”

Cyrus nodded, placing the flowers in his locker. “You’re seriously asking me that? I’ve had a crush on you since, like, the seventh grade,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly.

TJ smiled so wide his face hurt, but he didn’t care. “So. . .does this mean you’ll go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes,” Cyrus squealed, wrapping his arms around TJ.

Arriving at the dance was pure chaos. Kids were running down the ramp towards the gym, letting out squeals of delight. Cyrus had arrived with Andi and Buffy, but they had already made their way down the gym after they took pictures. Amber and Marty were waiting down there, so they said a quick goodbye to him and left him alone.

He walked around a little bit, taking note of the posters on the walls for this dance. Andi and the rest of the art club had really gone all out to make sure they were perfect. All the glitter really stood out, and the different styles of hearts and-

“Cyrus?”

A voice cut through the general silence that surrounded him. When he turned around, he thought he could melt right then and there. TJ wore a maroon blazer with a light pink shirt, and a black bowtie. In short, he looked stunning.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, taking a few steps forward and placing a hand on his arm, “you look. . .incredible,”

TJ swallowed, biting his lip. “Right back at you,” he murmured, slipping his hand into Cyrus’, “this okay?”

Cyrus nods, dragging him down the ramp, his feet hammering into the ground with each step. The music was blaring, and the gym was nearly packed with kids, all moving around and waving their hands in the air. And if Buffy and Andi came up to TJ and barraged him with questions while Cyrus grabbed them drinks, he didn’t mention it to Cyrus.

Most of the night was spent bouncing around groups of people, but TJ and Cyrus were basically inseparable. They really liked having each other for company.

“Alright, ladies and gents, it’s time to take it real slow,” the DJ drawled, switching over to a softer song with a gentle beat, “so find that special someone,”

TJ looked almost nervous when he asked Cyrus to dance. It was silly, really, since he already said yes to going to the dance with him. As if Cyrus could sense his nerves, he took TJ by the hand and led him towards the center of the dance floor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching up and wrapping his arms around TJ’s neck.

“Hi,” he replied, a small smile making its way on his smile as he gingerly placed his hands on Cyrus’ waist, “is this okay?”

Cyrus nodded, inching forward a little and resting his head on TJ’s chest. He could almost hear Andi shrieking from the other side of the gym, but he assumed it was Amber who kept her in check.

“What are you thinking about?” TJ asked quietly, swaying gently from side to side.

Cyrus chuckled, picking his head up. “How much I want to kiss you,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks flush at that.

“Oh, really?” TJ replied cheekily, smirking down at him, “what’s stopping you?”

Cyrus shrugged, smiling softly. “I mean. . .do you want to kiss me?”

“So badly,” TJ murmured, smiling.

Without much thinking, Cyrus leaned up and planted a short kiss on his lips. They burned at the sudden sensation, and he worried that it wasn’t good. “Sorry,” he murmured, “that was. . .awful,”

TJ gave him a sympathetic smile, hooking a finger under his chin. “It’ll get better,”

Cyrus smiled, placing his hand on TJ’s. “Yeah. . .yeah, it will,”

#andi mack #andi mack gift exchange #tyrus #tyrus fic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #my fics

729 notes · View notes

ayafoxheart · 5 years

Text

The Close of Merchant Marine

An old RP Post that has never made it to Tumblr. This was my concluding RP post at the end of Verad's ( @dubiousduskwight ) Merchant Marine storyline. (Original Post)

Background: 'Ace', is a Limsan Information Broker and Underworld figure, who aided Aya during the Merchant, Marine plot. He's a childhood friend of Aya's during her brief time in Limsa Lominsa as a refugee. (here and here) This post is he and Aya discussing the events of the plot, and their conclusion.

"Ah, good, you made it."

Aya smiled to her old friend, 'Ace' as he's now known. She'd approached him from the right, his good side. The recognizable smile put her at ease.

For him, the hooded woman was still a welcome sight. Though, ostensibly, she obscured herself behind a cloak, she had a manner of revealing nearly everything else in her effort to avoid recognition. The short skirt, the thigh-high, sharply heeled boots that emphasized shapely legs. The open bodice that invited and tempted, rather than deflected attention. For those who knew her it was impossible to not recognize her - and maybe that was the point.

"Of course," she answered with a breathy softness. The Ishgardian accent upon her tongue still struck him with strangeness. When they had been friends in childhood it was an altogether different accent that graced her voice. It still took some getting used to.

"I couldn't disappoint an old friend could I?"

He let out an amused breath of his own, a smile curling upon the good half of his face despite his best efforts to restrain his emotion. "I didn't imagine you would."

She stepped up to the railing, stopping beside him before turning her eyes toward the inky blackness of the sea. Gentle swells lapped against the pillars of white stone that stood firm against the battering sea.

She casually dipped slender fingers fingers into her open bodice. Nowhere could provide surer keeping for a valuable gift: out she drew a small, thin rectangular tin several ilms across and in one smooth gesture offered it to him.

He furrowed his brow, his one good eye focused on the unexpected, though familiar item as she held it his way. "Go on." She added, a pleased smirk drawing across her carmined lips.

With a moment’s more hesitation he reached for the proffered gift, handling it for examination. It took a moment, but the smile of recognition that he offered was exactly what she'd hoped to see.

"Well, this is certainly a fine 'thank you', isn't it?" He grinned admiringly, clicking the tin open with his fingers. Deft fingers he drew out the paper-wrapped cylinder and quickly flicked it below his nostrils, breathing in deeply the fragrance of the smokeweed.

"The finest available. And your favorite - if I am right." She tossed her hair, and turned her brilliant grin out to sea as if to obscure her self-satisfaction.

"The Emperor himself has no finer smoke." Purred the Miqo'te with delight. With the cigarette squeezed between two fingers he offered the smoke back to Aya, "I'll share, you know."

She demurred with a gentle rise of her hand, "I have my own vices, mon ami. This one's for you."

He laughed, sliding the tin into a coat pocket before fishing out his auto-lighter. "Where'd you get ‘em?" He asked, with his lips pressed together.

"Escrow and Sons. I thought to save them for just such an occasion." Her grin, still directed out to the sea, grew ever brighter.

"Mighty fine, mighty fine." He replied with some admiration, before lighting the smoke and drawing in. "One hell of a 'thank you'," he repeated himself with immense gratification.

She chuckled lightly, keeping her enigmatic gaze upon the sea. She had a way of projecting contemplation - an expression that belied the shallow and careless persona she normally adopted.

He took in another breath, letting it out with a sigh of fulfillment.

"What do you think?" She finally asked in a soft tone.

"Think?" He eschewed, glancing her way before lowering himself down, elbows resting on the railing against which they stood. "Think about what?"

"All of this." She answered softly, he had known exactly what she meant, but her lack of specificity still irked him. "All that's happened these past few weeks. Everything since Leeds."

He nodded, idly flicking the ashes off the end of the precious cigarette -- the amber glow disappearing into the brine below. "Ah. That."

There was a pause while he enjoyed a few more draws upon the cigarette. No sound intruded upon them except the lulling sea and the muted preparations of a Maelstrom vessel docked nearby.

"Not much." He finally answered, lips wrapped around the smoke. "Not much at all, I think. The entire thing could have been scripted."

"Scripted?" She turned her gaze toward him. His good eye met hers as he offered an almost imperceptible nod. "Aye. You know pirates: short-sighted, only after their next share of loot, and hatin' to let anyone else tell ‘em what to do. They don’t like authority, never have. The Maelstrom's only pirates in better uniforms." He pulled the smoke away from his lips, turning his eyes out toward the readying ship.

"Those mutineers are no different than the rest, really. Don't like being told what to do, and filled with nostalgia for sea’s full of pillage."

"Nostalgia?" She asked with a hint of confusion - though she'd recognized the sentiment in her very first contact with the Gloam-bound privateers, she'd never heard it upon another's lips.

"Aye. They remember how they thought it was when they were young. Or have been told." He waved his free hand out toward the ocean, "Before all of this. When the sea seemed free, at least to them who didn't know better."

He grimaced, a bit, "O' course it was ne'er like that. They just don't know any better. Thought they could ha'e it all again. That they could find somewhere they'd never have to listen to anyone else’s orders again."

She nodded, "I suppose you're right... They'd rather face their problems their own way. On one hand, they want to escape those who feel they can tell them what to do, on the other hand they're running from responsibilities to anyone other than themselves. They're just looking for a place to call their own, to live life as they wish. But that's never as easy as it sounds."

He offered her a side-long glance, "O' course, you know, 'venturers are the same as pirates, right? They tend to chase a different booty, that's all. They also don't see the day after tomorrow, and can't stand it when someone tell's 'em what they've got to do."

She listened. She knew better than to disagree.

"So, you put all these sorts together. Pirates seekin' booty or freedom. Adventure's all the same. And a’ hungry Empire with its own to gain. And what do you get?" He gestured with his hand, "Lots o' mates tellin' each other how they got to do it. And naught of 'em listenin'. The strongest and cleverest win, at least temporarily. And 'ere we are again. Its the Limsan way, ever been so." He nodded with some satisfaction. "Like one of those show-plays I hear you did, aye?"

He turned that good eye back upon her as she listened, "So you don't think it could have gone any other way?"

"Oh, it could have gone many ways. But it'd only have been a difference o' degrees. Nothin's really changed. All a bunch of noise and ruckus makin' for no end. Maybe it'd have been worse to have a Garlean island out there, but it'd be a problem for the Maelstrom more than us."

"About the Maelstrom, what about all the trouble they had? The riots, the court martials and all? You don't think any of that's going to matter?" She asked, eyes fixed on the preparing ship.

"Well. The Maelstrom: they were just a bunch of pirates. They're still just a bunch of pirates. All that's different is they're smarter than they used to be: they decide things by figurin' out who'd win the fight, rather than actually killin' each other. Saves a lot of wasted effort and ships and makes the Admiral look like a genius."

He waved his hand, "And, yeah, tension with the Foreign Levy, right? But here's the thing: they never really did trust the Foreign Levy. Always a thorn in their side, just a necessary thorn. I don't think that's changin'. They're willin' to shame one of their own to keep the Levy happy, but that's about as far as they'll go."

"What about Captain Hellfist and the other Privateers?"

"I don't know, really. She's just another dead pirate. I mean, what do you want? You tell someone pirate's get into trouble, and the Syndicate's wicked, and they're already gonna know exactly what you mean. One kill’s the other and how's this been any different?" He let out a dark laugh, "Hell, if the Captain had known what was going to happen she'd probably have done the same damn thing. Pirates are proud like that. And as long as the Maelstrom can keep them in line, nothin' changes. So far, so good. Probably all the better for Limsa, in the end. We've got more than enough problems as is."

"How did you know about the Syndicate’s involvement?" She asked with surprise.

He laughed, "You don't give me much credit, do you? Not like its hard to figure out. Just think about the circumstance, its obvious whose interest it was in. That pirate boy S'imba had nothin' to gain by killin’ ‘er, really. And as we seen, he's no ally of the Maelstrom. If anythin' I wager he was on Hellfist's side. I'd have liked to seen the looks on his eyes when they accused 'im of killin' her!"

She focused on him with narrowed eyes. He'd peeled the onion with surprising deftness. She thought about delving further, but instead shifted the question again, "And what about Gloam?" she asked.

"What about it?" He repeated. "Its a pirate haven. There been dozens of them before. The Maelstrom put an end to most, turned 'em into bases for their own operations when they brought the pirates to heel. This one's just a place out of time. And it'll end jes' the same."

"Yeah? How's that?" She asked, unsure of exactly what he meant.

"They'll draw attention. Bringing in even more pirates who don't like bein' told what to do. But, in the end, there's only one way to settle things: the strongest get their way. They'll fight, with each other, with others. Power will shift one way then another. Finally, they'll piss someone off too much, be it Maelstrom or Garlemald, and they'll be snuffed out 'afore anyone even knows what's happenin'."

"You think they're doomed?" She asked; he felt a pang of sympathy in her blue-eyed gaze.

"What can I say? They don't have many options do they? Survive raidin' eastern independents? Even then the Empire will get tired of it eventually. Can't raid Eorzean vessels, can't raid Garlean without invitin' another expedition. The Empire, o'course, learns its lessons well. This time there won't be any question o' the result."

She nodded, letting out a breath, perhaps he was right. "Even if they don't, I wonder what we've really gained in Gloam..."

"Good question. Places like that aren't really as nice as they sound at first. They're only as nice as the strongest gun-arm lets them be. That's the way with pirates, always been. All those idealistic paeans you 'eard were just that. They can't survive in reality. They talk about 'freedom' as if they could find any such thing out there. Squeezed between the Maelstrom and the Empire, with no one but the biggest guns to decide what's right. That's no freedom, not really."

She sighed with sad admission, "I know you're right about that... " She'd never really liked pirates. She could respect many of their desires, their valor, and bravery. But at the end of the day, they were people who survived through pure violence. Violence against each other, and violence to prey upon those weaker than them. Its why she'd chosen not to live among them.

"The damned thing is that they've already forgotten the lessons Limsa Lominsa learned the hard way." He added with the flick of the diminishing cigarette, "The Maelstrom didn't come out of nowhere. Its an adaption to changing times. The old ways are dead for a reason, and there ain't no revivin' 'em. A bunch of besotted pirates can't fight against reality, can't fight and win, at least."

She sighed, hanging her head momentarily. "I know... I'd always wondered what their end game was. I was sure they'd never give up their Garlean protection, where can they go now? It is hopeless isn't it..."

He nodded. Its obvious she'd cared about the cause - or, perhaps, not so much the cause, as those who had fought for it. "That's just the damned thing isn't it. To 'ave any real sense of freedom, they'd have had to give it all up. Lose-lose. Better to die trying, which I guess is what ol' Slaeglac did in the end. Just went better than he'd expected." He bit his good lip for a moment while looking for a way to change her depressed tone, "Still, it was somethin' at least to beat a Garlean squadron. They'll be lickin' their wounds for a while."

"Of course..." She nodded very slightly, lowering her gaze. "The trouble is that it means the Empire won't underestimate the Maelstrom next time."

"O' course," he nodded in agreement. "That's truth, and I'm sure you know what it means." She nodded in agreement before he continued, "We've given away the element of surprise in exchange for respite, for a near-worthless little island. Not perhaps the best play for the Maelstrom"

"Its not worthless to those there, at least..." she countered, thinking of the Osric, Leanne, and others who'd rallied to the cause of those on the island. "And in the end, they did stand up to the Empire."

"Truth again. And in full honesty, it ain't exactly worthless, except when lookin' at it from the Admiral's perspective. Someone out there's makin' a pretty penny off it, no doubt. Its gonna be a growin' concern for some time. And whoever's makin' the pennies is a clever one, I'd wager. He's not puttin' many back into it."

He nodded to himself, "There's your real winner, if you were lookin' for one."

She just watched the sea. "No doubt..." she stated in a distant, soft voice, while her mind wandered to Edda and her father.

"O' course there are other winners. In Limsa, no one's goin' to remember a riot a week later. But, reputations 'ave a way of stickin'. And more than a few 'ave been made and lost 'ere. Slaeglac's name is near legend, can't say how long that will last, but that's a man who won't have to pay for his own rum for a while. Seems there are a few other Officers who've earned themselves promotion too. That Holkstymm, for example. Word is he's gonna found some new Maelstrom judicial branch, or somethin'. I don't know if I care for that, pirates is still pirates in the end."

"And, a few others have lost theirs, I doubt its necessary for me ta mention the names, but they're out there on the streets."

She knew just who he meant. Her thoughts wandered to Anstarra, Yheli, and others. For some it wasn't so much that they'd lose their standing with the Maelstrom, as the Maelstrom had lost its standing with them. Zanzan, Khunbish - and no doubt more who would never look upon their membership in the Levy quite the same way, if they did not resign it completely.

"Those are the sorts of things that stick with us - effect the future in ways no one can know yet. That'll wind up mattering more than Gloam, I'm sure."

She looked at him, curious, if unconvinced.

"And, o' course..." he turned to her, a direct gaze she couldn't help but return, "There are a couple of sailors alive who wouldn't have been otherwise. That's somethin', aye?"

A smile played over her lips, she could see the old friend she remembered - in there somewhere beneath that cynical crust of an exterior.

"It is..." she readily agreed, thankful to think of something more positive.

"Savin' those that didn't have to die. That's something to take home with you and put in your pipe for a good smoke." He turned back to the sea, nodding. "Maybe it'll mean even more someday. Depends what the lads do now, I wager."

"We can hope."

"Aye... if hope's worth having'." He seemed unconvinced, and paused for a moment as he enjoyed the quickly dwindling cigarette.

"That reminds me, there's also a certain Miqo'te privateer that made fool of himself several times over. He and that mate of his, 'Troublemaker', 'Problemsolver', whatever it is." He flicked his eyes toward her with a hint of accusation, as if he knew of her friendship with S'imba and Osric, and her time on the Sultana's Revenge.

She turned her eyes back toward him. "That's somethin' likely to stick for a while too. More bad, than good, for him I'd wager."

"Speakin' o' the 'Revenge'," he started, "I heard a strange rumor. The crew's sayin' they had some sort of blonde goddess aboard out at Gloam." He offered a brief glance her way, as he knocked the ash off his nearly finished smoke. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

She turned to him, lips slightly parted as she avoided a straight answer. He flicked the bud of his cigarette into the briny deep.

"That's what I thought." He stated with a laugh while pushing back from the railing. Turning to walk away he waved an empty hand back to her, "I'd stay far away from Gloam if I were you. There aren't enough real goddesses to go around, as is."

She sighed. That was that then...

#Aya #Aya Foxheart #Writing #rp #merchant marine #ffxiv #balmung

1 note · View note

yossarian359 · 6 years

Text

2001: A Gay Oddity

Red flooded Lena’s face, “Oh, h-hey Cap,” her plans to wave hello to her superior were foiled as she remembered that her right hand was stuck far down Widowmaker’s pants. “Oh, bugger me.”

An odyssey of oddities as our two favourite lesbians discover all that's crazy in the universe as they jump between infinite realities.

All things considering, it was a pretty average day in the life of Lena Oxton. Got up, had a shower, had a wank, made breakfast, joined the team for a boring old payload mission. And—ah yes—soaked through and through, on top of a construction site in a lightning storm; having a life and death fight with her frenemy with benefits.

Perfectly normal. At least for now.

The sky lit up in a brilliant dash of lightning, followed moments later by the crashing of thunder all arounder her. Tracer landed flat on her back on the edge of a steel beam, winded. She stared up to where she was just thrown off. A figure; purple, blue, and slender dropped down, heeled metal boots landing firm on the beam jutting out into oblivion. Finally, a grin flashed on her face as she spoke.

“Looks like it’s over, isn’t it?” Her sultry voice downing out the rain falling around them.

“Oh, save it, love,” said Tracer, “Can we please just skip to the snogging today?”

Widowmaker groaned, “Let me enjoy my victory, chérie.”

Tracer rolled her eyes, smiling, “Fine, fine. When you’re ready.” She motioned for her to continue.

Snapping back into character, Widowmaker chuckled, smirking evilly. “Oh, mon petit chou, I’ve won, you’ve lost, and now,” she stepped forward, slinging her sniper rifle to her back, “I get to claim my reward.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come and take me?” Tracer said through gritted her teeth.

“I would like nothing more,” Widowmaker hummed, “But first, I want to truly savour this moment having beaten you.” She swayed her hips as she leant forward, crossing her legs in what was most certainly a ballet pose. Lena had to consciously stop herself from rolling her eyes. I just had to go and fall in love with the queen of extra.

She continued, “You are the perfect fly wandering in my web. You know, ever since I was a little girl, I had a fear of spi—”

In the space of two blinks Tracer had reversed their positions and was straddling Widowmaker’s torso.

Widowmaker landed on her back with audible discomfort, “That’s hardly fair, chérie.” She grunted.

“First, that monologue was going somewhere cringy, love, and second,” Tracer leaned in, dangerously close to Widowmaker’s lips, “there are much better things you could be doing with your pretty mouth.”

“So impatient, mon coeur, ” her smile turned coy, “Is that all I am, just a pretty mouth?”

Tracer responded by crashing their lips together in a kiss that very quickly grew heated. “You’re too bloody sexy. It shouldn’t be legal,” she said when she pulled back.

Widowmaker laughed enjoying how easily flushed Tracer became. She also enjoyed the way that her hands wasted little time unzipping her catsuit and sliding down to trace the curve of her stomach. Falling, lower, lower.

Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Merde, Lena!” she said with abrupt desperation.

“Bit early for you to be screaming my name, love,” said Lena, confused.

“Lena, what are you doing?!”

She froze at the new voice entering the scene. Seeing Widowmaker’s horrified expression, she turned to where her girlfriend was looking and saw Ana Amari standing with her mouth open, stunned.

Red flooded Lena’s face, “Oh, h-hey Cap,” her plans to wave hello to her superior were foiled as she remembered that her right hand was stuck far down Widowmaker’s pants. “Oh, bugger me.”

Thankfully, the universe decided to save them from embarrassment as they were promptly struck by lightning and the world went white.

---

Widowmaker was the first to realise something was wrong.

“Something is wrong,” she said.

“Yeah,” Lena said slowly, “You’re upside down love.”

She looked up to see Widowmaker, upside down standing on a ceiling even though there wasn’t a ceiling. “Lena… What am I standing on?” she said, then gravity kicked in and she fell on Lena who was sitting on the floor even though there wasn’t a floor.

The sky decided to materialise in the form of dark grey rain clouds. A series of depressed grey buildings leaped up from the ground, did an appalling dance in the air, and landed lamely to from a sprawling suburb of mediocrity. In the distance someone was shouting expletives at a dog while several big plumes of smoke spilled into the unhappy sky.

“Bugger!” Lena shouted, eyes wide in horror . “We’re in Scunthorpe !” She spat the word as if it were the most vile place on earth (it was). “Also, I think we were just struck by lightning which means my chronal accelerator has been temporarily overcharged.” She looked down to see that the light in the centre of her accelerator was changing colours at an almost seizure inducing speed.

It started raining very heavily. Lena wiped a smidge off and stuck her finger in her mouth. Mmm, jam. “What does that mean?” asked Widowmaker.

“What, the jam?”

“No, petit idiote! ” Widowmaker exclaimed, wiping the jam from her face, “What happened to your accelerator; what does that mean for us?”

“Oh, right. That. Yes, well…” Lena grimaced, because one of the factories in the distance had come alive and decided to sing the entirety of the H.M.S. Pinafore in the voice of Dame Judi Dench. “Means were sorta stuck in the slipstream, and cause it’s overcharged it means that we’re ping ponging between infinite realities.”

“Okay.” Widowmaker’s eyes went distant.

“Hey, cheer up love, Winston will get us back in a jiffy! He did it last time this happened. All we gotta do is wait for a bit.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at her. “You’ve been struck by lightning before? That’s impossible, even for you.”

“Not impossible,” Lena protested, “Just very, very improbable. Actually, it happened three times, the first time I fell into a power line.”

A smacking could be heard as Widowmaker brought her palm hard on her forehead. “Why am I not surprised.” Widowmaker then noticed something very odd about her girlfriend. “Lena…” She trailed off, swallowing thickly, “Why have you turned into a dog?”

“Wha-” she barked, and looked down to see four paws and a furry body. “Oh, for fuck sake!” she pouted. “Why does it always happen?”

Widowmaker resting-bitch-face finally broke as she laughed. “You’re so incredibly cute, ma chien.”

“Stop staring at me!” Lena whined, “It’s embarrassing.” A series of sad noises came from her snout. Widowmaker couldn’t resist taking her petite amie in her arms and stroking the back of her head between the ears till her hind leg started pounding in excitement.

“When I said I wanted to see you on a leash, chérie, this is not quite what I had in mind.” Widowmaker hummed.

“Shut up,” she panted, “Don’t you dare fucking stop that. Oh yes!”

Sadly, Lena’s fun was interrupted as the ground underneath them turned into a pit of multi-coloured balls.

Widowmaker was first to panic, shooting her grappling hook up into nothingness as she lost her footing in the endless ditch of balls. “Help!”

Lena on the other hand pranced quite easily out of the humiliating danger, enjoying the sight of the world's deadliest assassin struggle to find her footing in a four-foot ball-pit. “Lena, I’m drowning!”

“No, you’re not.” Lena woofed.

“Lena, could you help us resolve something?” a rather irritated voice croaked. It was Lucio, who was, quite unimaginatively, a frog in this universe.

“Sure thing Lucio, love the shirt by the way.” Lena barked and then followed the frog to the cafe in the middle of a shopping mall from 2022’s Estonia. They passed a purple iguana drinking a margarita (most likely Sombra) and stopped at a table where a rabbit the size of a minivan was waiting for them.

Lucio hopped up on the table and gestured to his much larger partner. “Watch this,” he clears his frog throat, “D.va, tell me again why you don’t love me.”

The bunny, who unimaginatively represents D.va in this universe, replied with a mouth full of Cheetos. “Because you’re crazy.”

“Why am I crazy?” he asked.

“Because you love me.”

“And why am I crazy for loving you.”

“Because I’m crazy.”

“So: you won’t love me because I’m crazy, I’m crazy because I love you, this makes me crazy because you’re crazy, therefore, you are crazy and think this.”

“Yup.”

Lucio turned to Lena who was now a fox. “You see the problem?”

The solitary gear turned slowly in her little fox head. “So, you won’t love him because you think he’s crazy.”

“Correct,” the rabbit replied between bites.

“And you think he’s crazy because he loves you,” Lena asked, pausing while waiting for the bunny to nod, “and that makes him crazy because you think you’re crazy, which means he’s loving someone crazy. But if he didn’t love you, that’d mean you’d love him because he would no longer be crazy and you would love him?”

“Yes,” D.Va replied, taking an excruciatingly long sip from a chocolate raspberry milkshake.

“But if he doesn’t love you,” Lena shouted, “Then that defeats the whole fucking point dunnit?, ‘Cause then you’d love him but he doesn’t love you!” Lena became so angry at this that she turned back into a human. “The fuck you on about, mate? You’re hurting my head.”

Widowmaker had finally caught up with the love of her life and greeted her by smacking the back of the head with her gauntlet.

“Ow!” Tracer yelped, “What the fuck was that for, gorgeous?”

“I will hurt your head so much more, you beautiful little shit!” Screamed Widowmaker who slammed Lena into a suffocatingly tight hug, “Do not leave me alone with balls ever again.”

When she withdrew, Lena saw coloured plastic balls stuck in Widowmaker’s hair, makeup smeared on her face, and her expression explaining how she just survived the apocalypse.

“Hey,” said Lena softly, “Don’t worry, love. Let’s get back home and I can ride your face, yeah? I know that always makes you feel better.”

Widowmaker hugged her again and made muffled happy content noises. The multiverse was kind this time and deposited them back in Lena’s London apartment, even going through the trouble to position them so that the smaller woman was straddling Widowmaker’s face.

“Ah,” Lena sighed, “Much better.”

“So, ma chérie,” Widowmaker brought her hands up to caress Lena’s hips, “You promised a little face-sitting adventure?”

Lena cursed herself for finding that statement far more seductive than it ever should have been. “You bet your pretty blue arse.”

The front door very suddenly came crashing down. “Oi!” came Lena’s voice from the otherside of the room, “The fuck you doin’ in my house?”

“Wha-?”

“You. Gay cunt. Off my bed.” Lena turned her head around to see Lena in the doorway. Only that she was dressed in wine red and black. The accelerator in her chest glowed an ominous dark orange which complimented the angry scowl on her face.

“Aren’t you me?” Lena asked offended, whilst removing her thighs from Widowmaker’s face. “That means you’re gay too, you edgelord wanker!”

As if on cue, the other Widowmaker, or Amélie in this case, walked in behind the angry small Lena and sat comfortably on a chair while crossing her legs. “She has you there, ma chérie.”

“Who are you?” asked Widowmaker to the woman who looked like her sitting on the chair like she owned the place.

“I’m you, but better,” she replied in a nonchalant manor. She wore a uniform reminiscent of the old overwatch, a blue hat that complimented her fair skin and dark hair.

“What are you doing here, lesser me? ” The edgelord Lena demanded.

“No idea,” said Lena indignantly, “Got struck by lightning and—”

“You got struck by lightning? Clumsy bitch.”

“Oi, you stupid lesbian hypocrite! Why are you here?”

“Hush, chéries,” Amélie soothed, “Let's not be antagonistic,” a playful smirk appeared on her face, “I have a feeling we can get up to all kinds of exciting fun, the four of us…”

“What are you saying?” said both Lenas in unison.

“I think,” started Widowmaker, still lying on the bed with a suggestive grin, “I’m beginning to like me.”

Another large crack in the sky interrupted their pleasantries as the clouds parted to reveal a large hand stretching out from the abyss. The laws of physics stretched and turned, paused, did a triple somersault and soliloquised a section from Othello before propelling the original Lena and Widowmaker upwards into the heavens.

They passed the thermosphere stupendously quickly before soaring out into a sea of stars.

Far above the moon, they saw Planet Earth was blue and there was nothing they could do.

Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles, I’m feeling very still. I thinks my spaceship knows which way to go.Tell my wife I love her very much, she kn—

“Lena, will you stop singing?” Widowmaker snatched the acoustic guitar from her hands, “We’re not even in a spaceship, and I’m not your wife!”

“Well, not yet.” she wiggled her eyebrows, earning her a glare from the Widowmaker. Lena rubbed the back of her head with a free hand as they passed Ceres in the asteroid belt, hurtling towards the orbit of Jupiter.

In the shadow of the gas giant they were abruptly stopped by an unknown entity.

The Galilean moons all halted in their orbit. Jupiter’s magnetic field fluctuated wildly, flinging away it’s smaller moons and rings clinging to the planet’s gravity well. The gas giant grew larger and larger before the eyes of the two women suspended in space.

Suddenly—with a dramatic crash of the orchestra playing Also Sprach Zarathustra somewhere offscreen—the mass amounts of hydrogen in its atmosphere lit up, ignited, and Jupiter became a star.

Light from the star refracted, bent, curved, and tried out on so many different shapes and sizes before settling on 600 trillion hertz, lluminating the hidden solar system inside Jupiter’s gravitational field, revealing the Galilean moons in all it’s breathtaking beauty. Widowmaker’s hand found Lena’s in the void of space as they silently watched the dance of celestial bodies, moving in time with the heavens. An aurora of light and colour bathed them as they floated in the sublime darkness of space.

The awe inspiring tranquility transcended reality when a massive shimmering veil of silver glass materialised and fell away like dust, to reveal a glittering entity walking on a sunbeam (Jupiter beam?)

Cosmic wind whisked around it, the centre of the universe seemed to shift and a sense of awe and humbleness flooded the two women witnessing the divine being revealing themselves before them.

The deity was a man with dark hair slightly slicked back, a rather kind welcoming face which was complemented by the presence of thick smart glasses.

“Hi,” he said, in a rather soothing voice with a hint of femininity, “I’m God, but, you may call me Jeff from the Overwatch Team.”

Lena and Widowmaker were warmed to his presence and offered their own greetings:

“Hiya.”

“Salut.”

“As you may know,” he continued, “I have a very important announcement to make regarding the future of Overwatch. There will be significant changes in the next patch that will be affecting you two in particular.”

“Wait,” Lena began, “If you’re God, then why did you reveal yourself to us?”

Jeff looked confused, “Sorry?”

“You’ve just proved you exist by turning that planet into a sun and by sayin’ hi, giving us irrefutable evidence of your existence. But, irrefutable evidence means you don’t need faith, but people need faith to believe in you. So by showing up, you’ve just proved you don’t exist! Also, if you’re all powerful and can do anything, can you create a stone too heavy for you to lift? Another thing: does the tree make a noise? Which ship is Theseus’? Is there a teapot goin’ round the sun?”

The look of confusion increased further. Thankfully though, a sharp elbow stopped Lena in her line of theological ramble. “Ouch! that hurt, love.” She whined.

“Thank you, Widowmaker,” Jeff said warmly.

“My apologies,” she chimed, “Please, you were saying?”

“Ah yes, my announcement...”

Widowmaker couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement, though she suppressed it in the face of her creator. What was the announcement regarding her and Lena? More plot, maybe a couple character interactions and flirtatious lines?

Or maybe even canonization! She dared to hope. The thought sent excited tingles through her body though she remained as tsundere as possible. Jeff could sense her excitement (he was God after all) and smiled.

“One thing is first though,” he warned. His eyes suddenly turned a gleaming red that was far too bright as his voice dropped into a thundurus bellow.

“ALL THESE WORLDS ARE YOURS - EXCEPT EUROPA

ATTEMPT NO LANDINGS THERE”

And as quickly as that happened, he returned to normal.

Widowmaker shared a quick look with her girlfriend, Lena looked just as confused as she was.

“Now, back to the update. I have a feeling you guys will be pretty excited about the next comic as—”

---

The anticipation that had been building up vanished into excruciating disappointment as just before Jeff was about to reveal the truth, they were both chucked out of the slipstream, materialising back into reality on the dank construction sight they started on.

It was probably another cop out event comic anyway.

“Ah Lena, there you—” Winston was stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Lena’s hand was still stuffed down the enemy's pants. “You’re in public,” he said, plainly putting his large paw to his face, “Just so you know.”

“Hmm,” Widowmaker murmured, “I have a feeling ma chérie enjoys it that way.”

Quite an ecstatic laugh that sounded more like a mating call indicated that Sombra was nearby. “You are a disaster, araña!” said Sombra as she appeared behind them. “A walking gay disaster.”

Widowmaker took that in stride, no point in denying it. “I preferred you as an iguana, ‘ombre,” she counted, to which Sombra’s only response was the slight furrowing of the brow in a silent ‘Que?’

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Soldier 76 yelled as he ascended the long stairs, out of breath.

Sombra touched up her nails with the nail filer she managed to conjure up. “I’m chillin’ out, el viejo, ” she said, sitting down on a beam and crossing her legs in a nonchalant manner. “You should too, before you give yourself a hernia.”

They weren’t spared from Soldier 76’s booming voice just yet as he caught sight of Lena and Widowmaker. “AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”

“Calm down, Jack.” Ana soothed as she was getting out her thermal flask to pour everyone a post-battle cup of tea.

Winston decided it would be a good time to relax and took a seat with a thud that shook the platform slightly. “I mean, everyone knew anyways.”

“Oh, you did?” Lena asked, finally removed her hand from her girlfriend’s trousers. “Coulda bloody told us! Instead of making us sneak around and all that.”

“Oh?” chimed Widowmaker, lowering her gaze in an attempt to be seductive. “I thought you said that being clandestined was exciting, mon coeur.”

A positively evil grin formed on Lena’s face, she leant to her lover’s ear and whispered something that caused the periwinkle lady to turn a dark purple blush. She withdrew after nibbling and earlobe; offering a small tease for later. Unfortunately, Lena’s cool was ruined as Widowmaker crashed their lips together, makes a flushed lewd mess of Lena in the process.

“Woah, love.” she breathed, “That’ll do.”

Soldier 76 shook his head. “You knew?” he turned his gravelly attention to Ana who shrugged her shoulders.

“I suspected.” A cheeky smirk grew on Ana’s face, “What, you don’t ship it? Isn’t that a bit hypocritical of you, Jack? Whatever would Gabriel say?”

Jack turned away, conceding this round and muttering a bunch of old man insults under his breath.

“Oh, man,” piqued Lucio as he arrived at the scene. “It happen again? Wait, were frog me and bunny D.Va stillhaving that argument?”

“Yup.” Answered Tracer.

“For the record,” D.Va added, “You are crazy.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” he replied, and D.Va stuck her tongue out as there was little use denying him.

Suddenly, Lena remembered something. “Winston, just out of interest: what’s on Europa?”

Her best friend’s eyes went wide at the mention of that moon’s name. “Lena, trust me, you don’t want to know…”

“Okay, guess I don’t.” she trailed off, and a nice gay tranquility—only disturbed by Jack’s old man noises—fell onto the group as they watched the sun rise.

---

Fin.

#WidowTracer #overwatch fanfic #Widowmaker #tracer #comedy #shitpost #crack #lmaowhathaveIdone #jeff from the overwatch team #2010: a space odyssey references

15 notes · View notes

babyyoumakemelesmiserable · 6 years

Note

heya! i ended up thinking about e and r slowdancing on the subway and wondered if you needed any fic ideas :) (i love your writing! and your blog!)

Thank you so much, I was running low on ideas but this inspiration hit me like a big wave :)

*The Busker*

Grantaire struggled to keep his beanie on his head as the wind of the train going passed threatened to steal his hat. He gripped it tightly, still facing the train, watching each blue carriage pass in a blur. Black curls flew in front of his view, blocking the light from the overhead bulbs. The squeal of the brakes pierced Grantaire’s ears as the train slowed to a stop.

He stepped back from the platform edge, back behind the yellow line, and leaned against a nearby concrete pillar. He tucked the stray curls behind his ears and watched the people cramped up inside the walls of the train. The doors slid open and crowds of people rushed out. Tall men in suits on the phone, mothers with screaming toddlers in tow, and Enjolras.

Enjolras’ curly, golden hair streamed behind him, his face marked with lines of anger. His face was flushed, eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes ablaze. His expression lightened when he spotted Grantaire eagerly waiting for him, but the fire was still lit behind his gaze. Enjolras said nothing as he enveloped Grantaire into a warm hug. His breath hitched as he felt Enjolras’ racing heart on his own chest.

People rushed up the stairs onto the streets of New York, too caught up in their own lives to notice the young lovers in an embrace. Grantaire never wanted to let go, but suddenly Enjolras was pulling away and holding his hands instead. Enjolras’ eyes were downcast, averted to the cracked pavement of the shitty subway. Grantaire ran a calloused thumb over Enjolras’ knuckles, trying to calm him.

“I was fired today.” The tenor voice echoed around the platform, the train having left the station moments ago. All that remained was the busker lightly playing guitar with a cap in front on him, and the weight in Grantaire’s stomach. Enjolras’ eyes never left the floor.

“What? Why? They’re losing a valuable asset, you were a brilliant journalist,” Grantaire stammered out, vague confusion and anger playing with his emotions.

“The boss wanted me to write an article how gun control doesn’t prevent shooting and suicides. I thought I was working for a progressive paper, not for one that wanted to keep society in the last century,” Enjolras explained, “I kicked up a fuss over it, because it’s something worth fighting about, some impressionable person may read it and spread the false word. False word that I created. When I refused the boss said I was only a hindrance on the company, and that I didn’t value the company’s true message. I was fired on the spot.”

“So you kneeled down and took it, Enjolras? That doesn’t sound like you,” Grantaire said, trying to reignite the spark in his eyes. Enjolras chuckled.

“He saw me out, watched me pack my belongings. I spat at his feet before walking out,” he replied. Grantaire choked on a laugh.

“That’s the man I fell in love with,” Grantaire said. He brought his hand up to Enjolras’ chin, lifting his head so their eyes met. His eyes were lifeless. Enjolras enjoyed his job, it was fairly simple work with a decent pay, so he had more time to focus on the ABC cause.

Grantaire dropped Enjolras’ hands. He pulled out his wallet and made his way to the busker still huddled against a nearby concrete pillar. He dropped a note in the busker’s cap, which caught his attention.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any slow songs, would you?” Grantaire asked softly. The man’s brown eyes bore into Grantaire, before he nodded his scruffy head, a greasy lock of hair falling in between his eyes. The man starts playing smooth rhythms and melodies on the steel strings, tapping the body of the guitar as a beat.

Grantaire gravitated back over to Enjolras, swaying in time to the music. He took Enjolras’ hands once more and wrapped them around his shoulders. Grantaire threaded his arms around Enjolras’ thin waist and began to pull Enjolras into the dance. The ¾ timing bounced around the graffitied walls of he subway. Grantaire lead the waltz, twisting and turning with precise movements.

Enjolras never took dancing lessons, but following Grantaire’s pace felt natural, like an instinct. Grantaire lead the duo around the empty platform, spinning and swirling and dipping the blonde man at every chance he got.

“How romantic, a waltz in a subway,” Enjolras speculated.

“It’s a creative idea, you can’t deny my genius,” Grantaire replied. The duo smiled at one another.

The busker sped up, causing Grantaire’s moves to become quicker. Grantaire never stepped a toe out of line, always keeping a steady rhythm and his breathing steady. Enjolras was a different story. He occasionally stepped on Grantaire’s foot, or went to turn in the other direction. He was puffing and panting, wondering how Grantaire had so much stamina. Enjolras’ heart was fluttering in his chest, beating at his ribcage, trying to break free.

The busker slowed down to the original pace, and Grantaire dipped Enjolras as the song finished. He gently placed his lips upon Enjolras, before pulling him back up to stand straight. Enjolras’ face was flushed bright red, he was trying to control his breathing, trying not to make it seem like he was unfit in front of Grantaire. He had barely broken a sweat!

Grantaire’s handsome grin spread out from ear to ear as he saw Enjolras try to catch his breath. He walked back over to the busker to give him another note.

“You play beautifully, mon ami. I hope to see you sold out around the world one day,” Grantaire commented.

“Thanks, if I were your boyfriend I would be putting a ring on you real quick. You have some serious chemistry, ain’t like anything I’ve ever seen,” the busker grinned, showing chipped, rotting teeth. Grantaire shook the busker’s bony hand before walking back to his blonde angel.

“What did he say?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He said that I’m the luckiest man alive.”

The next train pulled up to the platform, more empty than the last. The couple bordered, ready to reach their new destination, home.

#Les Miserables #les mis #les amis #anon #enjolras #enjoltaire #grantaire #exr #e/r #prompt #request #one shot #fluff #dancing #wow I actually wrote something for the first time in two years

89 notes · View notes

snushiie · 7 years

Text

world in color [pt. 1]

someone help me this is my first x reader and i’m a feedback hoe :)

“Agh, sorry!” You mutter as you bump into a man on the phone, dressed in a tailored suit. You flinch when he glares at you and you see that there’s a murky gray color about him, before you quickly continue on your way.

Any other person would be at odds with the strange condition you were with, inherited from your mother. The world you saw since you opened your eyes was drowning in every color on the spectrum, from white to burgundy, black to yellow.

There are days where you would marvel at the visually pleasing purple around the waiter at your favorite diner, smiling at him every time he’d serve you three small cheese sliders. Then there would be encounters like the man on the phone, where you would coil away from the murkiness of the assaulting muddy greens or grays of men like him.

You feel yourself collide with another body - damn that stupidly eye-catching yellow - and the hands of the body fall on your shoulders. You notice that there’s a nice, pleasing light green around the arms and your eyes snap up to meet the brilliant green ones that belong to a face full of freckles.

“Whoa,” you breathe.

The man in front of you chuckles, placing his hands back to his sides. “Right back at’cha, babe,” he says. His voice sounds distinctly Southern, and your lips curl into a smile as the pet name makes your stomach feels like it’s being turned over and over again.

You’re both staring at each other in silence before you remember that you’d just bumped into this man bathing in a brilliant green. “Oh, ah - shit, sorry f-for. . . yanno - bumping into you.” You grin sheepishly, and suddenly you have the intuition that it isn’t just the attractive dark-skinned girl a bit older than you who’s glowing pink.

“’S okay,” the man says dismissively. “John Laurens.” His crooked smile makes you feel warm inside.

“(Y/N) (L/N),” you reply shyly.

John Laurens’ eyebrows furrow before his green eyes and aura brighten. “Oh, I remember you from high school!” he exclaims excitedly. You look confused, and he opens his mouth before a bunch of voices call out for him.

“John!”

“Laurens!”

“Mon ami, where have you gone?”

You and John both peer back and your eyes are assaulted by the sudden myriad of color. There’s dark green, purple, and a soft yellow that surround three men around John’s age.

“Coming.” You think he means to shout it back at his friends, but all he does is mutter it before smiling at you. “See you around, (Y/N).” John clasps his hand to your shoulder, and you feel a small, flat something slip under the collar of your shirt.

You pull out a slip of paper with ten numbers on it, and tug shyly on the tips of your hair as your eyes rest on John Laurens written under it in a messy scrawl.

FINALLY DONE HAHAHAHAH

#john laurens x reader

17 notes · View notes

my-hyperfixation-nation · 7 years

Note

For a one shot prompt: Hamliza w/the gang playing Truth or Dare and the gang is trying to get Alex and Eliza to admit that they like each other by giving them great dares!

Cute idea! I’m so behind on these I’m so sorry all! Still - remember requests are open and while I’m no Lin with my writings I’m not bad!

~~~~~

This was a bad idea. Twenty five minutes into truth or dare and Alex was beginning to pick up on that. Already Peggy was half drunk - much to Angelica’s dismay - Laf was clad in a tutu and nothing else, Maria had shaved half of her head - though it looked good on her - Thomas and Herc kissed and James had to eat the pizza in the fridge no one dared to touch, John had sexted George while blocking his number, and Angelica had to tongue kiss Burr.

Alex could tell he was next.

And he knew roughly what they were planning.

Eliza, on the other hand, had known this was a bad idea as soon as the ‘T’ left Laf’s lips. Truths had been spilled, and at this point their night was turning to look like Hangover Part IV. Her and Alex so far had the simple dares, but with everyone moving about they’d been forced so close to each other she could practically hear his heart beat.

Or was the hers?

She sighed, watching as Angelica spun the bottle. It spun, creeping slower, the head turning towards her and Alex when it stopped on…

She sighed in relief. Lafayette.

“Let’s do this!” He cheered, throwing his arms in the air.

“Alright Laf, truth or dare?”

Looking down at his outfit he frowned, sharing a look with Angelica. Understanding he smirked.

“Truth mon ami!”

“Laf you speak English better than half of us you can stop that.” Herc groaned, Peggy leaned against him started giggling.

Laf sent a dead face. “Je parlerai seulement en français, Hercules.”

Alex laughed, “Je serai le seul à comprendre mais,” He shrugged, “Fais le!”

“English, please.” John threw a pillow at Alex, who fell against Eliza’s side, laughing as he threw it back.

“Anyway, truth, Laf?”

“Oui.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Okay then, is it true you’d fuck Washington if you were given the opportunity?” Alex choked on his beer, Eliza let out a strangled laugh at her sister’s choice of words.

“Hey now - “

Laf interrupted, “Yes.”

“Lafayette what the hell!”

“I’m sorry baby, but have you not seen that man?” He fanned himself. “Ce que j'aimerais que cet homme me fasse…”

“I don’t know what you just said but I feel hurt by it.”

“It’s a good thing only Jefferson and I speak French.” Alex murmured into Eliza’s ear, half realizing what he was doing, her face turning bright red.

It didn’t go un-noticed.

“Mon petit lion! It is your turn!” Laf exclaimed, shoving Herc away from him who pouted while leaning on Peggy who was drunkenly stroking his head.

“You didn’t even spin the bottle Laf.” Rolling his eyes he spun it, stopping it himself to land it on Alex.

“There! Now, truth or dare.”

“Dare I guess?” Oh man why did he say dare?

“Kiss who you think is the prettiest girl in the room! Notice how I said girl because if I said person I would hands down beat you all!” Laf yelped, falling backwards as James hit him with a pillow, laughing as he refused to sit back up.

His whole face was red. His whole body was probably red too. He could feel the tips of his ears turning red, hands sweating. Why did he say dare?

Eliza, on the other hand, felt her body flood with disappointment. She loved her sister, but she wouldn’t be able to bear seeing Alex kiss her. He was smitten with Angelica - anyone could see that.

She’d be fine.

She was lying.

Oh God, she felt herself choking up, zoning out. If she didn’t pay attention she wouldn’t have to see it. If she didn’t see it then -

Alex, quick as he could, finger hooked under her chin, turned her so she was looking at him. Face flushed redder than ever, heat radiating from his cheeks, eyes shut, quickly but with no less tenderness or care kissed her lips.

He pulled back after a few seconds, but Eliza felt like he had kissed her for ages. When he sat down, face aflame, he faced the center of their circle. Everyone was silent, eyes wide and mouths dropped.

“It’s about time!”

“Get it Alexander!”

“Ayyyyy!”

Eliza blushed, face matching Alex’s as everyone screamed praises at them. Nothing was said between the two as the game continued, the rest of them slowly becoming more drunk, no one but the two of them seeing when Alex slowly slid his hand over, placing it over top Eliza’s.

No one saw the dopey smile that crept onto her face.

~ ~

Everyone was either drunk or asleep. Besides Alex and Eliza. They were sat on the couch, binge watching Supernatural. Neither of them had said a thing since the kiss, but it hadn’t made them awkward, rather, relaxed.

Alex cleared his throat. Oh God, he wrote for a living - well not yet but whatever - and he couldn’t come up with what to say or how to say it. “So,” Eliza turned to him, “Would you - Are we, do we - “

“Dinner and a movie?” She cut him off, using all of her confidence, and he nodded, causing her to smile. “Great, Five Guys then Moana. Sound good?”

“Y-Yeah, sounds great!” He smiled, cheeks a light shade of pink.

“You’re adorable…” She said softly, causing the pink to become a tad bit darker.

“You’re beautiful…” It was her turn to blush, and both of them turned back to the TV, watching Sam and Dean talk, both lost at what was actually happening in the show at this point.

“Ayyyy,” Peggy slurred, leaned up against Angelica and John, “Eliza’s gettin’ some!”

Angelica sighed, a brief look of longing taking over as she looked at the two. They were both so happy - they’d been pinning after each other since they met at the school ball two years ago.

Sure she was smitten with Alex - he was brilliant, sweet, his eyes captivated you, they did her - but so was Eliza. And she’d be damned if her sister wasn’t happy.

John caught where she was looking, saddness filling his eyes too as he sighed, causing Angelica to turn to him. “You too huh?”

258 notes · View notes

yespleasefandomtrash · 7 years

Text

Hetalia High School Host Club

Just a crossover between Hetalia and Ouran High School Host Club. I rewrote the first chapter of the manga with a cast of Hetalia characters, plus there’s a little twist at the end that’s not really a twist. I hope you enjoy!

xXxXxXx

Starting Today, You are a Host!

Elizaveta sighed, pushing the bangs of her short brown hair out of her face as she continued to make her way up the over-furnished stairs. All she wanted was a quiet place the study. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet it seemed that every other room she’d gone to had been full of loud and obnoxious rich people. Thus logic was telling her to go to the top floor and find a room that no one else used. There had to be one.

Or so she hoped, anyway.

The Hungarian student stared up at the dusty sign hanging above the door she'd come across. It did appear to no longer be in use, if nothing else. “‘Third World Geography Room’, huh?” she mused. “I guess the course was removed from the roster, so they don't need the room anymore.” She couldn’t recall seeing it when she’d chosen her classes, so her assumption was logical – at least, in her opinion.

She took a deep breath, praying that the room would be empty and that she'd be able to study in peace, then opened the door.

You have got to be kidding me.

“Welcome, Hungarian foreign exchange student Eli Héderváry,” a smooth voice said, “to the Hetalia High School Host Club."

Ah, that’s right. I did ask to be called Eli for short, didn’t I?

She immediately turned on her heel and tried to leave, not wanting to have to deal with the group of six rich boys. Unfortunately, the same one who’d spoken stood from his chair, took a few steps forward, and grabbed her shoulder.

“Going somewhere?” he chuckled. She noticed that his eyes were a piercing violet, which was something she’d never seen before.

They must be contacts.

“Yes, actually,” she replied, shrugging his hand off of her. “Away from here.”

Roderich raised a brow when she spoke, remaining silent as he wrote something down in the small notebook he held in his left hand. When Lovino and Feliciano tried to peek, he held it out of their view, resulting in them sticking their tongues out at him. “So you’re the foreign exchange student everyone has been gossiping about as of late,” he said in attempt to direct their attention away from him. “You must have a lot of nerve to apply to Hetalia High of all schools.”

Elizaveta frowned, unsure of whether his words were a compliment or an insult. It turned out, however, that she had no time to think about it, so it didn't really matter.

“You are a hero to your people, mon cher!” the light-haired teen who’d grabbed her proclaimed. “At least, so to speak. It’s truly an amazing feat that you made it into Hetalia High – and by some chance of ‘fate’ you’ve stumbled upon the Host Club.” He winked at her. “Well, there’s no shame in being gay. A customer is a customer, after all!”

Elizaveta opened and closed her mouth in a manner akin to a fish. “I – actually, um…” She couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation.

“Don’t hide it, mon ami,” he chastised. “So, what do you prefer? Berwald – the ‘Wild’ type?” He gestured towards a tall man with icy blue eyes, who did nothing but stare at her. “Peter – the ‘Boy Lolita’?”

“Hi, Mr. Eli!” an energetic-looking boy exclaimed from atop the silent blonde’s shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“What about the ‘Little Devil’ type of Lovino and Feliciano, hmm?”

“Yo,” a set of identical twins said, flashing peace signs towards her. She swore that their curls seemed to bounce in unison.

“Even Roderich, the ‘Cool’ type?”

The dark-haired man pushed his glasses up his nose as means of acknowledgment, though his expression didn't change.

“Or perhaps,” the blonde said, taking her chin in one hand and holding out a rose to her with the other, “you’d prefer someone like me – Francis, the ‘Princely’ type?”

Elizaveta turned a brilliant shade of crimson before immediately shoving him away from her, sputtering incoherently. She took several steps backward so rapidly that she stumbled, slamming into a pedestal. She turned around, only to watch a vase fall in what seemed to be slow motion before shattering on the ground. She inhaled sharply, fearful of what the group's reactions were going to be.

“Oh dear,” Feliciano said, studying the broken vase. “That vase was going to be sold in the school’s auction!”

“And it was going to start bidding at eight million yen,” Lovino added, pouting. “Such a shame.”

Elizaveta felt the color drain from her face. “E-eight m-m-million yen?” she stuttered, trying to calculate exactly how many thousands were in a million and how on Earth she was going to pay it off. “I-I’ll pay you back… Somehow…”

Feliciano bit his lip, giving her a pitying look. “Are you sure about that? I mean… You can’t even afford the school’s uniform.”

The Hungarian flushed in embarrassment, looking down at the worn clothes she’d stolen from the back of her father’s closet. She thought they were quiet comfortable, but it was true that they didn’t compare to what any of the other students were wearing.

“You could have at least gone for something closer to a uniform,” Lovino chimed in, “instead of that tasteless garb.”

Elizaveta felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. “Right. Thanks for the advice,” she muttered.

“I suppose there’s only one thing for you to do,” Roderich said, snapping his notebook shut. “Francis?”

“Indeed,” the violet-eyed teen agreed, stroking his chin for no particular reason. “Eli, I’m sure you’ve heard this proverb before: when in France, be as elegant as the other Frenchmen are – correct?”

“A-Actually,” she corrected, unsure of how the man had managed to come up with something so very wrong, “it’s ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans do’.”

He shook his hand dismissively. “Same thing, mon ami. You’re not getting the idea.” He pointed at her, an evil grin painting his features – a complete turnaround from his previous attitude. “From now on, you’re going to be the Host Club’s dog!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m… I’m what…?”

The twins laughed, each placing a hand on her shoulder. “You heard him, Eli!”

She hung her head. If only she’d never opened the door to the Third World Geography Room…

Too late now.

xXxXxXx

“Francis, will you take a trip with me this summer?” a pretty Asian girl with pink flowers in her hair asked, fluttering her eyelashes. “We can go wherever you want.”

Francis shrugged, leaning against the back of the couch. “If you so desire, ma chère – and the location doesn’t matter to me.” He winked at her. “So long as I’m with you, nothing does.”

The girl swooned, a blush painting her features. “Oh, how wonderful!” She hesitated, then added, “If you don’t mind, Francis, I made a batch of cookies of cookies earlier today, and I was wondering if…” She trailed off, casting her warm brown eyes to the ground.

“Wondering what?” he responded. “If I’d eat one?” Upon seeing her shy nod from the corner of his eyes, he sat up and turned towards her, taking her chin in his hand. “Of course,” he said, leaning close to her, violet eyes glittering, “but only if you feed it to me, ma chèrie.”

The girl squealed, making Elizaveta cringe. She really was surrounded by lunatics.

“Oh, and get this!” Lovino snickered, gesturing towards his twin. “Feliciano and I were playing a game, right? And this idiota here somehow managed to –”

“Lovino,” Feliciano interrupted, a pout permeating his lips and his cheeks painted with a blush, “I thought I told you not to tell anyone about that!”

“Did you?” the Italian replied carelessly. “I’m sorry – I don’t remember.”

“You’re so cruel, Lovi!” Feliciano protested, wiping away tears that Elizaveta was certain were fake. “I don’t understand why you’re always so mean to me!”

Lovino leaned over to his twin, cupping his face in his hands. “I suppose I am mean. But you’ll forgive me, won’t you, Feli?” Their noses brushed. “You always do.”

Elizaveta resisted the urge to gag at their dramatic performance, and was even more disgusted by how excited the two girls sitting in front of them became, squealing loudly and going on and on about how strong their forbidden ‘brotherly love’ was, and how the world was so cruel to keep them apart.

Honestly, she just didn’t see the appeal in it.

“Enjoying the show?” Roderich asked, appearing from nowhere and causing her to jump. “Oh, sorry – did I startle you?”

She shook her head, choosing not answer.

“In case you couldn’t tell,” the Austrian said, gesturing towards where the twins were still ‘performing’ with each other, “the Host Club takes its customers very seriously, and the main characteristic of each member has been cultivated precisely to cater to their preferences.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a smirk dancing on his lips. “And, as expected, each member has their own group of regulars, so to speak, though Francis is easily the most popular host.”

Elizaveta felt her jaw drop. “Him?!” she repeated, not believing her ears.

Roderich nodded, handing her a slip of paper with each host’s average request rate on it.

“Seventy percent?!” she muttered, her grip so tight she almost tore the sheet in half. “Impossible.”

“The Host Club in itself is quite a hotspot for the school,” the dark-haired man continued, retrieving the paper from her hands before folding it and placing it inside his notebook. “That means you’re going to be doing a lot around here to repay your debt.” He smiled at her, and though it appeared cheerful, it radiated an aura of evil like nothing she’d ever seen. “And while you can try to run away, I assure you the Edelstein family has control over a large police force and we will not hesitate to track you down.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding. “R-Right.”

“Work hard and you’ll do fine, mon cher,” Francis said into her ear, causing her jump away from him while biting back a yelp.

“Please refrain from doing that,” she muttered, running a hand through her short brown hair. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

The blonde pouted. “Really? But it’s a classic technique.”

“As if I care about that sort of thing,” she mumbled, sighing silently to herself. “I just don’t understand the purpose of this club – catering to girls like that. It’s not as if appearance is that important anyways. Man? Woman? Who cares? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“While that is true,” Francis said with a sigh, “you need to understand that sometimes people with perfect bodies and minds are created, and they have to be...”

Elizaveta tuned out the man as he continued rambling, failing to see the relevance of his words. Honestly, she really didn’t understand how this guy was the most requested host in the club. He was just so… She frowned. What was the word? Troublesome? No, that wasn’t it.

The Hungarian could still hear him talking about how beautiful he was or something, though it was going in one ear and out the other.

Frustrating, perhaps? No, that wasn’t the word she was looking for either – per se, at least. She snapped her fingers as it finally came to her. “I’ve got it.”

Francis beamed at her. “Oh, so you understand?”

“You’re annoying.”

The blood drained from the blonde’s face, and he sank into a corner, poking at the floor and mumbling incoherent sentences to himself, undoubtedly in an attempt to restore his ego.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve after all!” Lovino laughed, appearing from nowhere as he clapped her on the shoulder and jutted his thumb towards the Frenchman. “There aren’t too many people who can make him go into his emo corner!”

Feliciano giggled. “You have made him quite depressed, haven’t you?”

“I – I suppose I have,” Elizaveta replied, eyeing the blonde. “I mean, I told him the truth. Was I really that hurtful?”

“Nah,” Lovino said dismissively, still laughing. “Don’t bother with him. He’s such a drama queen.”

“Still,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Perhaps I should apologize.” She moved towards the sulking Frenchman. “Er, Francis?”

“Call me King,” he interrupted moodily. “That’s what I go by here.”

She raised a brow, skeptical but too lazy to protest. “Alright. King, are you –”

“Oi, Sovrano!” Lovino said, knocking Francis in the back of the head as he moved past him. “You’re in the walkway. Move.”

“You’re not allowed to slack off just because you’re a little butthurt, mio signore!” Feliciano added merrily, following suit of his twin.

“Indeed,” Roderich agreed, speaking for the first time in a while. “You have several customers waiting on you, so please go ahead and end this ridiculous pity party of yours.”

“Hi everybody!” a cheerful voice said. “Sorry we’re late!”

“Finally,” the Austrian muttered, checking something off in his notebook. “I was beginning to get more annoyed with them than their customers.”

“Peter! Berwald!” a girl with dark skin and dark ponytails said eagerly, running over to the duo as the younger blonde was being placed onto the ground. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting!"

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, his blue eyes getting watery. “I fell asleep waiting for Berwald to finish an exam, and I’m still kind of tired right now…” He yawned, as if to prove his point.

The girl gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Peter!” She quickly took his hands in hers and started pulling him towards an empty couch. “Come on – let’s get you comfortable.”

Berwald grunted before sweeping Peter off his feet and carrying him to the couch himself, the petite girl swooning as she trailed after them.

Elizaveta watched the scenario, not understanding at all. “Why does that Berwald guy never talk?” she muttered, only half-expecting an answer.

“No one really knows,” Francis replied, having recovered from his lapse of depression. “Berwald has always been a very quiet person, though silence is his selling point. He’s actually one of the friendliest people in the club, but is awkward around girls.”

“Only awkward around girls, huh?” Elizaveta said, amused. “I can think of reason why that might be.” She cleared her throat, changing the subject. “So… Is Peter actually in high school?”

“He’s the oldest in the club. You didn’t know?”

“He’s the – what?” she gaped, dumbfounded. “No way.”

He chuckled. “Kidding. He’s homeschooled by Berwald – he’s his younger cousin, you see. I think he’s only in middle school.”

Elizaveta nodded slowly, recovering from her shock. “I see. Makes sense.” Then she sighed. “I got entangled up with you rich people when I only wanted a quiet place to study…”

“You can’t study at home?” Francis asked, his curiosity piqued. “I imagine it’s quiet there.”

“Sometimes,” she snorted. “But as my father tends to work at night, and he brings his lover home during the day, it almost never is.”

The blonde flinched. “Ooh. I take it you don’t get along with your father?”

The Hungarian shrugged. “We get along fine, I suppose. The only things we really argue on are his inability to manage money and my lack of his taste in fashion.” Then a soft smile grew on her lips. “But I just don’t want to bother him. Though my opinion is that he doesn’t spend his time or his money wisely, he's brought me up by himself since I was little. It’s only fair that I give him some time to himself.”

Francis stroked his chin. “I see, I see. Indeed, your situation is as destitute as I thought, mon ami.”

Elizaveta frowned. “I’m not sure if ‘destitute’ is exactly the word to describe it.”

“Your staple is surely white rice or something similar, no?” he continued, ignoring her. “And you’re so poor that you have to serve as a servant for rich people! No wonder you’re so used to performing tasks like what the Host Club assigns to you!” Glassy tears were streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, my poor Eli, surely you cry yourself to sleep every night because of the abuse forced upon you!”

The brunette took a hasty step away from the dramatic Frenchman. “Francis, what era are you referring to?” she said, massaging her temples in exasperation. “This isn’t the eighteenth century, you know!”

The blonde wiped tears from his face with a handkerchief he’d pulled from nowhere. “I’ve been watching so many soap operas lately and they all include poor people such as yourself… I had no idea you were living in such unfavorable circumstances!”

Her eyebrow twitched. “I already said that I wasn’t living like that, if you’d listen to me –”

“Enough!” Francis interrupted, holding a hand out to silence her. “It’s time for you to learn!”

“Learn?” the girl repeated, clueless about what he was talking about. “Learn what?”

“It might be impossible because of your haggard appearance,” he mumbled, ignoring her completely, “but I will train you personally. Yes… Let me think…”

Elizaveta had never been so confused in her life – at least so it seemed to her. “Francis, could you please –”

“100 people!” he announced, pointing at her. “You will become a host – after you receive substantial training by moi, of course. And if you can get 100 people to request you, consider your debt to be paid off in full!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face at his words. “No…” She groaned, desperately wishing that he’d revoke his order and instruct her to continue as she was and keep doing chores for the club.

You’ve got to be kidding me…

xXxXxXx

“Remember the Hetalia Host Club motto, Eli,” Francis instructed. “Never hesitate, always cater to the customer, and above all – be beautiful!”

Elizaveta sighed as she practiced the same routine for what must have been the hundredth time. “Thank you for waiting,” she began, sliding into a seat and moving her glass forward. “I’m sorry that I –”

“No!” the violet-eyed man practically screeched, hitting her with a tube of rolled up newspaper. “Not like that!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eli. Eli, Eli, Eli.” He cast his glance down at her. “I had such high hopes for you.”

She rolled her eyes, rubbing her head where she'd been hit. “Whatever. It’s not as if I even want to be a host.”

He ignored her comment, taking the cup from her hands. “Listen to me,” he said. “When you put the glass down, you must use a finger – preferably your pinkie – as a cushion. This prevents it from making any noise, meaning it doesn’t disturb the customers.”

The Hungarian nodded slowly, feeling that for once there was some logic behind the Frenchman’s eccentricity. “So it saves both the host and customer from an awkward silence?”

Francis shrugged. “I suppose. But most importantly –” He held the glass next to his face, flashing her a dazzling smile. “It helps make the host look good.”

She blinked, unsure of what he was referring to. Was it so they could see their reflection in the glass or something?

“Of course,” he chuckled, “some of us don’t need any assistance with looking good.”

“Right,” she sighed, not bothering to question it. “Anything else?”

“Yes!” Francis said, snapping his fingers. “One last thing.” He placed his elbow on the table and rested his face on his hand. He gave her a more relaxed and charming grin, looking up ever so slightly at her. “If you ever come across a problem during your time as a host, it’s always useful to look at things from a lower perspective.”

She stared blankly at him.

The corners of his mouth seemed to turn down at her lack of response. “Perhaps this is too high a level of a move for you, mon cher?”

She hesitated then said, “No… But I don’t ‘feel’ anything.” The technique must be faulty, she reasoned to herself. "Am I supposed to?"

Francis stumbled away in shock, gasping about how he had brought shame to his family and deserved to die before retreating to his emo corner.

“You’re joking,” Elizaveta muttered in exasperation, hanging her head. How irritating. “Actually, Francis, I did feel a bit of a spark! Or something…”

“Mr. Eli!” Peter cheered, appearing out of the blue and interrupting her. “Come eat cake with me! It’ll be fun!”

Elizaveta hesitated. “Well… You see, Peter, I’m not too fond of sweet things.”

“Is it because you’re so poor that you can’t afford them?!” Peter gasped, his blue eyes widening before starting to water. “Poor Mr. Eli! You and Hanatamago can share an entire cake if you want!” He held up a stuffed white dog eagerly. “See! He wants to share with you!”

The Hungarian sweatdropped. “I’m actually not too fond of dogs, either…”

The young blonde’s demeanor changed entirely as he gazed eerily at her. “Are you telling me that you don’t like Hanatamago?” he said slowly, his blue eyes narrowing before widening slightly as something seemed to occur to him.

Elizaveta gulped, terrified for a reason she couldn't identify. “Ah… Let’s eat, shall we?”

Peter beamed at her, his cheery attitude returning. “Yay!” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her away.

She sighed in relief, going along with it.

These people are crazy.

xXxXxXx

“Rumors are flying around the school, Francis,” a pretty silver-haired girl said as she studied the glass in her hands, “that you’re training some little kitty with no pedigree to be a host.” She tilted her head to the side, a small frown dancing on her lips. “Is this true?”

Francis chuckled. “The rumors are correct, ma chère,” he said lightly. “And despite his lack of a pedigree, as you put it, he does have promise.”

The girl sighed. “If you say so, Francis.”

He smiled at her. “Are you worried about my reputation, Natalia?” He winked. “If so, there’s no need to be.” He gently took her hand in his. “You’re the only one for me, after all.”

The Belarusian woman blushed but rolled her eyes. “You’re such a flirt.” Francis shrugged, a smirk dancing on his lips. “I’ve heard that one before, ma chère. It’s nothing –”

“I’m back,” Elizaveta called as she trudged into the room, a bag of groceries in her arms.

“Excellent,” Francis cheered, distracted by the disturbance. “Thank you for buying our things, little piggy.”

Natalia studied the Hungarian who’d just walked in. “So this the kitten without a pedigree, huh?” she muttered to herself. "Interesting."

“First a dog, then a cat, and now a pig,” Elizaveta sighed before heading over to Francis and handing him a small container of instant coffee. “Who knows what it’ll be next.”

“What is this?” the blonde said, studying the label that said ‘Special Blend’. “I don’t remember –”

“It’s coffee,” the Hungarian interrupted. “It was sixth or seventh on the list Roderich gave me.”

Francis frowned. “Is it already ground?”

Elizaveta sighed. “It’s instant coffee. If you don’t like it I can –”

She was interrupted by the Frenchman’s exaggerated gasp. “Instant coffee?!” he said in awe, drawing the attention of the others hosts and causing them to gather around him. “This is what peasants make, isn’t it? Where you only have to put it in hot water before it’s ready to drink?”

“I see,” Roderich said, jotting something down in his ever-present notebook. “This is the rumored coffee of peasants.”

Elizaveta felt her eye twitch at the repeated use of ‘peasant’. “If it’s really that bad I can –”

“So it’s true that poor people don’t even have time to ground their own coffee beans,” Lovino said in disbelief. “What a pitiful life they must lead.”

“But how clever of them to come up with something like this!” Feliciano added in awe. “Such is the wisdom of peasants.”

“I’ve always wanted to try instant coffee!” Peter piped up. “It must taste so different!”

Berwald simply nodded.

“I SAID I’D GO GET THE RIGHT ONE!” Elizaveta growled, gritting her teeth. “I’m sorry it’s not the fancy expensive kind where you have to grind your own beans that you’re all used to.”

“No!” Francis said, holding the container into the air. “Don’t bother, Eli.” He took a deep breath. “I… I shall drink the commoner’s coffee!”

The entire room burst into a smattering of applause for the blonde, causing Elizaveta to groan. These people were ridiculous.

“Ooh, Sovrano!” Lovino smirked. “You’re so brave!”

“And look at this!” Feliciano gasped. “It only cost three hundred yen for a hundred grams! Lovino, that’s cheaper than a regular cup of coffee!”

“Gah,” Elizaveta said, pulling at her hair in frustration. “These stupid rich kids…!”

“They’re all acting so foolish,” Natalia said, studying her fingernails. “There’s no way a coffee meant for peasants could ever suit their tastes.”

Elizaveta frowned, turning towards the girl. “What?” she asked, having only heard the first sentence.

“Nothing,” the silver-haired woman said with false sweetness. “I was talking to myself.”

“Right,” Elizaveta said with a sigh, starting to move away from her. “Well, I’ll be –”

“Eli!” Francis called from behind a table, the rest of the Host Club beside him. “Come prepare the commoner’s coffee for us. We’re all waiting!”

Natalia bit back a sharp retort at the blonde’s eagerness, instead continuing to look over her nails.

“Fine,” Elizaveta grumbled, making her way over. “But don’t distract me.”

“Sì, Capitano!” the twins said in unison, saluting her as the rest of the Host Club nodded.

A few minutes later, she’d finished. “Done,” she muttered, stepping aside while Berwald poured the coffee into cups for the customers. “It’s a little hot. And don’t blame me if it doesn’t suit your tastes.”

“Come on,” Lovino crooned, holding out a small plate with a cup of coffee on it to a girl with dirty blonde hair. “Try it!”

“Oh, but I’m kind of scared,” she replied anxiously. “And I’m sure my father would get mad at me if I drank it!”

Francis chuckled at the ongoing scene in front of him. “It won’t suit our tastes, huh?” He moved towards the girl, cupping her face in his hands. “Would you drink it if it was served mouth-to-mouth, ma chère?” he asked, his voice low.

“I-I’d drink it!” the girl stuttered, her entire face so red it would make a cherry envious.

“Well then,” he said, pulling away, “cheers to this commoner’s coffee!”

“Yay!” the twins said, clinking their cups together before downing it in unison.

“Natalia,” a short-haired girl muttered. “Don’t you think Francis is going a bit overboard with this? I mean, he’s actually drinking that coffee!”

Natalia sighed. “He’s only being polite to the boy he wants to make into a host, Katyusha,” she replied. Her violet eyes narrowed as she watched the blonde walk up to the foreign exchange student and ask for another cup. “But his kindness is quite the problem in itself.”

Elizaveta sighed at the request. “Fine. I’ll make some more.”

These spoiled rich people.

xXxXxXx

“Today we’re going to keep conducting our research on the way commoners live!” Francis proclaimed. “And so, everyone – we will be trying the peasants’ ramen!”

“Eh?” Elizaveta said, blinking in confusion. “What does this have to do with teaching me how to be a host?”

She was ignored.

“Alright! Everyone, you have to try to make a different type of ramen – and it must be edible!” Francis announced, clapping his hands together.

“Yes, mio signore!” the twins said, saluting him.

“There’s so many different types,” Peter said in awe. “Berwald, what kind should we make?”

The Swede’s response was to hand the short blonde a package of noodles.

“Ooh!” Peter said, practically drooling. “This one does look good.”

“Now, I want you all to follow the teacher’s instructions!” Francis said, pointing at Elizaveta, who blinked in surprise.

“Me?” She sighed. Of course she was the teacher. “Fine.” She headed towards the table, where everything was already laid out. “First, you have to –”

But before she could begin, the Hungarian was peppered with questions from all sides.

“It says to heat for three and four minutes – what’s the difference?”

“Do you have to throw out certain parts of it? And – ooh, what’s this?”

“Spicy mayo stings my eyes. Can we not put it in?”

Elizaveta sighed, already overwhelmed and not even a minute had gone by. But the voice that drew her attention was one she hadn’t yet heard.

“The ingredients are stuck to the lid,” Berwald said, a slight frown on his face.

Her jaw dropped, amazed that he’d actually spoken. “Oh – well…” She took a container of ramen for herself and began to demonstrate. “If you put the ingredients below the noodles before you begin, then you don’t have to worry about that happening.”

Berwald nodding before copying her actions.

“Such an amazing technique, mon ami!” Francis gushed. “The ingenuity of peasants will never cease to amaze me!” He took Elizaveta’s head in his hands, touching their foreheads together. “You, Eli, are truly wonderful! Please, give me permission to express my awe with my body.”

Elizaveta didn’t lose composure for even a moment. “Please don’t,” she muttered. “It’s irritating and uncomfortable.”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” Lovino said with a sigh. “Feliciano, Eli doesn’t get the big picture, does he?”

The other Italian shook his head sadly. “No, Lovi – he doesn’t. He’s completely missing the point.”

“What are you two going on about?” the Hungarian said after shoving Francis away from her.

“Let us explain this to you,” Lovino said, linking arms with his twin. “You see, females love two beautiful homosexuals together – especially when an element of the relationship being a forbidden one is added.”

Feliciano winked at her. “Sì. And as twins, we’re able to use the forbidden card to its fullest! We play it off as two guys who don’t know whether they’re friends, brothers, or…” He turned to face his twin, touching their noses together. “Something more.”

“And to add to that,” Lovino continued after a pause, moving next to the brunette, “our customers get to be loved by us, who have such a deep bond – at the same time.”

“The ultimate romance for girls,” Feliciano agreed, standing on the opposite side of her.

Elizaveta just blinked, her eyes blank. “Okay.”

The twins sighed. “We knew you wouldn’t get it.” They exchanged glances, something clicking in their identical brown eyes.

“Then why did you bother explaining?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Geez.”

Francis nodded, stroking his chin. “I see what you mean – Lovino, Feliciano. The problem once again lies in the visual.”

“Or Eli’s denseness when it comes to hosting,” they suggested.

Francis ignored them, stepping towards the Hungarian. “Let’s see… Perhaps it’s the glasses – though by taking those off it may make your eyes seem smaller,” he said, reaching to remove the glasses from her face. “And what’s with these old-fashioned frames?”

She rolled her eyes. “They were my grandfather’s,” she said, though she didn’t stop the blonde from taking them off her face.

Francis bit back a gasp upon seeing the teen without glasses.

Elizaveta didn’t notice, continuing to tell her story. “And they’re only temporary. I lost my contacts on the morning of the first day of school, and I haven’t had time to get any new ones.” She noticed how all conversation had stopped. “Er… Is something wrong?”

Francis ignored her, snapping his fingers. “Lovino! Feliciano!”

“Ready, mio signore!” they shouted, holding scissors and a towel that had appeared from nowhere.

“Roderich,” the blonde continued, “call the school’s tailor immediately and have them prepare a uniform in Eli’s size! And Berwald, go get those disposable contacts you keep for emergencies!”

Both nodded and followed their respective orders.

“Francis!” Peter called. “What about me? What do you want me to do?”

“And Peter, mon ami,” Francis said kindly, “what I need you to do is eat some cake!”

The short blonde begrudgingly went over to an empty table, lugging his stuffed dog along with him. “Everyone’s too busy for us, Hanatamago,” he muttered. “They all think we're useless.”

Lovino pushed Elizaveta into a chair while Feliciano tied the towel around her neck, draping it so that it covered her lap.

“What are you doing?!” she yelped as they started to trim and style her hair.

“Trust us,” they replied in unison. “We know what we’re doing.”

She groaned, resigning herself to her fate.

Rich people are so weird.

xXxXxXx

“Have you finished changing into the uniform yet, Eli?” Francis called. “And I hope the contacts are alright.”

“They’re fine,” he heard the Hungarian grumble. “And I’m almost done.”

A few moments later, she walked out of the dressing room, adjusting the tie around her neck. “How much did this uniform cost?” she sighed.

“Three hundred thousand yen,” Roderich said, making a note in his book. “It will be added to your debt, I’m afraid.”

Elizaveta sighed. “I knew it.”

“You look so cute, Eli!” Francis said, almost tackling her with a hug. “And dare I say it – you look almost like a girl!” He winked at her. “Adorable, ma chèrie.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, pushing him away from her.

“You really do look very cute, Mr. Eli!” Peter beamed. “I’m sure the girls will be all over you!”

Berwald nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” Lovino said awkwardly, not meeting her eyes, a tiny blush dancing on his cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier you had that kind of face?”

“Right!” Feliciano added. “You radiate innocence!”

Roderich chuckled. “Perhaps you'll be able to manage a customer or two.”

“Yes!” Francis agreed with enthusiasm. “All the factors have now been calculated! It’s now your time to shine, mon ami – show the customers your beauty!”

Elizaveta felt the blood drain from her face.

I actually have to be a host?!

xXxXxXx

“S-So, Eli,” a stammering blonde said, adjusting the ribbon in her hair, “w-what are some of your hobbies? A-Are you more into arts, o-or sciences?”

“Is it true that have to get around by train?” the brunette beside her demanded, interrupting the poor girl. “Or some other form of public transportation? Because you’re so poor you can’t afford a car?”

“That’s so rude, Lien!” the blonde gasped, horrified.

The Lien girl shrugged. “I was only curious, Lili. But whatever.” She frowned, leaning towards Elizaveta. “Do you use something special for your skin? Because your face is flawless.”

“No, I don’t do anything for it,” the Hungarian replied awkwardly, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

“Why don’t you tell us why you decided to join the Host Club?” Lili suggested, giving her a soft smile.

Elizaveta frowned. “Well, I broke a v –” She stopped, recalling that she wasn’t supposed to mention that incident to any customers. Her eyes widened as realization occurred.

The vase!

That was right – if she could just get one hundred customers, she’d be free of the eight million yen debt.

Then panic set in. She still had no idea what she was supposed to be doing!

If you ever come across a problem during your time as a host, it’s always useful to look at things from a lower perspective.

Francis’ words from earlier drifted into her mind, and she relaxed a bit. She could do this.

“Would you ladies,” she said slowly, picking up a glass from the table before shifting herself so that she was looking at the girls from beneath them, “like to get some more water?”

Both girls turned a brilliant shade of crimson, stammering together, “S-Sure!”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Roderich said to the twins, who were watching her performance. “He’s a natural – and his innocence is undoubtedly a refreshing treat.”

Lovino snorted. “I guess.”

“And it’s not as if any of the other hosts fall under the category of ‘polite’, huh?” Feliciano mused. “But you’re right, Roderich – he is a natural.”

Francis had shifted on the couch to watch the Hungarian, much to the dismay of his customer.

“Your mother passed away when you were little, Eli?” Lili asked, covering her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“What do you do about housework without your mom?” Lien said, her arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, you’re too poor to hire some sort of maid.”

“Lien!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Elizaveta laughed. “I actually do most of them myself. I don’t mind, plus it helps make things less stressful for my father. And I love cooking.” A soft smiled formed on her lips. “My mother did, too. She left a lot of recipes behind, and it’s enjoyable to learn how to cook them one by one. And since I’m in Japan right now, instead of Hungary, I love combining traditional Hungarian recipes with Japanese ones to see what I can create.” She chuckled to herself. “Though I’ll admit that they don’t always turn out well.” She smiled warmly at the girls. “But when they do, it makes my father happy – and myself, too. I love times like those more than anything.”

Both Lili and Lien had been struck speechless, the latter finally breaking the silence after a moment. “Could we… Could we request you again tomorrow, Eli?”

Elizaveta beamed at them. “I would appreciate that very much, ladies.” After all, it’d make her one step closer to paying off her debt.

“S-Such a natural,” Francis stammered, Roderich nodding in agreement. “He doesn’t need any sort of special technique or anything!”

Natalia cleared her throat, trying to draw the blonde’s attention back to her. “Francis? Are you ignoring your most loyal customer?”

“I’m sorry, ma chèrie,” he said, bowing his head to her. “I was concerned for our newest host.”

“Mhmm,” the Belarusian replied, hiding her disdain well. “You certainly do your best to watch over him, don’t you?”

Francis chuckled. “Well, he’s quite intriguing, if I’m honest.” His violet eyes lit up as a thought occurred to him. “Miss Natalia, have you by chance tried the commoner’s ramen? It’s so delicious to the point it’s nearly addicting.”

Natalia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No, I have never tried it – and don’t intend to, as it's quite unhealthy. And I’m surprised you've eaten it, Francis. It seems below you.”

The blonde shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “Not at all, ma chère. If anything I’ve been getting into more and more commoners’ food as of late.” He then turned away from the girl, snapping his fingers. “Eli! I’d like you to meet my best customer.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss…?” Elizaveta said to the girl, wondering how anyone could find Francis so attractive that they’d request him all the time.

“Natalia,” she replied frostily. “Natalia Arlovskaya.”

“Miss Arlovskaya,” the Hungarian concluded, smiling at her. For some reason, the silver-haired woman seemed familiar to her… Ah! That was it. She was the girl from a few days ago, who’d said something under her breath about the instant coffee.

“You’re too cute, Eli!” Francis squealed, tackling her in a hug. “I’ve never seen you make such an adorable face!”

Elizaveta tried to escape from the Frenchman’s grip, but found herself trapped.

“You looked so shy and precious and – oh, you’re so cute!”

“Excuse me, Francis,” Natalia interrupted, her tone laced with irritation. “I’m still –”

“The cutest thing in the world!”

The twins snickered. “Eli’s being sexually harassed by Sovrano again.”

Somehow through the chaos that was Francis, Elizaveta caught sight of a certain stoic blonde. “Berwald! Help me!” she begged, reaching out for him.

A split second later, she felt herself being lifted through the air and then slung over his shoulder, the wind knocked out of her. “Er… Thank you,” she said, coughing in an attempt to return oxygen to her lungs.

Berwald, who seemed frozen in shock from some revelation, broke out of it and nodded.

“You didn’t have to go that far, Berwald,” Francis said, frowning.

“I was asked for help, so I helped,” the Swede replied calmly.

“Hmph,” the Frenchman sniffed before returning his attention to Elizaveta. “Why don’t you come back to Papa, Eli?”

“Because I don’t need another father,” she grumbled as she was being put down.

Natalia watched the entire exchange, violet eyes narrowed as she seethed internally

“Why not? Two fathers is better than one!”

“Not if the second father is you, Francis!” Elizaveta retorted.

Good grief.

xXxXxXx

“Let’s play the ‘Which One is Lovino Game?’!” the twins cheered, linking arms with each other and adjusting the hats on their head in sync.

Elizaveta snorted to herself. It seemed like a boring game.

“It’s so difficult,” Laura said, tucking a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “You guys look so identical!”

“Eli, who do you think is who?” Lili asked. “Can you tell the difference?”

Elizaveta sighed. “Feliciano is on the right and Lovino the left.”

“Wrong!” they crowed, sticking their tongues at her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m right. You might look identical, but you are different. Though sometimes the difference is slight.”

The twins exchanged glances, unable to comprehend how she’d seen through them so easily.

“That’s amazing, Eli!” Lili said, green eyes wide. “You’re so wonderful!”

“You looked at them not with your eyes, but with your heart,” Laura gushed. “Ah, how perfect!”

“He’s definitely skilled at hosting,” Roderich said to the blonde standing beside him. “He’ll have a hundred customers before you know it.”

Francis nodded, not commenting.

“Oh, Eli!” Laura gasped, noticing the bandage on Elizaveta’s left index finger. “What happened?”

“Oh, I cut myself on accident while preparing dinner last night,” the Hungarian replied, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”

“As long as you’re sure you’re okay…”

“I am,” she replied, flashing the girls a warm smile. “It’s very sweet of you to be concerned for me.” While her customers giggled in joy amongst themselves, Elizaveta recalled the real reason she’d gotten the cut.

A piece of a blade between the pages of my math textbook. And before that, a sewing needle in the back of my jacket.

She sighed, wondering if it was a coincidence or not.

I can’t assume someone is out to get me, but I have to admit… It does feel that way.

xXxXxXx

Elizaveta groaned as she stared down at the fountain through the second floor window. All her stuff had been thrown into it – she cursed. That meant her wallet was down there, too. And that had her food money in it. “This is getting ridiculous," she sighed. “Guess I should go get it…” She turned around, only to bump into someone. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she apologized, bowing. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Oh, hello,” the silver-haired woman she’d run into said coolly. “You’re the commoner foreign exchange student, no?”

Ah, Elizaveta remembered. This girl was Francis’ best customer. Natalia something.

“I suppose you do look much more like someone from our school, now that Francis has fixed you up a bit,” she continued. She started to move past the Hungarian, only to pause and add, “Such a shame he can’t fix the rest of you – like your poor upbringing, hmm?” With that, she was gone.

Elizaveta sighed to herself before continuing to make her way down to the fountain. She couldn’t leave her stuff down there for long, or else it would be completely waterlogged.

As she was rooting through the water for her last few items, her mind drifted back to the Belarusian woman. She was likely the one responsible for everything that had been happening to her lately. But she couldn’t go saying that without having some sort of proof to back up her statement.

She groaned as she came up empty-handed yet again. “I really need to find my food money…”

“Bonjour, mon ami,” an amused voice said. “Skipping club activities to have a little splash in the pond, are we?”

Elizaveta sighed, recognizing the person all too well. “Sorry, Francis.” If she was honest, she'd completely forgotten.

“Why’s your bag all wet?” he asked, nudging at it with his foot.

“I dropped it,” she replied. “But my wallet fell out when I did, and now I can’t find it.”

“That’s because you’re always supposed to keep your wallet in a pocket that’s zipped shut!” he scoffed. “You didn’t know that?”

The Hungarian rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply.

“But anyways,” Francis said, stepping into the fountain before taking his shirt off and throwing it aside, “your method of searching is pathetic, mon ami. You’ve got to do it with flair… Like so!” He shoved his hands into the water, flailing around as he hunted for her wallet.

“You don’t have to help me!” Elizaveta said, trying to stop him. “You’re going to get all wet!”

He gave her a sincere smile – perhaps the first she’d ever seen from him. “No worries. After all, people always tell me that I’m dripping with good looks.”

She froze, staring at him. Could he be a good person after all…?

“Aww, you’re making that cute face again,” Francis gushed, pinching her cheeks and effectively ruining the moment. “Have you fallen in love with me already?”

Elizaveta glared icily at him before shoving his hands away from her. “No thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue searching.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “If memory serves,” he added, his laughter suddenly gaining an evil edge to it, “finder’s fee is thirty percent?”

“You’re rich and still do that stuff?” she muttered, not bothering to give a proper answer.

Finally, they managed to find her wallet, and both cried tears of joy. Metaphorically speaking.

After helping her gather her stuff together, Francis said he had to return to the Host Club, but told her to go and dry off.

“We can manage one session without our natural rookie,” he said with a wink before walking away.

She shook her head as he went, though a small smile was dancing on her lips.

I guess he’s not so bad after all.

xXxXxXx

“That does indeed sound quite bothersome,” Natalia said, taking a sip of tea. “But weren’t you scared, Eli, of how your bag fell into the fountain all by itself? I mean, I’d be terrified.”

“Y-Yes,” Elizaveta stuttered in response, wondering why on Earth this woman would request her. “It was unexpected, to say the least.”

“Although, the thing that is most bothersome to me is that you forced Francis to help you search the fountain,” the Belarusian continued, staring coldly at the brunette. “I mean, your bag was a cheap little thing, wasn’t it? You had no right to subdue Francis in such a way.” She took a sip of her tea before continuing. “I hope you don’t believe he cares about you. The only reason he’s paid you any attention is because your family background is something new to him – before you know it he’ll have forgotten all about you.” She chuckled. “Perhaps all those strange things that happened to you are because of your arrogance around Francis, hmm?”

Something clicked in Elizaveta’s mind. “I understand.” She stared at the silver-haired woman. “You’re jealous – aren’t you?”

The color drained from Natalia’s face. "I – I –" She stopped speaking as her violet eyes got a malicious glean in them. In less than a second she’d flipped the tea try, spilling it all over herself. “Help!” she shrieked. “Eli dumped tea on me!”

The room exploded into whispers as everyone’s attention was drawn to Elizaveta and Natalia.

The silver-haired woman spat at the Hungarian. “I always knew you couldn’t trust commoners, especially one as disgusting as – augh!” She stared up at the Vargas twins, who were both holding now empty glasses above her head. “What on Earth –?!”

“Oops,” they said in unison. “Sorry. Our hands slipped.”

Roderich stepped forward next to Elizaveta, then dropped several photographs on the table, including one of Natalia dumping the brunette’s bag into the fountain. “Did you really think we weren’t aware of what you were doing, Miss Arlovskaya?” he said coldly. “Please don’t underestimate my information network.” An evil smile danced on the corners of his lips. “And just so you know – we have much more than these few pictures, so don't try anything funny.”

“You’re so scary,” Peter said to her, hugging Hanatamago to his chest. “You’re like some kind of demon-lady.”

“Hideous,” Berwald murmured, staring down at the violet-eyed woman.

“It’s true,” Francis agreed, lifting Natalia’s chin with his hand.

“Francis!” she gasped. “Eli –”

He held up a hand to silence her. “You may be beautiful on the outside, but what’s the use if you only look good?” He sighed, placing a hand over his heart as he stepped away from her. “It pains me to say this, ma chère, but would you mind never coming back to the Host Club?” He stared coldly at her, his violet eyes hardening. “By behaving as you have towards Eli, you are no longer allowed to be a customer.”

Natalia swallowed the lump in her throat before standing, eyes watery. “Fine,” she said before marching out of the room. Out of respect to her, everyone ignored the sounds of crying that echoed through the hall afterwards.

Elizaveta, who’d ended up on the floor in the middle of the commotion, stared up at Francis, waiting for something to happen – though she wasn’t sure what.

Francis noticed her gaze from the corner of his eyes and felt blood rush to his cheeks. “Right,” he said, coughing before clearing his throat. “You’ve earned yourself a punishment for causing so much trouble. Plus one hundred customers to your current quota. Understand?”

Her jaw dropped. “What?!”

He sighed. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have lost my best customer, nor would I have had to search through a pond with my beautiful self.”

She groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The Frenchman chuckled at her misery before offering his hand to her. “Chin up, Eli – I have high expectations for you.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his hand and standing up on her own. “Thanks, I guess.”

Francis noticed a small card on the floor, soaked in tea. “What’s this?”

Elizaveta turned to see what he was referring to. “Oh, it’s probably mine,” she said as he picked it up. “I bet it fell out of my pocket.”

“Eli…” he said after a long pause.

“Hmm?”

“Are you… Are you a girl?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “Biologically, at least. My full name is Elizaveta.” She looked down at the ID he was holding. “Oh, I forgot my hair is long in that picture. It’s from ninth grade.”

Francis blinked, not responding immediately. Finally, things seemed to click into place. “YOU’RE A GIRL?!”

Lovino rolled his eyes at the scene unfolding in front of him. “He finally figured it out. That idiota.”

Feliciano laughed. “Well, I’m sure he knew it instinctively, and just refused to acknowledge it. After all, no one would do that much for a guy.”

“I knew it from the beginning!” Peter giggled. “Well, pretty much.”

Roderich chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s certainly an interesting development. Who knows what this will turn into?”

Elizaveta took her ID from the blonde while he continued to sputter nonsensical phrases. “I mean, I was fine with you thinking I was a guy, so I didn't say anything. The importance of being distinctively a guy or girl is probably lower for me than the average person. It’s not as if I’ve ever been interested in appearances.” She rolled her eyes. “My father is interested enough for the both of us.” She smiled at Francis – perhaps the first real one she’d ever given him. “But you know, you were pretty cool earlier.”

He turned a brilliant shade of crimson at her words, covering his mouth with one hand.

Offhandedly, the brunette added, “And I’ve realized that it’s really not too bad to be popular amongst the girls. It’s actually kind of fun.”

And as quickly as the blush had appeared, it faded to be replaced by an expression of dread on Francis’ face. “WHAT? Wait, Eli – I mean, Elizaveta –!”

Roderich sighed as he watched the blonde chase after the poor Hungarian, though there was a smile dancing on his lips.

Could this be the beginnings of love?

xXxXxXx

“And that’s basically how the first chapter goes,” Haruhi said, switching her phone to her left hand while she took a pan of cookies out of the oven with her right. “I just thought it was funny because it used so many of your friends’ names – and your own –, not to mention it reminded me of the Host Club I was in. Technically still in, I suppose.”

Roderich chuckled on the other end of the line. “I can see why you might find it amusing. Perhaps I should read the series myself.”

Haruhi laughed nervously. “I’m sure if it’s your type of series. I’m only reading it because Mei wanted me to. She insisted that it had a lot of parallels to how Tamaki and I met. Which it kind of does.” Her brown eyes widened as a though came to mind. “Oh! Your girlfriend, Elizaveta!” She stopped. “Er, are you and Elizaveta a thing right now?”

The Austrian laughed. “Yes, we are.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was worried that I was about to offend you, because I know you were on-again, off-again for a while.” She cleared her throat and began to carefully move the cookies from the pan into a container. “Anyways, she’s into romance stuff, isn’t she? She might like it.”

“I’ll recommend it to her,” Roderich said, “but I don’t know how comfortable she’ll be with reading a story that has so many names in it that she’s familiar with.”

“Well, I don’t know her too well,” Haruhi began, “so I guess I can’t really speak for her, but she seems like the type of person who wouldn’t care about that sort of thing all too much.”

“I'm sure you’re right,” he agreed. “I’d tell her about the book right now, but she’s currently engaged in an epic video game marathon with Gilbert. Every now and then I heard cursing from the room they’re in. Or worse, I hear Elizaveta hitting him with her frying pan.”

“What game are they playing?”

“Mario Kart.”

Haruhi bit back a laugh. “Well, I suppose it’s perfectly understandable if that’s the case.”

“Agreed.” There was a pause. “You know,” Roderich mused, “I think I’ll let Francis know about it as well. He loves being the center of attention, so he’ll enjoy having a book where one of the central characters – and the love interest, it seems – shares his name.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” the brunette teased. “If memory serves, you’ve told me that he’s a huge flirt. He might try and steal Elizaveta from you if you aren’t careful.”

He snorted. “He can try, but her frying pan would turn him away pretty quickly.”

She laughed. “You might as well show the book to everyone that’s mentioned in it. But if you don’t get in contact with me before a week goes by I’ll have to assume one of them has killed you.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Roderich said dryly. “Aren’t you hilarious?”

Haruhi chuckled, putting the last of the cookies away. “I’m aware.”

“Why don’t you show the book to your friends? It has parallels to your life, after all.”

“Mori actually read it before me, surprisingly enough,” she said. “He recommended it to Kasanoda, who then gave it Mei, and now it’s made its way to me.” Offhandedly, she added, “Mei and Kasanoda are actually a thing now – if you can remember them at all.”

“Really?” Roderich said, a note of surprise in his voice. “That’s the redhead and your childhood friend, right?”

“Yup.”

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Me neither, if I’m honest,” she replied with a laugh. “But they’re a cute couple, so I hope things work out between them.”

“To get back on topic,” the Austrian said, “do you plan on showing it to your friends or not?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Tamaki is going to find the book no matter what I do, so he’ll read it. Mori has likely told Honey to read it already. I might get in contact with Hikaru and Kaoru to tell them; they’re laid back enough to enjoy it. But Kyoya…?” She shuddered. “He’d say it’s a waste of his time and of no benefit to the Ootori family. I can picture the conversation now.”

“Get your fiancé to tell him,” Roderich chuckled. “They’re best friends, aren’t they?”

Haruhi smirked. “I’ll take you up on that suggestion. Though the first step is for me to get Tamaki to read it, huh?”

“I’m sure you can. You are quite persuasive.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The girl paused as heard the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Haruhi!” a cheery voice called. “I’m home!”

“I’ve got to go, Roderich,” she said, her tone apologetic. “Tamaki’s back, and I know he’ll be annoyed if I stay on the phone any longer.” She rolled her eyes. “He insists that we have ‘cuddle time’ every evening.”

Roderich sighed. “I wish I could get Elizaveta to have some ‘cuddle time’ with me. But I’m afraid she’d break my neck.” He paused as the girl laughed at his comment, then added, “It’s rather convenient that you have to hang up now, because I just heard a suspicious clang coming from the main room, and now I only hear Elizaveta’s voice.” He sighed again, though this one was of exasperation. “I hope she hasn’t gone off and killed Gilbert. Ludwig wouldn’t be happy with me.”

Haruhi shook her head, a smile painting her features. “Well, I wish you luck with whatever you end up facing. And don’t forget to show your friends the book! It’s called ‘Hetalia High School Host Club’, in case you've already forgotten.”

“Fine, as long as you do the same.”

“Deal.”

“It was good talking to you again, Haruhi.”

“You as well. Goodbye.” There was a beep as she hung up, then a click as she turned the phone off and shoved it into her back pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” Tamaki asked, causing her to jump.

“Please don’t sneak up on me!” the brunette said, holding one hand to her heart. “Good grief, Tamaki.”

He pouted before pulling her into a hug. “Sorry. But who was that?”

“I can already tell that you’re overthinking this,” she commented wryly, hugging him back. “It was just my old friend Roderich. My father signed me up for music lessons while I was younger because I was so tone-deaf, and he was there, too. Though he was far more talented than the rest of us. I think he makes a living as a pianist, actually.”

Tamaki’s pout deepened. “A pianist?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re much better than him, alright? Does me saying that make you feel better?”

He beamed at her. “Yes, it does!”

She sighed. “You’re such an idiot, you know.”

He buried his face in her hair. “Yes. Hikaru, Kaoru, Kyoya – you’ve all reminded me of that plenty of times. But what’s important is that I’m your idiot.”

Haruhi chuckled. “That you are.”

Her fiancé pulled away, an eager grin painted on his face. “So we get to have cuddle time tonight, yeah? I’ve already picked out some movies to choose from!”

“Yes, we get to have cuddle time,” she said, unable to stop herself from smiling. “I baked cookies for us to eat, too.” She held up the container as proof.

Tamaki cheered, grabbing her free hand and pulling her into the living room. “Yay! Let’s go!”

As she was being dragged along, the brunette got an idea. “Actually, Tamaki,” she said slowly, “can we read a book tonight while we cuddle, instead of watching a movie?”

He shrugged as he pulled her onto the couch beside him. “Depends. What’s it about?”

Haruhi smiled. “I think you’ll like it. It’s called ‘Hetalia High School Host Club’.”

Tamaki’s eyes lit up, and mischievous smirk grew on his face. “Is that so?” He laughed. “I have a feeling I’ll like it a lot.” He reached to the side and grabbed the book off of the small coffee table next to him. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

xXxXxXx

Thanks for Reading!

<10,450>

5 notes · View notes