#The very very first attempt is a tiny headshot of not knowing what I was doing at all lol

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 7

[prompt: praise kink]

male reader x shen xiaoting

7k words

Well - from a glance, Xiaoting is flawless.

Every photographer makes the same movement as soon as she steps foot onto the stage - almost as if she's commanding them - but it's not a fair competition and she knows it.

The tiny black dress wrapped around her waist, hugging every meticulous angle in its stretch, isn't exactly the most practical of options, but then again nor was the sleeveless cut or the low-backend, nor the slit in the skirt that shows however much leg you're curious to see, nor the five-inch Louboutins with little ribbons at the ankles, crystals in their mesh like a real-life glass slipper - so, truly, anything about this outfit.

But in this industry, red carpets are about one thing: image.

(Something Xiaoting wields in excess.)

She pauses the subtle sashay of her hips mid-way across the stage, and pivots around, straightening out the waves in her hair, done-up and perfect-in-pink, over her shoulders. She lets the flash of every camera illuminate the swell of her lips in full - reflect and shimmer in the sequence of diamonds dangling under her ears. But it's all in that little smirk, the tilt of her chin. Everything working together to sell the moment; how breathtakingly beautiful she is, how proud, confident and seemingly indifferent to all the commotion happening around her - to every person calling her name and pleading for her to look in this specific direction.

You can watch how deliberate she holds her posture. See it. Understand it. Watch how she tips her head. The genuine kind of smile that could drive anyone to absolute ruin.

Maybe the more obvious: how the cameras love her - love the flash, the shine and glitter and sparkle of the fabric, love the turn of a heel onto where her legs are poised, her profile a perfect angle for every shot and more and more and more.

There's not even the slightest suggestion of just how overwhelmed she is.

-

"You're not supposed to be back here," is the very first thing you hear, as soon as Xiaoting catches your reflection in the vanity mirror.

You hold up a press pass with a headshot that loosely looks like you. Like in a really dark, kind of out-of-focus photo sort of way. Xiaoting simply lets out a slightly disapproving sigh.

"Someone's probably looking for that, you know."

"What's the worst thing that could happen? Someone doesn't get to ask you what your favorite color is, or what you had for breakfast? God forbid we need to know your TMI."

She slips the crystal bracelet off the end of her narrow wrist and places it gently next to the red carpet gear strewn across the surface in front of her. A necklace. The earrings, similar in their shimmer. A matching headband, an evening clutch in white. It's all sitting, not necessarily disorganized, but it's in the mess that Xiaoting is all the while searching for things; lip gloss and makeup, small hair clips.

"You could get us both in trouble, for starters."

When she looks up at you, briefly, there's an attempt at a scolding expression - a short-lived one, how it quickly gives way to a grin, a laugh, all the things she can't help when it's you in particular.

"I'll make sure it finds its way back where I found it," and with a hand over her shoulder, "or at least somewhere close enough. If anyone asks."

Xiaoting bounces an impossibly sweet smile off the mirror at you when her eyes find yours again. And while she starts unclipping pins from her hair, lifting and tousling and adjusting the curls into a more familiar shape, you're almost entranced in the way her shoulders loosen and her eyelashes flutter. In this light, she's even more devastating: an illusion of something both fragile, and immensely resilient.

"At the very least," she says, "I won't hold my breath for anyone else to find their way into my dressing room anytime soon."

She gets a hold of a simple clip, pulls a stray strand of pink off her cheek, and tucks it behind her ear. The gesture is fluid, elegant even, and so singular.

She really is, gorgeous.

The fact that you have to occasionally remind her of that is a different maddening issue entirely. You've always wondered - and always will continue to wonder, really - why it is the prettiest girls seem to have the hardest time understanding they're beautiful. It makes you crazy, makes your head hurt.

There's an entire world worth of things for her to fixate her attention on: her job, her fans and career; a hundred more names and faces to learn - people who would probably agree to hang the stars in the sky for her, given the chance, the mere opportunity. But instead she can only bring herself to stare into a mirror and compare notes and point out all these things she doesn't feel ready for.

This interview, or her performance, or the next.

"They're talking about me. Those 'insiders'," she explains, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the voices in the hallway. "Said, my styling this past year has been too 'soft.' Too 'girly.' No one's buying it," and with a pout: "now, or then, apparently"

"Always works for me," you tell her, in a way that implies it's absolutely none of their business at the end of the day; what colors Xiaoting shows up in, how she wears her makeup and dresses, her shoes or perfume.

She floats her fingers up to the dip of her collarbone, weaving them into your hand. The contented look on her face, now a near permanent fixture in the space she keeps between the two of you, suggests that of all her accessories - gifts and borrowed things she wears in a perpetual game of dress-up - you're the one she would prefer most.

"Well," she says, fixing you a mischievous twist of her brow, "you'd say that if I was up there wearing nothing at all."

"Oh, not a doubt in my mind."

(As usual, the both of you laugh far too much.

As usual, neither of you manage to care.

Your lives have always been about soft edges. A little nonsense here and there, so long as it means having more of her.)

She brings your knuckles to her lips, careful and reserved, and holds the tips of her fingers gently to your neck. "How much more do you have tonight?"

"The rest of the hour is probably asking too much." You help Xiaoting onto her feet, arms wrapping her middle, and with a kiss dropped into her hair, you tell her, "should probably report in, let someone know I haven't gotten myself expelled."

"Thought you said you were a terrible liar."

"Oh, I am," you say. "That's just how much trouble I've already been making for myself tonight."

Xiaoting watches you kiss her shoulder, her neck, all in amusement, eyes never breaking contact as your lips brush and linger against the delicate shape of her wrist. A shiver in her exhale - almost a laugh, an 'I'm listening,' in a form of its own - and you find her body shifting into a natural and familiar hold; the outline of her mouth so unbelievably tempting when it parts so naturally - that when it comes down to a choice: Xiaoting against you, you and her in her private room, the hustle and bustle, and rush-hustle of the building and people and machines outside your door -

It really doesn't take too much convincing.

"Fifteen minutes. They'll start wondering," you tell her, already dipping forward to capture her in your arms. She falls right back, perfectly content as though she doesn't belong anywhere else. "We'd have to be really quick."

"You're bad," Xiaoting hums, winding further into your arms, smiling between the warm, warm kisses you're trailing along the collar of her dress, where the zipper is resting and ready to be drawn down.

The moment is candid: you pressing your lips into the bare skin of her shoulder, following it up with something that's part laugh, and part the kind of sigh people make after too long without sleep. You're already struggling against the curve of her waist - the swell of her hips, all her curves - while your nose nuzzles in deeper, a delicate exploration into the bend of her neck, against her shoulder, the hint of perfume. 

"Only one of us can be perfect, sweetheart." The damn truth, even if she hears it all the time and from everyone else. "You're gonna have to settle.”

You watch her expression melt into that self-composed, self-confident mien when you say it - in a quiet, contented kind of way; an ethereal sort of assurance. As though she was never meant to be touched by anyone, much less held by you, but somehow decided to allow it nonetheless. That look in her eye, it makes your heart twist. Every damn time.

"What about an accident," she muses, "something keeping you longer. Twenty maybe?"

"Oh," you chuckle. "Those happen in the hallway and parking lot. Where everyone can see. Never behind the scenes, for a totally unlikely and unrelated reason."

"Technicalities."

She turns to face you, fully, eyes lit and shimmery under the room's lighting; pink hair, all shades of glitter and silk and the smoothest, warmest skin. Your touch grazes up her sides, palms smoothing over the fine print, the sequins in the fabric, her hands all the while busy weaving, needily, around your waist, underneath the line of your shirt, finding and tracing along the ridges in your hips and spine.

Xiaoting wants you - plain and simple as that. The look on her face says as much.

And if you don't touch her now, kiss and feel her against you - all of it at once - she'll make sure you regret ever prioritizing anything over her. Over the two of you, and how perfectly and neatly you fit together, even if that means you're both absent for press calls, or a segment, or an interview she can't be late to. She'll blame you and it'll be okay.

"Fourteen minutes now," you inform her. "If it’s something you're counting."

"Give or take a few," Xiaoting smiles. Her words slip against your cheek, hot and honey-coated. It's tempting. Her teeth find your jawline and the gentle nip against your skin is hard to ignore. "Did you lock the door?"

"Believe it or not, that was the first thing I did."

And with her hips in your palms, you steal a kiss, because you can - because she's kissing you right back - her forearms wrapping over your shoulders, holding you tight around your neck, and, ahh - Xiaoting's mouth - how eagerly, so desperately, she parts your lips and slips her tongue over your teeth, humming, mumbling happily into a second and third and fourth kiss. Then, once the heat of the moment sweeps in, melting into something slower, sweeter, lingering, a little deeper, it's another.

And another after that.

She leans into you, the rise and fall, slow-down-then-start-again, of her chest and of her breathing and of the tiny, stifled noises she’s kissing into your lips. Only you're pinching the fabric around her waist, slowly lifting the hem of her skirt further up her thighs and reminding her that there's a promise for slow later, that she can take all the time in the world to map and remember the planes and edges of your body; trace the curves of every little sensitive spot and learn again how she fits into your hands, in the time and space that's left to the two of you alone.

"Thirteen-"

"Minutes," she echoes breathily against your ear and over the sound of her fingers in your belt. "I know. Got it."

Xiaoting's hasty. She has to be; reaching and fumbling to pop open your pants while the heat of her mouth finds you first, her tongue sliding smooth across your throat, chin, the warmth and the taste, then along the corner of your mouth - your tongue chasing hers and turning it into a mess that's as intimate and satisfying as it is clumsy; breath catching in both your mouths, hands intertwining, needing the contact with just as much fervent abandon.

Off, off, off, she's murmuring into you, thumbs perched dangerously on your waist, dipping into the fabric, tracing the rim, taking a tease down a little farther with each lazy caress, and, in the very back of your mind, there's a small voice in agreement that insists you are most definitely in no hurry at all.

It grows louder when the small shape of Xiaoting's palm is all the way down the rise of your pants, all over where you're beginning to grow hard - straining and twitching and almost painfully, impatiently interested. You hold her closer and clutch harder because the need is like a burn - one that's seared itself comfortably, wonderfully between your hips, where you feel each brush and curve and fond stroke of her touch.

Her eyes lift to meet yours, gleaming and knowing and laughing, no doubt aware that you're both going to be wrecked no matter which of these games she wins.

"Nothing we can't solve here and now." She tells you.

"True."

"I'll get my mouth on you later, make it all better."

"Later?" Your voice, completely a mess and breaking just enough, forces its way between a kiss that feels anything but. You're pleading for her, into her lips. "Oh, is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"A promise," Xiaoting gasps. "Or a threat. Depends how fast you're ready for me."

"Hush." And you hold her mouth open with yours, devour and drink the sounds falling from her tongue, each one that starts off shallow then trails deeper and deeper and deeper, until her hands have settled over you, and her fingers are finally pushing below the hem, and working the length of your cock, up and down and along it all.

"Hey,” she says, far too inviting, “aren't you supposed to be, like, tearing off this dress by now?"

Xiaoting smirks up at you. With a slight motion of her hand, the other having come to wrap fully around your shaft, the two fingers twisting along your tip, spreading the beading moisture into a long stroke.

"Very gentlemanly of you, wanting to keep it all nice and put together-" and with a wiggle of her brows, "-unsuspicious."

You clench your teeth through a gasp - a jolt at the sudden brush of her fingertips over the base, further down. Xiaoting has that mischief to her - she always has - a certain inclination to press and test the boundaries until they're unrecognizable, to poke and prod where she shouldn't, only the slightest bit concerned.

"Trust me, I would. Only this is a dress I can't afford to ruin, sweetheart." You're leaning her against the vanity, freeing one of her hands to press around behind her, against the cold, cluttered countertop, feeling how the sharp breath in her lungs goes soft and hot immediately, wanting.

"In that case," she tells you, a knowing tilt in her mouth, "you'll just have to ruin me in it."

That's a little closer to your budget given how fast your arm slips under her hip, pulling her up onto the vanity and angling her into you. Her skirt ruffles and follows, the material all too eager to keep you and the lithe frame of her body nice and snug together. There's that sharp gasp in her chest again, at the hand you're running up her thighs; an approval to your arrangement in the sound of her laughter, to your kiss, and all the fever-filled strokes jerking your cock that she's busying herself with again.

You can feel an urge you both share and want to make real and tangible, to peel down and past and over those tiny black panties; feel the heat rising, the wetness there, and all the eager, eager noises of her pleasure.

"Ten minutes." Your teeth are grazing into her lip, her mouth, while she whimpers so pretty into your throat. "Does that put any ideas in your head?"

"Nearly everything." Xiaoting lets your pants fall and uses the back of her heel to skid them down around your feet. "But maybe, especially your cock right here, if you’re going to slide it so slowly over me-" she sucks on her next breath, holding her hand where her panties are; smoothing against you with her hips rocking forward.

You feel her head drop, slightly, when she whispers into a heated kiss, "right between, the most tender way, where I'm aching the most."

"I bet you'd look beautiful with it," you say, all kinds of things, leaning and mumbling into her neck, all that exposed skin. "My cum on you. Sitting so good right here, in such a tight little-"

She stops your teasing with her kiss, pushing forward to the point where her ass is bumping right against your hips, your hand, your cock; coaxing you in closer.

And then, a particularly stern warning, probably warranted, sneaks out through the bite of her lip; just barely restrained: "I swear to god if you make a mess anywhere - don’t, if you know what's best for you.”

"That's a pretty roundabout way of asking me to cum inside you, Xiaoting. Wording matters."

"Telling." Her smile is all kinds of sly; all for you to witness and tuck safely in your pocket later. "Not asking."

"We’ll see what we can do with nine minutes," you tell her, and your cock is snug against the lace of her underwear - right where she's so fucking wet - you can already hear it in the little, jerking huffs in her voice and on her breath and how your hands are touching her through the fabric. How between hot, clumsy kisses, she's lifting and drawing her body as close as possible and curling into you.

(God.)

"Easy," she mouths, all hot and hazy as she drags the lacy band of elastic aside. It's your turn to inhale and jerk and gasp, but there's hardly anything there to catch you, just her whisper that says, "there you go, honey, fill me up real slow. Right to the very, very top," her voice arching high when you've begun to nudge your cock into her, opening her up and up and up with a slow, steady thrust. "Just - like - that."

And in the seconds, maybe minutes (you’re trying not to lose track), that follow, you are holding your breath against the heat blossoming through her cheek. Against Xiaoting, flushed and whimpering, hands buried in her dress and her hips starting to roll back on your cock. It's a tiny adjustment; nowhere to go but deeper, further - grinding together however you can manage.

It's one thing to love each other quietly, discretely and with all that discretion.

It's another entirely, in times like these, to give in to a raw-edge impulse that hits suddenly and leaves just as fast. Your hips snap in and in and in, Xiaoting's chest rising and rising, her head turned and pressed into the shoulder of your shirt, her hand already caught in a fistful of sleeve. And you - the friction is so soft and so good, a slick, easy glide of your cock - full - all the way to the very last inch.

Just her seedy, whimpering whine fills the back of your neck and your ear, and her arms and her legs locked in around you, like a coil ready to burst, that ache coming to a head.

The ends of her hair are soft and sweet where you gather a fistful of pink around your wrist, hold - pull, like a taut string. Xiaoting gasps a fluttering note as her chin tips up, the smooth canvas of her throat begging to be kissed and roughed up in just the right places. Reddening like the insides of her thighs, the heat there, where they're pinched around your waist - delicate little marks of where you're fucking her open and bare and deep and so well.

You could drink up each and every noise - all the keening and humming, the ruffled, strung-out sounds; how you're both breathing into a shared mess of gasping and panting, of Xiaoting whimpering into your throat, clinging on like she'll die otherwise. "Faster," she pleads all desperate and urgent. "More. Fuck this pussy like it deserves, don't you want it? So wet, can't you feeling how I'm aching?"

You can. Hot and wet and absolute.

You can feel the shudder-wreck, the absolute throe - there's not an ounce left between you; nothing but her slick, warm cunt clutching and hugging your cock, letting it stretch her apart and fill her again and again, the little ridge between your hips slipping over her clit on a forward, upward stroke and grinding there, with a shaky hand cradling her lower back for support while you drive back into the thrust.

"Ting, fucking christ - Ting, your tight little pussy is incredible." You groan into her skin. "Taking me, fucking, taking every, last, inch-"

"I can feel you fucking throbbing," Xiaoting tells you, all teasing and exasperated as she lets your name turn into a series of vibrating hums against your lips. "You're going to make me fucking lose it, the way you're hitting me inside."

See, you fit together, inside-and-outside so perfect; that when you begin to really fuck Xiaoting, when she's making it clear, over, and over, yes, harder, give it to me, and the table she's sitting on is giving away each-and-every one of her whimpers, you lose yourself in the rhythm and pace and the fact that Xiaoting's creaming cunt is working itself hot and messy and pulsating around you; so fucking tight, tight, - slick all around - almost drawing you in, then resisting and tensing every-time your cock finds just the deepest angle.

It's something to push, something that makes you greedy and drive her ass into the cabinet even more; make sure you're slipping along her walls just enough, and doing so with every few inches or less that you're managing to drive, working over a pressure so sensitive it might be making her see stars, every time a thumb digs a little deeper into her hip bone.

"All the way, baby," she's saying, whispering, making you want to fuck the words out of her in broken pieces. "So. Close. Just a little-"

She's gone, her back arched - bending into an incredible sight. And there's the most beautiful look on her face, even under the frantic-urgent rush. Your hands are all over her: pressing into the divots above her hips; petting the expanse between her tits, then down again, feeling out her ribcage, her belly, in between her thighs and parting them wider - like if she were any more spread open, she'd be coming right off the table.

Then, the thumb tangled into the sleeve of her dress, the rough pad of the other rubbing circles over her swollen clit - here you'll figure she'll cum; she's never shy about it - but it's more a question of how many times. How it always builds up and comes apart.

You're obsessed, really, with the details: her eyelids fluttering, the sounds of her skin sliding down onto the cabinets, her lips that can never get themselves closed.

"Oh, Ting," you're panting, licking all over her parted mouth, "do you need-"

Her nails begin to cut half-crescents into the small of your back, where she's been gripping at you; a moan falls straight out from her tongue, straight into your own, the closest she'll ever come to asking for anything: but it's easy.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, I'll give you whatever you need-"

You slide your fingers higher up her folds, pushing onto her hot cunt right over the spot where your cock is disappearing inside her.

"I know that's what you need to be fucked silly, right? Need some extra friction so I can have the entire inside of this fucking cunt dripping-"

Xiaoting makes a noise that tells you, good guess. And you're playing her closer and closer to her orgasm, watching her teeth sink into her own lip, knowing that she's the one on a timer - which makes it all the easier, because you know exactly what to say next, because you've played this game enough - when you've already been fucking her and fingering her through one or two and her noises are telling you her body needs just one more, and then, the words usually roll right out, not the slightest bit contrived:

"That's it, sweetheart, you look so fucking good. So, so pretty cumming on my cock, baby. You're fucking gorgeous, you know that? I can't get enough of you."

Her mouth falls open, eyes screwing tight with it - the praise, the way you can talk her right into it every fucking time - the way it all but kills her: even when she's getting pumped full of pre-cum and sleeved around your cock like a glove, you know that sometimes the words are the only thing she's chasing, and her jaw starts to trembling just like the rest of her. This full body tension, head to toe of perfection you're whispering in her ear. She's pressing her heels harder than before against the back of your legs, digging, her whole chest shaking for a gasp of air she doesn't seem to ever be able to fully catch.

"But god, I wish you were looking at me," you're begging, sincere, with a deep sort of pining, when you get the the sharp twist of her neck, like it takes everything in her, then, like it's a miracle - those lidded, still-water eyes focused right on you. "I want to make you fall apart, just looking at me, sweetheart."

(Your poor heart. An obsession. So in love with her.)

The kiss you steal from her lips is deeper, your tongues playing a familiar song, the push, pull - how easy and perfect she fits.

When she cums, it always starts quiet, not like what she's just started doing: the kind of cries and moans that begin to make it past her teeth, desperate and panting, her fingers crushing down in place where they're pressed to your skin. Those whimpers that start quiet, get loud, fast, and then Xiaoting's arching right up from the table and clenching her entire body. With you inside her, she's so wrapped up in how good it is, the pleasure spiking past her pussy and into her veins.

"Shh," you soothe her, lovingly brushing her hair to the side when her breath shudders hard; the mess you made, sliding a palm against her cheek when the first few tears gather, the way they always do when Xiaoting's overwhelmed and torn down in such a good, beautiful way. 

You could kiss her, when you feel the curve of her trembling lips. You do, again-again; slip and wet and parted and sliding when Xiaoting lets you hold the base of her chin between your forefinger and thumb, and bring your mouths together like that.

You could hold the moment longer. Keep kissing her and not moving - except Xiaoting has that meek, "Fuck me," mumbled into your open mouth, her half-wits returning and giving her the very start of a wicked grin - all sloppy with orgasm. "However you want, whatever will make you cum fast-"

"Turn around for me. I'm going to show you how pretty you are, looking just like that-"

"Y-Yeah- '' Xiaoting is trying, her joints trembling as she moves her body. She's so good, listening, rolling onto the surface of the table with her ass up, palms spread out and supporting her into this perfect line. Xiaoting's defining the curve: where her lower back and tight little ass begins and ends, right up into her shoulders and spine. Her hair has fallen across one side, and now you can finally see how much she's blushing in the mirror, the messes that her eye makeup has smudged into, how good she's been, and now how sweet and pliable and worked open her muscles are.

The view alone could have you blowing your load before you can even do it properly inside her.

But, god - the fact that her dress was hanging down on one shoulder, then on none, exposing her naked skin entirely; the fact that you can't resist grabbing a hand around a waist-full of her body and dragging her back closer, slotting your thighs under hers and her ass up against you, cock sliding into her still-clenching cunt without the help of your hands, just finding it where it belonged. You give it to her like she's meant to take. Fast. Hard. Deep. Making sure each-time your cock is in its base-deep place and sliding right back out, pulling slick, creamy strands out from her fucked-out pussy. Bathing you in her want, her need, pooling along the base of your cock; seeping everywhere.

There's just so much of it. The sounds echoing off the empty walls, so distinct, unmistakable, so full and thick. The way your whole body seems to tighten and tense along with hers - everything tight, you can see it, your eyes sweeping from Xiaoting's thighs to the reflection of how she just takes you. Shaking each time, the lines of her body wobble forward when your hips land a heavy thrust and slide along every bit velvety-wet inside her: no room for your cum when she's this overflowing, you figure, wondering how full of it she could even get.

"Fuck," the word just slides off you. "Fucking god, you're the best fuck," you praise her. Like heaven.

Because Your hand is in her hair again, wrapped up in and smoothing over the tangles; feeling her like silk. But now you're grabbing too - holding her steady, a fistful between the roots; you want her back arched, canted just that one angle higher that you know would push her past all limits.

“Oh my god,” she gasps out, once your get her knee planted up on the counter - once she's spread herself even further for the weight of your body. "That's it - holy shit, please-more-"

There are little whispers too - stuff that makes your cock twitch a few times, pulsing in warning - not even fully aware that she's cumming down all over your waist, praises like the hottest of filth, please and yes and I need it and fuck and fucking christ, keep going and don't stop don't stop please baby I'll do anything anything-

Xiaoting's voice reaches the same high pitch she does when her clit is getting hit, not sure what part of her body you're touching or just the overwhelming sensation, but god she doesn't know which way to turn her neck and face. She just ends up taking it all in, breathing in the gravity of the moment - her reflection, yours, the feeling - a tremor building up, her eyes flickering back-forth when she realizes they've started to close, forcing herself to look at the both of you.

You fuck your cock through each inch of her quivering cunt, each one hotter, tighter, wetter than the last - until you're spilling cum - cumming deep and fast inside her -

Reaching so far she can feel the thick pool of it getting fucked further into her with every shallow snap of your hips; her ass flushing back up against your stomach. Filling her to the brim - enough to feel it drip and seep and slide.

And she doesn't stop, the way she has her hips rolling down your length and staying there, your cock rooted into her deepest spot. If there's one more thing she gets off on it's being filled, milking the remnants, emptying you, and - because she's almost fucking teasing you, you feel it when she's clenching the remaining dredges right out of your body; out and leaking hot along your over-sensitised skin. The sharp sting of it has your hands tight on her waist, her ass spilling through the gaps of your fingers - deciding what you'll do.

"Three minutes," she says, panting, "is enough-"

You squeeze through the sculpted round of her ass. Spank it. Knead it.

"You want me to fuck another one into you - can you take that? You'd be such a good girl if you can take a fucking like that."

"I mean it," Xiaoting rasps, hips still lifted and angled toward you, as she meets you in the mirror; her eyes looking past your reflection, still coming down, wrecked and fucked raw, but making the message clear. "I'll make it easy for you."

And with that's she got her hand on your still-hard cock; not nearly enough softness in her voice for the rough grip and the sloppy pumping - fucking filth out of her still, if there was ever any hope of getting it out the way she's pulling and using and moving the slick all over you, spilling it onto the floor. "Think I can make you cum again, right here and now."

The thing about Xiaoting is:

She makes bad decisions, but always with the best intentions. That's why you always know what she'll say.

Because it's almost always the same answer: a pair of crossed wrists and a coy-eagerness that's enough of an invitation for you to make use of what she's given.

And this is the exact way you find yourself dragging the fabric of her dress down her shoulder, her middle, her breasts falling back down from their bounce when you unwind it, then twisting the end tightly into itself before shoving it into the soft valley of her mouth.

I love your tits, you know that?" you tell her, mouth open and hot against her shoulder blade. “So fucking pretty all over, Ting, your entire body's amazing and it does things to me-if I could, I would keep my cum inside this tiny little pussy, over and over, keep filling it. Make your tummy swell for me, sweet baby, and never let a single drop-"

"Do it-" she moans out, words garbled by the fabric. Her eyes are wide and full of the darkest innocence, like anything could happen; anything you wished. "Do it, your fucking cock, want to feel you-"

You spank her again, and she keens.

The mirror is showing you how her chest reddens under the rush of your hands kneading at her, almost violent, before sliding down the back-insides of her thigh, pushing, "But, what you look like with my cock buried inside you, stretched out and still so fucking tiny around me."

It's not new. It's what makes Xiaoting give you the dirtiest, sexiest little hum around the cloth wedged inside her mouth.

Then her cunt clenches down on your cock, and you're groaning, "christ," watching the way her face tugs at the stretch, watching, when her back is pushed out again - the angle. You're lining up, sucking in the full and naked and glistening display of her body before letting your hips fuck into hers again. It feels even better than the first time: tightening like a vise around the thickness of you, your cum pouring back inside her, then with her eyes fixed to yours in the mirror, you get to watch her lips straining; a drooling, whimpering mess.

Then. You're slamming her waist into the table. Rough, reckless. Desperate to reach another edge, rough enough that she can barely look up from her bowed elbows, elegant features twisted into something a little more awful, a little more pretty - just there, and - and - 

A third time. Four. More.

Xiaoting's whimpering, just so spent she has nothing else left, your cock filling her up so full and hot with your spill; she's sloppy and flushed and you're pressing her up into the cool surface of the mirror, with her legs giving in when she collapses over her heels and nearly tumbles over; her own body weighing nothing.

If she asked, "carry me," in any way, you'd be on her like clockwork; you'd get her turned around into a loose-limbed pile, a leg thrown over each of her waist; she'd already have her cheek nestled against your jaw, halfway asleep, a warm bundle pressed up and waiting to get tucked into bed and swept into all of the things that would make her purr and melt; blankets and warm-clothes and showers and tending.

You'd always make a show out of sweeping her off her feet. Because the thing is, Xiaoting deserves it.

And you let her know that:

"You're always the sweetest, aren't you? Taking a fucking like that," you tell her, burying the dying gasps of a laugh right into the sweat-sticky back of her neck. You can feel her throat vibrating out a small sound, her brain almost definitely not able to formulate words, maybe only just registering the tones of your voice. "You are just so breathtakingly gorgeous, babe, the prettiest baby. The fucking world must be upside down, because no one tells you nearly often enough."

And -

Xiaoting - really, above all else, is fucking gorgeous. Because her tired laugh echoes a small part of itself straight down your spine, filling all the dips between each of your vertebrae. Genuine smile and all.

It has your skin crawling back to life, warming up.

There's a murmured 'thank you' said somewhere into the back of her hand, between her pinky finger and her ring, a small, stifled breath that pulls on her tired voice; it's a sleepy sound, like honey, and maybe that's why you choose to tell her one more time.

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's been a good fifteen-plus-extra minutes. You can live with that.

"Told you we'd be late," you say, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

Which means this is the second time she says: "Nothing there we can’t solve with a little..."

"Carelessness?"

"Misdirection. Pretty convenient for some of us," Xiaoting murmurs with the lingering sweetness of your kiss on her lips. "Who have that charming talent with words."

She looks up, wincing and dabbing at the dried tracks on her cheeks where her eyelashes have swept away all the makeup and tears, like a soft brush sweeping away the layer of snow, she lets her head rest there in your palm and the other soothes, warm, on the back of her neck - her shoulders a little slack when you feel her whole body relax.

"Love you," Xiaoting says, after a heavy breath; a shaky exhale, just under her tongue; "even when we're a little crazy."

Your cheeks warm as they squish themselves around her grin.

"Love you. Now hold still," you say - taking it slow, kissing the damp pink curls right behind her ear. Then, for the most part, it's back to business. Back to normal.

Makeup wipes and wet washcloths. Clearing and setting the furniture upright. Hastily undoing the locks, so that to anyone who's passing by and smelling the raw, irrefutable evidence of sex and sin, they can turn away and think twice - no one's fault except the wicked thoughts swirling and forming in the back of their thoughts.

(No matter how many times you do, it's no different with Xiaoting; her smile turns the wheels in your head - still spinning. You can't help it when she laughs with her eyes still half-mast - fucked-out; a headiness, her tone like velvet.)

And the 'yes, we do,' on her breath when she hums again, is the beginning of an I-told-you-so, when you tell her, "c’mon, we've got places to be."

#xiaoting smut #kep1er smut #kepler smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

[vargaslovinghours]

2017 | 2021

First time(s) drawing Edgar, immediately ditch the shirt

#💟 #Redraw #Doodles #Art #Edgar #Lol #If memory serves (unlikely) these are actually my second and third times drawing Edgar the first time around #The very very first attempt is a tiny headshot of not knowing what I was doing at all lol #I've been in a bit of a redrawing mood lately and I do honestly still like these doodles #The fun thing about having such a malleable style is it's hard to judge something as being ''worse'' or ''better'' it's just different #S'why I pulled some of the details I liked from the old versions into the new ones but still kept some of the details I like from my current #His hair especially he has floofed considerably haha #But I do like how I drew his nose in '17! :0 I think it looks neat #Wild to think I drew both of those lol #Oh yeah and the second one was turned into a digital version soon after it was made! #So it doubles as an ''Here's the original sketch'' lol

[shuttershocky]

I want to write about how well Hypergryph translated the Rainbow operators’ gameplay from Siege into Arknights, because as a Rainbow Six Siege player I’m quite happy with how they did it and thought that the developers either did a ton of research, or are avid Siege players themselves. 

This doesn’t even include how much work went into using the characters for the event story, which was insane. Everything from the story direction (Siege started out as a realistic shooter about counterterrorism that eventually turned into mad sci-fi thus the direction of Originium Dust and its villain) to little character details (Blitz is the one mingling with the locals and learned to speak in Sargonian because part of his backstory is that he’s a linguist) were pulled off marvelously.

Before we begin, it is important to note that Rainbow Six Siege’s operators are split into Attackers and Defenders, which have completely different rosters. It’s an asymmetrical game. Attackers need to break in and capture an objective, while Defenders need to defeat all the attackers or stall until time’s up, and their gadgets and unique abilities serve their respective roles. Arknights’ collab has two attackers, Ash and Blitz, and two defenders, Frost and Tachanka.

Ash

Siege: In Siege pubs, Ash is often the first one busting in. Notoriously fast and difficult to hit, her gadget Breaching Rounds shoots a drill charge through any soft wall and then explodes, letting her crash through unreinforced walls, ceiling hatches, floorboards, etc. She’s aggressive and very easy to play with great guns, so along with her notoriously tiny head playing her is often joked as All Aim And No Brain.

Arknights: In Arknights, Ash’s offensive and fast playstyle gets translated into her talents and skills. Her second talent lowers her DP cost by 3 when she’s first deployed, making her initial cost extremely cheap for her rarity. She also gets a massive initial SP gain to use her skills faster, meaning bringing Ash in Arknights often means giving her an explosive, fast entrance where she drops in before anyone else and can use her firepower almost immediately. Her skill 2 is her R4C gun in Siege, having the exact same 31 bullet clip and the same devastating power with its high damage and fast firing rate. Her skill 3 is her breaching rounds gadget, with the same 2 shots only ammo limit that she does in-game. Unlike in Siege however where Ash uses it to smash open the level and attack from unforeseen places, Ash in Rhodes Island uses the Breaching Rounds as a straight up explosive weapon, though it still deals bonus damage for landing on a wall.

Blitz

Siege: If Ash attacks you by surprise, Blitz announces his arrival with his heavy footsteps and his tendency to go in through the front door. He’s currently the ONLY Siege operator with a shield that can sprint while protecting himself, meaning that his playstyle involves charging like a bull into the line of fire, shrugging off all bullets with his shield while praying that no one sprays his legs, and then bashing his shield into the first player he gets in melee range of. When the enemy’s experienced and tries to stay just out of shield-smashing range though, that’s when Blitz uses his gadget, an extremely bright light on his shield that flashbangs enemies and blinds them. few things are as scary as suddenly being blinded by Blitz, because anything can happen. You can try shooting wildly or randomly swinging your gun, in which case he can calmly walk up to you and bash you, or you can attempt to turn tail and run blind, in which case he can just shoot you in the back. Blitz’s job is to break defensive lines, take down Roamers (aggressive defenders who try to go for pickoffs like Caviera), and generally cause as much chaos as he can before he inevitably goes down in a hail of bullets and grenades. Not for the faint of heart.

Arknights: Arknights may have had the most difficult time translating Blitz, as a tower defense game means he has to stay stationary, while a Defender’s job is to create a defensive line, not break it. He is however, an extremely aggressive defender, with his talents encouraging him to attack stunned enemies for bonus damage while his Skill 2 gives him a ridiculous +200 attack speed after he bashes an opponent he’s blocking. Maybe the smartest thing HG did with him though, is make his Skill 1 only cost 15 SP at M3, with an initial SP of 15. That means Blitz can be hotdropped into the map and immediately flash someone with his shield, silencing and stunning them for a very hefty 4.5 seconds simulating his bullrush style of fighting. He’s rather popular in 1 tile /1 operator-only challenges or reactive strategies due to this, if not for his funny lines.

Frost

Siege: Frost is a very simple, straightforward Defender operator. While operators like Aruni or Wamai have sci-fi shit going on like cyborg arms, laser walls, and grenade-magnetizing frisbees, Frost brings a bunch of bear traps to defend the objective with (she’s a hunter from Canada after all). Her “welcome mats” often get placed next to windows or doorways, and if anyone steps on them, snap goes the trap and “OW MY LEG WHAT THE FUCK?!” goes the Attacker. Her welcome mats are able to instantly knock down any operator from full health and leave them with a sneeze’s HP remaining, making her a very feared Defender. Since her welcome mats are simple bear traps, they cannot be detected by any electronic scanners like IQ’s, and they cannot be disabled with EMP bombs from Thatcher. The only way to deal with a welcome mat is to destroy it with bullets and explosions, but that just tells Frost you’re here...

Arknights:  Frost is also equally simple. She has a lot of welcome mats, you step in it, and you take damage and stun / bind. If Frost has Skill 2 equipped and an enemy steps on her mat while in her attack range, they also take a shotgun to the face, just like they would in Rainbow Six Siege (except it would probably her her SMG instead, Shotgun Frost users are rare in pubs from my experience)

Tachanka

Siege: Arguably the most beloved operator in R6 Siege, if not by pickrate, then definitely by memes. Tachanka has two identities, due to a major rework done to the character in 2020. HG being the madmen that they are, decided to translate both into Arknights. 

Pre-Rework: The Lord Tachanka was essentially a turret user. He put a big shield and stand on his LMG, picked a spot, deployed his LMG, and then shredded any Attacker that tried to challenge him in a direct fight. His gun was powerful enough to tear open gaping holes through walls, and his shield meant that trying to take him head-on was rather suicidal. Unfortunately, being a stationary character in a tactical shooter is very bad for your health, especially when Siege allows you to open up walls, floors, and ceilings. It wasn’t uncommon for Tachanka to guard a location, then suddenly have the ceiling come crashing down from Ash’s Breaching Rounds and instantly get cut down from above. Additionally, Siege is a game with one hit kill headshots no matter the weapon, so even if Tachanka had a very big gun that dealt 55 damage in a game where people only have 100 HP, he stood still in a game where a peashooter could instakill him if he was taken by surprise, meaning he was never very powerful. Still, the players loved him, and actually winning with Tachanka felt glorious.

Post-Rework: In an effort to make him more viable, Ubisoft gave Tachanka a new gadget in the form of the Shumika launcher, a grenade launcher that fires... fire. Now an area denial operator like Smoke, Tachanka cuts off the Attacker’s paths by setting rooms ablaze, forcing them to take damage over time if they still wish to cross. In order to placate his fans, Reworked Tachanka got one of his regular guns removed in favor of having his classic LMG, now mobile and able to be carried around, though with the shields removed. Now Tachanka is, while not OP, quite respectable in the right hands, able to bounce his grenades to set you on fire from safe angles, while carving you up through walls, floors, and ceilings with his LMG if he knows you’re there. 

Arknights: If there’s anything Originium Dust makes clear, it’s that HG loves Tachanka. His post rework form is translated into his first skill being the Shumika launcher that lets him set the ground on fire and murder anything standing on it, while his Skill 2 is holding down the trigger on his LMG, just like all Siege players love to do. The stationary nature and shields of his pre-rework form have been translated into his talent, which increases his defense at the cost of increasing his redeployment time, while his unnaturally long range for a dualstrike Guard (He’s not a ranged Guard, he’s a dualstrike like Ch’en and Bibeak!) makes him the only Guard of his archetype that can hide behind a Defender’s shield while denying a long hallway, exactly like he does in Siege. 

#Arknights

[uglypastels]

New Beginnings // roommate!au

(a/n) I’m sorry @duskholland for coming up with these aus. the good thing about it is, that I have no self control so here it is, the New Girl!roommate!au :) i’m not gonna say it’s great, and also i’v seen like 5 episodes of the show maybe so it’s definitely my own take on the pilot. hope you like it.

word count: 6.3k

warning: swearing, sexual references (the first paragraph is as bad as it gets), dark humour and mentions of murder, sex trafficking - basically reasons why not to move in with strangers you meet off of craigslist. Please be safe and responsible. but it’s all just fluff and humour. Also, possibly some horrible writing cause i couldn’t bother editing this <3 

“And when I walked into the bedroom I found him in there, completely naked, with some slut sucking his dick… so basically, that’s why I need a new apartment.” You looked around at the three men in front of you, realising you had zoned out a bit there while telling your story. “Sorry, what was the question?” 

“Uhh,” the blonde one, which introduced himself as Harrison earlier, spoke, “Do you have any pets?” 

“Oh,” well that was embarrassing, “No, I mean I had a schnauzer when I was younger and I always wanted to get another one but who am I kidding, nothing will ever live up to Mr Snuzzlekins.” For the love of God, shut up! “No, I don’t have any pets.” You felt your entire face heating up. Suddenly you became very aware of a strand of hair that was in front of your face so you pushed it behind your ear

“Mr Snuzzlekins?” The other one, Tom, laughed with a small smile. 

“My sister named him,” you lied. You were already embarrassed as it was. 

There was a moment of silence where no one knew what to say next, so you decided to break the tension. Awkwardly laughing, you said:  “You know, the funny thing is, I didn’t expect you to be… guys.” That was true. When you had been searching through the Craigslist advertisements there had been a lot of applications for housing but you had ignored most of them because they sounded too much like human trafficking scams or some other creeps looking for a way to get a girl. You had particularly found interest in this apartment, not only because of the actual great (and safe looking) location of the building but also because you had thought that the ad was written by a woman. Not that you didn’t think a woman could murder you, but it did bring a bit more security to you to live with someone of your own gender. 

Well, as you saw three men sitting in front of you, you had guessed that wrong. They did seem nice enough though. Handsome too. You really hoped they weren’t murderers. They wouldn’t do well in prison… also, your death. Not a favourable outcome in the slightest. 

“Why’d you think that?” the third one asked. You had missed his name during the introduction round, but you already felt like you could be good friends with him. His boyish charms made you think he was younger than the other two, though he did have a very small resemblance to Tom. You found it cute how his curls bounced around when he moved his head. 

“Well, the ad, it was phrased… very femini-ninely...” That was definitely too many syllables. Could this interview go any worse? No, probably not. But the guys didn’t seem to mind your momentary idiocy. 

“Oh, yeah, we had our mum write it for us.” Tom explained, sitting a bit more straight up, “We had been trying to find someone else to live with us ever since our friend Tuwaine moved out, but we kind of suck at advertising ourselves, so yeah-” 

“Oh, well that makes sense, yeah.” Their mum wrote it. So they were a family. Brothers? Yeah probably. You didn’t really see how the Harrison guy fit into that since he didn’t look anything like the other two. Shattering blue eyes instead of the warm hazel. Dark blonde hair instead of the reddish-brown. All three had magnificent bone structure that you had to admit, but not in the same way. 

“So, what do you guys do?” you decided to ask. 

“We’re actors,” Harrison said, pointing at himself and Tom. Since you had no heart palpitating reaction when you first saw them, you could probably safely assume that they were still trying to find their break out role. Harrison pointed at the third of their addition before continuing. “Harry is more of a behind the scenes man, photography and directing, that kind of stuff.” 

“That’s… interesting.” You smiled. Were you about to move in with three wannabes? If you were, would it be inevitable that you’d end up paying the rent for all of them because they wouldn’t be able to find gigs? That was a bit harsh. Besides, you could always look for a new place before that happened and move out. And who even said that you could move in, in the first place? “Anything I might have seen you guys in? Or some of your work?” You directed the additional question to...Harry. 

Harry. Harrison. Try to remember that. 

“I’ve had a few roles on the West End, nothing big yet but once I have a role, it’s at least steady for a bit, you know,” Tom said. 

“I’ve mostly been doing headshots for people, so I doubt you’d have seen anything I’ve done.” Harry said. You nodded to his statement. 

“And Harrison has been signed with this fashion designer. You might have seen some ads around town.” Modelling. Not another model to live with. You tried not to let your smile fade. 

“No, sorry, I don’t think I have. But I’ll be on the lookout.” The grin you put up actually reached your eyes genuinely.

“So what about you?” Harrison was the one to ask, not noticing any change in your demeanour. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m a teacher. I know, not very glamorous or anything- and I might sometimes come home with an abundance of ice-lolly sticks- but it’s good fun and it pays well.” You looked around some more around the apartment. As you focused on the spacious living room of the loft, you wondered how these guys could afford it. Were their rich parents paying for it? Was there secretly asbestos in the walls, making rent not even a problem? Were they going to kill you? 

It was a really nice flat. With exposed brick walls and wooden beams at the ceiling, which the guys used cleverly to hang their houseplants from. Even with the large space and the big windows covering the outer walls of the room, it felt very homey. Comfortable. 

“I’m sure you already know, but it’s a really great place you guys got.” Compliments always worked, so that was your way to go to ensure you had a roof over your head soon. Feeling a bit more comfortable now, you decided to get up to walk a bit around the room. The reason for that specific action was unknown to you, but you did it. 

It had been the first day since your breakup that you had actually made an effort in looking presentable. Hair washed and brushed, you had clothes on that had zero Cheeto dust on it. Of course, since these were guys it probably didn’t even matter to them what you looked like but when you still thought you might be living with other women, you were terrified of being denied because of how you looked or something. That could still happen, but they just didn’t seem like the shallow type. And they had seemed really surprised when you appeared at their front door, as if they didn’t expect a girl to show up either. 

All three of them turned their heads as you walked around, following you with their eyes. It was a mix of curiosity and the same fear that you saw in people on competition shows, when they were waiting for the judges’ critique. 

You looked out the window to see the view. It was a lovely lookout on the city. 

“How come your roommate moved out?” Was it your place to ask? You had no idea. They didn’t seem to mind the question, though. 

“He moved in with his girlfriend instead.” Harry was the one to answer. A heart wrenching feeling fell over you. You didn’t know this Tuwaine, or his girlfriend, but a sudden wave of hatred towards them and their happiness overwhelmed you. Why did everyone have to be all happy and in love? It was disgusting. You were sick of it. 

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind living here.” Somehow you managed to speak out without showing any of your feelings through it. You allowed yourself to walk around to the kitchen island. It was recycled wood with a dark varnish on top, making the light from outside shine on it. You could almost see yourself reflecting in it. Were they this clean or had they no idea how to cook? 

“Don’t get me wrong, you seem great, but we don’t really know anything about you yet.” Tom got up and walked up to you. The other two followed his steps. You were now standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, making you feel as if you were a bartender ready to take their orders. 

“There really isn’t much more to tell. I mean, I did just go through a break up, so emotions are uhm… out there. I might be spending the next few weeks watching horrible Hallmark movies, like 4 or 5… a day.” You saw the disgust on Harry’s face and quickly made an attempt at recovery. “But I can do that on my laptop and headphones, so ya know, I’ll be quiet. I’ll be in my room the entire time too, probably, so you might not even notice I’m here.” You tried to sell yourself as un-pathetically as possible. It had come to desperate measures in desperate times. Because, what your (possible) new roommates didn’t know, was that you had already spent the last four weeks looking for a new place, and while there was no luck in that, you had to do with sleeping on the tiny couch of your best friend. 

As if he could actually read your mind, Harrison’s next question was: “So, where have you been living the last few days then? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Not at all,” you said, finding large interest in the pattern of the stained wood. Not looking up at the three men, “I’ve been living with my best friend. She’s great but I just don’t think I'm suited for the life she and her supermodel friends have-” Why did you mention the models? Your eyes shot up to Harrison’s. But it was Harry’s and Tom’s that were wide. 

“Supermodels?” Tom coughed out. You nodded, having leaned in with your elbows on the table, looking rather unimpressed. The way Tom’s hands grabbed for the sleeves of his roommates did not go unnoticed by you. Before you could say anything, he excused himself and the others and they had disappeared into the corridor. Earlier on they had told you that was the way to the bathroom. They were trying to whisper, but weren’t doing a great job at it. You could hear every word perfectly well. 

“What are we thinking, guys?” Tom said, closing the door behind him. When he turned around, Harrison and his brother were rubbing their arms, on the spots where Tom had been a bit too rough on his grip. Harry sat down on the edge of the bathtub, while Harrison decided to remain standing,eventually leaning against the tiled wall. There was a bright light in the small bathroom, but the vintage green tiles made it all look much darker. 

“She seems nice.” Harrison spoke up finally. “But I don’t know, she’s obviously a… she. Won’t that be weird?” 

“What do you think, Tom?” Harry asked his older brother, who, even though had been the one to pull them into the bathroom, had not planned on saying much. “You’re the one with experience in living with a woman. So try to cancel out those supermodels for a sec.”

“I don’t know,” Tom bit the inside of his cheek. Before he had moved in with his brother and best friend, he had been living with his then girlfriend, Stacey. They had been together for a while until she had decided that maybe, this wasn’t meant to be after all. Unlike you, though, the apartment had been in his name so he had a place to stay, but he just couldn’t get himself to live alone in a place that was intended on being lived in by two people. So, he moved out. 

“I mean… every girl is different, so I can’t say shit.” 

“I’m really not that bad!” you shouted from the other side of the door, immediately hiding your mouth behind your hands. Now they knew you were listening to their private conversation. The bathroom door opened and Tom’s head popped out. He saw you sitting on the couch. 

“Could you- could you hear all of that?” he pointed back into the bathroom. You nodded, still covering your mouth, scared you would say something else embarrassing. But the guys seemed to be just as abashed. One by one they walked out and came to sit on their basically appointed seats on the sofa. Did they have their own claimed seats? Would you need to be prepared to only sit in one spot of the room forever? Shit, they had all the seats with the window view… 

“So,” Harry said, “when you said supermodels-” but he never got to finish his sentence because Harrison slapped him across the back of his head. You suppressed a small laugh. It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom, who reciprocated the expression. This, in turn, was missed by you. You only looked in his direction a second later, when the smile had slightly faded already. 

“Thanks for saying that whole ‘every girl is different’ thing. Not saying I can’t cook… even if that is going along with the stereotype, but I wouldn’t exactly want to be accepted to live here as a nanny… not that I think you guys can’t take care of yourselves! I mean just look at-” you eyes wandered around them just for a second before coming back on the right track. “- at the apartment. What I mean is- uhh.” 

“Guys are dicks?” Harrison suggested. 

“Yes! No! No, of course not, well some. But I don’t think you guys are. You seem really nice. I’ve just had… experiences with living with other types of guys and that really was not the planned outcome now that I think about it and I don’t know why I can’t shut up now because I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.” 

“Is this Spencer that we’re talking about here?” Tom asked and your eyes shot to his direction, shocking even him. The name had become somewhat of a trigger for you in the last few days. At the last moment, you realised you had actually mentioned his name yourself to them during your introductory story, so that spared you a good bit of humiliation there. You decided to keep quiet. You all did. Great, because this day had not gone awkward enough. Maybe you could sink into the surface of the ground and die there? Then there would be no more reason to find any living space. It would all be over. Yeah, that really didn’t sound too bad even. 

“So, do you wanna see your room?” Harrison broke the silence and his words surprised everyone, even him. You took longer than it should have to comprehend what he had just suggested. 

“What? Uhh, yes! Yes! Oh my god, that would be fantastic. Thank you.” 

“Great,” Harrison clapped his hands on his thighs before getting up. Then he extended one of those hands to you. He led you to the corridor opposite the bathroom, the third door on the left. The door had some scraped paint residue on it and you could see a poor attempt was made at pulling off the scotch tape that held up posters on it or something? It opened up to a room. It wasn’t big or small. The wall color was a nice beige, a bit of a sandy, almost peachy color. You could definitely work with it. 

The guys let you take it in, but also took that moment to give each other death glares, most of them directed at Harrison. 

“What exactly were you thinking?” Tom asked him, this time properly whispering. For extra measure he extended his neck to look into the hallway to see if you were walking out of the room again. 

“Actually, I was thinking about how you had showed up at my door at 2 am when Stacey dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me. No one was dumped.” Tom denied like always.

“No, you were definitely dumped, mate.” Harry said, not even making an attempt at hiding the amusement in his voice. 

“Anyway,” Harrison ignored the interaction between brothers, “I thought of you and how miserable you were then. She’s probably going through that same thing.” If not worse, he wanted to add, but he also didn’t want to edge Tom’s ego any further. “So, let’s give her a chance.” 

Tom still didn’t seem to be entirely sure. He raised his eyebrow, thinking. He looked once more at the corridor, expecting you to walk out any moment, but you still were in the room. What were you even doing there? The place was entirely empty. 

“Fine,” he gave in, “but if she turns out to be completely psychotic, you’re kicking her out, Haz.” He immediately noticed the wince in Harry’s face. Had he mistimed his words? 

Yes, he had, because you were standing right behind him now. The sight of you made his heart stop for a good second as he went pale. 

“Fucking Christ,” Tom gasped, “if you live here, you’re getting a bell. None of that sneaking around.” 

“Are we talking service, hand, cow, or the kinky cat collar type?” you smirked, knowing you had gotten him completely flustered at your joke. While Harrison and Harry burst out in laughter, Tom didn’t move a muscle. His cheeks and neck, however, had started to turn a lovely rosy colour. He opened his mouth a bit, just to close it up again as he changed his mind. 

_______________________

While you had told them that you would be spending your days crying into a pint of ice cream while watching movies, reality was much more different from that. It was true that you barely left your room, but that was because you were too busy unpacking all your things out and setting up your room. The guys were nice enough to help you bring up the furniture sets and the boxes, which had been lovingly left at the curb of the building by the people from the moving company.

That ordeal had taken up most of Saturday. Your first task was to set up the bed, which Harrison helped you with. You tried to tell him that you didn’t need help, but your words were futile the second you almost dropped a wooden plank on yourself. The flatpacks were easy enough to understand, and unlike what you had done there, you weren’t the worst when it came to building, so all the furniture was set up by the end of Sunday. It meant that you could spend the rest of the week opening boxes and making your room really yours. 

But Monday also meant work, so you only had the afternoons and nights to do it. Together with the fact that you had to leave early for work, meant that the guys really barely saw you. The only sign of your presence would be the music you were playing from your room while doing the unpacking. 

It was the fourth hour of your One Direction sing-a-long that Tom walked into the living room. Harrison popped his head up from his book to look at his friend. He did not look happy. 

“Dude,” he said. The one word already evoked all that Tom wanted to say, but Harrison loved to annoy him. 

“What?” he opened up his book again, pretending not to really pay any attention to Tom. This was made harder when Tom sat down next to him. 

“If I hear What Makes You Beautiful one more fucking time-” 

“Then what?” Harrison still kept his eyes on the words on the pages, not taking in a single word. 

“You have to do something. I can’t take it.” 

“Why do I have to do something?” Harrison closed his book with his finger still between the pages and looked at Tom, just in time to see him narrow his eyes in annoyance. 

“Really? So do you wanna see your room y/n?!” His voice turned higher as he mocked Harrison’s words, following it up by a gagging sound. “You’re the one that got us here. Now, go solve it.” 

“I really don’t mind it. If you’re so bothered, go talk to her yourself.” And with that, Harrison went back to his book. This time actually reading the words. It was enough for Tom to know that the conversation was over. He didn’t even try to argue. He gave Harrison one more glare and got up. While walking to your room, he noticed that Harry had actually been in the kitchen this whole time, listening in on their conversation. He tried to give his little brother a look, hoping for support, but he didn’t get any of that. Harry disappeared behind the doors of a cupboard and Tom went into the corridor, still rolling his eyes. 

When he reached your door, he couldn’t hear you singing anymore. It was just One Direction coming from the speakers. Now, he enjoyed the lads just as much as the next guy, but after a while he just needed it to stop. And coming in in five hours was definitely a while. 

He knocked on the door. There was a sound that resembled you. A bit of a murmur that formed no particular word. It didn’t sound like a denial though, so slowly, in case you didn't want him to come in, he opened the door. 

You were quick in decorating the room. Only a few days ago it was still empty and a bit cold looking, now the walls were covered with posters and pictures. You had used one entire wall just for your bookcase. There didn’t seem to be an order on the shelves just yet, but you left that for the last thing to do since the rest of the room seemed a bit more important at the moment.

The bed was unmade, with several pillows thrown about over it. Behind it the headboard, which simultaneously served as a shelf. Stuffed animals and a few more books were strewn about. Overhead were fairy lights, matching the ones on the doorframe and on the bookcase. Together with the lamp that was on the desk, it was the only light in the room. Since it was dark, it gave the room a warm and cozy atmosphere. 

But the first thing that Tom noticed when he walked into the room was the smell. Coconut? It wasn’t overwhelming, just strong enough to be pleasantly surprising and noticeable. 

You were standing on a small step ladder, which you usually used to reach the upper shelf of your bookcase (high walls gave the opportunity for more shelves, which you could never say no to). You were in the middle of hanging up a picture on the wall as the song from your speaker continued. 

Can we take the same road, two days in the same clothes- 

You were holding on to the frame with both hands, trying to centre it on the nail in the wall, but every time you pulled away, the frame would slant to the side. 

And I know just what she’ll say if I can make all this pain go- 

Tom saw you get fed up with the picture, throwing it on the bed with a groan. That’s when you looked up at him. The dim and soft light was shining just at the angle that when he looked at you, he could see the tear streaks down your face. You had definitely been crying. You were still sniffling a bit when you stepped down to the floor. 

“Am I too loud? Sorry.” you immediately reached out to your phone, which was connected to the speaker, and pressed down the volume. Then you decided to just turn it off completely. Maybe you’ve had enough of it for now. 

“Uhh, a bit, but it’s fine. We like 1D here, so.” Tom suddenly felt like a real dick when he saw the small, apologetic, smile you gave him. You were holding the speaker in your hands as you sat on the bed, staring at it, a bit lost, and Tom wasn’t sure if he was supposed to leave or not. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. You had clearly forgotten he was still there, because you looked up looking a bit frazzled. 

“No.” You said honestly. What would be the point in pretending? You couldn’t fool anyone even if you tried. Misery was the only thing feeling your once Spencer-filled void. Ugh, the sound of his name, even just in your thoughts, made you want to scream. Unconsciously, and a bit to Tom’s amusement, you had grabbed one of your pillows and started to hit your fist right in the middle of it. Your hits were getting harder and rougher. 

“Ever considered boxing?” He brought you out of your haze. You looked down at the pillow, seeing the sad looking indent on the kitten-patterned pillow. Tom took the pillow away from you and fluffed it out to its normal shape before putting it back.

“It’s just been hard, you know,” you said, more to yourself than to him and Tom understood that. He knew what you meant. He had been in that same position not too long ago and seeing you like this did definitely bring back some of those feelings he had tried to suppress back then. 

“Like, I thought he was the one. And I know it sounds so stupid, I don’t even believe in that whole soulmate crap, but he was it for me. For the first time, I could actually imagine myself enduring nine months of hell to have a kid with him, sorry if I’m being TMI.” 

“You’re good,” he said. He also understood that feeling. Maybe not in the exact, child bearing way, but he could resonate with that whole it thing. He had felt the same way about Stacey. He had never told anyone this, and was never planning on telling anyone, but the day before they broke up, he had been out in the city looking for an engagement ring. It had come unplanned. He wasn’t thinking yet about actually proposing. But he had been in town for an audition and on his way home he saw the jeweller. It was the first time he had ever thought of it, and it seemed right, so he walked in and just looked around. 

“You must think I’m so pathetic though. Crying for weeks about some douchebag.”

“Well, you’ve only lived here for five days, so I wouldn’t know about that.” He smirked. You groaned again and fell with your head on a big fluffy pillow. 

“But no,” he said eventually, “I don’t think you’re pathetic.” 

“Thanks.” 

_______________________

Another week had gone by and your mother had somehow found out about your new living arrangement. So, the last 20 minutes you had been sitting on the couch, listening to her yelling. 

“No mum, I’m fine.” you said, for what felt like the 50th time. Right at that moment, Harry showed up in the living room, making his way from a shower to his bedroom, only a towel around his waist. His usually curly hair was a wet mop, covering most of his face. 

“You don’t even know them!” your mother shrieked. 

“Harry, are you going to murder me?” you asked as he walked by, covering the microphone of your phone. Without missing a beat, or looking down at you, he answered with a snappy “Yup,” and walked into his own room. 

“They’re really nice guys, mum.” You told her. It took you another ten minutes to convince her not to come over tomorrow (or ever, in general). The conversation had taken an abrupt turn when suddenly, she invited you to a video call. Knowing that if you didn’t answer it, you would never hear the end of it, you accepted the call. Your mothers face, or better said, forehead, showed up on screen. You tried to cover your chin as best as you could with the collar of your sweater since you were too tired to hold up your phone at a reasonable angle. 

“Hi mom,” you sighed. 

“Where are they?!” she said, looking around as if she could actually see more than what your camera showed. You were going to lie that they had gone out, but right at that second Harry walked out of his room. Thankfully he was dressed, but his hair was still a bit wet. His shoulder was just visible in the corner of your screen and you tried to move to the side, but your mother had noticed him already.

“Who’s that?” Why did your mother always have to be so loud?

“Uhh, that’s Harry.”

He looked up at the mention of his name. You were scared that it would make him uncomfortable if you talked about him to your mom, it was making you uncomfortable for sure, but instead he jumped up at the opportunity and the next second he was leaning on the couch, almost over you, and smiling at your phone. 

“Hi.” He waved to your mother. His quick movements made his hair move around, giving you a nice first row experience of the fountain show coming from it. You wiped the water off your face. 

“What’s your name again?” Your mother asked. 

“Harry, Ma’am. Harry Holland.” He said with a smile. You both knew that when your mother had asked him his name, she meant his full name. She wouldn’t be able to make any deep research, but it was in case you suddenly went missing, of course. 

“How old are you?” your mother went on with the third degree, glaring at your roommate at each question. Harry answered it all with a big and charming smile. You held the camera, hoping the couch could eat you already. This could not get any more embarrassing, could it? 

Oh, it could. Because half way through, your sister had shown up and sat down next to your mom. She didn’t say anything, but suddenly a text notification popped up on the top of your screen. 

Who’s the hot guy?

Your sister was not imbecile, yet she loved to act like it. Of course, Harry saw the text and erupted in a loud laugh, startling your poor mother. As the timer on the call was reaching 30 minutes you decided to say your goodbyes and end the conversation. Harry was still laughing. 

“So… you’re sister…” he said once calming down. 

“Don’t even think about it. She’s 17.” you glared at him and he immediately shut up, which you appreciated. 

“Well, your mom seems nice,” he eventually said. You knew he didn’t mean it in that way, but in the context of your previous exchange, it didn’t sound great. Now you were the one laughing. 

“That is not what I meant!” he shouted out, grabbing a throw pillow and hitting you on the arm with it lightly.

“Jesus, calm down. I know.” You grabbed the pillow from him. You were both in a fit of giggles by then. It took a moment to catch a breath and by that point, your head was actually hurting.  

“So do you think I’m hot?” Harry asked, raising his brow like the cheeky fuck he is. You just rolled your eyes and hit him with that same pillow. Maybe a bit too hard, because it knocked him off balance and when you looked up, he was no longer leaning on the backrest of the sofa. 

“Oops. Sorry.”

_______________________

Something you had to learn the hard way when it came to living with the guys was that you had to lock your doors. They weren’t doing it on purpose, but they had a tendency to forget to knock when walking into the bathroom, or even your bedroom. Specifically, Harrison. 

Usually, you’d consider him to be the more logical of the three, but that didn’t really mean that much. He was just as much of an idiot as the two Holland brothers at times. 

The bathroom incident had happened during your first week of living with the boys. You were taking a shower. The loud water had cancelled out the sound of the door opening so you didn’t know that while you were washing your hair, Harrison had walked into the bathroom. 

In his defence, he thought it was Tom showering, not you. 

You had not been made aware yet of the honourable fifth member of the household: a life size Nicolas Cage cardboard cut-out. So, when you pushed the shower curtain aside, and were met eye to eye with Nick Cage himself, you screamed bloody murder, almost falling in the bathtub. The door opened to horrified Harrison, realising his mistake. He realised it as soon as he heard the screams, which clearly did not belong to Tom. 

But another scream followed, which was shorter and more specific, followed by a “Fuck!” made him feel like something else had happened. It sounded like you had gotten hurt. So, obviously, he walked in to see if you were alright. 

You were, in fact, alright, and seeing him standing there, eyes wide as he saw your naked body, you screamed again for him to get out. He took a second to grab Nick and pull him out of the room, mumbling a few sorrys, and closed the door behind him. 

Flushed, slightly angry, and with a pounding heart, you dried off and got dressed. Unlike the guys, you were never one to parade half naked around the house on your way from the bathroom to your bedroom. 

You walked out, a pile of old clothes in your hands, to see Harrison. He looked like a puppy that might be about to be smacked with a newspaper on his nose. Usually you were very much against that disciplinary practice, but Harrison was no puppy, and you had been scared shitless. 

“y/n, I’m so sorry.” he apologised as he followed you to your room. You were telling him that it was alright, and actually quite funny, but he really wanted you to know that it was an accident and that he didn’t mean to scare you like that or walk in on you naked or linger his eyes on you for that long. 

“Seriously, Haz, it’s fine. Shit happens… just, don’t walk into the bathroom anymore when I shower. Or ever actually, if I’m in there, don’t.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

And he kept to the promise. You didn’t get any other sudden visits in the bathroom, but it was not the last time that Harrison saw you naked. 

You were all going out to a bar one night, and a bit shamefully, you were taking a bit longer than usual with getting ready. The guys had been waiting for a while already, and you were trying to hurry up, but you just had no idea what to wear. Finally you had found yourself a dress that might make you get a bit lucky that night. You weren’t even planning on hooking up, but the attention was appreciated. In your, still not exactly over your break-up situation, it was actually needed. 

In the meantime, the guys were deciding which one of them had to go and tell you to hurry up. It was getting late and they needed their time to get completely smashed. And while waiting for you, getting knock out drunk was definitely not happening. 

Harrison drew the figurative short straw. He thought you were doing your make-up or something, being aware how much time that can take sometimes. He never imagined opening the door and seeing you standing in the middle of your room, only in a pair of panties. You didn’t see him at first because your dress was over your head as you tried to pull it on. Harrison closed the door before you saw anything. But you could hear the thud of the door closing. 

You pulled the dress over your body, grabbed a pair of matching heels and put them on as you got out of your room. There you saw Harrison. His red cheeks indicated that he was the one who had walked into your room. Tom and Harry were standing at the door. They could see you walk out and their eyes had gone a bit wide. Clearly, the dress was serving its purpose. 

Having already gone through this whole embarrassing scenario already, you decided to spare Harrison. You have him a soft smile. 

“Could you help me zip up?” you asked, turning your back and pushing the hair away from the zipper. 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah, of course.” He was so flustered. It was actually adorable. You could feel his hands on you as he grabbed the two sides of the dress and the zipper and slowly, carefully, pulled it up. 

“Thank you,” you said when he was done. He didn’t respond, his face still as red as a stop light. And it didn’t get any better when you kissed him on the cheek. 

It was definitely interesting to be living with them, but you couldn’t complain about a single thing… except for the laundry, maybe. 

The END

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

> please leave a comment or ask with your thoughts. i love reading them and let me know if you want to see more of this au cause i really enjoyed writing it :)

>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96  @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown  @spiderrrling @lonelyavenger @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @awesomehritz @madzleigh01 @oh-what-a-beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey @quaksonhehe @mountainsforwords @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex @ethereal-beauty-p @slytherin-chaser @worldoftom @moonysoftt @peeterparkr @wazzupmrstark @saintlavrents @peachybloomss @blissfulparker @chloecreatesfictions-archive  @fallinfortom @bitchydecisions @okokimfreakingoutahh @rxsydreams @musicalkey @joyleenl @multifandomdoodles121 @awkwardfangirl2014 @marvelouspeterparker​ @siriuslyslyslytherinyes @lunalovegoodsgirlfriendyes @bitchydecisions​ @okokimfreakingoutahh @quinjetboi​ @sheranatic111​ @zspideyy​ @lizzyosterfield​ @dahliasbroken​ @parkerlovebot​ @itstaskeen​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @sluttytears​ @lilhoodhippie​ @theliterarymess​ @marlenetough​ @tomsirishgirlx​ @hiiii-i​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @dumbledorrs @hollandstea @roseke​ @outshineallthestars​ @spideyspeaches​ @ieatchildrenfordessert​ 

#tom holland au #roommate au #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #harry holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #harry holland fanfiction #harrison osterfield fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff

[eccentricpony]

Hello dear! I kind of did a spin on this request, and the story starts around the time of their first meeting and shows the progression into a romantic relationship. Mildly inspired by Tenma’s home screen quote to practice a kissing scene.

I think it’s a good blend of angsty, spicy, funny, and fluffy, but you be the judge! I am quite fond of this piece, and I hope you are, too!  <3

Bad First Impressions

Despite your best efforts to suppress it, a dramatic sigh rumbles past your lips. And to think that you had actually looked forward to working with Tenma Sumeragi. You had watched his performances in a few teen dramas and found his ability to be quite impressive, and he was highly lauded among other actors in your professional circle for being the consummate professional and perfectionist. More like pretentious and pompous.

“…and you there-“ the haughty redhead pointed towards a mousy looking boy sitting at a diner table on set.

“Uhh, B- Bill?” the mousy boy responded meekly.

“Yeah, sure – no one just stares at the person across from them without saying anything at all. It’s creepy and weird. That goes for you, too, guy with the glasses.” He moved an accusatory finger towards Bill’s dining companion. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of “peas and carrots”? I mean, this is amateur hour stuff that you don’t even need any skill to execute…”

“Can you just close your mouth and do some work, Sumeragi?”

You could hear a pin drop in the spacious sound studio. The cantankerous teen star whipped his head towards you with a pointed glare. You were an up-and-coming actress in the teen drama scene, and although you were a year older than he was, his acting resume was at least three times the length of yours. Sure, you were pretty, and you seemed passably talented, but you had a long way to go before you could even reach the echelon of his level of expertise. And you had the audacity to criticize his judgment??

“Excuse me?!” His eyes raked up and down your form, sizing you up in an attempt to appear intimidating. The manner in which you nonchalantly rested your hand upon your hip, head-cocked and eyes rolled; it was utterly disrespectful to him, a major authority in the industry, not to mention disrespectful to your fellow actors, to the very sacred space of-

“And to think that I had heard you were a competent leader…” you continued in a jaded tone. There was a visible flare in Tenma’s cheeks, the fury sizzling behind his eyes red hot.

To his credit, he certainly had a high level of talent, but that gave him no authority to degrade his teammates, whether they be fellow actors or the key grip. You weren’t normally this abrasive, but charming teen cutie Tenma was a self-important bully who was surrounded by “yes” men. This suave schoolboy star needed a wakeup call. The scandalized celebrity opened his mouth to commence a tirade when the director stepped in.

“Now, now, please folks. Let’s be civil…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he glanced between you both with a pleading look.

With a final sour stare in your direction, Tenma transformed back into TV’s favorite high school hottie with a heart of gold.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, and you also nodded in consent. Everyone placated Tenma, endured his toxic attitude because he brought them money. But one thing was for sure, you had no intention to relinquish control to tyrannical Tenma.

Japan’s Newest Sweetheart

Tenma rushed down the street, tipping the brim of his hat further down his forehead, his alarming speed drawing attention from passersby. But he couldn’t slow down now; it was only a matter of time before Igawa caught up to him and asked where he was going, and why he was going by himself, and what was he looking for after all, and a number of other questions whose answers he would very much prefer not to explain.

With the convenience store in sight, he quickened his pace until he reached the threshold, throwing open the door with a tenacity that startled the cashier. Returning upright from where he hunched over his newspaper, the shopkeep threw a cautious eye to the young man at the doorway, wearing a suspicious amount of accessories and panting like he was running from the law.

The ginger on a mission performed a quick visual sweep of the displays until he located the object he desired. Bounding forward, he approached the magazine rack and flipped open the arts & entertainment periodical to the index. …page 31…

Rifling through the flimsy pages of the gossip rag, he at last reached the article which he had sought. There looking up at him was a page-wide spread of you, armed with an impossibly charming smile and a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. The page opposite of your come-hither headshot bore the headline “Japan’s Newest Sweetheart.”

It was infuriating. You were a nobody – barely any experience at all, and certainly not in anything particularly noteworthy – yet you were the one pushed to the forefront of advertising. His eyes flicked back to your picture once, twice… I mean, it was a good photo.

Ignoring the manner in which his throat seized when met with your 2-dimensional gaze, he directed his attention to the article. His eyes tripped along the words, “captivating new series… “ “character growth and development…” – aha! He spotted his name among the text and focused on the containing paragraph.

“blah, blah… he’s a true veteran in the industry…” Tenma puffed up like a rooster at this remark. Damn right, I am. He continued to read your commentary, mouth silently forming the shape of the words, scouring each sentence for more well-deserved praise. You went on to describe the characters, their struggles and how the cast related to their roles… One line in particular raised his brow. Tenacious young man?? Young man, what? She’s like, one year older than I am! He rose his head, appalled that you would speak of him like a child. He turned back to the print, reviewing the sentence a second time. She’s not even a whole year older, we’re practically the same age. He bent his brow in concentration. He counted back from your birthday. Yeah, totally not even a year old. Tch. He chose to ignore the fact that he recalled your birthday so quickly and glowered down at you while you beamed right back up at him.

It was undeniable that he was pissed off due of all the attention you were receiving when he was the lead. Possibly because… well, maybe you did deserve it. He had come to respect your acting ability over the past few months, in particular your impressive ability to become truly immersed in a role.

But maybe also because…. well, you looked good in this spread. Like, really good. Your smile was intoxicating; why didn’t you smile at him like that?  On second thought, maybe it was for the best that you hadn’t. His hardened exterior would likely dissolve, and he’d be a stuttering, fumbling mess. Scanning your features, he noticed that they airbrushed away a tiny birthmark on your face. Or maybe it was a freckle?  And they did something to your eyebrows, they just looked off. Why would they even do that? They were perfectly fine eyebrows…

“Hey, buddy, are you going to buy that or not? This ain’t a library.”

Tenma’s head shot upright, dazed for a few moments before he comprehended the words spoken to him. His tense fists gripped the wrinkled magazine tightly, fragile pages strained and starting to tear. Loosening his hold, he spared a final glimpse at your face before neatly closing the pages and smoothing out the bent cover.

“Uhh, yeah. I am.”  

Sliding his shades further up his nose with his pointer, he coolly ambled to the checkout area and lay the gentleman’s digest upon its surface. The material refused to remain flat after its recent abuse, leaving your shirt and neck visible beneath the dog-eared pages. The employee recognized the article right away.

“That new actress is really something, huh? They say she’s going to be the next big thing.”

Tenma scoffed but offered no discourse, handing over the required yen.

“Pretty cute, too,” the young worker added as he slipped the purchased item into a plastic bag.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tenma huffed heatedly, snatching the illustrated booklet containing your first big media premiere and returning to the sidewalk to await Igawa.

Salty to Sweet

“Don’t they teach you how to stay on task in Middle School? Or are you in High School?  Your lack of common sense is misleading…”

“Funny,” Tenma retorted caustically, though more annoyed at himself than you. He had been finding it challenging to focus as of late since he bought that magazine and he kept screwing up on the same damn lines. His short fuse was growing ever shorter with every butchered word.

You could see that Tenma was downward spiraling; the spark he always carried behind those big, vibrant eyes was fading fast.

“Look, why don’t you try something else…” you started, preparing for opposition.

“What?” the taller boy began, with no small amount of skepticism. Ignoring his sour attitude, you stood opposite him and continued in a calm tone.

“Try talking to me about something you really like while staying in character.”

“Talk about something I like?” Tenma replied incredulously. “What am I, six?”

“Sometimes I wonder, with the way you hide your vegetables under your mashed potatoes during lunch, so no one notices you throwing them away.”  You smirk knowingly, pleased with the look of surprise on your fellow actor’s face.

“You saw me do that?”  Tenma stared at you with a look of both wonder and bewilderment. He was certain no one could see him do that, and you sat at another table entirely! How on earth could you have been paying close enough attention to him to spot that, unless…

“Everyone knows that,” you deflected quickly, the rosy tint on your cheeks belying your innocence in the matter. “So what are you going to talk about?” Your bitter scene partner rolled his eyes. As a veteran in the industry, he felt pretty foolish having you talk him through basic acting exercises. Yet….  There was no question that he was struggling with the script, and no better ideas came to mind. With a sigh of defeat, Tenma offered the one outlet that came to mind.

“Bonsai…” he mumbled in a barely audible tone.

“What was that?” you ask, leaning it. Your close proximity fuels a steadily growing warmth along the back of his neck. He takes a sudden step backward and repeats himself louder.

“Bonsai! Are you deaf?”

“Bonsai, huh?” You smile with amusement. “Well, that’s something you don’t read in all your magazine interviews.”

“Reading my interviews, are you?” he responds dryly, but his stomach does a flip. He thinks back on the magazine he has featuring you, kept privately stashed away in a box under his bed. The thought that maybe you had a magazine featuring him tucked away somewhere in your bedroom causes chills that ran down his broad arms and shoulders.

“Nevermind that,” you grumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “Well, bonsai it is, then. Whenever you’re ready.”

You spend the next few minutes listening to Tenma ramble on about bonsai pruning, the proper tools to use, and even the proper light, pH and moisture levels to ensure optimal bonsai health.  Despite the fact that you now know more about bonsai trees than you would have ever cared to know, it seems that engaging, dynamic Tenma has returned. He comes to a full stop after finishing a discourse on bonsai diseases; his head now feeling clear, he’s convinced that he can recite his lines without hesitation.

“That was really good,” you commend him honestly, mirroring the pleased look on his face.

“Naturally,” he boasts in a cocky tone, feeling confident following his flawlessly delivered bonsai monologue. “It’s amazing how pleasant you can be when you’re not yelling at me,” he jibes, looking rather pleased with himself. You raise a brow at his renewed brashness, but you’ve always been quick on the trigger.

“It’s amazing how handsome you can be when you’re not scowling,” you reply with a smug expression, reveling in the crimson darkening his cheeks.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he mumbles with an air of mild embarrassment irritation, rubbing the back of his neck which is now damp with sweat.

“Who says I want to go anywhere with you?” you shoot back with a patronizing smirk before turning your attention back to the script. “SO, where were we?” you inquire loudly before he can get a word in edgewise. Thumbing through the marked-up pages, you see in your periphery that he is doing the same.

“Scenes 12 and 14 we did, 17 we did… no need to go over scene 28…”

“Why are we not practicing scene 28?” Tenma inquired in a cheeky tone. He knew exactly which scene 28 was: the kissing scene. You hadn’t gone over it yet, in read-throughs or on set. After you had just bested him in a mini battle of wits, this would be a great opportunity to even the playing field.

He had performed at least a dozen kiss scenes; it was old hat for him by now, and he knew for sure (not that he had googled your TV and film credits or anything) that you had never performed one. He was certain you’d flounder in search of a clever comeback, then, admitting defeat, blush profusely and outright refuse to do it.

“Fine, let’s do it.” You were no fool, and Tenma Sumeragi couldn’t bluff to save his life.

If Tenma wasn’t youthful and in great health, he might fear he were having a heart attack. Words seized up in his throat, and he could only manage a curt nod. He walked in a small circle, shaking his limbs as he often did while getting into character. He could do this, this was nothing. He had kissed, like, at least 12 girls before. 12! That was more girls than most men kissed in their entire lifetime! Wasn’t it? He couldn’t really think straight. With a long breath in, and out, he reformed his strategy.

He would perform a star-worthy kiss, absolutely knock-your-socks-off amazing, and then swagger out of the room while you were still swooning and dazed. His ego swelled a bit at the thought of leaving you desperate for another kiss, but his blood ran fast and furious at the thought of… well, actually having the kiss.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you started in the tone of your character’s persona, the sudden smoldering look in your eye plucking at his every last nerve.

“At lunch, in the hall… even waiting for the bus.” Slowly, you crossed the floor towards Tenma’s frozen form. “You’ve given me flirty smiles, you’ve given me teasing winks, but there’s one thing you have yet to give me...” His pulse pounded in his ears as you leaned in closer, far closer than you had ever been before. His eyes flicker anxiously to your mouth, his breath held tightly in his throat.

“A kiss” you purr, biting your lip with the thrill of anticipation. Your lip bite just about crushes any dignity that remains in Tenma; tracing the lines on your lips with a wanton stare, it takes him a few seconds of feeble gaping before he remembers he has a line.

“Come and get it,” he whimpered, his line in a tone more befitting the token band geek than a smooth high school hunk. And get it, you did.

His script is lost to the floor as you press your lips onto his, his body rendered both limp and tight all at once. He did not expect this kind of kiss from you. Or maybe it was because he was used to a stage kiss, with twenty people watching and instructions from several individuals on how to hold his mouth at just the right angle for the camera. This… this was a kiss kiss. Your soft mouth was moving fluidly against his with such hypnotic, sweet caresses that he was convinced that he had never truly kissed someone before now. It was humbling but delicious; he had no control, and he couldn’t care less.

He couldn’t contain the small whimper of disappointment you drew from his throat when at last you pulled away, slyly wiping your reddened lips with the back of your hand. Tenma watched you with a mixed look of shock and awe, as though you had just miraculously materialized from thin air. Practice was over.

“Don’t lose that script,” you called over your shoulder cheerfully as you exited the practice space. “I think you could use another review of that scene.”

The Premiere

The Interview

You: …and it’s been bittersweet, but we’re both ready to move onto new projects. Isn’t that right, Tenten?

Interviewer: Tenten? That’s adorable, is that your nickname for Tenma?

You: Yeah, I call him Tenten because to me, he’s a ten out of ten. [You place an overly-dramatic kiss on his cheek]

Tenma: [Feigns a gagging sound while seated beside you, but reciprocates the kiss] That is a heinous lie, by the way, on both counts. [Tenma’s ability to poke fun at himself is refreshing, his overall manner humble and gracious, demonstrating his tremendous growth from child star to the consummate professional actor.]

Tenma: Actually, one of my fellow trou- uh, one of my friends at the Mankai Company, Kazunari, gave me that nickname.

Interviewer: The Mankai Company, that’s right! You’re putting on a production soon, aren’t you?

Tenten: We are! I’d love to give you the details of our production if you could publish them alongside this article.

Interviewer:  Absolutely. [Turning to you] And do you usually attend Tenma’s performances? I know both of your schedules are rather hectic these days, with all the job offers you’ve both received following the highly successful final season of your most recent television drama.

You: Yes, absolutely; I attend every one.

Tenma: In the front row, every performance. [He links his arm in yours, speaking with a tangible sense of pride]

Interviewer: I’ve noticed you have at least a half dozen bonsai trees in your apartment. Is that a mutual hobby?

You: Well, it’s our thing. I mean, it’s his thing really, but it’s kind of both our thing now. [You smile at Tenma with affection]

Interviewer: And, I’ve been meaning to ask - that framed script on the wall there, is that a keepsake? Or a valuable script from one of your favorite films perhaps? [The interviewer gestures to the worn script hanging above the mantle, protected and held in place by a thick pane of glass, bearing a large penned “SCENE 28”]

Tenma: Yeah, it has a…  special meaning. [Your boyfriend contributes, glancing into your eyes with a knowing smile that only you two could understand]

#a3! #a3! actor training game #a3! imagines #a3! headcanons #a3 x reader #tenma x reader #a3 tenma #a3! tenma #a3! tenma sumeragi #tenma sumeragi #a3 imagines #a3 headcanons #a3 actor training game #a3 act addict actors

[wherepoetswentodie]

This is a thing I’m working on that will not see the light of day for ages because I feel guilty for being bad at updating and also this seems to be the only thing my brain likes to write at the minute so

----

Connor McKinley did not see the point in health class, virtual baby dolls (that might have been possessed by Satan himself, or at least a close friend) and going to BYU in the fall. What he was going to do, however, was go to health class, look after a virtual baby doll (that might have been possessed by Satan himself, or at least a close friend) and pretend he was going to BYU when (if) his parents asked, but actually get into the University of Michigan. 

But as he sat in health class - a class of six people, so he wasn’t sure it could even be called a class - he was beginning to think that maybe he’d prefer to be at BYU. Which may or may not have been a death sentence for him. He had never quite worked out how homophobic it really was and  hoped that he never would have to. 

“Do you think this teacher is ever going to turn up?” Nabulungi, his best friend and ‘girlfriend’ when his aunties were curious, asked. 

“I hope not,” Connor sighed, “I don’t trust babies,” 

“They’re not real babies,” 

“Somehow that makes it worse,” 

He glanced around the class, trying to remember if anyone there had ever thrown homophobic abuse his way. Chris Thomas and James Church definitely hadn’t, considering they were his best friends and Chris was practically sat in James’ lap. He looked towards the back of the room and immediately groaned, shocked that he hadn’t heard Arnold Cunningham before he’d seen him. Or maybe his best friend, and unfortunately attractive republican, Kevin Price had finally worked out how to keep him quiet. 

Connor might have actually tried to talk to him if it weren’t for the fact that his dad was the (incredibly homophobic) Governor of Utah

“Arnold Cunningham is in this class,” Connor muttered to Nabulungi who immediately brightened up and turned around to grin at him. 

“He’s cute,” she whispered. 

“No.” Connor said, “Nabulungi. No. Don’t. No. Don’t even look at me. I can’t believe - him? You think he’s cute?” 

Nabulungi rolled her eyes and suddenly had a coughing fit that sounded an awful lot like “Steve Blade,”. Connor tutted and turned back to the front of class, if not just so he could pretend that his best friend didn’t have a crush on Arnold Cunningham of all people. He thought that he’d be able to deal with her liking Kevin, and that would probably come with a healthy dosage of hate crimes for all involved. 

“You know if the teacher doesn’t turn up in 15 minutes we’re legally allowed to leave,” Arnold piped up. 

Connor rolled his eyes and Nabulungi had the nerve to laugh and turn around to talk to him. Deciding that he should try and stop her before things got too serious, Connor turned around, only to lock eyes with Kevin who was looking between Nabulungi and Arnold like he’d never seen them before. Or maybe he was just shocked that someone was actually showing interest in Arnold. Perhaps he was just glad to find someone who might take Arnold off his hands. Connor had never really understood why the two of them were friends. 

“You know Naba likes Arnold?” Connor whispered to Chris and James. 

James frowned at him, “Who do you think she was out with when she couldn’t come out with us last weekend?” 

Connor gaped at him, “Seriously? Are they - Are they dating?” 

“I hate you,” Chris said, “Do you ever listen to any of us? That was their first date!” 

“I thought she was joking,” Connor muttered, slumping in his seat and trying to block out the sounds of his best friend flirting with someone who dressed up as Luke Skywalker when he went to Comic-Con. 

God, he hoped that Nabulungi wasn’t going to start going to Comic-Con with him. He was pretty sure that he’d have to stage an intervention. A little bit like the one that she had staged for Chris after his sugar addiction had stopped being a cute personality trait and had become a genuine health concern. 

“Did you ask me to take this class because of Arnold?” Connor asked quietly. 

“No, I asked you because someone needed another class to graduate or someone won’t be tap dancing around Michigan next year,” 

“Are you going to Michigan, buddy? So’s Kevin!” Arnold said excitedly. 

Connor froze and turned around to look at Kevin, who’s eyes were also wide, “University of Michigan or Michigan State?” 

“University of Michigan,” Kevin said quietly, “You?” 

“Same,” Connor mumbled, “I’m guessing you’re not doing musical theatre?” 

“Probably economics. Or business. Or whatever else it is republicans do,” Chris said, “Oppress minorities?” 

Before Kevin could argue back, presumably to tell them that he wasn’t going to be majoring in oppressing minorities because Connor didn’t think that was a valid major (if it was, he was definitely going to the wrong university), the door opened and their teacher, Mr. Name-Connor-Couldn’t- Be -Bothered- To- Learn walked in. 

And even though Connor wasn’t going to bother to learn his name, he was thankful that he was their teacher. He was old, and retiring that year, which meant that he was long passed caring about actually teaching and would most likely pass them all without even looking over any of their work. They had basically signed up for another free period, and Connor was already planning on using this hour to work on his book and maybe even convince James to take some new headshots for him. Surely looking after a fake baby doll wasn’t going to be that hard. There was probably an off button that Connor was more than prepared to utilise. 

“Get in pairs,” the teacher grumbled at them, “I don’t care who,” 

Connor turned to Nabulungi with the intent to ask if she would grant him the honour of being the mother of his baby, just as she turned to Arnold to ask if he would be the father of her baby. He watched in horror as Arnold gleefully nodded his head and proceeded to stand behind Connor’s chair in a way that he understood meant ‘Please move’. 

“Chris,” Connor said quickly, “Wanna-” 

“No can do, buddy!” Chris said brightly, “Price needs a partner though,”  

“I hate you both,” Connor told them before sitting in the seat that Arnold had previously. 

The fact that Kevin didn’t seem all too excited about their predicament didn’t make Connor feel much better. Sure, he didn’t want to partnered with Kevin, but that was because he didn’t want to work with a raging homophobe and Kevin probably didn’t want to be partnered with him because he didn’t want to work with a raging homosexual. 

Not that Connor really thought that he was a raging homosexual, but he had long since learned that homophobic republicans (Governor Price sprang to mind), didn’t see a difference between the tiny pride pin that Connor dared pin to his jackets and the Drag Queens that worked in gay bars. It was oddly progressive, in a way. 

“Can you at least pretend to not hate me?” Kevin asked, “It’s not my fault Arnold’s dating your best friend,” 

Connor rolled his eyes, “Can you actually not hate me? It’s not my fault I’m gay,” 

Kevin glared at him for a second before he stood up to go and grab a baby off Mr. What's-His-Face’s desk. He completely bypassed the lone ginger baby in favour of one with dark hair, which Connor took as the first hate crime of the project. Perhaps he could do a second, smaller project on the side where he kept a tally of how many hate crimes Kevin committed over the next week. 

And when Mr. Name-Connor-Really-Should-Learn told them that they would have to stay over at each other's houses in an attempt to really drive home the experience of parenthood, Connor predicted that the final total of hate crimes would be a lot. 

“Sir?” Kevin said, sticking his hand in the air, “Why do we have to stay at each other's houses?” 

“Because, Callum, we don’t want to encourage single parenthood,” 

“My names Kevin,” he said impatiently, “But you’ll encourage gay parenthood?” 

“He didn’t mean it like that!” Arnold said quickly, turning around to glare furiously at his best friend, “He just - He meant...He meant from like a Mormon point of view,” 

“So still a homophobic point of view?” James asked lightly, “I’m not gonna sit and listen to him whilst he constantly attacks who I am!” 

“I wasn’t attacking you,” Kevin snapped, “I’m just - my dad would-” 

“-kill us all given the chance?” Chris said. 

“My dad wouldn’t like it if he knew!” Kevin said quickly. 

“Don’t tell him, Corey. What do you think he’s gonna do? Kill you?” Mr. Connor-Wanted-To-Say-Brown said, “You’re practically an adult, sort it out yourself,” 

Connor sighed and slumped in his chair, glaring down at his desk. He wasn’t sure what was worse; spending a week with Kevin at his own house with his homophobic parents, or spending a week with Kevin and his homophobic parents at their house. Both seemed equally as bad and a very good excuse to throw himself in front of the school bus. 

“You’re not staying at my house,” Kevin said quickly. 

“Cute that you think I want to stay there,” Connor said, “I’ll give you a ride home,” 

“I’m at swim practice after school so I’ll meet you there,” 

“I have rehearsal,” Connor said, “I’ll meet you at my car. It’s the-” 

“I know what your car is,” 

“Oh,” Connor said with a frown, “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll...I’ll see you later,” 

--------

“Do you think I could steal this dress once we’re done?” Nabulungi asked, twirling around in her Belle dress. 

“When are you ever gonna wear a bright yellow ball gown again?” 

Nabulungi shrugged, “Target?” 

Connor snorted and turned to stare at himself in the mirror. Playing the Beast was fun, but the costume certainly wasn’t. He blew some fur out of his mouth and turned to glower at Nabulungi, as though his quite terrible costume was all her fault. 

“I’m uncomfortable,” he said, taking the mask off and dropping it onto a chair, “It’s really annoying that I can’t turn into the Prince halfway through instead,” 

“That defeats the point of the show though. She falls in love with him when he’s a beast, not when he’s a Prince,” 

Connor scrunched his face up, “That feels illegal,”

“It’s not real,” she reminded him. 

“Never realised that, thanks,” he muttered, eyes darting around the room until they came to stop where they always did: on Steve Blade. 

When talking to any of his friends, Connor assured him that he was very much over Steve Blade and was not at all bitter about the way that everything ended. In reality, he was very much not over Steve Blade and was extremely bitter about the way everything ended. It made playing the Beast opposite his Gaston extremely easy; their fight scene never felt forced and Connor felt like he didn’t need claws to rip his head off. Spite was enough. 

Nabulungi tutted when she saw where he was looking and punched his arm. 

“No.” she said, “Stop thinking about Steve Blade!” 

“I’m not!” Connor exclaimed before very casually adding, “He text me last night,” 

“If you text him back-“ 

“I didn’t,” Connor said, lying effortlessly, “I ignored him. I’m not gonna go back to him,” 

Nabulungi huffed a little, “Good. He got what he wanted from you,”

“My virginity?” 

“Yes,” Nabulungi said bluntly. 

Connor sighed and turned away from Steve, thankful that he hadn’t done anything that suggested they had been talking for most of the previous night. Though that might have been because he was terrified of Nabulungi, Chris and James and didn’t want to get on the wrong side of them. (Again). 

Not that Connor himself wasn’t scared of his friends, sometimes. Especially where Steve Blade was concerned. Still, there was nothing quite as terrifying as an extremely irate Stage Manager in the form of Chris Thomas. The only person he hadn’t shouted at all day was James, even though he was extremely behind in his set painting duties. Connor had gotten one entrance wrong and Chris had described, in great detail, how he was gonna murder him. 

“Oh my god,” Nabulungi said in a hushed voice, “Did you know Elizabeth was still choreographing?” 

“Huh?” Connor said, “I thought someone else had taken over. Chris said she was too ill,” 

“Well, she's here,” 

Connor glanced over at the door and unintentionally winced as Chris wheeled his twin sister in. She looked worse than the last time he had seen her, and even then he had found it too difficult to look at her. 

The school had invited her back to choreograph the show (an unspoken “one last time” hanging in the air), and she had gotten through the first two weeks of rehearsal before she had to leave. Now, with only one week to go before their first performance, having her come back seemed pointless. As he thought about it, Connor realised it only seemed pointless to him because he (hopefully) had more shows in his future. It was very unlikely she had any. 

“Hey, Liz!” Connor said cheerfully as Chris wheeled her over, “How are you?” 

“Dying,” she said bluntly. 

Connor froze, immediately looking up to Chris for some help. Elizabeth laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“It was a joke,” she said, “Sort of. How are you finding the choreography?” 

“Fine,” Connor said quickly, happy to steer the conversation away from death, “Yeah, fine,” 

“‘Fine’ unless we’re talking about Tale as Old as Time,” Nabulungi said, “Which is really all he needs to do,” 

“Drop me in it, why don’t you?” Connor muttered. 

Admittedly, Connor was terrible at ballroom dancing. If he wasn’t tripping over his own feet, he was tripping over Nabulungi’s feet and if he wasn’t tripping over Nabulungi’s feet he was tripping over her dress. It only served as a reminder that he probably shouldn’t have been playing the Beast. He would have been more than happy with the ensemble, or maybe LeFou at a stretch, but Nabulungi had convinced him to audition for the lead, just because they’d probably never have a chance to play opposite each other again. 

“I prefer tap dancing,” Connor said after Nabulungi had finished explaining that the rather large bruise on her thigh was a result of Connor falling right on top of her when he had tried to pick her up. 

“Come on, then,” Elizabeth sighed, slowing getting to her feet, “I’ll help you,” 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Chris asked. 

“Teaching Connor how to dance, why?” she asked, taking Connor’s hand. 

“You can’t! The Doctor said that-“ 

“-I still have 6 months,” she reminded him, “What’s one ballroom dance going to do?” 

“Drop her, and I’ll kill you,” Chris snapped, before rushing off to snap at the poor lighting techs. 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the back of Chris’ head as she placed Connor’s hand on her waist and began counting him through the steps. It was a lot easier, being taught by someone who actually knew what they were doing (the new choreographer had not offered much help outside of ‘smile!’). 

“You are good at this,” she told him once the song had ended, “All you need is more confidence in yourself,” 

“I don’t think ballroom dancing is my thing,” Connor sighed, “and also not dressed like this,” 

“Dancing is your thing, Connor,” she said firmly, holding onto his arm as she, if possible, grew paler, “By the time you finish college, you’ll be top of your game,” 

Connor smiled and helped her back to her chair, hoping that Chris wasn’t going to commit a crime because he had tired her out. Not that Connor could blame him for being so overprotective; he couldn’t imagine watching his siblings slowly die, and he didn’t even like them that much. 

“You didn’t have to be here,” Connor said, sitting next to her and watching a run through of Gaston. 

“I know, but Christopher can’t say no to me anymore,” she said, “and he always drives me to McDonalds afterwards. Plus-“ she broke off suddenly, frowning, “I can hear a baby crying,” 

“Wha - oh, shit,” 

Connor jumped to his feet and hurried underneath the bleachers. He had hidden Brigham the baby underneath there in the hopes that he wouldn’t be too loud. Kevin had point blank refused to take him to swim practice, and Connor was starting to think that he would be learning what it was going to be like to be a single dad. 

“Sorry,” Connor said, awkwardly rocking the doll, “It’s my baby,” 

“Health class?” she asked. 

“Yep,” Connor said miserably, “He’s called Brigham,” 

“Who’s your partner? Naba?” 

Connor scoffed, “I wish. No, it’s Kevin Price,” 

“The Governor's son?” 

“Yeah...” 

She stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny but - oh, sweetie. Are they still doing the thing where you have to stay with your partner?” 

Connor sighed and nodded, “I’m not going over to his house. Lord knows I don’t need to meet Governor Price,” 

“So...he’s going to yours?” she asked in a small voice. 

“It’ll be fine,” Connor said hurriedly, “My parents don’t need to know,”

When Connor finally got out of rehearsal and spotted Kevin awkwardly hovering by his car, he thought that his parents probably wouldn’t be too angry if Kevin was the boy he brought home. As this thought crossed his mind, he remembered exactly who his parents were and what they expected of him. They’d probably get angry if Joseph Smith himself was the boy he brought home. 

Not that Connor would want to bring Joseph Smith home. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with the whole Prophet thing. 

“How are we gonna bring him home?” Kevin asked. 

“I don’t know. He’s a doll. We’ll just put him in the back,” 

Kevin tutted, “You can’t drive a baby home like that! I’ll hold him,” 

“You know he’s not a real baby, right?” Connor asked slowly. 

“I’ve never failed a class in my life, and you’re not about to make me,” Kevin snapped, taking Brigham into his arms. 

“Alright, chill,” Connor muttered, “It’s not that deep,” 

Kevin spent the majority of the car journey to Connor’s house glowering out of the window, Brigham held tightly in his arms. If it weren’t for the fact that Kevin was also male, it might have been the closest that Connor ever got to being straight. He had lost count of the amount of couples he had seen (mainly at Church), who so obviously resented each other but had had a child together so that they could live up to the Mormon standard.

It was probably the life that Kevin was going to live, and Connor felt sorry for him until he realised that he was homophobic and suddenly couldn’t care less. 

As soon as Connor pulled up outside of his house, his mouth went dry and his palms became sweaty. This was not at all unusual, but it was even worse with Kevin being there with him. 

Taking a deep breath, Connor got out of the car and waited for Kevin to do the same. He was taking an awfully long time, holding Brigham close to his chest as he carefully got out, and Connor wasn’t sure he could last a whole week without committing a felony. Or if Kevin could last a whole week without committing a hate crime. 

“Are you gonna come in?” Kevin asked. 

Connor’s neck snapped up to face Kevin, who was standing on the front porch. 

“Get off there!” Connor hissed, lurching forward to grab his arm and yank him backwards. 

“Watch the baby!” Kevin yelled. 

“Shush!” Connor whispered, glancing up at the house and dragging Kevin around the side of the house when he saw someone inside - probably his mom - start to pull the curtains back, “Don’t yell!” 

Kevin frowned at him, “What the heck is your problem, McKinley?” 

“How long have you got?” Connor muttered. 

He walked around the back of the house to where the basement door was, quickly unlocking it and shoving Kevin through it before one of his parents made an appearance in the back garden. And he couldn’t help but curse his best friends, because it would have been beyond easier to have just moved in with Naba or Chris for a week. 

Kevin stood awkwardly in the middle of the middle room and it suddenly occurred to Connor that he was probably used to places that were more...grand. 

“Is there a reason we’re in your basement?” Kevin asked, “Are you going to murder me?” 

Connor tutted and walked over to his makeshift kitchen (a mini-fridge, kettle, toaster, microwave and mini-grill on top of his chest of drawers), beginning to make his usual after school snack of two Poptarts and a can of Redbull. If this was also occasionally his dinner, no one needed to know. 

“Do you want anything?” Connor asked. 

Kevin shook his head as he gently laid Brigham on Connor’s bed, “I brought something,” 

“You don’t trust my cooking?” 

“I follow a strict diet,” Kevin said, “I’m a swimmer, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah...” Connor muttered, dropping down onto one of the beanbags that Mr and Mrs Thomas were kind enough to donate to him, “There’s an airbed for you. I’ll blow it up later,” 

Kevin nodded and perched on the edge of Connor’s bed, his eyes darting around the room. Connor picked at his Poptart, feeling increasingly awkward. He would suggest that Kevin stay at his own house and lie to Mr. Teacher-That-Connor-Would-Probably-Never-Know-The-Name-Of, but he had a feeling that Kevin was not one to ever break the rules. 

“Why are we actually in the basement?” Kevin asked, “Shouldn’t you tell your parents your home? And that I’m here?” 

“No,” Connor said, “If it were up to them, I wouldn’t be in the house,” 

“Um...” 

“I’m gay, they don’t like it, they moved me into the basement because it makes them feel less guilty than if they actually kicked me out,” Connor shrugged, “on the rare occasion that I do actually see them, they remind me that once I’ve left for college, that’s it. I’m out, for good,” 

Kevin stared at him, his mouth hanging open. Connor clenched his jaw and looked back down at his Poptarts, wondering if there was a worst person to have this conversation with. He didn’t even like talking about it to his friends, never mind someone he barely knew and who definitely hated him in the same way that his parents did. 

Thankfully, Brigham started wailing and Kevin was too distracted to ask Connor anymore questions.

 It was definitely going to be the longest week of his life. 

#fun fact: I don't realy know what governors do but I am going to find that out before I publish this #I feel like America has too many political offices #Like calm down #For the sake of most of the world #and my fanfiction #kevin price #connor mckinley #elder price #elder mckinley #my writing #tbom #tbom musical #bom #arnold cunningham #elder cunningham #nabulungi hatimbi #arnaba #churchtarts

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled.)

[SPOILERS FOR SWORD & SHIELD START HERE].

Oh Hop, my sweet, sweet summer child.

I've used a similar setting in three fics already. Time to get original bitch. Anyway! This story was a test run for a Postwickship fic for me and it's a success: I've had tons of fun. This is supposed to be set post-game but in an AU where Shieldbert and Swordbart or whatever their Eng names are didn't show up to steal old rusty held items idk. I just really wanted to write hurt/comfort for them lol I headcanon the player character and their crew as 16 in SwSh so they're 16-17 here. I wouldn't puncture the lung of a 10-year-old, jeebus. This could be a little incoherent because I wrote it in more than one sitting and while doing some research on the side at times, so I hope this is satisfying to someone out there.

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Anima Curanda (A Soul Who Will Be Cared For)

Summary: Hop tries finding his way back to civilization after a trip field gone wrong, Gloria finds her best friend injured in Postwick and the air surrounding them is filled with unanswered questions, undisclosed pain and concerns. A lot of concern.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield Ship: Pre-rel Hop/Gloria (Postwickshipping)

Wordcount: 3.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Hahaha, it hurts! It just hurts!

What hurts? Too much to keep track off, frankly. He just aches all over, from head to toe; from the migraine of having barely slept to the pain of having walked and biked for days and days; from the dark thoughts he tries to keep buried from the outside world and the hazards on the ground that he stumbles over when he starts to overthink things.

 Despite how many times he’s been curb-stomped to the ground, how many times he’s flown in the air after the shockwave a move can make, and how much all of these hurt afterwards, he’s kept rising to his feet over and over again. He’s lost to his rival ten times already, he’ll never shine as bright as his brother or the friend he spent his childhood with, unbeatable as they are and ordinary as he is. He’s nothing special, nothing shiny, just nothing.

Portraits of Lee decorating the living room and countless discussions between his own family aside, there’s a lot of other things that tell him he’s the inferior product. A lot of other little, tiny things – of details, even – that ache to think about, that pinch his heart to the point of being slightly nauseous.

 Everyone on his team has fainted, aside from Dubwool who’s courageously fighting the hail with him. He regrets having ever taken his first partner, his most loyal one, away in some PC box out of the sheer mass of his insecurities, of that constant will to improve despite nothing good ever coming from that. He hangs onto its Ball as firmly as he can, the strength of it making him afraid he’ll make it shatter if he clenches it too strongly.

He’s actually surprised he feels this strong to begin with. After trekking for days, fighting everything he could, trying to find new members to reinforce his team, it’s surprising he can still think of himself as strong enough to do that. If it wasn’t for the pain bolting in his chest, he wouldn’t be clenching that ball as if his life depended on it.

 And what a pain it is! It started with the missed Psycho Cut of a wild Gallade, whom Corviknight had narrowly the assault of shortly before getting taken down itself, hitting right into the left side of his chest and most likely at least making some internal damage in there. That was around two days ago, if he isn’t wrong, and it’s shown no sign of hurting less anytime soon.

It bruised rapidly, or so he thinks compared to those he’d often get when he was younger (and also not unlike the ones Lee got during the Eternatus incident, on second thought…). Pressing a hand against it too strongly makes him yelp in pain while his skin keeps worsening in colour around where he got it. He was lucky for it not to have bled on the spot, but that doesn’t make anything much better: it still hurts a ton and he still has trouble breathing because of it. If it’s not getting better after a couple days, when will it do so?

 At times, black dots appear all over his vision, for some reason, and he starts swaying and staggering until Dubwool catches him back with its fur. He used to apologize verbally, the first times that’d happen; but he’s found himself having less and less breath to give his excuses with. Sentences became a couple words, words some syllable.

It doesn’t help that he’s constantly lightheaded and easily gets dizzy. If he moves a little too rapidly, his vision goes for a swim and may not come back. If it wasn’t for Dubwool fending off the Sneasels that take interest in them at times, he’d have been a goner for sure. He has the feeling this is all related to his injury, to that toxic-looking bruise that’s festering under his miserable layers, but doesn’t see exactly how. Well, that’s not entirely true: he can easily suppose it’s because that injury makes it harder to breathe, so much harder, because of the pain it fires up in him every time he tries to speak and breathe.

 The city is in sight. Wyndon’s lights and tower are in view, and he finally feels some relief, Dubwool seemingly bleating in agreement. However, right as he charges his legs to rush there, he trips over some ice, his damp sole gliding for a split second, losing his balance and falling again. Dubwool doesn’t have the time to react properly and stop him, so he falls right on his chest from all of his height, a sickening thumb resonating with his fall. The air gets propelled out of his lungs in one fell swoop, dizzying him even further.

He has no time to lose, especially not what he’s that close to the city, so he tries getting up on his arms. The pain that has been dully brushing against his ribs is now acting in an even fuller swing, the black dots not leaving his line of sight, almost preventing him from breathing altogether. He could stop to take a taxi, but what if he’s to pass out before it even comes? No, no, he has no time to lose…

 His legs have endured a beating of their own before, decorated with scratches and bruises from the rocks he didn’t see coming and the claws of the local wildlife, tired of pushing on themselves to make him keep going. As a result, he has to use Dubwool as a support, failing to rise up once or twice before managing to finally regain a footing and continue his route to Wyndon. He’ll be there soon, he’ll be able to know what’s wrong and to finally give himself actual rest. Arceus, doesn’t that sound amazing?

He suddenly coughs violently, not even having the time to say anything or even put a hand in front of his mouth. He’s left gasping for air, unable to really make oxygen enter his chest anymore, especially once he sees what has just gotten out of his system, spread on the snow like an unremovable stain on an immaculate carpet. This is it: he has to go forward now or he’ll never see the light of day again.

 With tremendous efforts, he makes it to Wyndon, out of breath; legs shaking in instability and arms tired of holding a hand against an injury that most likely doesn’t get any better from getting pressed. He’s still coughing, even if it hurts him even more to do so, and he’d just like to laugh it all off. He’d have done that if the pain wouldn’t get even more excruciating from such a gesture alone. The Centre is very much near now, and he can get there if his chest doesn’t give up on him too. Still, there’s another sight that makes him stop for a few seconds, and a shiver goes down his spine.

In the distance is his childhood best friend, his journey companion, his (former?) rival, waving at him vigorously. She’s smiling, grinning even, as he runs towards him. It’s only when she notices the hand clutching the hurtful part of his abdomen that Gloria drops the smile and immediately worries. It’s kind of hard to say for sure when most of his vision is blurry from the tears that are flooding it by the second.

D-dammit, he doesn’t want to worry her of all people!

 “Hop, are you alright?” She asks, voice hesitant, in a tone he hasn’t heard in a little while.

“Y-yeah, I… I should be… real soon…!” He’s breathless and speaking hurts even further; yet tries smiling, only for his face to follow his chest.

“You’re sure about that? You look like you’re in pain!”

“It’s nothing…! I pro –”

Before he can pronounce his false oath, he starts coughing again, despite all his best efforts not to. The thing building up in his airways gets out anyway, no matter what he wants, and his vision starts swimming again. He’s afraid he’ll blackout before he can reach the Centre, so he should quickly stop that conversation and…

“Let me see.”

 He stares at her for a millisecond, eyes squinting. He was just about to grab a tissue and clean the inside of his palm.

“Hop,” her voice strengthens, reminiscent of the Champion who’s beaten his until then undefeatable brother. “Please, Hop, let me see. It really doesn’t sound right.”

He reluctantly gives her his hand, the black dots dancing around them like will-o-wisps. She doesn’t respond to it, her reaction instead cementing itself in silence. That is, until she finds what words she wants to put on it. It drops in a glacial, no-nonsense tone, raw and undignified:

“…I’m calling for help.”

 Before he could interrupt her attempt at doing so, the quick move he tried to pull off to do so makes itself felt and he collapses on his knees, the pain in his chest unbearably intense. It’s like he’s been kicked in the abdomen, and then someone was twisting something inside of it. Breathing is becoming impossible, or at least barely, from how painful it is to inhale and exhale, from how difficult it is to simply focus on that with such a hazy mind. He wants to cry, but that sounds like choking himself even further…

Gloria seems to be over with her call rapidly, as she next kneels down to his level, her warm hands on his cold shoulders, then on his forehead. Her touch is delicate, as if she’s stroking crystal, while he’s busy not strangling himself with whatever’s happening inside of him at the moment. She gives him soft words of reassurance, shelters him with her arms from the rest of the world, tells him he doesn’t have to lie or suffer anymore. He likes that. He wishes his arms could do the same for her, but she simply is so much stronger than he is, and there is nothing he can do about it. Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to pay her out…

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon,” is the last thing he hears before his vision fades to black.

�� Gloria wishes she could have been waiting with Dubwool by her side, both so she wouldn’t be alone and because it’s her best friend’s closest partner; but, naturally, that’s not possible in a hospital, so she instead fumbles with its Ball.

She tried calling Leon and Sonia earlier to warn them about what had happened, but neither of them responded. If she’s to assume, she’d say Leon is busy with managing the Battle Tower and Sonia is head-deep into her studies, may have had a sleepless night and is now snoring over her desk, left unable to be awaken by her phone (which she most likely put on Plane Mode anyway…). She’ll have to wait for them to pick them back up and call her back, then. Ah, that sort of stuff happens. Plus, they can’t have known.

They really can’t guess what happened.

 She can’t quite put back the pieces, at the moment, because of how little she knows about the sequence of events that brought Hop to Wyndon, on a fairly sunny day with cold air, with most of his party fainted, an exhausted Dubwool and, most of all, a couple broken ribs. If Hop can communicate with Dubwool, then she really can’t, even if she’s never wished that much in her life that she could understand bleating. She hadn’t even considered the question until today!

What worries her the most is the blood he was spitting when he was trying to talk to her. Is that a symptom of broken ribs? She can’t remember having ever broken such a bone in her life, or known someone who did. Truth be otold, there may have been that one time where that could have happened, but she never got to know why. A few years ago, the neighbours suddenly went to Wyndon for a week, taking Hop with them, and Mum just kept saying that things would be back to normal soon. She didn’t lie, but the sketchiness of it all makes her suspicious… It doesn’t help that, that year, the Gym Challenge finals got postponed.

 Still, there’s something inside of her that just knows something’s gone terribly wrong. She can’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or if it’s even possible that such a feeling could be right. All she knows is that she’s having an awful impression of it all and that her heart is beating in overdrive. Winding out is not exactly the easiest thing to do when she’s stuck in a waiting room, having to choose between pacing indefinitely or sit on a chair and play around with her fingers or her phone.

She’s tempted to go outside to wait for the news to be given to her, absolutely; but she’s afraid that, if she does so, the doctors will have nobody to give it to if she’s still outside by then. That’d be underestimating how much she wants to see him, to know what exactly happened and how she, as a Champion and as a friend worthy of such name, can fix things. That’s part of her missions as Leon’s successor, right?

 Set on staying here until someone gets out of the operation room, the bright red light of the “In Use” sign sitting over the doorframe whose direction she regularly glances at still shining over the daylight pouring through the windows, Gloria settles on studying her surroundings yet again. The walls are still white and pristine, with barely any spot or stain to be noticed. The floor is covered by a layer of grey linoleum, as boring to comment on as it’s functional. If she can guess such a room is regularly cleaned, she can also tell there’s been a couple stretchers that have wheeled through it to the operation room today already. The lines and stains left by these, unlike the walls, are still visible.

The room is empty and, aside from her unnerved breathing and impatient footsteps, silent. The soundproof walls make it so she can’t hear a thing, even if she puts her ear against the wall, morbidly curious, trying to keep herself from dipping into some seriously messed-up thoughts that have been trying to assault her mind ever since Hop started showing signs he wasn’t as fine as he’d have liked her to believe.

 In a way, it’s funny that he’s doing exactly the same thing as his brother. They both said “I’m fine, don’t worry” at times where they knew they weren’t. Still, she doesn’t think that Hop did that on purpose, now that he’s tried freeing himself from Leon’s shadow. It’s more of a thing that she sees herself doing… As hypocritical as that may be, and as much as she dislikes knowing he purposefully lied to her thinking it’d be the right thing to do for her sake, she can understand it. She can understand it and that has to be why she hates it so much…

Gloria’s back hits the wall as she glides down to her feet, crouching with her forearms on her knees. Time’s too long and she’s getting nauseous from the anxiety that keeps piling in her throat and chest, heart throbbing. Trying not to cry is already a behemoth task in itself, so she focuses on that, only for her thoughts to change back to what could be happening and questions she can’t have an answer to.

 She snaps back to reality when the red light turns off and the door finally opens, revealing a gurney getting wheeled to the other side of the room and a surgeon, still wearing his stained scrubs, walking up to her. She stands back up, rising herself on stiff and yet trembling legs, and lies back against the wall, gulping. Her mind rings and burns with a thousand questions; but her voice can’t catch up, not even a whisper exiting her mouth. The man gives her a tired, yet soft smile back:

“Your friend will be fine. Absolutely is the brother of the former Champion, his fighting spirit showed in the OR…”

 She has to retain herself from hugging the man right in front of her and give him a waterfall of thanks. Instead, she remembers for a split second she’s the current Champion, shakes her head and keeps the waterworks from unfolding for a little while longer:

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

  There is a silent horror seeping in her veins from being here. Everything about the room is eerie: the slow, somewhat regular beeps of a monitor; the oxygen mask sitting there, accompanying an otherwise soothing breath; the abnormal serenity of the air around her, the whiteness of a room that reminds her of the snow and the smell of antibiotics.

She remembers waiting in a lobby with Hop decorated like that in Hammerlocke, his hand clutching hers while he tried not to bit his thumb or cry in stress, the both of them tired and battered yet the lucky party of the fight against Eternatus. She remembers the horrified yet relieved look on his face as they discovered in what state his brother was. She remembers the words that got out of his mouth, how he found it so creepy to have Lee lying there, almost lifeless.

Surely there is some irony to be found about Hop now playing that role.

 It hurts to be there, to see the time standing still yet again, as she waits for him to wake up. A part of her does like him to be resting after the nightmare he must have endured to end up like that. With the injuries he’s sustained, it’s only normal he doesn’t wake up immediately. She’s trying to combine that with the effect of sleeping gas, but as a girl who’s never had a surgery, it’s hard for her to estimate such a thing. She’s got to wait and…

“Gl…”

 She’s about to drift off when she realizes Hop’s head is now turned towards her, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looks beyond tired, exhausted by the experience and the trauma of the surgery, pale all around, but he’s still here, safe. The light press she feels on her hands makes her realize she’s been holding his all along. That’d be embarrassing if she wasn’t trying to get her priorities straight.

“Hop, you’re awake!” That’s beyond obvious, what’s the point of saying aloud like that? Maybe it’s just from the sheer happiness of this being a fact…

“T-thanks…”

 His voice is weak, low and raspy, barely more hearable than a whisper; quite the opposite of the roaring tone he’d usually speak in. Still, that’s his voice, that’s him being able to breathe yet again, and it’s more than enough for now. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish deeply for his recovery to happen soon; that’s just settling down for a sustainable goal for now. Better not rush things in, for she has a feeling that may have happened to her good old friend over here…

“How are you?” She asks, keeping her own voice down.

“Huh… Sore…?”

“Better than gone, I suppose.”

“…Yeah…”

 Hop inhales deeply, wincing slightly when he does. A slow hand strokes the left side of his chest, trying to calm something down.

“A-again… Thanks for… y’know… saving me…”

“That was nothing. We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”

“Ha… Yeah…”

The mood sinks with his smile, dragging her heart with it.

“Sorry for… that…”

 Gloria doesn’t reply immediately, letting a silence settle itself, uncomfortable and thick.

“You’re having problems breathing, right?”

He nods.

“No wonder you do, with what you got for yourself… How did you even go for that long with these injuries?”

“I wanted to… make sure my… team would be safe.”

“The good news is that they’re safe, now. Dubwool seemed really worried about you when I found you two!”

“He’s such a great ’on, right…?”

“He sure is.” She clears her throat. “Anyway. I meant to ask you to be easier on yourself from now on. It was really heart-breaking to see you like that struggling to even breathe.”

“Sorry for being such a klutz… Got hit by a Gallade… Slipped on some ice…”

“…and pierced your lung.”

 He freezes.

“So, as I said: don’t do that again, okay? You deserve a lot more than dragging yourself like that, Hop.”

He looks aside.

“You… think?”

“Of course I do! What am I to you, a liar?”

He almost laughs until his pain catches back to him, causing the fit to immediately stops in its tracks.

“’t wasn’t what I meant…!”

“I guessed so.”

 It’s to Gloria’s turn to look aside and feel something burn inside of her, scratching her chin with her finger.

“I meant to say, you’re amazing, Hop. I don’t want to see you go like you almost did. What’s a Champion without her rival?”

“Huh…”

“That’s right, not the same person! You matter very much to so many people! So, please, can you take care of yourself?”

Hop still doesn’t reply. He looks like he’s lost his words somewhere along the way.

“Not for anyone either. For yourself. I… I hope you’ll one day understand how important you are.”

She can understand she’s being confusing and emotional. Trying to pull strings together is harder than usual.

“I’ll try that, then…”

“Good.”

 The two of them settle in a comfortable silence. She’ll have to ask him when he’s better what happened to him in case such a disaster is to happen again (which she really hopes it doesn’t). For now, he’ll recover, and she’ll be by his side as he does so. Too bad for her Battle Tower scores and public interventions, some things just matter more than clout and fighting experience.

You know, once she’s sure they’ll be safe and sound, she can tell what’s truly on her mind and heart. It seems like he still doesn’t have a clue as to what’s hiding under the rocks…

  “Hop!!”

Busting through the door, not even waiting for a yes or a no, Leon enters the room his baby brother is stuck in. Soon, however, his intense concern turns into a sort of awkwardness and utter surprise when he realizes he’s facing his brother and his best friend sleeping against next each other, their hands fiddled together.

 Before he can mellow out and smile at the sudden sight of safety and softness, Sonia’s voice comes from behind his shoulder.

“Let them sleep instead of screaming like that, you big idiot.”

He has to agree with her, so his shoulders untenses as he lets her enter and closes the door behind them.

#pokemon swsh #postwickshipping #hop pokemon #gloria pokemon #hop's dubwool #hurt comfort #emotional hurt comfort #Angst with a happy ending #injury #feels #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #broken bones

[sweetguillermo]

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot, don’t fucking tempt me. Daddypool over here could use a couple ‘a headshots.”

Even with the mask on, Peter knew Wade well enough to know that the other man had no intention of being cruel, his hard exterior little more than a front - a means of protection from those who stared at him with disdain. 

To them, the jaded crowd of pedestrians, the ex-mercenary was inhuman; an otherworldly beast, present only to plague their collective existences. They didn’t see behind the bloodied mask, but when they could, they would muster nothing more than disgust, aiming it at the man like a barbed spear. 

The irony was nothing short of painful- they saw him as a bloodthirsty murderer, but the only weapons drawing blood were those of which they so proudly held.

Equipped in full suit, katanas and all, Wade could only stand and watch as they circled him. They were no angry mob, brandishing not much more than cellphones and cameras, but they scowled at him with contempt and nothing less. They only came so close, retaining a couple of meters of distance, because at the end of the day, he’d end any of them if they stepped to close. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t affected by their resentment. 

Peter stood to Wade’s left, the silver webbing along his suit glinting in the sunlight. The gunman him and Wade had just downed was curled at their feet, mouth bound by a gag and arms webbed to the pavement. He’d attempted to open fire three blocks down from Times Square, and if it hadn’t been for Wade spotting the poorly-concealed semi-automatic on his person, they wouldn't have been able to stop him in time. 

And that, unfortunately, was what the general public just couldn’t see- the side of Wade Wilson that was genuinely trying to change, to make a name for himself that didn’t just involve senseless contract killing. It was Deadpool that had potentially saved hundreds of lives, who had been on the ground and incapacitating the offender before Spiderman had even realized what was happening. 

The truth of the matter was that these days, Deadpool did nearly as much good as Peter. He was out on patrols daily, covering for Peter when he had to put in extra hours at the Bugle, but regardless, his previous reputation stained every life he saved and innocent he protected like wine, insidiously seeping into each one of his actions and marring his perceived intentions. 

Years prior, the media had a field day when they’d initially broke the story of the Spiderman-Deadpool partnership, taking the opportunity to make absurd claims about Spiderman’s ‘switch to the dark side’, and how they had been right all along about the hero’s intentions. There hadn’t been a paper in the greater New York area that wasn’t plastered with obscene rumours about the two of them. And yet, not one paper commented on Deadpool’s informal resignation from mercenary work, or the unofficial Avengers membership status granted by Stark himself. 

Instead, the papers chose to continuously frame him as a killer- unchanging, unrelenting, and insane. They chose to ignore the dozens of lives he saved daily, chose to accuse Spiderman of endangering the city by inviting the mercenary to stay. The truth of the matter was that Wade had been working towards change, towards using his powers in a more socially responsible manner even though it meant going against his every instinct. 

Peter could see the effort, could see how fucking hard the other man was trying in every way possible to be better. Wade tried, and though there were slip ups, and the occasional accidental murder, he was usually successful in refraining from maiming or permanently injuring enemies, instead opting to disarm them for the police to deal with.

And yet, regardless of his effort, of his blatant character change, the public still stared at him like some sort of freak, some sort of villain. Even standing next to their beloved Spiderman and the mass-murderer he’d just taken down, their loaded gazes firing loathing, disgust, hatred. 

“C’mon, ‘Pool,” Peter muttered, motioning towards the sidewalk, “Police are gonna be here soon, they’ll take care of this guy. Lets head out for food or something, huh?”

It was a struggle to keep his voice gentle, the unadulterated judgement emanating from the crowd of pedestrians provoking the anger expanding against his ribs. He once looked at Wade like that- when they had first met, when he hadn’t yet gotten to know the tender person beneath the leather costume. Part of him resented himself for ever thinking such a thing about Wade, and the other part just wanted to slap some sense into the deluded onlookers, make them see what he saw in the older man. 

Wade nodded, eyes trained defensively on their audience, before following Peter out of the commotion. The two of them were watched by wary eyes as they paced the streets, but there were no comments, no brave soul willing to approach.

No one wanted to bother Spiderman if Deadpool was around. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

They stopped at some tiny pizza joint sandwiched between a dry cleaner’s and a convenience store, grabbing a box to go and bailing as soon as possible, knowing that shopkeepers didn’t exactly enjoy having mercenaries (ex or not) as customers. 

The two men only travelled a couple of paces further before scaling an apartment complex, because unless they were unfairly high up, eating in peace as Deadpool and Spiderman wouldn’t go without garnering some sort of negative attention. 

Peter reached the top of the building first, tossing the pizza box onto an air conditioning unit as he waited for Wade, who threw his body over the roofs edge with little reserve. He pulled himself to his feet, adjusted one of his swords, and sauntered over to where Peter had settled. Wade left a few meters of space between them, and the distance was beyond uncomfortable for Peter, who was more than accustomed to Wade’s penchant for being as close as he could possibly get away with. 

Muscles still rigid from before, the ex-merc hardly reacted as Peter yanked his mask off, pitching it to the side and grabbing a slice of pizza. It was unusual, Wade not reacting in some capacity when the mask finally came off. At the very least, there should’ve been a whistle, a wink- something. The dead silence didn't sit well, caused his stomach to stir. 

He took a bite, dark eyes watching as Wade continued to stand still. “Hey man, take a slice. There’s no way you’re not starving after all that.” 

Only four storeys up, the wind wasn’t substantially stronger than it had been when they were level. But Wade’s continued wordless demeanour cut right through him, sent chills up his spine. 

When the other man finally opened his mouth, his voice was hard, vulnerable in a way Peter hadn’t ever heard before.

“What’s the point, Pete?”

The sun was beginning to set, casting a pale orange hue over the maroon planes of Wade’s suit. He stood with his back straight, chest puffed, a sign of external pride and confidence even though Peter knew that he was feeling neither of those things internally. For Wade, it was all about appearance, what others thought of him- more specifically, what others hated about him. He fed off of the negativity, took every bad thing said about him and convinced himself it was true. He truly, truly believed he was a monster- an irredeemable creature that was better off with a bullet through the skull.

It broke Peter’s heart. 

“If I’m killin’ the people they pay me to kill, they call me a maniac. If I’m savin’ their sorry asses, they call me disgusting. If I’m on my own, they think I'm about to shoot ‘em up or something. And if I’m with you, they’re convinced that I’ve brainwashed you or hurt you or turned ya evil and-” Wade, who’d been frozen in space up until that moment, began to pace back and forth, creating a warped oval of footsteps as words tumbled out of his mouth, “And there’s no point, is there? Me doin’ this? I could be fucking hot dudes in Australia, eating like a fucking king in Dubai- what am I doing here? If no one gives a shit, what the fuck am I doing here?”

Peter watched as he ripped a dagger from its hip-sheath, glaring at it only briefly before whipping it forwards into the ground. It stood up, perfectly adjacent to the roof it stuck out of. 

Having dropped his slice of pizza at the beginning of Wade’s rant, Peter waited until the man marinated in his temper before approaching, movements slow and steady and careful. The last thing he wanted was to make this harder than it needed to be. 

“You’re here with me, yeah? Figured out a long time ago that I couldn’t take New York on my own- actually have a shot now, with you as my partner.”

Wade’s shoulders hunched forwards, spine curving as he shifted his weight. Peter interpreted the motion as permission to take another few steps forwards, reaching a hand out to delicately brush at the other man’s wrist. 

When Wade didn’t throw himself off the building at the contact (which had, in fact, happened in the past, and wasn’t something Peter ever needed a repeat of), Peter moved even closer. He could feel the warmth radiating off of Wade’s chest, could smell the thick aroma of leather that wafted from his suit. 

“You’re here for me, being a better person for me and like- hey, maybe I’m not the best person out there but like, everything you’re doing? Just because they can’t see it doesn’t mean I don’t. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it more than I’d like to admit.” Carefully, so as to not startle the man, Peter leaned forwards, pressing his forehead against Wade’s collarbone. His enhanced hearing picked up a nearly imperceptible increase in heart-rate, but otherwise Wade didn’t react. 

“Doesn’t matter if they don’t see it, Wade,” Peter insisted, eyes fluttering shut as he close the little distance between their bodies in a barely-there hug, “Because I see it, all of it, and I love it. I love how you’re trying, how much good you’ve been doing. It’s unfair that they can’t see it and I’m sorry, they fucking suck, I get it. But I see it, and I’m sorry if that’s not enough.”

And, as though he’d done it thousands of times before, Wade pulled Peter tightly against his chest, masked face buried into the fluff of his hair. 

“Course you’re enough, baby boy,” Wade rumbled, grip against the younger man’s bones tight- comforting in a way that couldn’t be put into words. 

The sun had disappeared behind a high-rise by the time the two of them parted, their hands still entwined after their bodies separated. They ate together in silence, the contact feeling as natural as anything. 

The headlines and the disgust and the judgement would always be brutal, Peter knew, but watching as Wade tugged his own mask off to smile over at Peter, he had a feeling they’d be just fine. 

#spiderpool #spideypool #fanfic #spideypool fanfic #spiderpool fanfic #fic #spiderman #deadpool #Spiderman fanfic #spiderman fic #marvel #mcu #deadpool fic #deadpool fanfic #first time writing these two! #wade is hard to characterize whoops #drabble

[straightouttaneptune]

Best Friends - Part 1

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Reader, Carl Grimes x Enid Rhee

Warning: Angst, just friends, swearing, Reader being a badass, jealousy... very angsty.

Summary: You’ve been with Rick’s group since the middle of the prison era. Enid comes into the picture, and your feelings become complicated.

A/N: (So this has been in my drafts forever) I was thinking of making this into a little series, but my main writing is Marvel, so I‘m hesitating. I’m not so sure yet, maybe you guys could comment if you want a part 2? <3

Update: part 2 is out now!!

—————————————————————

“So... is she your girlfriend?” The girl who called herself Enid whispered shyly behind your best friend, Carl.

“Oh please, he couldn’t have me even if he wanted to.” You grinned at the girl, noticing Carl’s slight smirk at your comment.

Love and relationships just seemed inappropriate to you during this time, where the dead roamed the Earth and your priority was to survive. But while you’d never admit it, Carl did hold a special place in your heart. You just didn’t want to face it.

But with you out of the picture, Enid and Carl’s relationship seemed to bloom as the days went on. And while you felt a tiny sting whenever you saw them together, you wouldn’t dare show anyone that.

Michonne often looked over to see your reactions to the ongoing romance with eyes of doubt, but you always just smiled back at her innocently.

But even with your great acting skills, it was safe to say that Michonne knew. And so did Rick. They used to bet on which one of you would make their move first back at the prison, seeing the chemistry between you and Carl.

But even if Enid and Carl were making out in front of you, you’d just sip on your iced coffee and maybe let out an “oh dear”, too prideful to show that you were in fact, hurt.

Of course, you and Carl never stopped being best friends after his relationship with Enid, and the two of you would always have fun during runs and chores together.

You were fine like that.

Or that’s what you told yourself.

Michonne, clearly, was not convinced.

“I thought you and Carl were a thing?” She came to you one day, while you lay in your room with your head buried in a Captain America comic.

Michonne was much like your other best friend, but at times she played the role of a sister.

“No, how in the hell did you get that idea?” You giggled to yourself, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Well, alright then. But just so you know, the boy fell asleep outside the fence.” Michonne’s smirk had a hint of mischievousness in it, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“If you’re trying to make me go save him and confirm your theory, then no, I’m not moving from this bed.” You told her sternly, noticing the little playfulness in her eyes.

“Whatever then.” She turned back and closed the door, leaving you conflicted and slightly paranoid.

Did that little fucker go over the fence with Enid, again? And fell asleep? But why do I care? He can take care of himself. Yeah. I’m staying here. But what if...

“Oh, goddammit.” You mumbled, shooting out of your bed and sprinting down the stairs. Passing by Michonne with her I-knew-it look plastered on her face.

You practically yelled out; “I don’t want to hear it.” Before slamming the front door shut.

You let your legs carry you all the way to the gate, waiting impatiently for the gatekeeper to open it. You didn’t even bother to see who it was and snatched the gun from his hand before taking off again.

You caught sight of a small herd of walkers heading in a certain direction. Those imbeciles.

Considering the fact that you were out there all on your own for a good year before you joined Rick’s group, you were able to take care of a small herd of those assholes.

You could spot those two lying down in the leaves and dirt, rolling your eyes at how it affected you.

But besides that, it was very very clear that one or both of them would get injured if you don’t interfere. What the fuck, Michonne?!

The closer you got, the more you started to realize that Enid was awake and panicking, trying to shake Carl awake, but the idiot was in a deep slumber.

You suddenly appeared in front of the two, shooting repeatedly at the walkers. Enid looked surprised for a second, before watching you with a look of relief.

Silenced gunshots rang through the forest, beat steady and rhythmic.

Headshot.

Headshot.

Headshot.

Headshot.

“Carl!” As soon as your voice hit his eardrums, he jolted up, much to Enid’s distaste.

“Y/N?! Are you okay?” He wakes up and pushes Enid off of him, making you raise your eyebrow at him with judgment.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He apologizes to Enid, who was now crouching down in fear.

“Great. Now, run if you don’t want to fucking die!” You crane your head at them while keeping a steady hand, taking out a walker after the other.

And it was insanely badass.

Carl shook his head, telling you that he won’t go unless you come too. You glare at him while noticing your gun get lighter and lighter until you finally run out of bullets.

God fucking dammit.

“Just go. I’ll be fine.” You rush the two of them, taking out your katanas from its holsters and taking the walkers out. 10 became 7, 7 became 5, 5 became 3 and 3 became none.

Your breathing was ragged and unsteady by the time you were done with the herd. You were drenched in walker blood and sweat from head to toe, facing the unarmed couple with a tired look.

“I told you to go.”

“And you took on a whole herd of walkers.” Carl’s face had guilt written over it, he was unarmed and unable to help you, making you face a whole herd alone. The fact that Enid was clutching onto him the whole time was in the equation, too.

You turned back and walked out of there without another word, Carl running closely behind you.

“How’d you find us?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

He kept going on and on about how it was an accident and he never meant to put you or Enid in danger.

You managed to go without speaking all the way to the gates, ignoring Carl.

But once the both of you were safe inside the fence, you turned to him with a look of disbelief.

“You or Enid could’ve been hurt, Carl.” You were suppressing images that your creative mind came up with. Images of Carl getting bit, getting hurt.

“I know. But you came just in time, right? My knight in shining armor...” He cracked a small joke, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

The two of you stood there in the middle of the road, staring at each other for a long time before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“But seriously, don’t do that again.” You patted him on the shoulder before walking through a crowd that had formed, all eager to see why a kid like you was drenched in blood all over.

“You’re not going to move from your bed, huh?” Michonne neared you with a look of pride, which you answered with a glare.

“I could’ve died!”

“But you didn’t.”

You glared at her one last time, before giving in and stopped walking.

You pointed your knife at Carl and Enid reunited and having a heartfelt hug a few meters behind you, and you looked up at Michonne.

“Even if you were right, look at them.” You pulled through the little tears pricking your eyes and smiled. Your steady hand holding the knife faltered.

“If you really love someone, you gotta let em go, right?” You sighed, your smile never leaving your lips.

And you left Michonne there speechless, staring at you walk with your head held high, heading back into your house.

#carnid #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x enid rhee #badass reader #carl twd #twd #enid twd #enid rhee #the walking dead #carl grimes x you #alexandria

[nutbrain]

A short Lesion/Thatcher fic for @kiruuuuu as I push her ship out to sail. Another entry in this kindness war :) There’s a side of Bandit/Montagne in there as well. I wrote this on the theory that the matches in game are simulations. (Also any and all errors are my own as this is unbeta’d!)

Lesion readjusted to be sure that he was completely covered by his deployable shield and hucked another one of his devices towards the entrance. Thatcher was sure to be low on his health by this point in the match. Hopefully he could catch him on another needle or two and end it without a fire fight.

Another noise of a gu needle and another announcement. Thatcher mumbled something about camouflaged soup cans being the death of him and shuffled to cover to pull out the needle. Right in front of Doc’s indestructible camera. One of the other ops pinged him on the map and Lesion took aim and fired through the wall.

“Thatcher eliminated. Round finished.” Thatcher could be heard swearing from the other room, cursing out soup cans, Bandit and Thermite for wasting his grenades, and yelling about wall banging. Lesion chuckled and walked around his shield to where Thatcher was, extending his hand towards the other man.

“You did well. If you hadn’t been Bandit tricked, you probably would have won this round.” Thatcher rolled his eyes but took the offered hand all the same.

“Ha, doubtful. Looks like I’m buying drinks tonight, huh?” Thatcher grumbled while Lesion only smiled and nodded. “It didn’t help that these idiots were chanting clutch or kick in my ear piece. As if they’d ever be able to kick me. Bloody idiots died first after all,” Lesion snorted and clapped him on the shoulder as the two headed towards the exit.

Back where the teams convened for debrief, Bandit was currently in the process of making fun of Thermite losing his charges. Thermite looked vaguely peeved, but good naturedly turned to Thatcher as he and Lesion walked up.

“Ya didn’t get him this time, but you can be sure the next match will go differently. We just have to take out Mr. Spawnpeeker over there first.” Ash made an annoyed noise over the Texan’s shoulder, still irate at being the first one to go down in the match courtesy of a well placed headshot.

“Jokes on you, it was Rookie boy over here with his ACOG that took you down Ash. You pretty much have to have one with that tiny head of yours. I swear the computer system never registers when we hit you anyway, so it’s about time.” As Bandit went on, Rook looked more sheepish by the minute.

“We all did well today. Now I believe that Thatcher is buying after we review this session.” Lesion’s effort to steer the conversation seemed to work, as everyone sat through the debrief without much more than a few scoffs or chuckles. After they were dismissed, the teams broke off towards the locker rooms to shower and change.

Once ready, the group rode together to the bar, Thatcher griping that he was only paying for one round of beers and that was it, the others booing him. Smoke attempted to catch a ride, claiming that with Mute and Sledge out on missions he needed company and a free beer, but was ultimately left behind with a new stack of paperwork to cure his boredom.

The bar the ops ended up at was a bit of a hole in the wall, but a bar they frequented often. Once Thatcher had paid for their beer and they’d all toasted Lesion, the ops were happy to head to their usual seating areas, the atmosphere jovial after a long day of training.

Thatcher hung back around the bar, nursing a gin and tonic before feeling someone brush against his arm. Glancing over, he gave a lopsided smirk to Lesion, who slid into the seat next to him.

“Sitting over here all alone again?” Lesion ordered his drink and leaned his elbow against the bar, angling his body towards Thatcher.

“Maybe I was hoping someone would make their way over after his team congratulated him.” A warm smile lit up Lesions face, one that was reserved only for Thatcher and small, adorable animals. It was something the other man loved to see.

“Hmmm, is that so? I suppose I should leave so you can wait for this other man.” Lesion winked and made to get up. Thatcher rolled his eyes and pulled him back down, though he hardly had to make any effort. Lesion beamed at him once more, always amused to tease Thatcher, before something caught his eye and he laughed, pointing behind Thatcher.

Thatcher craned his head around before shifting his body completely to get a better look. Most of the operators had settled at the table against the wall, where Bandit was currently sitting and stacking shot glasses on his head, doing his best to keep them balanced as others at the table cheered him on. Thermite was more than happy to help stack as Ash hollered for him to go higher. Thatcher chuckled and could hear Joe the barkeep sigh behind him, readying himself for another night of shenanigans.

The two ops at the bar were enthralled as the German managed to keep the growing tower from falling. When Bandit got to his sixth glass, the structure was starting to wobble a bit. “How many glasses do you think he can get to?” Lesion mused

Thatcher hummed. “I give him ten, maybe twelve.” Bandit started reaching for his beer, intent on taking a drink despite the stack. “Or maybe not if he messes up here,” Lesion snorted, before they both watched in awe as Bandit was somehow able to take a swig without tipping his head back. Rook looked incredibly impressed, and Thatcher could see him turn and ask Doc how he managed that. Montagne was shaking his head in secondhand embarrassment as Bandit steadied himself for another glass.

Bandit ended up with eleven on his head before a drunk and very excited Thermite smacked his arm into them and sent the glasses toppling to the ground behind the German. Thermite looked nervous before Bandit downed his beer and happily shouted for another.

“Well is suppose we’ll never know how many. At least now he can drink his beer...or apparently snog Montagne.” Lesion mused as Bandit climbed into the Frenchman’s lap. At some point during the spectacle, Lesion had rested his hand on Thatcher’s leg to allow him to lean forward better. Thatcher placed his hand on top, holding it as he slid out of his chair

“What do you say about getting a bit of fresh air?” Thatcher asked and his answer was the mischievous expression that overtook Lesion’s face. Downing his drink, Lesion followed Thatcher out of the bar, the two threading their way through the small crowd.

The outside was a bit chilly, but a breath of fresh air was nice after the warm, stuffy bar. Lesion took out the toothpick he’d been chewing on and slid it into his pocket.

“So, I seem to have won our little duel. Is there a special reward for me?” The soft smirk on the other man’s face was enough for Thatcher, who put his hands around Lesion’s waist and tugged him closer before brushing their lips together with a smile. The kiss was soft at first, but it wasn’t long until Lesion reached up around Thatcher’s neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss. The intensity increased until the two pulled apart to catch their breath and smile. Lesion’s face was flushed, pupils blown wide as he stared back at Thatcher, who wasn’t fairing much better. It was excellent timing, as Bandit drunkenly stumbled out of the bar, an amused Montagne in tow.

“Should we go somewhere a bit more private?” Lesion asked, Thatcher’s arms still around his waist as they stared at the intruders. The two watched in amusement as a now embarrassed Montagne tried to keep Bandit from violating public decency laws as the German clawed at his shirt, whining when the Frenchman kept taking his hands away from the buttons.

“Sounds like a good idea. But we’re definitely catching a different cab than those two.” Lesion couldn’t agree more.

#rainbow six siege #r6s #r6s thatcher #r6s lesion #Once again I wrote those on my phone #so it’s a bit short but I hope y’all enjoy it all the same

[parf-fan]

Followup: Blackfryars!

Mount Hope, I’m begging you.  👏 Hire 👏 a 👏 copy 👏 editor. 👏

As always, visit the Faire’s website for headshots

Estelle Angrist :  Millicent Goodnestone – Apprentice Stone-Carver 

Inside every stone is a piece of art, so says Millicent. All you need to do is listen to the rock and take away the unnecessary pieces. Now, the artistry comes in the patience with which one removes the extra bits of stone. Patience, hammer, chisel, and a light touch are all that are required. Otherwise, a good piece of stone can become a dust pile very quickly. Thank goodness today is a festival day, because Millicent has been sweeping piles of dust for a while.

Alessandra Appiotti :  Bernadette Albright – Matchmaker 

The shire is being visited by the World’s most famous Bachelorette: Queen Elizabeth! If Bernadette can find the one for Queen Elizabeth, she will go from rising star to full-on supernova! She’d better get started lining up eligible bachelors! Or Bachelorettes! She hasn’t met Her Majesty yet, so who is she to judge her tastes?

Andréa Barton :  Lady Blanche Parry – Lady in Waiting 

This devoted Lady has served the Queen from the time our monarch was in nappies! They are boon companions, sharing court life and all its intrigue and frivolity. While she may look like the marzipan on the cake, her skilled organization of the Queen’s library and fondness for a good jest keeps her wit sharp enough to cut like a knife. Just ask the fool that attempts to play with her heart strings or guitar strings!

Kristin Bauer :  Frances Newton, Lady Cobham – Lady in Waiting

Lady Cobham is thrilled to be on progress with the Queen. After all, this busy mother needs some time with the Ladies. With her soft nature and quick smile, she can often times be found with the children of the Shire, telling stories, rhymes, riddles, and playing games. Her sense of mirth does not leave her without a streak of mischief, as she does love to put her finger in the pot, give it a stir, and see what happens! Naughty or Nice? You be the judge!

Lauralette Bernard :  Tolly Muneford – Harbor Master 

Nothing comes in or out of the shores of Mount Hope that Tolly doesn’t know about. Her web of knowledge reaches far and wide, and she does it all in the service of the Shire. If only she wasn’t so keen on sharing all this knowledge with literally everyone, she might be able to use it for personal gain.

Jennifer Blackwell-Yale :  Emily O. Bales – Fire Brigade 

It has been 15 years since a monarch last visited the Shire of Mount Hope. Coincidentally, it has also been 15 years since the last fire in the shire of Mount Hope. Emily is always ready for action, but no one is quite sure she would know exactly what to do should action arise. When in doubt: stop, drop, roll, and have some wine. It seemed to work out just fine for the Old Dun Cow!

Karen Rose Bitzer :  Rosie DuLait – Milkmaid 

This milkmaid typically spends her day milking the cows and goats on the farm; carefully churning the butter; separating the curds from the whey; making the precious cheese to sell at market; all the time, singing and talking to her fine, generous, milk-laden friends! Is it any wonder that Rosie’s dairy products are highly sought for their sweet, creamy nature? It is even said that her happy cows seem to prance in the fields, as if dancing to a jig. Is that even possible? With Rosie, one never knows! Today she was up early: the Queen is expected and she wants to offer the sweetest cream and the finest butter to lay upon the Queen’s table.

Tabitha Borges :  Abigail Montgomery – Governess to the Lady Mayor 

Abigail has always had a way with children, and has taken care of all the Lady Mayor’s progeny, which means she is quite resilient! Of the many duties, trials, and tribulations the Penburthys have put her through, her favorite activity is still telling stories, and she is a masterful storyteller. Now that the Penburthy children, Calvin, Penelope, and Danforth, have all grown up, she is experiencing Empty Nest Syndrome far more than Delores is!

Elizabeth Burkholder :  Paraffin Dyson – Bellows-Mender

Paraffin is a fan. She is a fan of fans. Her bellows will blow you away, that’s how big of a fan she is. Sometimes she can be a bit of a blowhard, but usually she can play it cool. And yet, even the coolest of bellows-menders may have a difficult time not having a meltdown with our Queen on the Shire. Time will tell if Paraffin maintains her composure or has a blowout, but one thing is for sure; she will certainly enjoy this festival day!

Jasmine Crist :  Mary Robin Richland – Shire Ne'er-Do-Well 

Every shire has one, ours is Mary Robin! While good-natured and always seen with a smile, it is known that one must keep a hand on your purse and an eye on your goods, for you may come up short when the back side of Mary Robin you see! Slight of hand, quick of feet, and always with a jest to share, it is her good nature and sharp wit that keeps her just on this side of the law, for now! It has been heard that she has high aspirations, but for what? Ask her, she may or may not share!

Ashley Crowther :  Ira Roth – Actuary 

Everyone’s heard of mad scientists, but a mad actuary? That’s much rarer. If you stare at numbers all day long, apparently they start staring back. Eventually, everything starts to look like a ledger, and you can see the numbers everywhere. Sure... that adds up...

Josh Dorsheimer :  Jakob Werner – Landsknecht

Professional mercenaries fight the wars of the Kings of Europe. Professionals like Jakob. He does his level best to never think about any of that, though! He would rather spend his time gallivanting around town, spending his hard-won gold on drink, friends, and frivolity. The oldest of the family, Jakob is sometimes mistaken as the decision-maker of the clan. While he won’t outright deny this, the three siblings all know who really calls the shots: their baby sister!

Elisia Freeman :  Agnes Lambourne – Apple-Monger 

Apple cider, apple butter, apple sausage, apple crisp, apple cake.... Just ask this happy-go-lucky lady what you can do with all those apples, and she will tell you! Be prepared, her list is LONG! Apple juggling, apple carving, apple tossing, apple dicing, apple bocci. Do not be fooled, she knows that man does not live by apples alone; everyone knows you need a little cinnamon and a lot of laughter!

Corey Graff :  Wagner Werner – Landsknecht

Wagner travels all over Europe fighting battles with his brother and sister for one reason: he loves them both dearly. Honestly though, he would much rather be laying down in a meadow watching butterflies. Sometimes suffering from middle child syndrome, Wagner’s gadabout ways certainly make life interesting for all the Werner siblings.

Steve Hager :  Rip Skeleton – Gravedigger 

There are two things certain in this world: Death, and Taxes – and Rip ain’t no accountant. Its always nice to have a friendly face build your final resting place.

Jeremiah Halteman :  Ronald P. Eversmeyer – Yeoman Guard 

They say history is written by the victors. Ronald has every intention of ensuring that our good Queen’s name goes down in the history of the world as the greatest victor of them all! He is always prepared to put himself between Her Majesty and danger, wherever it comes from, in whatever form it takes, and at any personal sacrifice! His extensive training in the art of personal security has rendered him one of the elite of the yeoman guard; as long as Her Majesty is not attacked from the air. Unfortunately, Ronald has a fear of butterflies. Something about the wings just throw off his rhythm, but no worries....butterflies in Mount Hope? Never!!

Jonathan Heise :  Sir John Giffard of Chillington, Minister of Parliament, Knight – Nobleman 

This Minister of Parliament felt it his duty to be present during the Queen’s progress at Mount Hope. Concerned that perhaps this tiny village would not be up to the task of hosting our Queen, he would be quick to move the festivities to Chillington. Upon arrival he realized his foolish mistake; never had he seen such a shire, and thought perhaps ‘twas time to move Chillington to Mount Hope! However, for now, why not enjoy the festivities?

Brianna E. Holmes :  Mary Hill, Lady Cheke – Lady in Waiting 

This gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber is well loved by all. Her husband, John Cheke, a gentleman of the court, encourages her in her service of the Queen. The Queen has blessed them often with gifts, grants, and an estate or two. Even at this show of opulence, Lady Cheke takes it all in stride. She finds joy in the simple things in life; her children, her rose garden, and her love of arachnids. Their homes, their legs, and loving little eyes; can you ever have enough? I think NOT says Lady Cheke.

Anastasia Keno :  Louise Weaver – Shepherdess

A diligent if mischievous shepherdess, Louise has a passion for all things fluffy! Why should sheep be the only animals allowed to graze free? Let the cats graze free! Let the puppies graze free! Let the mice graze free! Free the animals! Sorry... she can be very passionate.

Jennifer Litzinger :  Cherie Piquant – Spice Merchant 

If the first pinch of salt is free, be prepared to pay dearly for everything else. A shrewd business woman, do not let Cherie’s smile fool you. She was born to barter, and barter she will! Well-known on the shire as the woman who can get what you need, do not be afraid to ask; as long as its cinnamon, cloves, turmeric, or cardamom, by day’s end, it will be in your kitchen. Ask for a song, and you could be in for a treat.

Dana Micciché :  Katherine Champernowne, Lady Kat Ashley – Lady in Waiting

Appointed governess, tutor, friend, and confidante, Lady Kat Ashley ensured that her Queen had all the necessary tools to rule England. Well versed in astronomy, geography, history, Latin, Spanish, Italian, and Flemish, this unassuming woman is also trained in the art of swordsmanship, axe-throwing, archery, and caber tossing! Think you know a little about a lot? Lady Kat knew it first!

Traci Mohl :  Olivia Charnwood – Huntress 

The family tradition of hunting and tracking lives on in the guise of Olivia. Like her mother and grandmother before her, ear to ground, sniffing the air; hunting prey is in her blood. Mount Hope’s finest archer, Olivia never fails to bring home the meat – just don’t ask her to cook it!! On this festival day, she plans on showing off her tracking skills by sniffing out a merry time!

Beverly Newton :  Charlotte Seaswift – Shipwright

This buoyant aquatic engineer helps keep the Harbor of Mount Hope afloat. An eye for design and a passion for innovation drive Charlotte. She knows that the fine line between sink and swim is just a patch away, and she is always ready to keep things floating on.

Jared Nocella :  Miles I. Gore – Professional Henchman 

Some people are natural born leaders. Miles is not one of those people. Miles is a natural born lackey, and he’s the best there is at being second fiddle. Always down for doing the dirty work, and he does it dirt cheap! Miles is a sidekick with a smile and has a flare for following.

Alexandra Pentz :  Dorte Werner – Kampfrau 

The youngest of the Werner siblings, but make no mistake: she is the one that keeps the family together. From designing the boys’ clothes, managing the family finances, and fighting her share of battles, she is as clever as she is dangerous. And after all that, she still has the ability to be the most mischievous of the three!

Lianna Pike :  Rosalind Anne Uxbridge – Gardener 

Rosalind has had her hands deep in dirt, up to her elbows, preparing for the Royal visit. The gardens must be perfect! Simple details like stone placement can be so critical, yet every time she plants, those chipmunks and rabbits have a feast . That is why Rosalind has a bed in all of her garden plots. She sleeps in a different flower bed each night. Thank goodness the festival is finally here, she can finally get out of the beds and enjoy the beauty of her work with the rest of the shirefolk.

Nicolas Rainville :  Grayson Thomas Hemplewhite – Squire to the Master of Horse, Sir Robert Dudley 

What an honor to serve the horse that carries the saddle that seats the man who serves the Queen so closely! To say that Hemplewhite is a hard worker is putting it mildly. His work is never done. Clean the tack, muck the stall, check the hooves; not to mention ensuring that Tinker, the horse, is always sweet-smelling for his Master to ride. But today is a festival day. Tinker smells sweet, now its time for Hemplewhite to have a bit of merriment.

Jessica Reesor :  Holly Teacake – Baker 

Everyone likes sweets at a festival, and Holly has made sure the shire is stocked with confections to please any palate. Fruity, chocolatey, savory – whatever your taste, Holly has you covered! An obsessive planner, Holly loves the order of a recipe. It is a mathematical equation for pleasing people. If only everything else was that simple!

Laura Reesor :  Pearl Topstitch – Tailor 

A visionary designer with an eye for style. Never satisfied with the same-old same-old; when something works once, she’s done with it! Her appetite for new and exotic is matched only by her skill. She can look at a piece of fabric and see the hidden...pearl...of genius within. Now it is time to show off her skills to the Queen.

James Riley :  Adam Cringer – Yeoman Guard 

A newly-minted member of the Yeoman Guard following in the footsteps of his grandfather and father before him. Legend of Adam’s monster-hunting exploits have already preceded him. Now it is time to see if the man can match the Legend.

Victoria Sangston :  Dorothea Anne Heartley – Etiquette Mistress 

Today is a big day for the shire of Mount Hope, and the Lady Mayor has tasked Mistress Heartley with making sure everyone puts their best foot forward. Of course, is that the right foot or the other right foot? Joyfully surveying the shirefolk, she knows everyone will be on their best, smiling, bowing, hat tipping, formal greeting behavior – or else!

Michael Sheffield :  John Dee – Royal Astrologer

A good ruler has good advisors. Time will tell what kind of advisor John Dee will be. He says he talks to angels. Perhaps he does. Perhaps he’s just a brilliant con man. One thing is for sure – eccentric only scratches the surface of describing this stargazing man.

Jessie Smith :  Polly Lynne Pickering – Apprentice Rag-picker

Polly Lynne has been following in her mum’s footsteps for as long as she can remember. Mum does have a keen eye for bits and pieces, but Polly Lynne is impatient! When she is THE Rag-Picker, she will be much more efficient! Would anyone REALLY notice if a bit was snipped off a gown here and there? Bushes and scissors are a picker’s best friend. She has heard of the fine fabrics worn by the Nobles of the court and is hoping to snip.... errrr....snag a piece or two of those fabrics for herself!

Mary Smith :  Penelope Ann Pickering – Rag-picker 

Some call it rag-picking, but Penelope prefers to call it fabric repurposing opportunities. Opportunities abound in the shire of Mount Hope, all you have to do is look around! And look she does!! With a keen eye for bits of fabric, lace, gossip, and good will, she has a kind word for everyone and perhaps a bit of scrap for those in need; and, really, who doesn’t need a bit of scrap now and then? And now, with the training up of Polly Lynne, she’s busy busy busy! Thank goodness for the Festival. Mirth, merriment, and fabric scraps!

Evelin Stayner :  Buttercup M. Rosehips – Scullery Wench 

This young lady is happy when surrounded by a pile of dirty anything. Beginning, middle, end! That is where she finds her joy. Every day has its adventures, and they all start when the sun comes up and last throughout the day. You may find her dancing, singing, or generally making herself an asset to the Shire of Mount. Hope. Some might even call her a fledgling pillar of society; probably more like a fence post. But everybody has to start somewhere!

Katrin Stayner :  Eva Froman – Sausage Queen of the Shire 

Blessed with infinite patience, and a lithe mind to keep up with her husband. The Fromans are nouveau riche, and happy to flaunt it. Eva is the true brains of the operation. Her wurst is the best, and her husband is the best at being the worst.  [the Sausage King is being played by one of the improv directors who doubles as an independent act.]

Jordan Taft :�� Dorothy "Dottie" Brooke – Lady in Waiting 

This Maid of Honor is a seasoned Lady of the court. Certainly Lady Dorothy has done it all, seen it all, and has the bodice to prove it. However, Mount Hope intrigues her. After all, it is time for her to settle down and have a family of her own, and the matchmaker of the Shire is famous throughout the land. She may leave here betrothed, or at least,with several good prospects. Love is in the air, or, is that TURKEY???

Robyn Thompson :  Fiona Erin O'Donald – Personal Foot Post of the Lady Mayor 

When Fiona came to Mount Hope, the first person she met was the Lady Mayor, who had just lost her third foot post in six months. Fiona needed a job; she had no idea what a foot post was, but she knew she could do it! She is Irish after all! As it turns out, she is the best foot post the Mayor has ever had!! Messenger, she’s the Lady Mayor’s personal messenger!

Sandi Trait :  Becky Billingsly – Town Crier and Lady Mayor’s Official Letter-Opener 

Becky Billingsly, the voice of the shire, knows full well the weight her proclamations carry. As Official Letter Opener for the Lady Mayor, she is at the forefront of all the news that is news in the shire. Of course, nothing beats today’s happenings! The young Queen makes her way to the gates of Mount Hope. How thrilling to share her news and tidings with the court of her Majesty!

Ariel E. Urich :  Kathryn Bridges – Lady in Waiting 

This Maid of Honor is on her first progress with the Queen. She has lived her entire life in training for this very time and now that it is here, she realizes that something is missing. She knows how to carry the cup with grace and style; the basket is a simple matter; smiling at the proper time, sitting, standing. So, what is the problem? She has this deep desire to make people laugh! So far, she has shared a bit of her talent with the Ladies of the Court, but perhaps this small shire is where she can be a bit more free with her jests and merriment. Oh, the festival day could not get here soon enough!

Brianna Yale :  Lydia der Schlachter – Butcher 

Leaving home to work for the Fromans was a tough decision but one she is happy she made. Butchering brings her such delight. From the time she begins to sharpen her blade to the beauty of well-cut chop, this butcher knows her way around a slab of beef, pork, and lamb. However, never ask her for a capon! She has been squeamish since the capon incident of 1552. Enough of that! This is a festival day, and she plans on celebrating with the shire folk and perhaps even catching a glimpse of the new Queen.

Darrell E. Yoder :  Sylvan Farelight – Tinker

If it needs mending, this is the man to do it. If it needs replacing, step right up, he has it. If you need a bit of magic in your life, having Sylvan on the streets ensures that your needs will be met! Always popular when he arrives on shire; Sylvan can be counted on to share a bit of news from afar; a bit of wisdom from within; and a bit of magic from, well, from where magic comes from!

To the newcomers, welcome!  To those returning, welcome back!

#definitely a good lineup we've got this year! #I'm excited #this year i swear i will not neglect the blackfryars! #i will spend whole days wandering the streets damn it! #blackfryars #castlist #cast list #parf cast #parf casting #parf cast list #castlist 2019 #parf cast 2019 #parf 2019 #parf #pa ren faire #pa renn faire #pa renaissance faire #pennsylvania renaissance faire #renaissance faire #renn faire #ren faire #faire

[acuppellarp]

Welcome to A Cup-pella, Sadie! We’re excited to have you and Harmony Simmons in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: Sadie, she/her Age: 22 Timezone: EST Ships: Anything with chemistry! Anti-Ships: N/A

IC INFO

Full Name: Harmony Alexandra Simmons Face Claim: Lauren Lopez Age/Birthday: 23, October 14th, 1995 Occupation: College student and theater performer, volunteer for April’s Growers. Personality: Confident, driven, competitive, empathetic, honest Hometown: Columbus, Ohio Bio: Ever since she was growing within her mother’s womb, Harmony was on the fast track to stardom. Her parents made sure to get her resume started right off the bat with her ultrasound being featured on a Murder, She Wrote episode. Not to mention her infant headshots being used for the Gerber Baby commercials. Her parents had laid out her life for her before she even knew what life was about, and Harmony never once questioned it. Growing up she was always singing, always performing. In her younger years it was at the direction of her parents who only wanted what was best for her and wanted to equip her with the skills to make a name for herself. As she got older, though, it was clear that she was becoming a perfectionist all on her own.

While her parents refused to put their only child through public school they, couldn’t afford any of the local private education so they insisted on homeschooling her instead. Harmony’s days were spent mastering every lead in every musical, singing scales until she could do them in her sleep, and becoming well practiced in most dance styles. As the years went by into late childhood and her early teens, it became evident that she dealt with obsessive compulsive issues. No longer did her parents watch her practice over her shoulder—they knew she would practice every detail until it was perfect. When she wasn’t rehearsing for local roles, she spent her time cleaning and reorganizing her bedroom multiple times a week—especially in times of high stress. Any time her loved ones tried to get her to stop, they were met with a meltdown. Worried for their daughter and how this would affect her future, they took her to a psychologist who diagnosed her with OCD and got her properly medicated with some bouts of trial and error.

When she was about fifteen years old, Harmony was met with her first professional rejection. It was a local production of Annie which, of course, was the role Harmony insisted on playing. That was until a girl she had never seen before had auditioned—she was beautiful, wildly talented, and a worthy opponent to Harmony’s skillset and experience. After her audition she spoke with her, but couldn’t bring herself to deliver her usual over-the-top confident energy in an attempt to intimidate her competition. Instead she stumbled over her words, complimented her classical training she had obviously received, and proceeded to choke during her own audition in comparison. Harmony ended up with the role of Miss Hannigan, but she couldn’t bring herself to care—she was simply too taken by her and was happy just to work alongside her. It was then that she realized she was attracted to women, which explained the lack of male attention she craved. She hadn’t told anyone, however, figuring it wouldn’t matter anyway. This line of work had no room for romantic relationships—she would be married to the stage.

By the time Harmony graduated, there weren’t a lot of lead roles she had yet to play and, truthfully, they were becoming tiresome. She knew she was better than the local theater, but was afraid that wouldn’t change once she went to New York for college. Much to her parents’ disapproval, she strayed away from chasing massive roles once she started taking classes. Instead, she focused on mastering the parts of theater she hadn’t gotten to explore. The improvisational classes had been among a few of her favorites. That caused her to seek out the stage in a less conventional way than she was used to. She began to crave less-known, more dynamic and even characters a little more on the unusual side. She was invited to join a theater troupe that a few of her improv friends had started years ago, and she happily agreed. As of late, she has been learning and mastering various original comedy roles—those roles met with her same professional intensity.

Harmony has taken a liking to the city, just like she knew she would. While Columbus was a big city she was used to, it lacked the thespian atmosphere she craved. She finds herself homesick for her family often and keeps to herself in the small amount of time she isn’t rehearsing for something, but has managed to make a few acquaintances in her classes as well as the time she spends volunteering. She’s very aware that her personality can be hard to swallow, but she doesn’t mind and treats her peers with her odd version of kindness, nonetheless. While her OCD is much more in control than it was when she was younger, she still has flare ups where it is very hard to deal with, but with her strong family support system she has trained herself to find healthy ways to cope.  

Relationships:

Hunter Clarington (Roommate): While their personalities typically clash, they are actually quite a good balance for one another. They don’t see each other very often because Harmony spends very little time at home, but the time she is there she spends happily cleaning and organizing, which she knows Hunter doesn’t mind. She knows that her constant singing can get under Hunter’s skin, but other than that they get along just fine most of the time.

Lola, Lacey, and Rowan (Volunteering): Volunteering had always been something that brought Harmony great joy and a sense of fulfilling—other than putting on a show, of course. It had always been very difficult for her to feel she belongs in any setting that wasn’t a theatrical one, but April’s Growers had welcomed her with open arms from the beginning. Feeling like an outcast was something Harmony had dealt with her whole life, and she didn’t think that would end any time soon. But while she wouldn’t say it out loud, the acquaintances she’d made in this group she wouldn’t trade for anything, even if they thought she was annoying.

EXTRA INFO

harmony/@harmonysong/description: actor since fetal stage

Five latest tweets:

@harmonysong: One of my greatest feats in my career so far might just be pulling off this updo with only two hairpins and no hairspray @harmonysong: Should I get a puppy? Maybe a little baby kitty? Two puppies. A TINY SNAKE. @harmonysong: Today’s challenge: do my singing scales but while sounding like Chewbacca @harmonysong: …I might have compulsively made three batches of gluten-free monkey rolls because I couldn’t sleep. Monkey roll, anyone? @harmonysong: I had to wear a fake moustache for rehearsal today, and I have to say… I looked kind of hot?

#accepted

[savetheblackpaladin]

BANG!!!!! 

PEWPEW!!!!

BRAWNG! BRAWNG! BRAWNG! “HULL BREACH IN SECTOR 20″ BRAW---

You flattened your sensitive ears against your head, trying to block out the sounds of battle and ship alarms, but it didn’t help. You groaned in frustration as whatever was happening outside drew closer to your cell door, changing the noises from bothersome to downright ear shattering.

You head was going to split, you felt it. Your tail lashed in agitation as you tried to muffle the sounds with pillows, pushing so hard against your head that the points of your claws poked through, distracting you with tiny pinpricks of pain.

BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!

You blacked out as the explosion rocked the ship. It was so close and your ears so sensitive, you swore as your vision dimmed that you’d never hear again.

Unfortunately, Haggar had made you of tougher stuff and you awoke a few minutes later to the smell of smoke and the slightly dulled sounds of someone attempting to knock down your door. You coughed and curled your tail tight around you, making yourself smaller, hoping that whatever was on the other side was friendly.

Or at the very least wouldn’t scream.

The door fell open and you ducked your head as a figure stepped through...

Shiro

the moment he sees you he knows exactly what you are

and he’s fucking pissed

add another item to his BiggAss List of Reasons to Kill Haggar™

totally filled with a righteous fury for about 0.2 seconds before he realizes that your looking up at him with pure fear

he drops his hands and kneels down to your level, offering his open palm

you can hear that his arm is mechanical and you immediately recognize him from the arena

“She hurt me too...come with me, I’ll--we’ll take care of you.”

protects you and gives the other paladins dirty looks for oggling you like an oddity (to be fair, you are)

won’t let go of your hand

feels guilty and sorry and he’s just so so angry on your behalf

fiercly protective of you bc you’re both victims

Hunk

looks around the room wildly at first before he finally notices you in the corner with a pillow around your head

takes a step back, clearly recognizing you as once human

he’s shocked and doesn’t really know what to make of you right now

shakes his head and reminds himself that you’re a prisoner before dropping his gun and offering you his hand

“Hey there...hey, I’m sorry for barging in here but we gotta go. Can you walk?”

keeps you behind him for the rest of this mission

he’s used to aliens now but seeing what Haggar did to a human is a little disconcerting to him

but there’s a refined edge to his fighting, a little more accuracy in his shots. He’s not shooting to cover his team, he’s shooting to kill

okay, he’s a little upset about what’s happened to his fellow human

galra better watch tf out bc Hunk is pissed

Lance

doesn’t realize that you were once human

all he sees is a prisoner who’s been seriously mistreated

“Hey there, I’m Lance, a paladin of Voltron. Come with me if you want to live.”

he finally got to use that line and he’s so HAPPY

so he tries to give you encouraging smiles over his shoulder and offers you his hand when it’s time to run

even offers to be the one to escort you to the castle and the healing pods

he wants to make sure that your time with Voltron is the exact opposite of your time with the Galra

he’s filled with a silent white-hot fury when he finds out you’re human. or rather, were human

he doesn’t know what to say and just leaves the room

he’s so angry and upset that this happened to you

vows to personally headshot Haggar

Keith

his blade is held high and he’s turning about wildly like he’s ready to take out an army

which is terrifying and your squeak of fear quickly draws his attention to you

he sees so many familiar features in your face and so many that just look mismatched and slapped on

finally finally he recognizes what you are and he’s sick to his stomach

his mom’s people did this to you. people who’s blood runs in his veins.

he simply lowers his blade and walks out, yelling over his shoulder that you should follow

it takes him a long time to look you in the face. I’m talking weeks

you’re pretty convinced he hates you

but no. he’s just really insecure about his own heritage and he doesn’t want to see your terrified look directed at him again

Pidge

she’d know a human in space anywhere

“--What did they do to you???”

she’s disgusted

and a little curious about the gene splicing

but that’s probably not something you’d know the fine details about

“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t--that was really rude! I’m sorry!”

immediately walks over to you and places a hand on your shoulder, resting it there a moment before pulling you up to go with her

she’s a little scared that what happened to you will, or has, happened to her dad

she tries not to think about it for the rest of the rescue.

but every time she looks at you she feels the smallest twinge of anxiety

does her best to find out the names of everyone involved in your experiments so they can die long, slow, tortuous deaths

or at least extra shocky ones

maybe stomp on their corpse once or twice

#shiro X reader #keith X reader #lance X reader #hunk X reader #pidge X reader #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #lance mcclain #hunk garrett #pidge gunderson

[soldiersandshitposts]

Supernova

You were a star that had gone supernova. I tried to catch your energy, But I let you slip through my fingers And fade into my universe

Sophie didn’t remember much from the mission, she was even still having a hard time staying conscious after the fact. Tygan would give her a brief summary of what happened, she’d pass out again, wake up in a panic a bit later only to have to be told again. The short story was simple, her psionics freaked out because of anger, her mom dead as a result. However, nothing was as simple as the short story.

Everyone knew by now, she was sure of it. ‘Disclosed information’ didn’t mean much to Raven, the ship’s reaper, and surely this was something that he couldn’t keep quiet. He was always looking for gossip, and telling everyone that Sophie was actually a clone, well, why would he care how it would affect her?

Her x-pad was shaking, no, maybe that was her. She’d asked for anything that was saved video wise from her… incident. For once the commander didn’t give her shit, just supplied her with the recording. It came as a surprise she wasn’t down in the med bay right away to yell at her. Truth be told no one had seen her besides Tygan, even that being brief. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach after that. Never since she joined the avenger had she woken up alone in the med bay, Emra was always by her side, holding her hand. Some sort of tradition between the two, starting back to Emra dealing with her screaming as her chip was removed, staying with her through the night, not letting go of her hand.

She hadn’t even stopped by to see her, that Sophie knew of. There was no feeling of Emra being here at all, her energy missing. If what Sophie thought happened was right, Emra had every reason to hide from her.

She decided to just listen to the vod at first, not thinking she could stomach watching. She laid the thing upside down, letting just the sound play.

It started when her mom first told her that she knew of her original capture, that she even eventually had part in the experiments, things she said she always wanted to do but was told no.

Incredible really that cloning someone and throwing an all powerful being in the head of the child when they were two wasn’t too far, maybe they should’ve classified that as too far. Sophie just laughed now, it was all she could do.

She wasn’t sure what happened in the middle, a lot of her own words too quiet to hear. There were memories of her turning off her comms, probably why her audio didn’t transfer.

‘And what exactly are you going to do, kill me? Prove that you are the monster everyone thought you would be? You say your father died to a headshot wound, but what really happened. Admit it, it’s fine.’

The video was paused, there was no way Sophie could continue watching right now. Her stomach felt like death, it was all she could to just not throw up. Realization hit about how lonely she was, that this would be easier with Emra.

The idea was bad, but she pulled up messages anyways. The only recent thing being from Sadie, telling her ‘never fucking talk to me again you freak. what the fuck is wrong with you, I guess she wasn’t even your mom. Thanks for killing the only family I had left.’ She should’ve been more upset from that, but it was fair, Sadie had every right to be mad at her. Closing out of that she opened up Emra’s and hers chat log. She really wasn’t ready for the last conversation they had.

‘You do not have to be afraid, nothing is going to change my feelings.’

‘Promise?’

‘You have me till the end of time, that will not change. I love you, always.’

‘I love you too Emmy, thank you.’

She locked the device, wrapping her arms around it and then laying her head down on it. Everything in her told her she wanted to cry, to get this out. It wouldn’t happen, it’s like she couldn’t. All she could do was lay there, her stomach in knots. Though she wanted to finish the video, she knew she couldn’t right now. Her relationship was most likely very over, she needed to mourn that first.

Everything they did, every second they spent together, it was running rampant through Emra’s mind. Sophie’s laugh, her smile, the little sounds she would make, the tiny sad whimpers when Emra had to get up from cuddling, how her body felt against hers, all of it. They were all good and happy things, until Emra found out Sophie’s secret.

Emra wasn’t sure what hurt more, being in love with someone who had the equivalent of the very thing that held her race into slavery, or the fact Sophie lied about it for so long. She was selfish, completely, to keep it hidden. Emra felt absolutely disgusted to know what she was actually kissing all those times. She wasn’t one for showers, but after she found out she stayed in one, way over her allotted time, trying to make herself feel clean again. It wasn’t working.

The irony of it all? She was currently curled up in Sophie’s bunk, because it still smelled of her, and that smell was comfort. Mad as all hell at Sophie, the smell of her was what even still calmed her down. Blankets wrapped tightly around her, she breathed in.

Thoughts of Sophie alone in an isolated area, like some sort of experiment gone wrong, hurt Emra. She had clearances to go see her, but she didn’t think she’d be able to manage that.

Sophie being a clone of her dad changed nothing, at least for Emra. She could care less about that, if that was the only thing she’d absolutely be right by her side trying to make her feel better. What bothered her was that she hid that she had some sort of… baby elder (at least, that’s what her mom called it) in her head. It was broken apart, or at least that’s what her mom said. The way Sophie killed her seemed to state otherwise, if there was a lack of power Emra didn’t want to see it’s potential when it was whole.

The storm that resulted made her sick, not that she was scared of them, but because it reminded Emra of what happened the day she was pulled from the facility. Blue lightning, purple clouds, had she caused that too because she was upset? It was hard to shake out of her head, no matter how much effort she put forth.

She wanted to sleep, but she was told she was at her limits for sleeping pills, even if they weren’t working. All she could do was lay awake and think.

In her defense, she didn’t realize the person they were told to extract was Karen. Based on the description she probably could have guessed it, and probably should have, but she didn’t. Now she lost the one person that could give her more answers, and there was the problem of Sophie.

Another thing she should have assumed was that Mark had told Sophie, or that she found out on her own. The fact she was able to manipulate different psionic forces was always confusing to Lexi, and it left her with the assumption that she didn’t know the real power that she had. It turns out she was just damn good at hiding it.

From what was gathered, Sophie had very limited memories of what actually happened, if she had any. She blacked out, put herself into a coma for almost two days. Overexertion was the best guess that Tygan had. She was still struggling to keep herself awake from the reports. It was decided it was best to tell her that she was in the med bay, not that she was locked up in basically quarantine in the psi lab until it was sure she had herself under control and wasn’t a threat.

Lexi felt bad, she did, she never wanted to hate Sophie. She only wanted the opposite, trying to help her. It was clear very fast that Sophie wasn’t exactly someone to reach out for help, or to even accept it. Lexi got frustrated, things got bad. She truly didn’t mean to lash out on her, she was just… angry. Once it happened once it was easy to be mad at her. Lexi never got to take her anger over the whole situation out on anyone, it was pushed aside. Sophie had no idea of the situation, she was just a baby when it happened, but it still brought back memories she didn’t want.

Back then when she was upset she would go to Mark, he was smart, caring. He’d talk her through it, make it seem like the two babies they kept in a lab were fine. She missed him, that’s something she hated to admit, but she did. Even if he fucked her over, left her with a position she really wasn’t ready for. She’d give anything to have his advice right now. Even one of his giant hugs could probably make her feel a little better.

Sophie had asked for any recordings of what happened, Lexi hesitated before approving the request. She knew, however, if she didn’t get them she’d have to learn it through someone else, probably through the way of gossip. That wasn’t fair on her. The request was approved, hopefully Sophie would stay awake long enough to process it all.

Lexi made a note to ask Cass to go check on her, she knew Sophie wouldn’t take well to her being around. At least Cass was better dealing with this kid of stuff anyways. She’d be able to comfort her, try to help. It was clear Lexi’s attempts to help were just a failure.

It took awhile, but she finally watched the video. She watched it several times over, feeling more dead each time. It was all there, her mother yelling her life story, admitting to experimenting on her, purely degrading her.

If you asked her why she was constantly watching it, she really didn’t have an answer. It was a lot to take in, sure, but there wasn’t a lot to see. It wasn’t much different than the day she found out she had these powers, the scene at least. Something she’s seen before, she really shouldn’t be obsessing over it.

The last part of the video was a bit reassuring, at least in the ways of her and Emra. When she fell over, passed out or whatever, Emra caught her. She went out of her way to make sure that she didn’t hit the ground even if she was in full armor. After everything that happened, everything she’d been hiding announced, Emra still was there for her in that moment.

She looked down at her hand, she had it curled up into a ball. There was a lot she was dealing with, she shouldn’t really be worried about her relationship. It was obvious they had her locked up in the psi labs, though the lie was nice to try and make her feel more comfortable. Emra didn’t like being around areas that were heavy with psionic energy, maybe she just didn’t wait with Sophie because she didn’t want to be in this area. She still cared, Sophie knew she still cared, Emra wasn’t one to give up. She had hoped this wasn’t something that would push that test.

There was a knock on the door, Sophie raised her eyes to see someone she wasn’t familiar with walk in. Sophie tried not to get to know the medics on the avenger, she didn’t feel safe around medical people, it wasn’t fair to them to have to deal with her when they didn’t have to. Though this poor lady look terrified, seems news spread fast.

“I’m just here to check your vitals, okay?” She was being so careful, Sophie had to laugh.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” The fact that actually made the lady look more relaxed made Sophie roll her eyes. Did people actually think she was going to go on a killing spree now?

She took her arm to check her pulse, a confused face forming. Sophie didn’t have to guess it was because of the lack of scars that weren’t there anymore. She was thankful when the lady didn’t ask anymore questions. The checkup was short, quick, her wanting to do anything to go away from Sophie. Sophie couldn’t exactly blame her, though it was stupid there was reasons to fear her. She wondered how well it would go over with all the staff if they found out about the commander having one too, at least she was spared of having her secrets poured out. Out if the corner of her eye she saw a her tablet light up, a message from Emra.

‘After all this, I think I made a mistake. Everyone was right, humans can’t be trusted.’

That was it, the entirety of the message. Sophie felt her stomach turn again. She curled up on the bed, pulling out the iv that was just put in before closing her eyes. Sleeping probably wouldn’t be something she could accomplish, but she could try.

“I think you need to be the one to talk to her.”

“Cass.”

“Lexi, I’m serious, if you actually know what is going on with her, which, incredibly enough, you say you do, you need to help her.” She was right, and Lexi hated to admit that.

“She’s just going to be scared.”

“You said you wanted a chance to fix things with her. Do it now.” Cass was serious, Lexi hated when she was like this. She wasn’t going to be able to back down from this.

“Fine, you win, I’ll go down tomorrow morning.” Lexi sighed, looking at the ground.

“Do it out of the avenger, I’ll find an area to cover you. Just in case.” When Lexi looked up she expected to see Cass smiling, that it was just a joke. However, she was greeted with the most serious face she’d seen Cass make.

“Cass, that’s… you can’t.”

She wrapped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. “We can’t risk losing you, but you need to talk to her. If she doesn’t try anything I think it shows that she’s safe, but if she does…”

“This… it seems wrong.” Lexi closed her eyes, leaning into Cass.

“I don’t like it either, but we need you, she’s replaceable.”

“You won’t hesitate if need be? I can ask Burns.”

“No, this isn’t something I want on someone else, I’ll be fine.” Cass wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly. Lexi just sighed.

“I guess we have a plan then.”

Sophie was happy to get some fresh air, incredibly happy. With everything that was going on she felt way too trapped, too vulnerable to those around her. She didn’t like feeling weak. Though she wasn’t excited for the reason to be out here, she was excited to get out.

She sat on an empty supply box, waiting for the commander. She wore a large hoodie to cover her head, that way if anyone did know her they didn’t start freaking out. That was getting really old, really quick. They weren’t important to her, why would she try to hurt them for no reason, did she seem that cruel?

She pulled her knees up to her chest, her hoodie able to go over them. She had nothing to do but wait, and listen to others conversations. There was one in particular that peaked her interest.

“Just did inventory, that ancient rifle Cass insists on keeping around is missing.”

“Oh really? wonder why?”

“Maybe she finally got rid of the damn thing, just keeping up space.”

“Maybe.”

Sophie shouldn’t be paranoid, the Commander just wanted to talk. Cass would also never hurt her, if she trusted anyone besides Emra it was her. If the Commander wanted her dead Sophie was sure there was an easier way to do it than this.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the Commander walked out, motioning for Sophie to follow her. Sophie was hesitant, but followed anyways.

“First off, I want to apologize. I never wanted to hurt you Sophie, I swear.” She still sounded so formal, like she was just saying this because it was her job. Sophie rolled her eyes. “Secondly, you can call me Lexi right now, this is going to be personal anyways.”

“That’s nice of you, so kind for you to apologizing for me having to fear for my life by doing the right thing and joining your crew to help fight aliens. Thank you.” Sophie wasn’t happy with the situation, she wasn’t going to act it either.

“Watch yourself.” That made Sophie jump, it sounded like a growl.

“So you’re not playing nice.” She stood still, crossing her arms. Lexi took a big breath, trying to calm herself.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What did your dad tell you.”

“Okay, first thing? I don’t have a fucking dad, or a mom. So please just, spare me of that. Second thing, Mark told me basically the same thing my mom did. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m a clone of him, I was created to be some super powerful alien fighter or some shit.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Lexi nodded, she went to put a hand on Sophie’s back, causing her to jump away and glare. She wasn’t letting Lexi win with this whole being friendly thing. “Your dad and I, we-“

“I literally just fucking said he’s not my fucking dad. I’m a fucking clone. A copy. I don’t have parents. I’m not meant to. Just please, please, stop.” She really didn’t want to hear any tragic backstories, she knew all she needed to know. That was it. “This is all pointless. I don’t care what you have to say Lexi, I don’t. Just- just please, If you want things to be clean between us, fine. Put this all behind you. Treat me like you would any fucking soldier.”

“Sophie, with your power, you need someone to watch over you.”

“No, with my powers, you should be watching over someone else, instead of fucking worrying about me. Leave the damn past behind.” She was mad now, the last thing she needed was protected.

“I cared about you before Mark did, I watched you every night, talked to you, slept in that god awful lab they kept you in. I swear to you, I care.” She actually sounded serious, her voice breaking into a heavy Russian accent. Was she upset? This was unbelievable, Sophie didn’t need this.

“Lexi, I don’t know what you want from me. If you want me to see you as some sort of parent figure, I’m sorry, clones don’t get parents, or families. Their made for a reason, and I intend to do what I was made for.” She turned her back to her, and took a deep sigh. “I have this under control, the thing that happened was a fluke, it was personal, there’s no one left that can make me angry like that. I don’t need help or advice.”

“As long as you’re okay.”

“I am, and by the way, thank Cass for me, glad she decided not to pull the trigger.”

“Sophie, I’m-“ She reached out, Sophie pushed her away.

“It’s fine. I don’t care. Just give me my clearances back and let me do what I was made to fucking do.”

“You’re cleared. Dismissed.”

“Thank you.” She whispered before running off back to the ship, wanting nothing more than to finally get to talk to Emra.

Sophie’s bunk didn’t smell like her anymore, mainly because it was where Emra spent most of her time. She still didn’t want to leave. There were too many memories here that she still believed were good, she didn’t want to let them go yet. Once Sophie was cleared she’d have to move, of course, but she still had time, she planned on using it.

She was half lost in thought, half reading a cookbook she had found her last time out. A few weeks ago Sophie would’ve been in her lap, pointing out all the best things. Them making plans for having a small farm one day, growing their own foods. Emra bit her lip, trying to not think of that. It wasn’t a choice now.

She put the book down, knowing she wasn’t going to be able to enjoy it much anymore. Everything was tainted in memories of Sophie, it was hard to let go even if she knew she had to. Everything felt wrong about the relationship now, it couldn’t be possible. She rested on her side, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she could at least make herself comfortable. Relaxed for a few seconds, she then heard the curtain covering the bed open.

“Em?”

“You’re cleared?” Emra wasn’t ready to see Sophie again, really wasn’t ready. It had maybe been five days at most since she last saw her, but it hit her hard. She was still as perfect looking as ever, Emra having to fight to not pull her into her lap.

“Yeah it was kinda a rushed thing- what are you doing here?”

“Just, grabbing my things, sorry. I think I have a meeting I need to get to with Betos, anyways.” She needed some excuse to run away, it made her feel gross to know the truth about Sophie and have to deal with seeing her and now hiding her feelings.

“You free to talk when that’s over?” Sophie said, sitting on the bed next to her. Emra felt awful, she was so close, she wanted to pull her closer- but…

“Sophie, there is no talking to be had. With what is in your head, it is wrong for me to…”

“I understand.” Was all Sophie mumbled, her eyes looking at the ground. “If that’s your choice, that’s fine. Know that I still love you however.”

Emra got up after that, and didn’t look back. She couldn’t check to see if Sophie was hurting, or if she looked upset. She needed to be strong. Even if there was tears forming in her eyes she needed to walk away. It was what was right, what she deserved.

She knew she could never stop loving her, but she had to try.

Sophie curled up in her bed, the smell of Emra incredibly strong. Her nose being stronger than most the smell was deeply affective. Blankets pulled over her head she sighed, she knew better than to try to cry.

“Well, fuck.” Was all she mumbled. That was the best way to describe what had happened.

If she didn’t believe that fighting wasn’t a thing she needed to do, she would’ve shot herself. Or even tried to kill Lexi, letting Cass deliver the killing blow. This however, was what she was made for. She didn’t have a choice but to keep fighting. One day she wouldn’t be needed, it could all be over then. Right now, however? She had to fight

#sophie simon #Emra Zeil #Alexandria Yakovna #Cassandra Pohl #xcom #canon #one shot

[stageandscreen]

Matilda Sakamoto and Derrick Belcham — A Dance Film Collaboration

By now, you have probably binge-watched all the good films on Netflix and Amazon Prime, and you think there's nothing left on TV. Well, I've got great news for you, Dance Camera West presents the 2020 Virtual Film Festival, streaming until June 1, on OVID.TV It's a festival of short dance films from all over the world. We are going to talk about one of the films from the creative team of Matilda Sakamoto, and Derrick Belcham called If I Sound Happy, That's Your Mistake. Matilda and Derrick both lived in New York City and knew each other's work, but they had never worked together. One night, Derrick was at the Ace Hotel and saw Matilda performing the staged version of If I Sound Happy, That's Your Mistake. He loved the piece and approached her about making it into a short film.

Derrick Belcham: I loved it. She was incredible. They cycled it twice, so I saw Matilda do it two times, and I thought it was really beautiful. We all stuck around and had drinks afterward. We were both pretty serious about it at the moment, and we just decided to pick a date to start filming, and we just stuck to the date. Matilda Sakamoto: He was a great initiator on making it happen, very active, it was perfect. Mark Gordon: What impressed you most about Matilda's work? Derrick Belcham: Matilda has all kinds of natural charm. That is for sure, and she's an incredible dancer, but beyond that, she has so much self-awareness, and she's such a natural clown. I've respected her pieces in film before this, and Matilda is totally charming. Matilda Sakamoto: Thank you. Mark Gordon: Who are some of the choreographers who have inspired you? Matilda Sakamoto: There are a lot of Israeli choreographers right now that I think are amazing, classic Ohad . There are the European choreographers like Marina Mascarell and Pina Bauch. There's a ton. I try not to actively think about them while I am choreographing because I don't want to accidentally take something, move for move from a choreographer, from something that I have seen because I watch them, and I admire so much. There are influences in my work all the time from different people that I love. I try not to be like this is this move, and that is from them so that I am hopefully not inadvertently copying them directly. Because then what's the point of me making stuff?  Mark Gordon: Matilda has a chameleon-like quality; she changes with each project. Whether it's playing a nun in a pop star's music video or rocking out in an Apple AirPods commercial, she brings a freshness and energy to the screen that makes you want to dance. Matilda Sakamoto: I'm not the most physically gifted person in the world. I can barely do a cartwheel, and I am not turning a million times or anything like that, but the part I've always really connected to with dance, and that people connect with me on, is the emotional side of it or the performance side of it. I don't ever try to think that I am putting something on, but I feel it from the inside and hope that it shows on the outside.  When I asked Matilda about her creative process, she told me that she doesn't overthink it. The creativity comes in the form of a feeling, a sensation emanating from her chest. Matilda Sakamoto: I feel like I second guess myself a lot in life, and I overthink a lot of things. I said earlier that dance, physically, is not always . I've had to work really hard at it. But creating is one of the things where it's definitely a process, and it's hard. The thing that I think I question myself the least on, in a very liberating way, which makes it very hard to write grants and applications, but it's kind of just like the moment where when is right, it feels right, and there's no questioning it. It feels like a very specific feeling in my chest when I know that something is right. It will be even just tiny tweaks until it's there. Even with Derrick, he made the first edit, and then I came over, and we tweaked it. And a lot of the edits were tiny tweaks, but then there was that moment when I went, oh yeah, this is it. It's like a very specific feeling that's very hard to say in words, and it's not coming from a brain place. I feel like it's coming from a chest place. And that's how kind of approach my work because it's the only time I allow myself not to overthink, second guess, and feel bad about something. If I Sound Happy, That's Your Mistake follows a young woman who feels disconnected from the world around her. She puts vulnerability aside in an attempt to connect with others but rejected she experiences a more profound sense of loneliness In a telling scene from the film, she stands awkwardly in front of several tv monitors displaying her image. She looks nervous, uncomfortable. She fidgets as she tries to fit in. Someone is watching, a man, but he is unresponsive, he walks aways. She grabs her headshots and desperately offers them to him. But He leaves, and she is left alone Matilda Sakamoto: This whole piece to me has a feeling of like I'm trying to be what I think you want me to be, but it doesn't work and then in general, that person to me, I have a character where I am someone who is trying so hard to be cool but they can't so that's why they can't sit still. They're constantly shifting to be comfortable with themselves, but it's just not possible. It's kind of like, by whoever is viewing you. For years Derrick Belcham shot music documentaries and videos, but when he started working dancers, his perspective of the craft of filmmaking changed, and the experience opened him up artistically.  Derrick Belcham: I filmed in music. I filmed live performances in music, traveled around the world, and worked with a film collective is the side of it that most resonates, but it's a business called La Blogothèque. They started a music documentation style called The Take Away Show. The Take Away Shows started at a time where it was very important to have a lot of artifice in your music videos. The sort of shine of things was very important. And so they took bands out into the street and made impromptu, improvisational music films, and that informs the way that I made pictures, and so I made a one-shot, one-take documentary, sort of living film, with musicians. The first time that I filmed with a dancer, it added this brand new, sort of this point of interest and collaboration. The first film that I made was with a New York dancer named Melanie Maar. We went to Central Park and the Gazebo. A man named Kenta Nagai played a Japanese guitar, and Melanie danced, and they had a set-piece. But I never filmed a dancer before and so the gravity of her moving her body and me positioning myself so that the dancer and musician could be in the frame in interesting ways, that completely changed the way I felt about this kind of, as it occurs, improvisational filmmaking.  Derrick would go on to collaborate with several dancers. One, in particular, was Emily Turndrip. They worked on a film called Otis Walks Into The Woods. It was a process he would later describe as improvizing towards connection. Derrick Belcham: Part of our process was to talk about theme and do some role building or find a location, something like the Philip Johnson glass house where is set. Then go and work with improv, improvisational filmmaking, improvisational dancing, the choreography kind of playing with the innate properties, like props at the location. And then basically editing as you go. Seeing what's working and then trying to move towards a greater whole in the moment. Then you know how to get your coverage, and then, by the end of the day, you have something in the can, and then we would sit and basically figure it out in the edit. For something like that because it was purely an improvisational film. With Matilda, it was a very, very refreshing change for me in that it satisfied something that had been lacking in a lot of the films I'd made over the years because they were, in some ways, strictly esthetic pieces. But with Matilda, I saw something, like an opportunity to actually engage narrative, which is something that can be rare in dance film. I can have the appearance of narrative and have no narrative.  Eventually, this idea of narrative film, dance, and music would come together, in Leonard Cohen, the story of Thanks for the Dance. Derrick Belcham: That was a production spearheaded by Christoph Adbrick, who's the CEO of La Blogothèque. That was his passion project. He put together everybody involved in that from Leslie Feist to Richard Reed Parry, so many amazing people were involved in that. I had the opportunity to bring Bobby Gene Smith and Marta Miller on to do what amounted to this artistic bookend to this production because the Cohen record in question was, his son and he had been working together in the last years of . And they did all of these studio sessions together. This record, which came out last year, all of these beautiful , takes. His son with all these artists to create what became Lenore Cohen's record. We interviewed everyone involved, and then the dance segment visual representation of Lenord through time. Bobby and Marta playing lovers of Lenord at different stages of life—remembering him. And so we put his fedora in the room and rented out this space. And just sort of riffed on the song. And that became the beginning and the end of this documentary.  Mark Gordon: What would you like an audience to go away with after they see If I Sound Happy, That's Your Mistake?  Matilda Sakamoto: I don't want to dictate the way anyone is supposed to feel about it. I hope that people come away after watching it or seeing it, that they feel something that they don't let themselves feel in everyday life. They let themselves feel it while they watch it, and then whatever that brings after, I hope it's something good or something they needed to deal with. Derrick Belcham: I want them to fall in love with Matilda Just a reminder you can catch If I Sound Happy, That's Your Mistake streaming until June 1 on OVID.TV.    Read the full article

#Dance #Film #Interviews #Podcasts #Cinema #OVID.tv #Filmmakers

[tokyoteddywolf]

Thank You, A Lance Minific

What have i d o n e.

Prompt: Lance getting thanked by a random alien and he just breaks into happy tears and the team is like “????”

Another planet, another Galra colony to put down. “Lance! Keep up, idiot!” Keith hissed over the comms, causing the Blue Paladin to flinch. “I’m trying, but we can’t all be close range fighters, mullet.” He grumbled quietly, shooting more androids and ducking to avoid a shot to the head. Vaguely, he wondered if the others would even care if he died. Probably not, they never seemed to want him around lately.  Anything he did got a groan or a grumble or a glare, especially from the Princess or Keith.

Pidge seemed to be irritated with him just breathing lately, always growling at him to shut up and let her work or leave her alone whenever he tried to get her to rest from working on whatever code she was cracking or upgrade she was trying out on Green.

Shiro just flat out ignored him, too busy talking attack plans with Allura or training with Keith, or bonding with his Lion. Sure, occasionally he’d be… okay, with Lance nearby, always trying to offer a polite smile or a soft reprimand that some jokes weren’t appropriate for the time being, but it wasn��t like they were buddies or anything. Never speaking more than the bare minimum to make sure Lance still existed.

Hunk was trying to be there for his friend, but even he was often tired out by everything. All the fighting and repairing and more fighting was just draining for the Yellow Paladin. Hell, Hunk had even snapped at him once, after a terrible pun. He’d apologized right after, but the damage still stained Lance’s heart.

Plus, if Keith noticed that Lance didn’t respond back to his insults or challenges as much as before, he never said anything about it. He was probably relieved about it. Once, Lance heard him joke with the others about how nice and quiet it was that morning without Lance chattering away like an idiot. Coran had found Lance crying in his room after that day, like a concerned uncle.

Lance shook himself out of his thoughts and blasted through more Galran fleets, bursting into the prisoner camp and ushering everyone out and into Blue, whom he’d landed a few yards away. A young alien child with white skin and blue freckles over her tiny snub nose tripped, landing on the ground with a cry of pain and squeezing her three liquid silver eyes shut as she went sprawling, a tangle of four arms and two legs and a fluffy pale gray tail covered in black dirt. Lance’s heart clenched, because the little one was the same size as his 4-year-old sister back on Earth, and he looked up to see an android aiming for the helpless child.

“NO!” Lance yelled, running forward and taking the beam to the shoulder as he fired back a return headshot, scooping up the child and hurrying back towards Blue. The prisoners were all settled in the lower room compartment of Blue’s body, the alien child still clutching onto Lance and refusing to let go, whining at the dark red blooming over his suit and dripping onto his armor. He gritted his teeth and flew back to the village, as Shiro shouted orders for the others to obliterate the camp now, and getting confirmation from Pidge that everyone was out. For once, a total win.

The child whimpered, and Lance immediately began to hum softly to soothe the small creature, an automatic response one gained after soothing the nightmares and worries of younger siblings. The effect was nearly immediate; the child relaxed and buried her head into his chest. The comms were silent for once. Nobody yelling at him to shut up or be quiet or some other excuse to make him be silent. So, he kept humming.

When he landed back at the village, he carried the child out and watched the former prisoners reunite with their families, feeling a twinge in his heart at the thought of his own family back on Earth. God, he missed them. “Rina!” Someone called, and the child in his arms pulled her face from his neck and let out a sound between a mew and a chirp of excitement as an older, bigger female alien that looked extremely similar to the smaller alien pushed her way through the crowd, looking hopeful yet frantic, her movements tinged with worry. “Rina! Rina baby are you there?!?” The alien called again, a louder mewing chirp responding from the baby in Lance’s arms.

The mother pushed forward, her face falling in relief as she saw her baby in the hold of the Blue Paladin. Instead of blue freckles and spots, hers were golden orange. “Rina!” She rushed forward, the Blue Paladin allowing her to scoop up her child and spin her around, purring and chirping happily as her little Rina giggled at seeing her mother again. “Oh my sweet girl I thought you were gone for good- I’m so glad you’re safe-“ The mother was choked up with tears, ignoring the other Paladins moving closer to the scene in confusion. She whirled around and grabbed for Lance’s hands with her other two arms, palms shaking as she smiled at him with such gratitude that he was tearing up too.

“Thank you. Thank you so, so much for saving my baby.” The words were what did it. Tears started spilling down Lance’s face as he grinned back. “Yeah! N-no problem!” He managed to say through the happy tears soaking his cheeks. The team were confused. Why was Lance crying? “I mean it. Thank you so much, I’m so glad you were there to protect her. If you hadn’t- I might have never seen my girl again. So, thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.” The mother said gratefully, rocking her baby in her first set of arms as she shook Lance’s hands with her second set.

Lance smiled, sniffling. “You don’t have to, it’s- Just being thanked for something like this is enough for me. You have no idea how long it’s been since I heard those words. Or any nice words, for that matter.” He confessed, forgetting that his team was only a few feet away, not noticing their suddenly tense postures or horrified faces as they absorbed his words. They never showed that they appreciated him. No wonder he hadn’t been acting like himself lately.

Hunk, for one, felt like absolute shit as a best friend. What kind of best friend never said thank you when his pal tried to help him out with something? Every cooking attempt and conversation, trying to lighten the heavy mood that came with being in the middle of a war, and Hunk had never gone along with it. God, no wonder Lance had been so quiet lately. He didn’t see the point in talking to anyone because they wouldn’t respond or would just tell him to be quiet.

Keith also felt terrible. No wonder Lance never reacted to his insults or challenges like before, he didn’t see the point in it if he was just going to be put down. He really was trying his best out here, and Keith just had to go on and call him names and derogatory terms and just be an asshole to someone he considered a teammate.

Pidge thought back to every time she’d ever yelled at Lance, or told him to shut up or be quiet, and realized that in most of those instances, Lance had been trying to help her. He’d pried her away from her computer in the dead of night just to get her to eat and sleep and shower and she felt absolutely horrible that she’d never thanked him for any of it. What kind of “little sister” was she, never thanking her older brother figure for taking care of her when she forgot?

Shiro felt as if he’d failed as a team leader. How had he not noticed Lance’s feelings? Never showing Lance that he was an important part of the team, or thanking him for doing this even when he probably missed Earth and his family. Nice words? How long had it been since anyone ever said anything even remotely nice to Lance? Shiro couldn’t remember and the realization nearly gave him a panic attack. He looked at his team, who all had the same look of awareness on their faces. Shiro nodded to them, before turning and marching over to their Blue Paladin.

“Hey, Lance?” Shiro called, as the Cuban teen turned to him. “Yeah, Shiro? What’s up?” He asked, wiping away tear stains and flinching as he absently moved his injured shoulder. “I just wanted to say good job out there.” The shock on Lance’s face nearly made the Black Paladin flinch. Wow, they really hadn’t been nice to Lance if that was the reaction he gave to praise. Well, if he had any say in it, they were going to fix that. “We should go get that shoulder of yours patched up. Can’t have our sharpshooter without a working trigger arm, right?” He attempted to give a teasing, soft smile and the relief that flooded him when Lance smiled shakily back almost drowned him, settling all cold and soothing in his chest. They could fix this.

Pidge marched over and started asking about what he’d been humming on his way back from the camp as they walked to the Lions, Lance looking slightly amused as Pidge berated him for never singing sooner as he had a very good voice, Hunk chiming in confirmation from when they were kids. Even Keith joined in with a question about what kind of song it was, grumbling that Lance should sing more often if he was as great as Hunk said. The banter was light for once, and though Shiro didn’t believe in God or anything like it, he prayed that everything would be okay from now on.

It would take a while for Lance to open back up a bit, as the team occasionally forgot themselves and nearly snapped at him now and then, but now it was always followed by apologies and a giant cuddle session, like a family. A space family, Lance joked at one point, as was rewarded with laughter and smiles and a happy, warm feeling in his chest. He was praised more, and his rivalry with Keith turned into more of a friendly challenge thing than a heated anger and angst festival, much to everyone else’s relief.

And Lance? Well, now home didn’t seem so far away. Because while home was still on Earth with his blood related family, he now had a space family to keep the cold homesickness a little more at bay.

“Thank you, Lance!”

// sweats because what have I done I actually wrote a short fic by accident???? SEE WHAT I DO WHEN I GET A GOOD PROMPT AND PUT ROCKABYE BY CLEAN BANDIT ON LOOP FOR NEARLY 2 HOURS- ugh, I need food, bye! And yeah the song Lance hummed was the song I listened to while writing this. It’s really good and catchy and I sing it to my lil sis when she cries, which is a lot. So yeah, Lance humming to baby aliens is my fluffy jam okay- well, i hope it was good!

#lance mcclain #voltron #fanfiction #my writing #langst #happy end bc i dont do pure angst #hurt/comfort kinda???