#her pose her glittering surrounding the sun beaming on her hair

[tothepointofinsanity]

I love looking at Sayaka images + GIFs and scenes…look at her sparkling…do you think they told her to do that or is she just Like That on purpose…

#this is one of my favourite Sayaka [movesets] #her pose her glittering surrounding the sun beaming on her hair #she is so funny… #Sayaka Archives

[halfway-happyyy]

Sleep on the Floor

AN: I’ve thought about this concept on and off for a while now, and finally decided to write it down. Alexander and a rather unfriendly acquaintance cross paths again at a music festival, and end up handcuffed together for the day. Under the cut because it’s lengthy 💖

tw: nothing but fluff, friends.

As always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

It was the bright glare of the sunlight glinting off the metal object in the back pocket of her best friend’s denim shorts that initially caught Daisy’s attention. After an hour of scouring multiple maps of Montreal’s many metro lines- (“Well do we need to take the orange line or the green one?” and “Can’t you just google maps it?” and perhaps Daisy’s personal favourite- “We should have just spent the sixty dollars on an uber.”) The trio of friends had finally made it to Parc Jean-Drapeau, where the three-day Osheaga music festival was being held. “Bea, what’ve you got in your pocket there?” Daisy reached toward her without an answer or invitation, and produced a pair of weighted, silver handcuffs. 

Bea lunged for the cuffs back, a smirk in place on her features.

“What on earth could you possibly need handcuffs for at a music festival?” Daisy asked, eyebrows raised in genuine confusion.

Returning the cuffs to her pocket, Bea shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, the smirk from moment’s ago still tugged the edge of her lip upward. “It’s been my experience that you just never know when you’ll need ‘em. Be good Daze, or I’ll use them on you.” And Daisy supposed that after a couple of choice alcoholic beverages that could start to sound like one hell of a fun proposition.

“I literally don’t see him anywhere Bea,” Hannah sighed heavily.

Daisy glanced at Bea’s better half; a hand shielded her gaze from the onslaught of the sun’s rays as she stood on tiptoes to scan the expansive park around her. “Who are you looking for?”

Hannah dropped back onto the balls of her feet; her bottom lip wedged between her teeth like she was anxious about something. “Did Bea not tell you?” She peered over at her girlfriend, expectantly. “Did you not tell her?”

Bea rolled her hazel eyes and murmured “shit.”

Daisy’s vision narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Hannah squinted over at Daisy, kicking aside a stray pebble with the toe of her pink platform sneaker. “We uh… We invited Alex and some of his friends to join us for the weekend.”

Her mouth suddenly devoid of all moisture, Daisy wished that she had a bottle of beer in her hand, or some other ice-cold alcoholic beverage to distract her from the heat rising steadily to her cheeks. Tongue thick in her throat, she turned to her friends. “You invited Alex Skarsgård to our Osheaga weekend?” Shifting from side to side uncomfortably, Bea eventually nodded her head in the affirmative. Daisy took a deep breath. “I just think that might have been good information to know before now.”

“You wouldn’t have come…” Hannah interjected.

A humorless laugh bubbled up from the base of Daisy's throat. “You’re probably right.” Hives of people from all over the country milled about the green hillsides, a myriad of accents and languages- mostly French, echoed throughout the vast park. Daisy raised her face to the heavens, reveling in the feeling of the late July sun on her skin and sighed heavily.

“What is it about him?” Bea asked quietly.

Daisy's eyes fell shut. “Where would I even begin?”

“Alright, here they come.” Hannah murmured.

Bea offered her dearest friend a sympathetic look but knew better than to touch her just then. “He wants to make it up to you, Daze.”

Daisy swallowed hard and followed Hannah’s gaze to the quartet of men currently striding towards them. He bore a striking resemblance to the man she had known a year ago, though his dark blonde hair was longer now, and stubble shadowed the underside of his chiseled jaw. Clad in a pair of dark jeans, a grey t shirt and a pair of black converse high-tops, a round pair of yellow tortoise-shell sunglasses sat perched atop his head. “I don’t need him to,” Daisy murmured. “Just try and help me keep my distance from him today, alright?”

Bea was apprehensive, but nodded her head in agreement. “Alright.”

“Good afternoon ladies!” Alexander exclaimed jubilantly once he had caught up to them. He greeted both Hannah and Bea with bear hugs like he’d known them his whole life, and not a mere couple of years. When he got to Daisy, she was surprised to see that his grin hadn’t faltered at all. “Hello Daisy. It’s nice to see you again.”  

She offered him a wilted smile. “Hi, Alex.”

He faltered a beat before turning to the three men next to him. Daisy knew by the sight of them that they had to be related to Alexander in some way, each one a wide-eyed and giraffe-like carbon copy of the other. “Ladies, this here is my good pal Oskar, my kid brother Valter, and my other brother Bill.”

And God said, “Let there be Skarsgård’s,” and there were Skarsgårds.

Bea cleared her throat. “Alright, gang. Shall we check out the rest of the park? Find a watering hole?”

Alexander held out an arm before him. “Lead the way, friend.”

“How long are you guys here for?” Hannah asked as they made their way into a beer tent on the platinum grounds.

“Just for the weekend. Then I'm back to New York for a couple of meetings and then uh… these guys and I,” He winked at the three men next to him. “Are supposed to be in Stockholm for a wedding next week.” Alexander reached into his back pocket for his wallet and approached the bartender behind the counter. “Hey there. How are you?”

"Fantastic." A miniscule fan in the corner of the tent did little to blow any actual cool air around, and a slick sheen of perspiration bloomed over her neck and forehead.

“You must be pumped to be able to hear all the music from here!” Bill beamed at her.

She smacked the wad of pink bubblegum in her mouth, her expression deadpan. “Absolutely ecstatic.”

Valter cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

“Alright then. Uh,” Alexander squinted at the black chalkboard drink menu above him. “What have you got in the way of alcohol for shots?”

“Vodka. Gin. Tequila.”

He turned to the group, gaze expectant. “What are we all in the mood for?”

“Vodka!” Had been the resounding answer, and Daisy didn’t think she’d ever been more ready to shoot straight liquor in her entire life. The alcohol was rough, and it stoked the fire already roaring in the pit of her belly, causing beads of sweat to bloom on her forehead. They milled about for another fifteen minutes, and Daisy was awed by how much alcohol the seven of them had been able to consume in such a short amount of time. Some drinks came in the form of grotesque shooters- “We drink these all the time back home!”, others had taken the shape of ice-cold beers beneath the salvation of another tent. It occurred to her that the breakfast she had consumed a couple of hours ago was insufficient for the poison now in her system, and that down the line, it might pose a bit of a problem. For now, Daisy was simply content to sip whatever she was given, and to enjoy the first full day of her vacation.

Their first set of the weekend was the Foo Fighters- and by some stretch of a miracle, the festival gods had blessed her with a spot in the crowd that made for a fantastic vantage point of the stage. She was naive to assume that it would happen again, so she watched Dave Grohl dominate the crowd in unbridled awe, and without a care in the world. And when they played My Hero- she joined along with the sea of people around her and sang her heart out to every single word.

After the set ended, the seven of them managed to touch base again beneath a patch of glorious shade. “It’s come to my attention that you and I have some unfinished business, Daisy.” Alexander had to yell to be heard above the roar of the white noise around them.

Even surrounded by hundreds of strangers, Daisy felt inexplicably naked beneath his gaze and she shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “You don’t owe me anything, Alex.”

“I owe you an apology, Daisy.”

A sigh exited her mouth in the form of a puff of air, and she eyed the people walking past her with mild contempt. “Just for one day, just one, I want to know what it feels like to be tall at a concert.”

“I know how you feel, Daze.” Hannah fanned a hand in front of her face in a useless attempt to keep the sweltering heat at bay.

Valter laughed and traded sheepish expressions with Bill. “Unfortunately, we don’t.”

Alexander clicked his tongue and glanced down at her, azure eyes glittering mischievously. “View from down there not so great, huh?”

His tone brimmed with mirth and Daisy’s skin prickled under the heat of it; the urge to smack the smirk from his face was all-consuming. She stared up at him, pointedly. “As someone who probably shares- at least most- of their genetic makeup with that of the Brachiosaurus, I wouldn’t expect you to understand what it’s like.”

His guffaw was loud and booming, and it caused Daisy’s heightened blood pressure to soar beneath the scorching Montreal weather. “Yeah, well, every woman in your maternal bloodline for the past one hundred years was probably four foot eleven, tops. You take what you’re given, kid.” Silence hung between them and Daisy shot Bea a look that simply said, ‘you did this to me, and eventually you will pay for it’. Alexander cleared his throat, oblivious to the mounting tension. “Look, if you want I can hoist you onto my shoulders for the next set and then you’ll know exactly what it’s like to be tall at a concert.”

Daisy took a deep sip of her beer, her defiant gaze trained on something unseen before her. “Your concern for my experience here is heartwarming, really it is, but believe me when I say that I’d rather suffer down here.”

Alexander shrugged and shook his head in mild amusement. “Suit yourself then, half-pint.” Venomous words threatened to erupt from her throat, but they stayed lodged where they were, because just then and with the expertise of someone who was inexplicably well-versed in the act, Bea had managed to clasp a silver handcuff around Daisy’s left wrist. She stared at it in alcohol-induced amusement, and suddenly everyone around them was laughing. She lifted her arm to try and shake her wrist out of it, but a heavy weight dropped it back down to her side, and the realization that the other half of her cuff was bound to Alexander’s right wrist, was sudden and all-consuming. She swallowed hard. 

“While admittedly funny for the first few milliseconds, I’m going to have to insist that you unlock us now.”

Bea levelled her honeyed gaze with Daisy’s and smiled sweetly. “Relax Daze. You’ll be free of each other by nightfall.”

All Alexander could do was howl. “Nightfall? Good luck-" He managed in between fits of laughter. “Getting the kid to last half an hour!” When his laughter had subsided, he cleared his throat and glanced down at Bea, his blue gaze twinkled roguishly. “C’mon Bea. Let us out, hm?”

Bea shook her head and patted the miniscule outline of the key in her pocket. “Last set of the day. Nightfall. I promise.”

There had been protests from both sides, but for as strong-willed as Daisy knew her best friend to be, she also knew that she wasn’t in the business of giving in easily and the pair of them gave up trying while they were ahead. While mind-numbingly irritating for the first few hours, the all-consuming heat eventually zapped Daisy of her ability to care about anything except for cold drinks and air conditioning, and she supposed, begrudgingly, that there were worse people to be chained to for a day. It was only after their lunch of tacos and beer from a local food truck- Daisy and Alexander sat atop a bed of grass, knee-to-knee, that they realized they had managed to get split up from the rest of the crew. But if either of them had been worried about it, they didn’t let it show. “Who are you most excited to see play here?” Daisy asked for no reason, other than she could think of nothing else to say.

Alexander tipped the neck of the beer bottle to his lips with his free hand and took a hearty gulp. “Who am I most excited to see? Who are you most excited to see?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t answer a question with a question. Besides, I asked you first.”

He pursed his lips together as if he were thinking hard about it. “The person I am most excited to see, have been waiting all year for… has to be Cardi B.”

She stared at him, deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“Actually, I’m not. I’d tell you to confirm with Valter but he is, very conveniently, missing in action.”

Daisy laughed suddenly, and it was a laughter that came in waves and spurred on his own, each of them nearly doubled over as they gave in to their fits. “Gonna to do the WAP?” She breathed out when she could manage it, wiping away traces of saltwater with the pad of her thumb.

Alexander feigned solemnity. “Listen, I would do the WAP dance right this very minute if it weren’t for these cuffs.”

“I believe you.” She giggled.

"I'm glad." His face broke into a beam that put sunshine to shame. Draining the rest of the bottle, he set it back onto the grass and cocked his head to the side. “And you? Who are you most excited to see?”

Daisy stared up at him, the answer had been ready on the tip of her tongue, but something in his eyes stopped her dead in her tracks. “You have the loveliest flecks of gold in your eyes, did you know that?”

Alexander’s gaze fell to the grass beneath him, his smile painfully shy. “Let’s find us some more beer then, hey? Up on three.”

“Good plan. But we have an issue to resolve first,” Daisy murmured.

Alexander faltered; his head cocked to the side in question. “You mean- apart from the one where we are currently joined at the hip until Bea decides to take mercy on us?”

Daisy nodded. “Right. Besides that one. I have to pee… really bad.” He opened his mouth to say something, but a chuckle roared from the base of his throat instead, and Daisy swore it was like hearing laughter for the very first time. There was an infectious joy to it that made her want to make him laugh like that for that for the rest of her days.

“Alright. Let’s find you a washroom.”

It hadn’t been a difficult venture; platinum tickets holders benefited from the use of private on-site washrooms, and it occurred to Daisy that the astronomical price for the ticket was worth it, solely based on that luxury itself. “I’m sorry that this a thing you are being privy to.” Daisy muttered as they squeezed into a stall together.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I’ve been privy to worse things, kid. I’ll turn away.”

As Daisy hiked her sundress up her frame and squatted above the toilet, she reminded herself that revenge was a dish best served cold, and that one way or another, Bea would pay.

Alexander and Daisy’s afternoon continued in the same fashion; they attended whatever sets piqued their interests, lost track of how many people commented on their unusual predicament, and satiated their parched throats with lots of cold alcoholic beverages. Finally, the golden sun began to sink low over the Montreal skyline, and the temperature drop that came with it was a welcome reprieve to the day's stifling heat. They found themselves amidst a healthy crowd of people, all breathless and ready for one of the final sets of the evening. As she waited for the band to take the stage, Daisy suddenly felt exhausted beyond all measure, but also satisfied in a way that she hadn't been accustomed to in years. She could pin it on the alcohol, or the heat, or that she had finally allowed herself a couple of days off to do whatever she pleased. Deep down, she knew it had nearly everything to do with her current company.

“Where did you go just now?” Alexander asked.

Daisy glanced up at him, confused. “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

He seemed unconvinced. “You were a million miles away.”

A shiver wracked her body that had nothing to do with the current weather, and she gestured to the stage. “The Lumineers. These are the guys I'm most excited to see.”

Alexander beamed down at her. “Well then how lucky am I that I get to see them with you.”

Two men entered the stage just then, one stepped up to the microphone, and the other took a seat behind a drum set. Daisy didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until the opening beats of Sleep on the Floor rang out into the humid air before her. A cacophony of cheers erupted from the concertgoers around them, and goosebumps bloomed in patterns over her arms when the bearded man began to sing.

Pack yourself a toothbrush dear

Pack yourself a favorite blouse

Take a withdrawal slip

Take all of your savings out

‘Cause if we don’t ever leave this town

We might never make it out

I was not born to drown

Baby come on

~

“The key is gone.”

The day’s final concert had done Daisy in, and she was inexplicably tired now; her legs heavy like lead, eyelids threatening to shut on their own at any second.

“What do you mean the key is gone, Bea?” She heard Alexander ask. His voice was level, but there was an underlying tinge of frustration to it that made Daisy’s stomach sink.

“It’s… it’s gone. I had it in my pocket earlier and now it’s gone.”

Daisy yawned wide, the urge to lay down on the patch of grass beneath her was almost too tempting to bear. “I’m tired, Alex.”

“I know, kid.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Where did you last have it?”

Bea tugged the edge of her lip into her mouth and shrugged her shoulders, helplessly. “I last had it in my pocket.” Dozens of people pushed past the group on their way out of the park; on their way home to waiting bathtubs and beds and Daisy was unbelievably envious of them.

“Alright. This is what we’re going to do,” He sighed. “The four of us are going to get into a cab, we’re going to head back to the hotel, and Daisy and I will meet up with you guys right here tomorrow morning. If the key still hasn’t turned up, we’ll have to figure something else out.”

“I’m really sorry about this, guys.” Bea muttered lowly.

You absolutely should be, Daisy thought.

Hannah cleared her throat, her arms crossed tight across her chest. “Are you alright with this Daze?”

She nodded, wordlessly.

Their uber ride back to the hotel only spanned the entirety of fifteen minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime to Daisy. She drifted off on Alexander’s shoulder to the lulling sound of muted Swedish between the three men, and when she was gently tapped awake by Alexander, the car was parked outside of the Four Seasons. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you into bed, hm?”

“This is fancy…” She murmured, as she slid out of the open car door and into the humid evening air.

Valter laughed heartily. “Just wait til you see where you’re staying, Daisy.”

The boys bid themselves goodnight, with Alexander slinging his free arm around each of their shoulders in a half-embrace. He waited until he knew Bill and Valter had made it into their elevator safely, and then led Daisy to a discreet elevator off the lobby, which they rode to the top floor wordlessly. She wasn’t sure what she had expected when the doors opened, but her breath hitched in her throat as she drank in the room in which Alexander was calling home for the next three days. “This is-

“A lot, I know.” He murmured. They wandered past the single king bed, into the next room, whose expansive bay windows offered a breathtaking view of Montreal’s twinkling downtown lights. Daisy gazed down at their entwined wrists, at the small metal chain that bound them together, and marveled at how a mere twelve hours had the power to change everything. “Daisy, I’m sorry.” Alexander spoke above a whisper now. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind last year.”

She took a deep breath, the words thick at the back of her throat. “I never should have put you in a position where you felt that you had to choose between your career, and me.”

Alexander’s fingers found hers, and he squeezed them thrice. “You waltzed into my life when I least expected it, Daisy,” An incredulous sigh pushed past his lips and he shook his head. “A breathtaking hurricane of a woman. I made the decision to ask you to dinner, I should have showed up.”

She smiled tiredly. “You showed up today, Alex.”

He leaned towards her, pressing his lips to her temple, and his laughter rumbled through her and warmed her in ways sunshine never could. “And look where we are now.”

She gazed up at him, at the deepened creases next to his eyes, and the subtle flecks of gold among a sea of blue, and in that moment, she hardly cared if they ever found the key at all. There was an effortlessness to that truth that felt akin to breathing. “Nowhere else I’d rather be, Alex.”

When Daisy's eyes opened in the morning, the weight of Alexander's impossibly warm arm hung snug around her clothed stomach, the cool metal of his cuff a stark contrast to her warm inner arm. The Montreal sunlight pouring in through their bay window glinted off a miniscule key-shaped object on the rug a few feet away from where they lay, and a small smile tugged her lips skyward.

#i just wanna go to a concert with him #is that so much to ask #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard imagines #alexander skarsgard fluff #alexander skarsgard fanfic #rpf #writing #drabble #fluff #alex sstuff

[onwardtoadventures]

She-Rave Ch.1

Content warning: recreational drug use (marijuana, MDMA)

The sun grows fuller, edging closer and closer toward the mountains, vibrant orange and pink splattered across the sky and painted on the clouds. The best friend squad lays together on the soft astro-turf, taking in the warm breeze and the last hour of golden sunshine.

Glimmer passes Bow the joint, and sighs contently. “I’m so glad we decided to do this.”

“Me too!” says Adora smiling brightly at her friends.

“I wish we could just lay out in the sun forever. Of course it’ll be dark soon...”

Bow chokes on his hit and sets down the joint, assessing the weather as dusk starts creeping on the horizon.  He regains his breath as Glimmer continues, “Do you think it’ll get cold? I didn’t bring any jackets, although I guess I could just use my cape as a-”

Bolting to his feet and smacking his palm to his head, he waves his tablet in the others direction. “OMIGOSH you guys! It’s already 6:30! I completely lost track of time, we are so behind. Everyone get dressed NOW!” Bow then dives into the tent he shares with Glimmer.

 Glimmer sits up slowly and yawns, looking around at the endless rows of tents surrounding them. “Man, I hope I get a second wind, I’m kinda sleepy.” Glimmer stretches and looks over to Adora.

“Shh” Adora says quietly, with a mischievous look on her face.

Catra is sprawled out on her back, arm over her stomach, with dark shades on snoring softly.

Glimmer crawls over to Adora, who is suppressing giggles, while trying to gently paint Catra’s nails.

“Um, Adora.” Glimmer whispers softly. “This is a great prank, but I don’t think you’re using the right kind of nail polish. It’s not even showing up on her nails.”

“That’s because it’s black light nail-polish. I got it from Double-Trouble. We won’t be able to see it until we’re in the show.” Adora explains excitedly. “Catra’s gonna be so confused.”

Glimmer shakes her head slightly and chuckles, seeing that Adora obviously thinks this is going to be the best prank ever. Although she doesn’t quite get the joke, she would never try and ruin the fun. Instead she sits down next to Adora and starts painting Catra’s other hand.

There are 4 bottles scattered around on the ground all different colors. Together they finish quickly and exchange satisfied looks as Adora slips the bottles into her pocket.

Bow bursts out of the tent wearing a cropped tank top under an open technicolor neon vest along with his comfiest shorts and light up sneakers.  He promptly begins to apply glitter designs to his face but is clearly not finished.

“Why is nobody getting dressed?!” he shrieks, startling Catra awake with a hiss, and making Glimmer and Adora jump. Bow takes a deep breath. “It’s 6:45 now guys, the show started already. If we hurry, we can still get there by 7:30 and keep to our itinerary.”

“Sorry, sorry. We’re getting up now.” Glimmer assures him, pecking him on the cheek before skipping past him into the tent.  The sound of laughter drifts out behind them as he follows her back inside offering to coat her in sparkles as well.

 Adora scratches her head as she stumbles into another tent looking at the duffle bag she and Catra packed before leaving Bright Moon, unsure what to wear other than the old red jacket she’s had forever.  Being her first concert, let alone rave, she had no idea what to expect and didn’t put much thought into her outfits past assuming she’d just transform later and be She-ra. She decides what she has on will do and sits down on the blankets laid out for a bed, gazing over at the slim drowsy form that crawls in after her.  They had decided not to use an air mattress knowing at some point over the weekend Catra would end up stabbing or shredding it with her claws.  

Catra thoughtfully dons some tight ripped black jeans, a deep red t-shirt, and her favorite fingerless gloves.  She glances down at a smirking Adora and demands to know what’s so funny while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Nothing, nothing just admiring how sexy you look when you just woke up. Your hair is even sticking up in the back.” Adora raises her eyebrows like a dork. The grin continues to grow on her face as Catra lightly growls and tackles her to the ground.

When the impromptu wrestling match finally ends, the pair wander outside hand in hand to finish the joint and check on the others. Bow is already waiting sitting crossed legged in the space between the two tents, humming and eagerly scrolling through the set times on his tablet for the 100th time.  He looks up and smiles, the gorgeous blend of pastel glitter on his face catching the last of the sunlight.

Adora goes star eyed “Wow, Bow you look so cool!”

He jumps up doing a little pose and says, “Thanks, I tried really hard.” He finally gets a good look at Adora. “Um, Adora? Is that what you’re wearing?”

Adora folds her arms across her chest getting insecure. “I mean, yeah. I didn’t really pack much. Why, is this bad?”

“No, no.” Bow reassures her. “You can wear whatever you want. Its just…” He tries to find the right words. “I know you’ve never been to one of these things. But a rave… is kinda like a ball!”

“Like… princess prom? Cuz I sorta got kicked out of that.” Adora chuckles. Catra snort laughs at the memory.

“Yeah you did.” Catra teases.

“Hey! It was your fault to begin with! I was doing fine until you and Scorpia started-“ Adora cuts herself off with a huff. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”

“Uh-huh. Suuuure.” Catra chuckles.

Bow clears his throat.

“So, what I meant is, a rave is an opportunity to wear things you might not normally. A chance to go all out. I couldn’t wear something like this to a war council, nobody would take me seriously. But here at the rave, you can wear whatever you want, be as extravagant as you want.” Bow laments passionately.

“Wow. I guess I never thought of it that way. I do feel a little underdressed now. But I didn’t bring anything else” Adora says.

“Don’t worry, I got you covered” Bow pulls Adora into his tent, and he and Glimmer test different outfits by holding them up to Adora. Eventually she ends up in a pair of Bow’s colorful high waisted pants and a shirt of Glimmer’s that fits snuggly around her arms and chest before hanging more loosely at her waist. Glimmer curls Adora’s hair and pins half of it up with a silver clasp, and Bow artfully crafts some rhinestone and glitter designs on her face to complete the look.

Adora emerges shining and excited, beaming down at Catra who has returned to her previous position lounging in the residual warmth radiating up from the turf. As Adora comes into view Catra’s eyes go wide, taking an extra few seconds to look Adora up and down.

“Damnnn, I think I might like this better than your 8 foot warrior look.” She smiles sheepishly and pulls Adora down next to her, running her fingers through the golden waves usually tied up in that I mean business ponytail. Although she does still have that dumb little poof. Adora blushes and ruffles Catra’s short wild hair, finally letting up and scooting in closer, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder, content. They stare up at the sky’s dwindling light and wait for Glimmer to add the finishing touches to her ensemble so they can head out before Bow has a stroke.

When Glimmer emerges, she is wearing a dark purple Excision t-shirt, a giant X seeming to explode off the fabric. The well-loved shirt is tucked into a plaid purple and black pleated skirt with swooping silver chains hanging from the hips on both sides. Her arms are covered nearly to her elbows with fake leather cuffs in pastel blue, pink, and purple, with a few rows of beaded bracelets for good measure. She quickly fashions her cape, a rainbow fade of pastel colors that closely match the glitter on Bow’s face, while she rubs her lips together making sure her deep purple lipstick is even.

“You guys, its 7:23! We have to go or we’re gonna miss the beginning of Malaa!” Bow says.

“We can spare one minute for pregame shots!” Glimmer insists, pulling out a bottle of tequila. She takes a swig and passes it to Adora, who is not prepared for the taste and takes a huge gulp before coughing a bit and letting out a disgusted wheeze. Glimmer hands her chaser, which Adora gratefully starts chugging. Meanwhile, Catra takes a more tentative sip and doesn’t see why Adora was so offended. She takes a few more sips and passes it to Bow, who is still stressed about time and caps the bottle without taking a shot and tosses it back in the tent.        

“Okay, now let’s go.” He says as he starts herding the rest of the squad towards the venue, the faint sounds of bass finally reaching their ears.

They make their way through the campsite and to the entrance of the raceway. Bow and Adora are power walking, their long legs carrying them further and further ahead as their excitement builds. Catra is definitely not in the mood to run, and Glimmer’s little legs aren’t helping her keep up either. Instead, she and Catra link arms and stroll leisurely, having a pleasant conversation and admiring the colorful decorations that are becoming more and more frequent along the path. Whenever they get too far behind the others, Glimmer just poofs them 10 feet ahead. The remainder of the journey is a constant shuffle of Bow and Adora practically jogging and racing along, while Catra and Glimmer maintain their peaceful gait knowing they can pop up in front of their goofballs and beat them inside at the last second.

#she ra and the princesses of power #she ra #catradora #glimbow #drug use #fanfic #if anyone likes this and wants to see the next 2 chapters we have written #pls show this post some love and we will edit the next 2 chapters and post them

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Better Than Love

Title: Better Than Love Request: Yo could you write a reader x Charlie at pride pretty please with a cherry on top? - anon Pairing: Charlie x Reader Warnings: just fluff my dudes !! Word Count: 1,346

note; i sure as heck can !! this might just be the gayest thing i’ve ever written, ur welcome. also i was listening to better than love by lesbian jesus (hayley kiyoko) on repeat while i was writing this so some of that might bleed thru but who knows. anyways enjoy!!

“Here, these too!” Charlie declared, tossing a rainbow set of suspenders into the shopping cart, which was already piled high with a multitude of multi-coloured apparel. You picked them up, turning them over in your hand once and smiling idly.

“We already have a set - the pink and orange ones for the lesbian flag, remember?” you reminded her, and she swore quietly before shrugging.

“That’s okay - I’ll wear those, you wear the rainbow ones,” she said firmly, and a laugh bubbled from your lips.

“Okay - do you think we have enough?” you asked as she tossed another packet of glitter into the cart. She frowned, staring at your haul critically before nodding.

“It’ll do,” she said eventually. “I ordered a bunch of stuff on etsy as well - I think we’ll just scrape by.” She shot you an exhilarated grin that you excitedly returned.

Both of you checked out, ignoring the cashier’s wide, overwhelmed eyes as the two of you split the pricey total of the miscellaneous rainbow items. It seemed like you’d found every single rainbow item in the entire store, from buttons to clothing, and had loaded at least two of each into your cart. With your wallets considerably lighter, the two of you left the store and found Dean waiting by the Impala.

“Took you both long enough,” he muttered, though he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over his face as he saw how happy the two of you looked, fingers intertwined as you both hauled heavy bags.

“Can’t rush the gay agenda, Dean,” Charlie teased as he helped you both load the bags into the trunk. He chuckled.

“Right.”

“Thanks for being our chauffeur, by the way,” you said, shooting him a wink. He rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, though you could see smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. You and Charlie slipped into the backseat together, and you pulled out your phone as you connected to the Impala’s bluetooth that you had forced Dean to install. Hayley Kiyoko started blasting, and Dean spared an irritated glance over his shoulder.

“Hey, driver picks the music!” he scolded, and you shrugged as you grinned.

“Sorry, Dean. Pride means we’re legally obligated to only listen to lgbtq+ artists, I don’t make the rules. If it’s really bothering you we can throw on some Queen instead,” you suggested, and he shook his head, scoffing playfully as a smug smile crossed your face and you leaned back into Charlie’s side. Her lips found your temple as her hands slunk around your waist, and you closed your eyes contentedly. The ride passed quickly, and when the two of you jumped from the car you were quick to run inside.

The two of you quickly changed until you both resembled a mismatched patchwork of rainbows, draped in your respective flags. You couldn’t help but beam as your girlfriend caught your eye and struck a dramatic pose.

“Amazing. Beautiful. A gay icon,” you applauded, and she laughed, taking a bow and pausing as you stepped closer, reaching out to adjust the rainbow bow she’d placed in her hair. You frowned, lips puckering in concentration as you tried to straighten it, only for it to fall crooked again.

“It won’t stay straight,” you muttered, and Charlie’s face split into a shit-eating grin.

“We have something in common, then,” she teased, and you rolled your eyes, unable to keep the amusement off your face.

“Good one,” you said sarcastically, and she giggled, cutting off your half-hearted complaints at her bad puns by sealing her lips to yours. The sweet taste of her mouth on your own and the feeling of her hands sneaking around your waist to pull you closer quickly sucked any thoughts from your mind that didn’t revolve around her. In those few seconds, Charlie Bradbury became your whole world. The softness of her skin beneath your fingertips, the silky tresses of her hair that your hands moved to tangle in, the fresh, floral scent of her perfume…

You found yourself dazed when you pulled away, blinking and swallowing a few times as Charlie beamed at your flushed cheeks, placing a chaste kiss to one.

“Come on, let’s break out the glitter!” she said enthusiastically, and you let her hand find yours as she dragged you to the bunker’s library, where the rest of your bags awaited. Sam sat nearby at a desk, laptop in front of him as he scanned news articles for potential cases. When the two of you came out (pun intended), he raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You two look great. And… bright,” he remarked, and Charlie shrugged, sharing a smile with you before walking to plop herself in the seat across from the tall Winchester. You fell into the seat next to her.

“We’re about to be even brighter,” you told him. The plastic bag rustled as you pulled out a packet of glitter and shot him a wink. Light scattered off the tiny, shining specks, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Glitter in the bunker? You realise Dean is gonna kill you, right?”

You shrugged, tearing open the packet with your teeth but jerking back in surprise as glitter exploded from the tiny plastic sachet, cascading over the present company and covering the three of you in flecks of rainbow glitter. You blinked in shock as Charlie’s laughter drew you back to reality.

“Good work, Y/N,” she teased, planting a kiss on your cheek and stealing the packet from you. “Maybe I’ll do the glitter stuff, yeah?”

Smiling sheepishly, you nodded. “Okay, yeah. Maybe that’s for the best.”

A mere half an hour later, not only were you and Charlie adorned with glitter on your faces and in your hair, but the bunker was certainly a lot more… rainbow and sparkly than when you’d found it. Sam snickered as he shook glitter from his hair.

“Dean is so gonna kill you,” he informed you, and you poked your tongue out at him.

“He’ll live.” You glanced at the clock, turning back to Charlie with an eager expression. “Come on, let’s get going!”

---

By the time you arrived, the pride parade was in full swing. People were marching, shouting gleefully and kissing, and the street was lined with vendors selling flags and other rainbow bits and bobs. You felt excitement knotting in your stomach at the sense of belonging and acceptance that buzzed through the air. The sun shone a little brighter, the sky seemed a little bluer, and you felt Charlie’s hand slide into yours.

“How cool is this?” she breathed, and you could hear the awe and anticipation in her tone as her wide eyes drank in every sight surrounding you. No matter how many years you’d come here, you could never get used to it - there was nowhere else you felt so celebrated, so… accepted, and that feeling could never grow old.

You squeezed Charlie’s hand as you turned to look at her, heart stammering with pure elation. As beautiful as the parade was, in your eyes, she outshone any other person there, gleamed brighter than any shimmering decoration. The glitter twinkling high on her cheekbones reflected the glaring sunlight, almost as bright as the sparkle in her eyes - the glowing joy and cheekiness that had first drawn you to her.

Your hands sought her waist, and she smirked as you pulled her close, brushing her hair back from her face as you leaned in to kiss her. The world seemed to fall away, the cheers and clapping and music fading into nothing as her lips moved against yours, soft and sure, familiar and warm. She hummed into the kiss, smiling as her arms wound around your neck and threaded through your hair.

She pulled back just enough to rest her forehead on yours, cheeks flushed. Her lips, slightly swollen from your act, curved into a radiant smile that made butterflies turn in your stomach. As the music and festivities swam into focus, you could say one thing for certain;

Nothing was better than love.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @spnlovr73 @kina666 @liviaolivia @simplyxparker @helpmeluci @demonsofhunting

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #charlie bradbury x reader #charlie bradbury #pride #charlie bradbury imagine #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtpride #spn imagine #spn #spn fanfiction #spn reader insert #charlie bradbury fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester

[piccolina-mina]

But Who Takes Care of You?

Fandom: Roswell, New Mexico 

Pairing/Characters: Kyle Valenti and Maria DeLuca (Kyluca) 

Inspo: Who takes care of the caretakers? 

A/N: Because the show really needs to let Kyluca be great (preferably better than this, but it’s something). 

They’re the best apart, and they’d be even better together if they ever got more screentime. It’s a random freestyle I wasn’t sure if I would share, but #KylucaRights.:)

~~~~ 

i.

The desert air made him instantly feel at home.

The sun beamed down as he inhaled deeply and ignored the jostle of folks scurrying in and out of the airport.

“Ay Guapo!”

He didn’t have to see her to recognize the voice. His lip curled up into a genuine smile. His eyes darted around him until he saw her standing a few feet ahead holding a “Dr. McSexy” sign and smirking at him.

He sauntered over to her, his carry on in tow, and pulled his sunglasses off when he got closer.

“Are you posing? Rubbing it in with those cheekbones,” she snorted. “Every time I see you, you get hotter, Valenti.”

Maria flashed him that stunning smile that made him return one in kind.

“I would say the same, but you’ve always been hot. A little hard to improve on perfection.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned widely and before he realized it, he was wrapped up in her arms.

He squeezed her back, basked in her scent of sandalwood and vanilla, and the shea and coconut that clung to her hair.

They hugged for what felt like an eternity, but it was only a few moments.

He didn’t know when it happened exactly. He and Maria socialized in school, but they were never particularly close.

He was more than aware of how much of an ass he was back then, and she didn’t hesitate to remind him. Rosa’s death changed everything.

Their world tilted on its axis. He never anticipated how one tragedy could change the trajectory of their lives.

He didn’t know Rosa enough to feel like he lost her, but he lost Liz. Those years after were life-altering.

Any opportunity he had to make it back home, outside of his mother, the only constant was Maria. She was there, and familiar, and somehow they developed a bond over the years.

She kept up with his life on social media – the graduation ceremonies, the late-night bitching during residency, and her personal favorite thirst posts on Instagram.

He kept up with her too. She told him things his mother never did and updated him on old friends, like Alex. 

He visited her at the Pony when he was in town, and sometimes they would catch a movie at the drive-in and reminisce on the old days. Mainly, they would imagine what Liz Ortecho was up to.

“I thought you were driving?” Maria squinted up at him. She nudged him until he started walking, and it was only when they neared her truck did he realize she was driving him.

“I planned on it, but I got called into the hospital early at the last minute,” he stopped at her car and leaned against it taking in his surroundings and smiling fondly.

“Admit it, you were homesick and wanted out of Iowa,” Maria teased. She raised a brow daring him to refute.

“It was very cold and very white.”

Her laugh was contagious, and he found himself joining in with her.

“I just told mom before I boarded the flight. How’d you find out I was coming in early?”

“I’m psychic, remember?” She winked at him playfully, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

Maria always had that effect. She had a way of making everyone around her smile. She was comforting and real, and he never realized how much he missed her energy until he was sucked back into her orbit.

“You didn’t have to come for me,” he said quietly. “I know my way home.”

She shrugged, signaled for him to toss his luggage in the back and disappeared into the driver seat before he could read her expression.

He took his time arranging his luggage and sliding into the passenger seat. He sensed she needed a moment to regroup and put on that fun-loving facade he adored but knew she clung to more than she let on.

“Seriously, Maria. I know you’re busy,” he said carefully.

She reached out now and then for inquiries. His mother was the one who told him about Mimi’s mental deterioration, how she had bad days, and Maria juggled the Pony and looking after her mom.

He tried not to pry, but from what he knew, no one could figure out what was wrong.

“All work and no fun makes Maria a dull girl,” she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as they waited for the cars ahead of them to pull off.

“I take off on special occasions,” she honked her horn, and he winced at the person flipping the bird back at them.

“I’m a special occasion?”

He went for sly, but something about the way her eyebrow rose equal parts impressed and flirty gave him the impression it sounded more suggestive than he intended.

But Maria always gave as good as she got.

“Only if you’re lucky, Valenti. You’re not that lucky.”

“The Insta comments say otherwise,” he teased her.

She shot him an annoyed look utterly ruined by her scrunched up mouth as she tried to keep from laughing.

Finally, a break in the traffic and Maria shot forward. He gripped the seat and instantly recalled her penchant for going above the speed limit.

“It feels like a special occasion anytime anyone makes it back home.” She was serious, and something about the tone of her voice made him want to squeeze her hand, but he refrained.

“Everyone deserves a welcome wagon, Kyle.”

‘It doesn’t get any warmer.“ He tilted his head to the side and added. “Thanks to you.”

And in a quintessential Maria move, she turned up the volume. He didn’t contain his excitement when the car flooded with Regulate.

Somewhere between the highway and his mother’s house they ended up in a heated rap battle sing-along, and he didn’t care what Maria said, he won.

Returning home came with its share of memories, many of them painful.

But it came with friends too.

ii.

 "Right or wrong. Don’t it turn you on–“

“Maria?!” He called out. The second he unlocked his apartment, her voice bounced across the no longer bare and no longer white walls.

“Can’t you see we’re wastin’ time, yeah,” she continued.

From the way she was swinging her hips and bobbing her head, he suspected her music was up too high for her to hear him.

“Maria!’ He called out louder, as he dropped his keys on the counter and shut the door behind him.

"Do you wanna touch …Yeah.”

“Maria!’ He tried again to no avail. He had to give it to her; she was committed. Her long legs and short overalls were splattered in paint.

She had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was retouching a small spot with the last of the paint.

He leaned against the kitchen island and for the first time took in his apartment. She had rearranged his furniture, finally putting it in place after far too long spent collecting dust in the first place the movers sat it down.

All of his boxes were emptied, and everything was seemingly put away. Instead of the college frat boy vibe happening from the moment he moved in, his place looked every bit the trendy bachelor pad that it was.

"Do you wanna touch– FUCK, Kyle!”

Maria spun around mid-dance move, and if he didn’t literally know any better, he would have thought he gave her a heart attack.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she tossed the paintbrush into the pan and swiped hair away from her forehead.

“Funny you should say that,” he tried to suppress his laughter, but it didn’t work. She rolled her eyes at him and plucked her earbuds out of her ears.

“I had the same reaction given there was someone else in my apartment. It’s been a while since I came home to a woman playing house.”

“See, this is the kind of tea I like to hear, and yet you keep withholding.”

He shook his head and padded to the refrigerator for a drink. Halfway through guzzling an iced tea, he noticed she was actually serious about her statement.

He made his way around the island until he was in front of her. Handed her a bottle and rested against the back of the couch.

“Fine, she was a live-in girlfriend for a year. She worked at the hospital too.”

Maria squealed. He found her way too thrilled about his love life, but who was he to deny her the small joys of gossip when she had done so much for him?

“Did she greet you at the door with a martini in hand?” She joked.

“Nah, usually she was naked,” he winked at her.

“Hate to disappoint you, Valenti, but I took a more practical approach.”

He softened staring around his apartment and all the changes she made.

His mother had got on his case for weeks about making his apartment into a home, but between work and sleep, he hadn’t gotten around to it.

She bought the paint, deliberately pushed boxes into the middle of the floor and hoped it would be enough to prompt him to get to work, but two months later, his apartment wasn’t that different than when he moved in.

Until now.

He didn’t recognize the curtains framing the windows or the area rugs, but given the color and flair, he knew it was all Maria.

His kitchen appliances were where they should have been. Throw pillows made his leather couch pop, and the tv no longer sat atop sturdy boxes but rather an actual stand.

For the first time, his apartment actually felt like home.

“Maria,” his dark eyes met hers, and he could hear the emotion in his voice. He tried to keep it at bay as he internally processed why this touched him so much.

“You didn’t have to do this,” his eyes landed on a frame on a shelf, a picture of his father, and his mother’s rosary resting over it.

He pulled Maria to him with one arm before she could react. He pressed his lips to her hair before clearing his throat and stepping away.

“You really didn’t-”

“Hey,” her eyes sparkling like glitter was the only indication she gave him that she was emotional too. “It’s no big deal. The Wild Pony flooded today, damn pipe burst, so I’m losing a day and a half. I needed the distraction.”

She cupped his face tenderly, flashing him a half-smile before giving him a light smack, breaking the spell.

“It was getting depressing, Kyle. Two months of your shit lying around, if I didn’t do it, would you ever have gotten around to it?”

“You sound like my mother. I have my doubts, but I’m guessing that’s how you got in?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” she sing-songed backing up. “And you may want to enhance your security, just an FYI. I’d hook you up with my handy guy, but you two always had bad blood.”

He snorted. Not much changed between him and Michael Guerin since high school, but apparently, Maria developed a soft spot for the broody cowboy over the years.

“Hey, mind if a grab a quick shower before dinner?”

She asked, but it wasn’t lost on him that she was already headed towards the master bath.

She clearly had made herself at home.

“Why start asking now?” He plopped on the couch, finally getting the chance to put his feet up and relax after hours spent in the OR.

“Did you say dinner?” He bellowed from the couch.

“It’s on the way. I’m starving, and you’re paying. Don’t forget to tip,” she called out.

She peeked out from his bedroom dangling one of his workout shirts.

He could have sworn they were still packed in a box that morning, which meant Maria unpacked his bedroom too. The thought of that should have concerned him, but he pushed it out of his mind.

“I’m borrowing this!” Her head disappeared before he could so much as respond, and he chuckled to himself.

Before he knew it, he was tipping the delivery boy from his favorite BBQ joint, and Maria was setting up dinner in front of the big screen.

She smelled like his body wash, and she curled up on the couch next to him, cross-legged in his oversized shirt, and he didn’t even want to think about what of his she borrowed as bottoms.

“What’s your pleasure, D? Rom-com?” He took a bite of his brisket sandwich and hummed in appreciation.

“I know, right? The good stuff.” She mirrored him, a healthy bite making her cheeks bulge. “I don’t sniff at a good rom-com, but it’s an action kind of night.”

“Thank God,” he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and grabbed the remote. To his surprise, it was already keyed up for one of the Mission Impossibles.

“It’s OK, you don’t have to say it. I know I’m the best.”

He stole a french fry off her plate and laughed when she swatted his hand away. After a while, they settled into a comfortable silence watching the movie.

Truthfully, she really was.

iii.

On the anniversary of his father’s death, he learned to throw himself into work.

In the early days, in his youth, he would toy with a bottle of whiskey, roll the top between his fingers. He would inhale, slow and deep and wonder if he’d find a reason for why he had to lose his father so early in the bottom of a bottle.

He thought it would bring them closer together … him closer to understanding the man who he worshipped and ached for every day.

His father found answers at the bottom of a bottle, why couldn’t he?

But it was a slippery slope, and he knew that.

He’s not an addict, but he could be, and the thought of slipping into the darkness scares the hell out of him.

So he directed his energy into something else, usually picking up other shifts. And while he and his mother checked in with each other, their grieving processes were different.

He never gave it much thought. He didn’t want to intrude.

But when he got a text from Maria, he realized maybe, since he was home again, it was time to grieve together.

The Wild Pony was packed, as usual, and he felt out of place in his scrubs he didn’t bother to change out of.

He glanced around, afraid of what he might find. Maria reassured him in brief texts, but that day he wouldn’t get any comfort until he saw his mother for himself.

Maria was serving up drinks with a tired smile, and when her eyes met his from across the room, she nodded.

He followed her gaze to the back of the Pony. His mother was in her street clothes. Her hair was loose and obscuring her face – a black curtain falling over her eyes and dipping into what appeared to be a lukewarm cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed. The other drunks and regulars didn’t seem to notice her or him for that matter. His father got away with a lot, but he doubted his mother as a female sheriff could. Small towns meant lots of gossiping.

“Mom,” he squatted down in front of her, his knees groaning with the action after a long shift. “Let me take you home, mom.”

She looked at him with bleary eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She didn’t see him at first. It was like she was looking through him, but when he folded her hands into his, she finally did.

She didn’t say a word; she merely nodded and reached out to stroke his jaw.

The only thing that rivaled the sadness in her eyes was the shame. She stood and grabbed his arm like it was the last thing keeping her from drowning. When he saw how broken she appeared, he thought maybe he was.

“Take me home, perrito,” her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as they shuffled toward the door.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and bit his lip to keep from crying. The burning warmth on the side of his face as he guided his mother through huddled bodies was like its own hug.

Maria eyed him from behind the bar her brows knit in concern and mouthed, ‘Are you OK” or something akin to it.

A curt nod was all he could muster before they slipped out.

The drive to his childhood home was short, but the process of getting his mother settled down was long.

She refused to sleep in her bed– the bed she shared with his father for years. She settled on the couch, and after he slipped into some old clothes of his lying around, he did too.

She slumped into his lap and curled up on the couch like a small child. He could still smell the stale beer and gin. He stroked her hair – his nimble fingers ghosting across her forehead and pressed a cool compress to her neck.

The blinking light on his phone caught his eye, and he checked his messages.

Maria texted once to ask if he was alright and called once too.

He wasn’t alright. He was far from it, but there was nothing that could be done. His father’s old clock sounded, and it was only then when he realized it was past midnight.

But it was too late; his fingers worked of their own volition calling Maria before he could think.

“Hello,” she sounded tired but also concerned. The whooshing in the background meant she was driving home for the night.

“Kyle,” she breathed. He looked down at his mother softly snoring in his lap, and then the photo on the coffee table, a family portrait, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond.

“It’s OK,” her voice was soft and soothing. “You don’t have to talk. I promise I won’t hang up.”

His eyes prickled with tears he had managed to restrain all day. A gurgled sound crawled up his throat, and he inhaled sharp surprised the choked sob came from him.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes trying to staunch the dam, but it was no use.

He could hear Maria hum soothingly, but it only made him cry more.

And that was how they stayed. He heard her car stop, the sound of the key scratching against the door. He heard her breathing as she went about her nightly routine.

He heard the water running, the soft creak of her climbing into bed, her sighs as her body relaxed after a long day.

“Thank you,” his voice was hoarse as he whispered into the phone, but at least his words were back. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, Kyle,” she sighed into the phone. “How is she doing?”

“Resting,” he whispered, not wanting to rouse her.

“How are you?”

The question caught him short. He exhaled slow, but it didn’t make his voice sound any less small and fragile. “I miss him,” he said honestly. “We both do.”

“I know,” Maria whispered back. “I know.”

And he knew she did. Her mother was still alive, but it was like she wasn’t there at all. Sometimes he wondered if that would feel worse; missing someone who was still there.

“I need to do better – be better,” he stroked his mother’s hair and bit back another strangled sob. “I’ve been so busy. We don’t check-in enough, and I–”

“You’re a good son, Kyle,” Maria yawned into the phone. “She talked about you nonstop, and she still does. She’s so proud of you.”

He sniffled and nodded his head, looking down at the woman in his lap. “Maybe so, but I should – ” he cleared his throat. “I just need to do a better job taking care of her too.”

“And you do, Ky…” Maria mumbled into the phone. Her speech slowed down as she struggled to stave off the slumber but failed. “But who takes care of you?”

He listened to her soft snores over the phone for a moment – the breathing of both women oddly relaxing him.

“Goodnight, Maria,” he whispered into the phone hanging up and succumbing to his own exhaustion.

iv.

He learned over the years that Maria had a knack for scaring the shit out of him, but it wasn’t until later he realized it wasn’t intentional on her part.

Somewhere between jamming out to his playlist and waiting for a gaggle of tourists to cross the town square, his passenger door opened unexpectedly.

Before he could so much as yelp in surprise, Maria slid in all flowy skirt and a hint of sandalwood.

“Shit! Maria, what –” one glance in her direction stopped him cold.

“Just drive, please,” her voice was raspy as if she had been crying, but he saw no traces of it.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked gently.

She placed bare feet up on the dash, her skirt billowing around her knees, and he refrained from lecturing her on the pitfalls of being in such a position if they ended up in an accident.

“No,” she said quietly. She pressed her face to the window and hugged herself.

He reached across the console and fastened her seatbelt for her, and turned the music up.

He didn’t know what was troubling her, but he understood the need for distraction.

He didn’t pry, but he did sing-a-long to his Latin mix badly. He could make Spanish sound the opposite of sexy when he made an effort, and while she didn’t join in, her lips would turn up just a tad during a particularly bad note. Her eyes were dark pools of sadness though.

She didn’t budge when he dropped letters off at the post office. She stared at the mechanizations of the car wash with that childlike wonder one never seemed to lose.

She tipped the young pimply-faced teen drying the car before he could dig out more singles, but she never said a word.

It was like he was on his own and Maria was his shadow.

She hopped out when it was time to go inside the grocery store. She tagged along like a bored kid, except she wasn’t so much bored as unusually quiet and distracted, with her mind a million miles away.

“I can feel your judgment from here,” he joked when he put a dozen frozen dinners into the basket.

“Inquiring minds want to know how are you a doctor with a body like that,” she gestured at him. “Living off of frozen dinners?”

“They’re quick, easy, and delicious. Don’t act like you don’t eat this shit too.” He tossed a box of Easy Mac into the basket and glowered.

“I’m poor, Kyle. Of course, I eat this shit,” she countered throwing two boxes of Pop-Tarts in with the other groceries.

“I’m poor too,” he smirked at her dubious expression. “Student loans.”

She nodded. “Touchè.”

To his surprise, shopping with Maria became an adventure. She tossed more crap into the cart, most of which he snuck out when she wasn’t looking.

She was a natural haggler too. She charmed the butcher into giving her, well, him, a deal on a couple of steaks which she promised to make for their next movie night.

They only had one mishap when he accidentally hit the back of her ankles with the cart, and he almost saw his life flash before his eyes when she glared at him.

They settled on a pint of ice cream, he caved to cookie dough because he promised her it would make her feel better, and they snagged a few spoons from the hot food bar before hitting the register.

She opted for the self-checkout, and he figured out it was for the best when she dug through her huge purse for a handful of coupons she knew she had in there.

He wasn’t a coupon person, and it embarrassed him a bit until he saved 13 bucks. He could live with Maria’s smug response after that.

She was lighter and happier, the Maria he was most familiar with by the time they settled down on a park bench to relax and share their pint.

An ensuing war over a coveted chunk of cookie dough led to a spoon battle and his utensil falling to its death in a pile of dirt.

“Mine!” She crowed claiming the piece.

He couldn’t resist laughing at her victory dance as she hummed in satisfaction at the sweet confectionery goodness melting on her tongue.

She didn’t see him coming when he plucked her spoon out of her mouth, dove into the pint and shoveled a hunk of ice cream into his.

“Hey, asshole!” She shrieked ignoring the dirty look a mother with her children shot her way.

“Sharing is caring,” he said around a mouthful of ice cream.

She rolled her eyes, snatched the spoon and pint back and went to town.

“This is the most fun I’ve had adulting in a long time,” he admitted truthfully.

“That’s because adulting isn’t meant to be fun,” she shrugged. The smile on her lips settled into a hard line.

“Let’s hear it, Maria.” He gently knocked his shoulder into hers. “Not that I didn’t enjoy you practically hijacking my car today, but what’s wrong?”

“They still don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she whispered. “Another specialist. More money that I don’t have spent, and no answer.”

She met his eyes briefly, and he saw the tears she was fighting back. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and offered a comforting squeeze.

“Maria, I can loan you–” he started even though he felt her tense beside him.

“No, Kyle. I can’t. You’ve helped me enough. Your colleague back in Iowa at least didn’t treat me like a crazy person or treat Mimi like an inconvenience. He was good, kind, and a breath of fresh air.

God knows I’ve run into my fair share of assholes. Not to mention the entire healthcare system is fucked…” she sighed.

He clenched his jaw as it pulsated with his own frustration. “Trust me, I know better than anyone.”

“It’s just every day I feel like I’m losing more of her,” she stared at a young mother helping a toddler climb on a plastic turtle.

“I know it seems like I …” she blew out a puff of air and distracted herself with stirring the remnants of ice cream until it became soupy.

“Losing pieces of her is like losing myself,” she shrugged. “She’s my compass, and she grounds me, without it – without her, I’m lost.”

He nodded. He understood that feeling after his father died.

“I think it’s incredible, the way you take care of Mimi…” he knew she didn’t always take compliments well, but he didn’t consider it a compliment so much as the truth. “It’s hard, and I can’t even begin to imagine, but I admire you, Maria. I hope you know that.”

She didn’t respond. She looked away instead, but he saw the way her cheeks were the slightest tinge of red.

“You take care of your mom, and you feed the community every month, and … ” he sighed, frustrated for his friend. “You need to let someone take care of you some time.”

“I’m a big girl, Kyle,” she went for light and flashed him that irresistible smile. “I can take care of myself.”

He wanted to add that she shouldn’t always have to, but in addition to knowing how hypocritical that would be of him, he sensed she wanted to drop the topic.

So he did.

“I’ll deny it later, and don’t let it get to your head, but I’m glad you’re back, Kyle.”

He chuckled, snatched the ice cream soup out of her hand and downed it.

“I am too,” he said after a while.

And he was.

v.

There were days when his job was the worst in the world.

Losing a patient never got easier, and no amount of experience could make delivering the news to the family less difficult.

His chest still ached from a pummel of fists hitting him as he eased a sobbing woman to the waiting room floor and held her.

His skin was blotchy and bruise. It was tender to the touch, but he welcomed the pain.

The pain reminded him that he was still alive, but it also reminded him that his patient wasn’t.

It took him a while to find a routine – something to direct all his energy towards in those dark moments.

Otherwise, the darkness would consume him. It would take a toll on him, but more importantly, it would interfere with his ability to be effective at his job.

He could never risk that; it was too important to him.

He retreated into himself. He declined the offers for drinks or dinner. He hit the gym and worked himself out until he collapsed, and then worked himself out some more.

Angry beats, a cacophony of harsh lyrics, blared in his ears as his feet slapped hard against the treadmill.

Sharp jabs against a punching bag until his knuckles were sore. 

Shadowboxing, more often than not, was easier on his hands; but sometimes he wanted to punish them for failing. For not healing. For allowing someone’s life to slip through their fingers.

He knew there was nothing he could have done, but feelings aren’t logical.

Then he hit the showers, hot water at a punishing setting sluicing against his skin in rivulets.

He drove home in silence, and sometimes he prayed and hoped the next day would be better.

On particularly hard days, an anguished scream would claw its way up to his throat, and he would cry. The echos of distraught family members and friends haunted him.

He would throw on a reality cooking competition and eat a frozen dinner until he fell asleep.

Everyone had their process.

His was almost complete until he arrived home and saw the kitchen light on over the stove.

He cursed to himself when he dropped the keys on the counter. He couldn’t… be if his mother dropped in.

She knew what it was like losing a person, but her way of coping differed from his.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk,” Maria came out of the bathroom not the least bit surprised by his appearance.

“I heard … that accident,” she wiped her hands down her sides to get off the remaining moisture. “I’m not staying. I just brought you something to eat.”

He was frozen in place, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Thanks,” he responded sharply.

He didn’t trust himself to say more, and fortunately, Maria seemed to understand.

He dropped his gym bag on the floor beside him.

His hair was still dripping from the shower, and his body already ached, and he just wanted to fall face-first into the couch, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

The intrusion threw him all out of wack. Any move could lead to him being more vulnerable than he wanted to be in anyone’s presence, even hers.

But then there was something about her presence …

“I’m heading out now,” she said softly. “Text me later.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile as she brushed past him. She squeezed his shoulder on her way past. “Sorry for your loss, Kyle.”

His hand entangled with hers before he could think about it, grabbing and locking her hand in his as she breezed past.

“Stay,” his voice was gruff even to his own ears. “Please. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

She squeezed his hand and nodded.

He went around the island and peeled back the foil on the plate she left him. It was still hot.

He shuffled to the couch and collapsed on it like the wind had been knocked right out of him.

He turned on an old Master Chef and ate in silence. It wasn’t until a sweaty bottle of root beer was placed in his hand that he noticed Maria hadn’t sat beside him yet.

She was standing off to the side, and it suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks that she was trying to give him space.

Larger than life Maria DeLuca was making herself small for him, and that wouldn’t do.

He knew she meant well, but it made him feel shittier.

“I promise I don’t bite,” he went for a light joke, but it fell flat.

“No, you don’t,” Maria finally sat beside him, and his body relaxed. “You don’t need to make me feel comfortable, Kyle. I just wanted to give you space.”

Her hand entwined with his, and they sat in silence. But then it switched to Master Chef Juniors, and he lost it.

A toothy 10-year-old, eerily reminiscent of his patient, smiled into the camera. To his utter embarrassment, he began sobbing.

“He was only seven,” he sputtered. His voice was choked up and every attempt to rein himself in failed. “He loved wrestling and Spiderman. He wanted to be a fireman when he grew …” he couldn’t finish – cut off by his own sob.

He felt her shift closer, her arms wrapped around him tight enough to stop the onslaught of anxious breathing.

He buried his face into her neck, his embarrassment abandoned in favor of the full-body release of his sadness, anger, and pain.

Maria clicked her tongue, rocked him gently, and brushed her lips across his temple and damp hair.

“I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, aware of how he was dampening her neck and shirt with tears and God knows what else.

“Shhhh,” she hummed soothingly. “Talk it through. It’s OK if I don’t understand the procedure; just talk it through.”

He ran through the entire surgical procedure. Every step leading up to Levi’s surgery and every tool he used.

Maria stopped him on occasion to confirm it was the proper protocol, the proper utensil, and so on. When he was done, she made him repeat it all over again.

They were settled into the couch by then, his head resting on her chest wedged beneath her chin.

She scratched at his scalp, and at some point, his tears subsided, and his breathing matched hers.

“You did everything right, Kyle,” she said after a while. 

“Bless that sweet baby’s soul and his parents. You didn’t make any mistakes. There’s nothing else you could’ve done. He had the best care by the best doctor until he closed his eyes, and he went peacefully. Mourn him, but don’t let it eat away at you.”

He nodded. Knowing the truth and hearing the truth were two different things.

At some point, he felt he should have extricated himself from her embrace, but a selfish, lonely part of him relished the comfort.

As if reading his mind, like the psychic she proclaimed to be, she hugged him tighter.

Her heartbeat lulled him into the soundest sleep he had in months.

When he woke up, he was hugging a pillow that still smelled of her. it was a quarter past two.

He scanned the room bleary-eyed, the throw tossed over him tumbling to the floor with the effort.

The blinking on his cellphone let him know he had a text.

Had to run. Rest up and start again tomorrow. ♡

He shuffled into his room and fell onto his bed. He expected to feel a wave of regret and embarrassment, but it never came.

Instead, he felt unburdened.

vi.

He didn’t sign up for this. Him, Liz, Rosa, Alex, and Maria. None of them did.

But extraterrestrial bullshit invaded their lives, and they made do with it. Whether it was love and feelings or a birthright, the alien fight became their own.

But they weren’t resistant to attacks. They weren’t immune. They were fragile and susceptible.

They weren’t soldiers; they were humans. Assets. Liabilities. Victims.

Rosa was a victim once. It was something he fought to make peace with, and that took a long time. But now she was a victim too.

Flashes of the past two days flickered through his mind like an old film.

Another survivor from the crash was in their midst. What began as a tenuous partnership to help revive Max turned into lines drawn and a declaration of war.

All wars have casualties, and Maria was nearly one.

He couldn’t shake the image of Michael carrying her lifeless body across the desert.

It was the most distraught he had seen him since the prison explosion. Liz and Rosa flanked his sides.

Alex and Max were closing in behind them. There was blood everywhere.

He did what he could to stop the bleeding while Michael sped to the hospital.

He worked on her all the way to the OR, straddled over her form on the gurney willing her to live.

He physically fought his colleagues trying to rip him away.

As a general rule, no one is supposed to work on family and friends, but some rules were meant to be broken.

He couldn’t leave that OR if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to. There was no way in hell he could sit idly by when he could help.

He left the questions to his mother and Max. They could sort out the stories on their end, and he could do everything in his power to make sure his friend came out of it on the other side on his end.

He hadn’t slept in two days. He hadn’t left the hospital. He barely left her room at all.

He couldn’t lose anyone else. He got a second chance with Rosa, but second chances were anomalies, not the norm.

He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes and sighed.

“Y-you,” Maria croaked before clearing her throat with no success. “You look like shit, Valenti.”

She coughed and laughed at the same time before her body alerted her that both were a terrible idea. “Oww!” She groaned.

He was at her bedside in two long strides. His body relaxed for the first time in days as he poured her a cup of water and smiled fondly with utter relief as she drank it greedily.

“Take it easy,” he cooed, as he stroked her hair.

“I’m assuming I have a couple of cracked ribs?” She asked, her voice raspy.

“You would assume correctly.” He looked down on her and smiled. “I want to tell you that you look like shit too, but it would be a lie.”

“Flattery … will get you … everywhere,” she rasped as she tried to get comfortable. “Although …”

He scanned the machines and checked her vitals, and signaled the nurse that she was awake.

“Although, what?”

“Although, I briefly remember you on top of me, and…” she ran her fingers across the bandage on her chest. “You lucky bastard, you already saw me naked,” she joked.

“Ah. But the circumstances weren’t like I imagined. It would require a do-over.” He moved out of the way for the nurse to check out Maria.

After what seemed to be an eternity she left urging him to let Maria rest and get some himself.

“You imagined me?” It was like Maria to pick up where they left off.

He felt his face heat up.

“You scared the crap out of us, Maria,” he plopped on the bed and grabbed her hand.

“Nice swerve, Kyle, but I’ll allow it,” she squeezed his hand back. “Where is everyone?”

Her voice was small, and he wondered if she had an irrational fear that no one else showed up for her.

“I texted them that you were awake,” he replied running his fingers feather-light against the pulse in her wrist.

“Visiting hours are over, but almost everyone has been here,” he fretted over her. He knew he was doing it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Almost everyone?” She looked wary. He could tell she already had her suspicions before he could confirm.

“Michael was thrown out two days ago,” he couldn’t hide his annoyance mentioning the most volatile of their pod squad acquaintances.

“He was too … aggressive. Others were complaining. He couldn’t be reined in. He really cares about you, you know?”

“I know,” she shook her head.

“And Rosa wasn’t happy that she couldn’t come,” he flashed back to how volatile his half-sister was. Max’s apartment was probably a wreck.

“Which one of them slugged you?” Maria ran her bandaged hand with the IV across his jawline.

“Rosa has a mean right hook,” he admitted not hiding how impressed he was by that.

“She always did,” Maria agreed. “How’s that going?”

“Still adjusting, I guess.”

“To know you is to love you, Kyle. She’ll come around,” she squeezed her eyes shut tight and exhaled slowly.

“Are you in pain? I can get you some more–”

“I’m fine, Kyle. I don’t need anything. I’m probably going to wish that alien bastard had finished the job when I get the medical bills though,” she blinked back tears and forced herself to smile.

“Maria –”

“Go figure, I got probed and in none of the fun ways. Stabbed in the chest by glowing alien paraphernalia and left to die in a cave is not how I expected to go. I’m guessing Max still can’t tap into his healing powers?”

He wanted to say so much – comfort her better, but he settled for going along with her topic change. “No, Max is still blocked. But Michael tried to heal you,” he met her eyes and shrugged.

“But Michael can’t heal…” her confusion was almost endearing to him.

“Didn’t stop him from trying,” he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He was still fretting and busying himself. “You had a close one. We thought we lost you twice, and none of us can bear losing anyone.

He was tired, and doctor mode bled into friend mode. He didn’t realize he was pulling back her gown and checking her bandage.

Her surgical wounds would heal nicely, if he said so himself. He secured the bandage tight, poked and prodded until he was satisfied.

At her cough he yanked out his stethoscope and listened, nodding to himself after confirming her breathing was fine.

He flashed a light in her eyes, studied her pupils and ignored her scrutiny.

He knew he looked like hell, bloodshot eyes, and dark circles around them. He hadn’t shaved in days, his dark stubble uncharacteristic. His hair was matted except for the tufts he mussed from constantly running his fingers through his hair.

“When’s the last time you slept, Kyle?” She asked innocently enough.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Remember? I do this for a living.”

She raised her brow but dropped it. “What’s my prognosis, doc?”

“You look good,” he replied, his voice soft and worn even to his own ears. “You had a concussion, but we kept an eye on it. Your surgical incision looks good. You’ll barely have a scar.”

“Scars mean you lived – they mean you survived,” she replied.

“Yeah,” he rubbed his thumb across her hairline. “Yeah, they do. Vital organs were missed, so that’s –”

“When do I get out of here, Kyle?”

Leave it to Maria to get to the bottom line. It killed him that even then, her concern was financing. They probably didn’t require exceptional healthcare on whatever planet the others derived from.

“If you promise to take off and settle in at home, preferably somewhere with room and a simple floor plan, then I’ll get you out.”

Max’s spacious home came to mind, but there was also the cabin or even his apartment.

“But you need to rest, Maria.”

“Pot meet kettle, Kyle. Pot meet kettle.” She shuffled in the bed and winced and gasped in pain.

His jaw clenched as he bit back a sharp reprimand. She patted a spot on the bed beside her and raised her brow.

“Maria,” he started, too tired to argue with her but gearing up for one anyway.

“Don’t,” she glared at him. “Just for a little bit, please.”

She didn’t want to be alone. He understood that.

“Just for a little while,” he ignored her triumphant smirk. She acted as if she didn’t have a knack for making people bend to her will.

He slid beside her. The hospital bed was more comfortable than he cared to admit. He checked her vitals again, slid his arm beneath her, and gingerly pulled her into his chest.

It was a small enough bed where snuggling was the only option. She didn’t seem to mind. She burrowed herself into him.

He tucked the covers around her and double-checked to make sure her water pitcher was full. When she thought she hid a grimace, he upped her morphine drip.

He felt her soft laugh reverberate through him and how she shook her head infinitesimally.

“What?” He yawned. “Do I even want to know?”

“Always fretting,” she patted his hand gently. “You’re always taking care of everyone, but who takes care of you?”

He wanted to laugh. Instead, he rested his head on hers. He allowed her warmth and the sound of the heart monitor to lull him into a sleepy daze.

His eyelids were heavy, his voice husky with exhaustion as his lips barely grazed the shell of her ear.

“You, Maria.” He could tell he caught her by surprise. Her breath hitched, and admittedly, it made him smile.

 "It’s always you,“ he whispered as he finally drifted off to sleep.

—-

#roswell new mexico #Kyluca #kyle valenti #maria deluca

[artificialqueens]

Heatstroke (Shillam) - Ortega

a/n: it’s ya boi, back from holiday with a very Summery bit of nonsense for u all! love to purecamp for just screaming beta-ing this. hope u all like it and if u do, pls hop into my ask box or pop an ask here to show me some love xo

summary:

“Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

Chad looked initially excited then suddenly narrowed her eyes, following Sharon’s quick gaze over to the three girls on the sunbeds, where the pink-haired one in her line of vision was now arguing with the sunbed-reservers. As Sharon snapped her gaze back to Chad, the other girl was now giving her eyes a colossal roll.

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

(4kish oneshot. Sharon’s a lifeguard. Willam’s a dumbass. lesbian au bc it’s me xo)

***

The bright sting of sunlight beamed down onto Sharon’s skin as she frowned, squirted out another huge dollop of factor 50 into the palm of her hand, and rubbed gently at her shoulders. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the heat over here and she cursed as she watched the other lifeguards wander around the poolside, all gorgeous and tanned and straight out of an ITV2 reality show. Sharon was pale and fair, a combination that didn’t mix well with Ibiza in the height of July. She got blisters on her shoulders the first week she came- she’d never been abroad before and thought that one thick layer of suncream in the morning would be enough to last the whole day. Seven days, various baggy t shirts and three full bottles of aloe vera lotion later, she had learned her lesson.

As she cast her gaze over the resort where a healthy mix of sixth form holidayers, wannabe instagram influencers, and 40 year old men with skin the same tone as a gammon partied or swam or sunbathed away, across the way she caught the eye of a girl on the sunbeds who had already been looking at her. She was lying on her tummy and reading a magazine which was resting on the stone tiles below the sunbed. Her gaze had flicked back down to the glossy pages, pink hair falling over her face as she attempted to disguise the fact she’d been looking at Sharon just moments ago. Or maybe Sharon was going crazy, which was probably the most likely option. It had been a couple of months since her ex had broken up with her (okay, five - she was counting) and since Phi Phi, she hadn’t received the attention of any girls and she was starting to go mildly insane. That was part of the reason why she’d even applied for the job at Ocean Beach in the first place- the other was that she desperately needed some sun, and when she got offered the job there she accepted in a heartbeat. A whole season away from home would be weird, but really what was she leaving behind? Her one bed flat and a bunch of potted plants she could barely keep alive?

Sharon felt something burning on her again, and this time it wasn’t the sun. She slowly, cautiously, turned her head around to the spot she knew the girl was lying down at and, sure enough, she was looking at her again. Only this time she hadn’t turned away and was allowing Sharon to take in her blue eyes, surrounded with last night’s glitter, mascara and eyeliner. On anyone else it would look horrific, but this girl seemed to suit it as if she’d woken up that day and decided to put her makeup on like an Escher painting. She’d evidently put on fresh gloss and her lips were a shining metallic blue, rendering Sharon unable to see what colour they were actually meant to be. She didn’t really mind. The girl’s bikini was like holographic dental floss- the bottoms were practically disappearing between her cheeks and the singular strap of the top had been unclipped and was draped on either side of the girl’s body allowing her to avoid a tan line. Sharon was suddenly glad of the mirrored aviators she was wearing which were allowing her to look at the girl without her knowing- which sounded creepy in Sharon’s head, but she justified it by knowing she hadn’t been the one that started it. Just then, the girl gave her an exaggerated wink, making Sharon thankful for her sunburnt cheeks as she knew she was flushing the same shade as the neon pink bikini that an Only Way Is Essex star was wearing two sun loungers along from her.

“Willam!” there came a loud shout that cut through the noise of two different sets of speakers, as the girl’s head snapped to the side and glared at two other blonde girls (one tall, one smaller) that had appeared beside her. The tall one was speaking. “Girl! We’ve been shouting across to you for like five minutes! What do you want from the bar?"

As the girl dragged her eyes off Sharon she barely had time to overthink about whether she’d seemed reluctant to stop staring or not, as she had to blow her whistle at a group of eight boys on holiday together all seemingly trying to drown each other.

***

Sharon boredly swung her whistle around in her hand, the small metal noise box from hell constantly threatening to fly off its lanyard. She’d been scanning the side of the pool all of yesterday and all morning but she still hadn’t seen a flash of pink hair, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t disappoint her. She didn’t know why this one girl- Willam, Sharon reminded herself- had grabbed her attention so forcefully with just a wink worthy of a Carry-On film and a holographic bikini. Ocean Beach was frequented by beautiful girls with glossy hair, perfect blinding veneers and tans worthy of Greek goddesses, and for the first week she’d lifeguarded there Sharon had felt like a bitch in heat. But Willam was so different to them. She was almost special because she didn’t conform to the classic Ibiza-Barbie beauty standard with her pink hair and messy makeup. Sharon frowned to herself and shook her head before taking a swig from her water bottle. What the fuck was she doing getting so hung up on a random girl she literally hadn’t spoken to yet and who she only knew the name of by sheer dumb luck?

She was suddenly distracted by someone leaning against the lookout, and was ready to blow her whistle into their face when she realised it was only Chad. She’d completely forgotten that her shift was almost over, and it hit her with a pang of disappointment that she hadn’t seen Willam yet. Chad swept her dark fringe out of her eyes and smiled up at her.

"Guess who slept with Rykard Jenkins last night?” she bragged, her poised posture somehow making the whole interaction seem classy. “I’m not naming names but it was definitely me.”

“Oh my God. Is he a minor royal?” Sharon gasped extravagantly, placing a hand to her chest and laughing as Chad rolled her eyes.

“You know he was on Love Island, Sharon,” she glared at her, unimpressed. Sharon gave a chuckle.

“No, you’re right. I did know that. Does he have a thing for girls whose first and last names usually belong to men? Chad, I don’t know how to tell you this, baby,” Sharon stage-whispered down to her friend. “I think he’s gay.”

Chad managed to hold her unimpressed look for all of a second before spluttering out a laugh. “God, you’re the worst. Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only bitch in this place that wouldn’t sell your soul to Satan for a bottle of Moet.”

Chad laughed and made to climb up the ladder. “Let me on my goddamn shift, bitch, before I tip this thing over."

Suddenly, something caught Sharon’s eye. Three girls- two blonde, one pink- strutting up to three sunbeds which already had towels on them, flinging them away and replacing them with their own before kicking their wedges off and lying down. Sharon felt excitement catch in her throat.

"Or…how about we swap shifts? I take yours now, you cover my beach shift later on. Gives you more time to crack on with the nonentities of reality TV.”

Chad looked initially excited then suddenly narrowed her eyes, following Sharon’s quick gaze over to the three girls on the sunbeds, where the pink-haired one in her line of vision was now arguing with the sunbed-reservers. As Sharon snapped her gaze back to Chad, the other girl was now giving her eyes a colossal roll.

“Oh, Sharon, could this be any more of a cliche?”

“Shut up! I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Sharon frowned, mentally kicking herself that her second statement should probably have come before her first. Chad raised an eyebrow to indicate she’d read Sharon’s mind. “Look, it’s nothing, okay, it’s just…she’s cute, and I want to get to know her."

Chad gave a laugh and climbed down off the first rung. "Well as long as nobody dies because you’re too busy staring at a cute girl. Which one is she, the legs?”

“No. Pink hair,” Sharon risked a look back over to find that chief-sunbed-reserver-bitch was practically at Willam’s throat. Sharon gave a long blast of her whistle which made the sunbed-reserver drop her towel. “Hey! No reserving! You know that shit!"

As the sunbed-reservers slunk off, Sharon didn’t miss the beaming smile of thanks that Willam was sending her way. She gave a small, self-conscious salute and turned back to Chad, who was cringing.

"A salute? Girl. You’re not fucking Little Mix.”

“Piss off and let me make heart eyes in peace.”

So Chad did, and Sharon tried not to focus too much on Willam because as Chad had mentioned, there were many people here that were already more than a few drinks down despite it being 11 in the morning, so Sharon had to watch that they didn’t stray too close to the pool’s edge. As her gaze drifted back to the three sun-loungers, she saw that one of them was empty. Willam wasn’t there any more, but all her stuff was. As Sharon felt her heart sink with confusion, she was distracted by a deafening cry of “CANNONBAAAAALL!” which was immediately followed by a crashing splash in the water, which soaked many unimpressed Instagram influencers who were trying to perfect their poses on unicorn-shaped inflatable rings. Frowning, Sharon blew her whistle again before she realised who had launched themself into the water- a slick of wet, pink hair floated back to the surface, Willam’s grin plastered over her face, clearly happy that she’d caused the maximum amount of destruction possible. Nonetheless, Sharon had blown her whistle and she had to commit to it.

“No bombing!” she yelled across to her, Willam only glaring briefly at her and shooting her a smile.

“Calm down, princess, I ain’t Al-Quaeda!"

Sharon tried to stop the quirk that her lips gave. Princess. She definitely didn’t like that as much as her body was telling her that she did.

The rest of the morning seemed to pass way too quickly. Sharon was trying to do her job to the best of her ability but she kept getting distracted and her gaze kept being pulled over to the set of three sunbeds to update herself on what Willam was doing. Namely chatting to her friends and sunbathing. Sharon felt like an idiot, willing her to come and walk past her lookout so she could just happen to strike up a conversation with her. Really, though, what the fuck would she say? Hey, I’ve been weirdly lowkey (highkey) checking you out for the past three days and I already know your name even though we’ve barely exchanged words. Wanna go out?

It turned out she didn’t have to worry as, from the way Willam began to act, it was almost as if she wanted Sharon’s attention. It began when she teetered back from the bar, mojito in hand. She slipped her heels off and made her way into the pool, where she sat her drink at the side and dipped her body into the water. As much as Sharon was taken in by the sight of the neon green faux-snakeskin swimsuit she was wearing and how well it fitted her (definitely not how well it clung to her body), Sharon had to blow her whistle again. Her heart gave a thump when Willam looked over her shoulder at her, straw between her teeth and her damp hair giving a flick.

"No drinks,” Sharon shouted over, unable to stop herself from giving a small smile as Willam rolled her eyes and pouted.

“Who the hell are you, Casper the Nazi ghost?” she yelled back, turning and gesturing to her smaller blonde friend to collect her glass. The girl leant down to Willam and whispered something quietly, the other girl’s face lighting up as if she’d just discovered Uranium. There was the smallest, tiniest glance to Sharon, so small that Sharon wasn’t sure if it had even been directed at her or not.

She soon had her answer.

Around twenty minutes later, and mid-daydream, Sharon was distracted by Willam again. She had floated into her line of vision on a donut-patterned rubber ring, and Sharon was about to admire how gorgeous and tanned she looked when she spotted what Willam had in her hand. Willam seemed to sense Sharon’s eyes on her and she smiled, lifted an enormous, lettuce-and-ketchup filled burger to her mouth and took a huge bite.

The whistle was at Sharon’s lips in around a second.

“Are you serious?!” she found herself yelling over, Willam simply smiling and batting her eyes at her.

“You want some? It’s really good,” she said placidly, Sharon rolling her eyes at her so hard they threatened to roll out their sockets.

“Get out the damn pool,” she frowned, narrowing her eyes at Willam before realising she wouldn’t be able to see them through her sunglasses. Nevertheless, Willam shrugged and pushed herself towards the steps where she evacuated her rubber ring without spilling a single bit of the burger.

Five minutes later, Sharon’s gaze was pulled from a group of lads on their stag do who looked increasingly close to falling into the water by a huge shout.

“HEY ALASKA, WATCH HOW FAST I CAN RUN!"

Before Sharon knew what was happening, there was a blur of pink hair and neon green, as Willam made a pretty successful attempt to imitate Usain Bolt’s first time in six-inch heels. Sharon scrambled for her whistle as Willam came dangerously close to knocking someone who she might have recognised from Ex on the Beach into the pool.

Slightly less attracted to her and now far more annoyed by her, Sharon beckoned the girl over. Willam, for her part, looked more proud than ashamed and she made her way around the cavernous pool over to where Sharon sat perched on the lookout. As soon as Willam reached her and beamed up at her with her perfect teeth however, Sharon’s annoyance faltered. What the fuck was she going to say to her?

"Hey, lifeguard,” Willam quipped flirtatiously, Sharon trying to ignore the tone she’d taken with her and going straight to bollocking mode.

“Right, what the fuck is your problem? You’ve been fighting with other guests, chucking yourself into the pool like a sea lion, taken your drink into the pool, taken a fucking burger into the pool, and now you want to act like Mo fucking Farah? You almost knocked Jess Impiazzi into the water, are you trying to end up in the papers?”

Willam fiddled with the buckle on her swimsuit’s belt, looking faux-coyly up at Sharon from under her lashes. “Just page 3 of ‘em.”

Sharon nearly choked. “Well then stop acting like a tit. You’re at Ocean Beach, not the fucking local lido.”

“Well you appear to be a Drumsticks Squashie masquerading as a human being and no-one’s pulled you up on that,” Willam bit back with a cheeky smile. She had a dimple near her chin when she smiled. Sharon tried to ignore that and her hurt pride as she self-consciously touched the sleeves of her regulation polo shirt.

“One more strike and you’re out,” Sharon attempted a withering putdown but her voice seemed to betray the regret she felt in her voice. She didn’t want to ban Willam- she really, desperately didn’t- but rules were rules, and her manager would come down even harder on her if she continued to let this clownery take place a moment longer. Willam simply gave her a single nod and a flirtatious smile.

“Okay, lifeguard,” she deadpanned, before flicking her hair (which had now gone wavy) over her shoulder and walking off. Sharon sighed. She wished Willam didn’t rile her as much as she did. She wished she was less annoying. She wished her legs didn’t look so good in her wedges as she walked away- fuck, no.

Sharon tried to completely clear Willam from her mind. She only had around ten minutes until her shift was up, she could hold on til then. That was what she thought until she scanned her eyes over the pool and saw a mess of pink hair face-down in the water, her body starfished and floating on top. Willam’s two blonde friends seemed to have noticed Sharon’s initial panicked reaction and had begun shouting.

“Oh my God, Courtney, Willam’s drowning!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alaska, she is! If only there was a…blonde, skinny…kinda pale…lifeguard to come and save her!” the smaller blonde shouted. Sharon briefly wondered how many calories you could burn via eye-rolling. She’d surely lost a pound today through that alone.

Sharon blew her whistle, walked down from the lookout post and lowered herself into the pool where she swam over to Willam, levered her skinny arms around her neck and swam with her over to the poolside. Positioning her on the steps so she was face-up, Willam gave a dramatic gasp for air and fixed her gaze on Sharon.

“Oh my God! That was so fucking scary…I just passed out, I don’t know what happened…”

Sharon tried to ignore the fact that Willam had consciously kept her arms wrapped around her neck. “Very good, Meryl Streep. Get your shit. You’re barred.”

“What?!” Willam cried, her expression contorting into one of outrage and regret stabbing at Sharon’s heart.

“I told you, didn’t I? One more strike. Piss off,” she scolded in as strict a voice she could muster. Willam scrambled on the ground, moved to snatch her towel up from her lounger, and then squared up to her. She was standing close. Too close, because Sharon’s head was being filled with all sorts of scenarios and fuck, things would be made so much easier if the girl took just one step back.

(Of course, Sharon herself could have taken a step back. But where would the fun have been in that?)

Willam’s eyes narrowed, but there was still a playful spark in them that set Sharon’s nerves alight. “You’re lucky you’re cute…” she began, then flicked her eyes down to the nametag on her shirt. “…Sharon.”

With that, Willam flounced off with her friends quickly following her, and the death stares they were giving Sharon were offset by the smell of Willam’s perfume which managed to overpower the chlorine coming from the ends of her hair.

***

No matter how bored she was of drunken holidaymakers, overhearing the sunburnt, bigoted expats talking about Brexit, or the mosquitos, Sharon would never get bored of the sunsets here. Mostly they were the standard beautiful orange with a hint of yellow or red or both, but sometimes whoever controlled the skies threw something truly special up there. Tonight the sky was almost entirely pink, different hues of dark red-pink high in the sky fading into cherry blossom, then baby pink and then a bright white strip where the sky met the sea. The calm surface of the water meant that the whole beautiful scene was reflected against the surface, and a mirror image of the sky shone back at Sharon as she sat against a cushioned sun lounger that was usually reserved for paying guests. She sat and drank it all in whilst thinking about home, and Phi Phi, and what she could have done differently. She didn’t miss her- she just missed having someone to love. Sharon sometimes felt she had too much love and it always threatened to pour out of her, to burst at her seams.

“You just give me the ick, Sharon, you’re too much for me!”

The words still stung, no matter how much Sharon was over it.

Suddenly there was a small thump beside her on the sun lounger and Sharon had to stop her heart rising like one of the parasailers they took out to sea during the day. As she turned, it was as if someone was smiling down on her because there sat Willam, burying her own feet in the sand and swaying a little where she sat.  It had been a day or two since Sharon had seen her last and in that time she’d managed to entirely fill her head, regret at having barred the girl completely consuming her. Sharon still hadn’t stopped looking at her, deigning her much more beautiful than the sunset in front of her. She had chunks of glitter in her hair as well as covering her arms, collarbones and chest.

“Hey,” she began, wondering if Willam really had noticed her as she seemed completely intent on entombing her ankles. Willam’s head suddenly gave a lurch to the side and she smiled up at her goofily, making Sharon’s stomach give a dip.

“Oh hey. It’s the strawberry mini milk,” she slightly slurred out, making Sharon laugh despite the jibe.

“Ouch.”

“That’s a joke, by the way. You’re not that sunburned,” Willam followed it up, her eyes seeming to plead with Sharon to never stop looking into them. “You’re more like a…vanilla mini milk.”

“What is this obsession with mini milks?” Sharon chuckled, Willam giving an elongated shrug.

“They’re rich in calcium.”

Sharon wondered if this girl was ever going to stop making her laugh. As she quieted down, she noticed Willam had gone quiet too and she was back burying her feet. “You’ll get sand under your nails.”

“Meh.”

“How was the glitter party, then?”

“Tried to chat someone up from the last series of Love Island.”

“Oh. Very nice,” Sharon raised her eyebrows, wondering why everyone seemed to be obsessed with these manufactured, airbrushed ideas of what an attractive human should look like. To her, none of them had a patch on Willam.

“No, bitch, it wasn’t nice! Because I’m still alone, aren’t I, instead of getting pounded into the mattress,” she mumbled sadly, Sharon’s heart going out to her for some reason. With a stab to her heart, she realised she hadn’t counted on Willam not liking girls.

“Well, you’re not technically alone. Because I’m with you,” Sharon kept her flirting subtle, part of her not wanting to be deterred. She was rewarded by Willam smiling at her shyly. It seemed out of character.

“Well, Sharon the lifeguard. Since I’m not-alone-with-you. Tell me things,” Willam leant forward onto her elbows and her head came just that little bit close to resting on Sharon’s lap. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“JLS have had the most number ones out of any other UK X Factor winner.”

“What?”

“You told me to tell you things. That’s a thing,” Sharon shrugged lightly, the other girl bursting into a laugh that made her sound like a bike horn.

“No, you idiot! I meant about you! I want the first draft of the autobiography,” she giggled, and Sharon’s heart sprang to life.

“Well. There’s not much to tell really. Was a lifeguard at home before I came out here, just working at the local pool. Can’t really tell what’s easier to be honest. Suppose dealing with drunk adults is a little bit like dealing with children,” she reeled off, suddenly self-conscious about how boring her life sounded. Willam didn’t seem deterred.

“How old are you?"

Sharon was going to make a quip about how it was rude to ask a lady’s age, but thought she might have been taking it too far there. "Twenty-seven. Probably too old to be working at Ocean Beach, but-”

“Oh my God, me too!” Willam cried, drunk and happy. As she rolled onto her back she said something that sounded a bit like “No age gap, then.” but Sharon was sure her mind must have been playing tricks on her.

“What’s your story?” Sharon asked, fighting the urge to rest her arm against Willam’s waist.

“ ’M a receptionist for some company in the Shard. AK…C…VIP or something like that,” she waved a hand dismissively, and Sharon laughed.

“What do they do?”

“It’s a payments ecosystem,” Willam said dryly, Sharon holding in her laugh for about a second before it came bursting out of her.

“You definitely made that up.”

“Bitch, they definitely made it up! Nobody knows what the hell it means,” Willam cried out defensively, before shifting uncomfortably. “No one knows what it means, but it’s provocative. This isn’t comfy. Hang on.”

Before Sharon knew it, Willam’s head was in her lap and her heart was fluttering dangerously quickly.

“So how come you’re out here?” Sharon asked, taking her mind off her impending heart attack. She felt Willam shrug.

“Same reason everyone’s out here. Holiday. Escaping my boring fuck of a life.”

Sharon gave a laugh. “I think most people are out here to get famous.”

“Well in that case, I ain’t most people.”

There was a pause before Willam spoke again, in which Sharon, against her better judgement, brought her hand up to tangle in Willam’s hair. She could have imagined it, but she thought she heard Willam give a little purr of happiness. Willam broke the silence all too quickly.

“The sky looks like the lesbian flag.”

Sharon looked up at the rapidly receding sun and took it all in. “I guess it does.”

“Representation,” Willam punched her fist in the air weakly. Sharon’s heart gave a jolt as if she’d just been pushed down a water slide.

“As in?” Sharon heard herself asking, willing her voice not to sound too hopeful. She fully expected an answer that was akin to Oh I love the lesbians! Pink is pretty!

“As in, I’m getting the representation I deserve?” Willam gestured as if it was obvious. Sharon didn’t dare believe what she was implying.

“Oh, you’re a lesbian?” she asked casually. Except it didn’t come out as casual as she’d hoped.

Willam turned over so her head was peering up at Sharon, unimpressed. “Oh don’t tell me you’re some homophobic bitch, because I had you pegged as a butch top and I’ve never been wrong before in my life.”

Sharon’s mind immediately burst into the Hallelujah chorus.

“No! No, no, no. I mean I’m not homophobic. And I’m also gay,” she shrugged, trying to ignore the angels with trumpets that were blasting in her ears. She gave a snort as she realised what Willam had said. “Butch?”

“Oh yeah, girl. Butch as fuck. Embrace it.”

There was a quiet pause in which Sharon didn’t stop playing with Willam’s hair and Willam began drawing against Sharon’s skin with her fingers. Willam was the one to break it.

“What 'bout you, bitch? How come you’re out here? You gonna be on Baywatch?” Willam spoke too-loudly, interrupting the moment.

Sharon gave a small sigh. “I broke up with my girlfriend. Well, no, she broke up with me. Moved out of her flat. Got one of my own. The job came up and I had nothing to lose so I just went for it.”

“Damn. She’s a fuckin’ idiot. What was her name?"

"Phi Phi,” Sharon said, the words sounding all wrong in her mouth. She was glad when they were out of there.

“She sounds like a bitch,” Willam shifted so that she was comfortable and her fingers could continue to make patterns against Sharon’s legs. Sharon should have moved further away. She didn’t.

Sharon twirled a lock of pink around her fingers, eager to change the subject. “So wait, who was the Love Islander that-”

“Megan from season four. She’s by far the hottest girl to ever grace the show and she’s bi so I thought I was in with a shot,” Willam pouted up at Sharon. “Turns out she likes brunettes. You look a lot like her actually.”

Sharon gave a laugh that hoped disguised the fact that her pulse was racing. She barely knew the girl, but simultaneously she felt as if they were old acquaintances. They had some sort of inexplicable connection, which sounded crazy but Sharon felt it was true. “Comparing me to the most attractive girl ever on Love Island. High praise.”

“No, you’re the most attractive girl to exist ever,” Willam slurred out, Sharon’s pulse now surely breaking every speed limit to exist.

“You barely know me, Willam,” she laughed softly, trying not to let the regret tinge her voice too much. Willam narrowed her eyes at her as she stared up.

“How d'you know my name, bitch?”

Sharon froze. She tried to turn it on Willam. “Well how do you know mine?”

“It was on your fuckin’ nametag,” Willam laughed, curiosity still in her eyes. Sharon covered her face as she realised she would have to reveal what a massive fucking stalker she was.

“I heard one of your friends shouting on you the other day. Committed it to memory. That makes me sound weird, and it is fucking weird, but I just-"

Sharon was cut off as Willam pushed herself off Sharon’s lap and moved to sit close beside her. Their bodies were touching and some of the glitter from Willam’s leg transferred onto Sharon’s, a little part of Willam that was stuck to her. Willam tucked her hair behind her ears and looked towards the sand in an uncharacteristically demure gesture.

"You know I’m coming on to you, right? I don’t mind spelling it out if you can’t tell,” she said, sounding more sober now than she had throughout the entire conversation. Sharon wasn’t sure what to do next. She didn’t really think she would get this far, happy with admiring Willam from a distance. Now this seemed all so real and possible and not just images Sharon had conjured up in her head before she went to sleep.

“You’re drunk as fuck.”

“So were my parents when they conceived me and bitch, here I am,” Willam shrugged, nudging her shoulder against Sharon’s own. Sharon let out a laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to convey.”

“I’m saying fuck my blood alcohol ratio and kiss me, goddamnit,” Willam muttered.

Without too much more encouragement, Sharon leaned in and did exactly as she was told. Willam’s lips were soft against hers and the way she took control made Sharon think perhaps she wasn’t as drunk as she was painting herself out to be. The kiss was slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world, and for a moment Sharon was convinced time really had frozen around them as they could have been kissing for seconds, minutes or hours. All she knew was that she never wanted to stop.

Willam rested a hand on Sharon’s thigh as she pulled away, smiling gently. Sharon hadn’t seen Willam look shy often. This was definitely a first.

“How much have you actually had to drink?” Sharon asked, remembering her earlier thought.

Willam let out a splutter, suddenly blushing. “One malibu and coke and four glasses of water.”

“Bitch!” Sharon exclaimed, Willam descending into chaos-inducing laughter beside her.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be into me! Easier to pass off a failed seduction attempt when you’re drunk. I’m a good actress, what can I say,” Willam laughed, punctuating her final sentence with a shrug.

Sharon was suddenly filled with a swell of affection. She put an arm around Willam as the other girl rested her head on her shoulder.

“When do you fly home?"

"Got another week here,” Willam muttered, sounding suddenly tired.

“I want to get to know you,” Sharon said quietly, as if she was afraid that words would ruin everything. The sun was almost completely set now, the pink sky being overcome with black.

“I want you to rail me on my balcony,” Willam shrugged, and Sharon could tell she was only half-joking.

“There’s time for both those things,” Sharon kissed Willam on the top of her head, afraid to move her.

“Mm,” Willam nodded, her voice coated in sleep. Sharon didn’t know what time it was. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She enjoyed existing in this little time-exempt bubble with Willam, where flights home didn’t exist and real life was a distant memory.

“We should get you back to your room, baby.”

“Mmh, no. Wanna stay out here with you.”

So they both stayed on the sun lounger, Willam soon falling asleep and Sharon staying alertly awake until the black sky and platinum stars turned into blue and white with a yellow orb, not wanting to waste a single second in the company of the pink-haired girl asleep with her head on her lap and hoping that the upcoming week would drag slower than any she’d ever known.

#rpdr fanfiction #shillam #sharon needles #willam belli #lesbian au #oneshot #ortega #heatstroke

[sxftrxchxe]

written on these walls-rt

AN-merry chrysler!

SONG: story of my life

WARNINGS: none 

FANDOM: it 2017

WORDS: 2122

SUMMARY: theres a secret santa and yn recieves a really special gift

yn-your name

nn-nickname

"I don't know why we even bother doing secret Santa. We all know we have presents for each other already." Eddie stated slapping a piece of red ribbon away and rolling his eyes. Currently all eight members of the losers club were gathered in Bill's bedroom with a small Christmas tree by the door. Each were surrounded by a huge pile of wrapping paper and ribbons and just general Christmas left overs. yn picked up a ribbon and grinned.

"It's tradition Eds." She stuck it to his forehead and giggled as he attempted to swat it off. "Plus you know you loved your Christmas themed inhaler. Whoever thought of that was a genius!" Eddie sighed and stopped trying to peel the decorative sticky off of his head. If the inhaler covered in red glitter with a pretty bow stuck to the top said anything about the quality of the other gifts he was in for a proper laugh. Plus ever since his mom started actually letting him do things he might as well stay till morning.

Beverly ignored the grumbles from the short boy and rubbed her hands together declaring it was her turn to open something. Soon enough everyone except yn had opened a gift. Bill got a pretty new sketchbook with expensive looking pencils and watercolors clearly given to him from Stan if the handwriting was anything to judge by. Ben received a new kids on the block album he didn't have and a pretty framed picture of him and Beverly. It wasn't quite clear who gave it to him but yn had her suspicions it was Eddie due to his awkward wiggling as Ben tore the paper open. Eddie himself of course had the 'Christmas inhaler' from Beverly that yn had helped decorate. What Eddie didn't know was Beverly was also hiding a fanny pack for him for later she just didn't want him to get all soppy on her in front of the others. Beverly was given a small pile of chocolates, a gold bracelet and a new chain for her key. yn didn't have to guess who got it for the redhead since it was her. Mike had gotten a farming handbook and Polaroids from his recent photography phase. Bill himself had blurted to yn he got Mike weeks ago meaning she only smiled and shrugged when Mike asked her if she knew. Stan had been bought an entirely new camera and updated bird book. yn didn't really know who who given the curly haired boy such a meaningful gift but from the pretty wrapping paper alone she had her money on Ben. Richie had been given a gift that the buyer would surely regret. A blow horn, joke handbook and a new Hawaiian button up. yn saw Mike physically cringe when Richie told a joke making yn giggle at the irony. After all wasn't it Mike who had given the boy the gift?

Bill strode over to the tree and picked up the last gift. A small rectangular shaped object wrapped in shiny light blue paper. It had her name written on it but in such weird handwriting that it almost seemed like the person was trying to hide their identity. yn chuckled and smiled at her friends. Each of them urged her to open it, Beverly even saying she'd do it herself if yn didn't. So rather slowly she began tearing the wrapping paper, starting from the side.

At first her present seemed like just a notebook and she smiled despite knowing she had a pile of empty notebooks at home. Then the paper ripped more revealing pretty painted wooden letters spelling out 'the losers club'. The girl gasped and quickly tore the rest of the paper off in a moment of giddy ness. Then her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. The rest of the losers crowded around to see what the girl had been so taken back by only to gasp or make some noise too.

In front of them was a pastel pink notebook yes. But the wooden letters that spelt 'The Losers Club' were painted white and had each of their names in it. In the middle was a picture Mrs Denbrough had taken in 1990 of all eight standing by the quarry, arms around arms and faces beaming. "Holy fuck that's adorable. Open the first page nn I want to see what this is about!" Beverly begged her friend, her green-grey eyes gleaming as her they glided across the cover.

yn didn't fight back and instead opened the first page. Tears already flooded her eyes a picture of the original five was stuck to the inside. They were dressed as members of the Scooby gang with Georgie joining them to be Scooby Doo himself. The picture was captioned with 'Making new friends never meant losing old ones to you. 1883-∞'. The impact was only worsened seeing Georgie's face smiling up at him since he disappeared a little over three years ago. yn stroked the picture as a tear fell off of her face and onto the page.

No one spoke as the girl went from page to page, taking her time to take everything in. There was pictures of her with everyone. A picture of her and Beverly blowing kisses to the camera with their arms linked captioned 'True friends aren’t the ones who've always been there. It's the ones that come and say "Hey I love you" and prove it'. Several of her and Bill though the years with captions a mixture of 'someday you'll thank yourself for not giving up' and 'here's to the months that turned into years and friends that turned into family'. A dozen of her and Mike at his farm with different animals each time. Mikes favorite was the one ynwas laughing as a mischievous sheep rammed her back and he was laughing more than her as he tried to steady her. Loads with Ben but her favorite being one at the river taken from the back where she had her arms in the air as he pointed at her laughing. New kids on the block was a crazy drug according to the caption. She couldn't count the amount with Eddie on both hands. Eddie had began to cry when he saw a photo the night he told yn about his dirty little secret. He remembered Beverly taking it as his eyes stung and his face was blotchy. The camera flash hurt his eyes. Yet he didn't feel sad during that photo since yn had a tight grip around his neck and was holding his hand with her other hand with such comfort he couldn't possibly feel uncomfortable. yn was crying too, her face covered in streaks and clothes wet yet she was smiling. Pride Eddie decided it was as he nuzzled his nose on yns shoulder. The girl patted his head reassuringly before flipping to the next page.

A picture of her and Stan as they sat in his bird watching tree. It was taken from below meaning you could see their dangling legs and hair blowing behind yn much better than Stans or hers faces. Yet there was something about the way yn had her legs kicking out and Stan was steadying her back you could tell neither minded. Especially since the photo on the other page was still taken from below only behind too. The sun was beginning to set and yn had dozed off on Stans shoulder. He was making sure she didn't fall with one arm whilst the other was holding up his binoculars. yn choked on her tears and Stan barely held back his own. Pages and pages covered in more photos each meaning a lot to someone or everyone. Beverly and her holding hands and eating ice cream during the summer. Bill, Beverly and her lying in a row tanning as Stan set upright at the end scouting for birds. Mike, Richie and yn having a bike race as Eddie ran after them, clutching an inhaler. The whole group laughing so hard they were crying in Bills room during a rainy October. Even Georgie was there usually accompanied by a younger looking Bill and yn as they all grinned at the camera, teeth missing and innocence gleaming in their eyes. It was all there and it was yns.

She finally flicked to the last page. A collage of her and Richie every year since they were five in kindergarten. Each year they were in a different pose and wearing different clothes but they still always smiled and stood in the same spot. yn closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest as she sobbed. The losers pulled her into a group hug rubbing their eyes and noses on each other's shoulders and promising to always love each other.

• 

Night had fallen completely over Derry. The electric clock on Bill's bedside table told yn it was 3:15 am as she flicked to the another page with Eddie. He looked concentrated as he braided her hair into daises. She was rereading her secret santa again, tracing each page and wiping her wet eyes, perched on Bills windowsill as to use the moonlight to be able to see. Behind her was a mess. Wrapping paper no one was bothered to tidy up after their emotional evening, bits of ribbon and glitter everywhere. On Bill's bed was Bill himself lying with his legs over Stans chest as Ben curled up on his pillow like a kitten. Eddie and Mike lay on the same blanket though Eddie kept twisting and kicking Mike in his sleep making him grunt. Beverly has chosen a whole spot for herself before Richie invaded it bringing a huge fluffy blanket and pillows by the Christmas tree. yn was lying with them at one point but then gave up since Beverly kept kicking Richie and calling him a useless yo-yo. The windowsill was much more beautiful and peaceful anyway.

Just as she flicked to a picture of her Richie and Bev who were both holding up middle fingers as she scolded them the floorboard behind her creaked. The girl squeaked before relaxing when she recognized Richie. She smiled softly at him before turning back to the book, stroking the picture gently. "Hey" Richie whispered sitting under the windowsill.

"Hey." yn replied back reaching one hand down to stroke his curls as she continued to flick through the book. They sat in silence for awhile, the only noise being Eddies breathing and the occasional page turning. yn tried to subtly sniff and hide her tears knowing Richie would probably tease her about it. It was only when she got to the collage of her and him she choked up more and he noticed. "Sorry if I seem like a baby." The girl told him wiping at her face and coughing slightly. "I guess I am a baby anyway."

Richie blinked in shock before sitting on his knees. yn looked down at him and sniffed, hoping he wouldn't notice the mess she currently was. "You're not a baby," Richie promised. yn scoffed and kept sniffling. Richie sighed and stood over her. The girl looked up and his eyes met hers. "You're the strongest person I know".

"Well that's a fat lie." yn laughed aloud before remembering the others were sleeping.

"What do you mean?"

"You know yourself so how can I be the strongest? Anyway it doesn't matter I just want to know who made me the scrapbook." Richie laughed and yn moved over so he could squeeze beside her on the windowsill. She lay her head on his chest and closed her eyes listening to his heart. Richie rubbed her hair gently. "Hey Chee?" Richie hummed in a reply and yn yawned "who did you get for secret santa?"

Richie paused before replying. "Beverly. Thank god she liked it she probably would kill me if she didn't." yn froze before pulling away. Richie blinked before yn leaned in. Next thing he knew the girl was on his lap, his hands were in her hair and her lips were on his. Neither complained of course since they had a massive crush on each other since they were fourteen. yn pulled back after a minute or so, red cheeked and out of breath. Richie lay his head on hers and pulled her close. "W-Why?"

"I know you got me the scrapbook Richie. I had Beverly you absolute idiot it literally said my name on the bracelet." They were silence for a minute before they both busted into laughter. They laughed so much yn fell off the windowsill and then they laughed more. The other losers awoke and complained but couldn't help but smile when they noticed the kids slightly puffy lips.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak x reader #stan uris #stan uris x reader #beverly marsh #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #ben hanscom x reader #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #it #it 2017 #fanfic #writing #christmas #stranger things #mike wheeler #mike wheeler x reader #lucas sinclair #will byers #eleven #max mayfield #dustin henderson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #finn wolfhard

[dreamsofyexiao]

I Love Watching You Live

Summary: Nikki is the prettiest spring flower and Yexiao feels so inspired

Relationship: Yexiao/Nikki

Word count: 1621

this isn’t truly done; i want to add a continuation and more like interaction. also i wrote it thinking I'd be happy to finish but now I'm done and i feel nothing

On an early spring day where the sun beamed bright and warm amid a sky of few clouds, Nikki and Yexiao spent the noon wandering through a budding meadow, just to take inspiration for their art and designs from the nature all around. Yexiao sat at a white bench near blooming blue bellflowers with Meeps curled up at her feet, hardly moving from that one spot of which she found most comfortable. Nikki, however, took pleasure in walking through the trees and flower beds, touching the leaves and smelling each flower that was in full bloom, sometimes chasing Momo around with laughter as he complained.

From the white bench, Yexiao’s focus would drift from nature and her art to Nikki’s calm enthusiasm toward all the things she saw. She noticed Nikki often, and she would smile every time. It would be her laughter, or her quick steps, or her hair getting tangled within the thin tree branches that would capture Yexiao’s attention for a brief moment before moving on.

It wasn’t until Yexiao felt indecisive on what to add next to her drawing that she lowered her pen and looked up from her sketch, truly watching Nikki now, not just giving quick glances. She watched as Nikki bent toward a blooming red tulip with Momo held tightly in her arms. She seemed to be amazed at the vibrancy of the color, and she loosened her grasp on Momo to reach out and touch the soft petals that were still on their way to emerge from their bud.

Yexiao smiled softly. How pretty Nikki looked surrounded by the blooming life of spring... Her hair was like a beautiful plant itself—thin, soft branches billowing in the wind with the pink color giving a rosy, dainty touch. Her face shined and smile beamed with each turn of her head as the sun glittered against her dewy skin, like the nectar of a sweet flower. Her limbs, the graceful movements of her arms and the dancing steps of her legs, stretched and were caressed by every leaf and petal, wanting to be close to her as much as she wanted to be close to them. She was so beautiful against the background of the sky, the spring, the earth… She blended in so well, a true part of it.

If only the trees and flower bushes could leap up with their roots, Yexiao knew that they would dance and sway just as Nikki did. Nikki was the embodiment of the moving life they could not experience. She danced and smiled and laughed for them all; the whole season was within her.

Yexiao smiled then—a beaming smile, like the ones Nikki never shied of showing—and she kicked one of her legs up in excitement, startling Meeps. Her chest fluttered with a warmth that permeated through her core as she was overcome by sudden passions of inspiration. She could feel every emotion that compelled her to do, and so she drew. Her attention, now sharp and truly focused, was brought back down to her sketch, and she started drawing away on all the spaces that had been left blank. With her pen, she etched into her page gentle lines of adoration for a girl smiling and dancing. She drew and drew until it was recognizably Nikki, bright and pretty, scattered throughout her sketch. Yexiao had drawn her as though she were a small pixie floating and dancing around each flower; there were different poses and expressions in every tiny sketch of her… but it was undeniably her.

And, then, not long after, Yexiao relaxed her body and loosened the grasp she had on her pen. She slowly lifted her head and looked back up onto the beautiful scenery all around her, returning to her usual calmness as those feelings of brief excitement eased away.

She took notice of Nikki again and was reminded of how very much she resembled spring, with all its warmth and life… Had that been captured in the lines she’d just drawn? Yexiao took a small glance at her sketch, then her eyes fell back to Nikki, observing her again.

Nikki was now walking beneath the tall, flowering trees with Momo still in her arms. There were no branches low enough for her to run into, and the leaves and flowers shielded her of the sun. There were so many delicate petals that fell all around her… It was a short life they led, but a beautiful one just to be lucky enough to be a part of the pretty spring scene. They were small and humble pieces of life that were cherished and blooming into a full sense of belonging, made even more wonderful by the presence of Nikki. She would delicately remove the petals that fell into her hair immediately after they landed, combing her fingers through her long strands as she did so. There was one petal that landed near the back of her neck that was almost the same shade of pink. Nikki did not notice it, and the petal stayed there, entwined within the small tangles of her hair.

Yexiao’s lips slipped into a simple, peaceful smile—mellow and calm, tranquil with a stillness that kept her passive enough not to jump from her seat and join Nikki among the flowers, as she may have wanted to do, or that she may not even have realized she wanted to do.

And, then, just as easily as it came, her wants and passions were forgotten. Yexiao slipped again into distractions and daydreams, losing just a bit of her senses and feelings. Her focus drifted, and she was soon only mindlessly watching two birds fly among the treetops.

Yexiao almost did not even notice when Nikki made her way over to the bench, but she pulled her attention to Nikki as she stood over her and greated Yexiao with a warm smile, letting Momo down onto the ground.

“Did you find a lot of inspiration, Yexiao? I think being here has given me a few new ideas.”

Her eyes gentle and sweet, Yexiao gave her a soft smile and simply replied, “Yes, I did.”

Nikki then knelt beside Yexiao’s legs on the ground and opened her own sketchbook on the other end of the bench, using it as a little table for her to draw. She had gathered many different flower petals in a cross-body bag that she was wearing and began arranging them along an empty page, sorting them around in no particular pattern.

Yexiao watched her with such great interest, hardly realizing just how closely she was paying attention as she tried to see exactly what Nikki was doing, how she was placing each flower, what sort of scene she was trying to create…

Nikki looked up at her and smiled.

Yexiao only blinked.

Nikki, now feeling a bit shy from having her work observed, looked back down at her page and asked, “Do you think this looks alright?”

The liveliness and unexpected feelings seemed to bloom again in Yexiao, and hardly able to control her grin, she answered softly, “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

There were several more seconds in which Yexiao continued to simply gaze down at Nikki before she began to feel shy herself and turned her eyes onto her own sketch again. She took in a deep, but light, breath and calmed herself again, and with new eyes, she re-observed her own sketch…

Her drawing was not hidden; it was right there for anyone to notice, but Nikki did not acknowledge it, did not even look. Yexiao knew it was likely because Nikki was too considerate to look upon her unfinished work, but still, she wondered. Maybe the drawing bore no resemblance to Nikki anyways, maybe it really was more alike the flowering trees with their lively dancing leaves. She took a closer look at her drawing again. It was even more beautiful to think that the sketches of Nikki were so natural as to go unnoticed and completely blend in.

Yexiao looked back up, out onto the beautiful field of flowers before them. Deep within in her head, within a small daydream, there was a brief scene Yexiao imagined while she was watching. In her mind’s way of wandering, she had dreamed that Nikki might make her way over to where she sat, enthused by some excitement of which she wanted to share, but then she’d take a glance down at Yexiao’s page and would fall silent and still. Her eyes might water a little, and in a voice so sweet and gentle, she would ask, “Is that me?”

But that did not happen, and it was okay.

Yexiao, for a moment, thought about the way she seemed so interested in Nikki, and wondered why she had cared so much that she would want to be acknowledged, or want Nikki to be somehow touched by her artwork as though it were some loving gesture.

Was it that she wanted her attention to Nikki to be reciprocated in any small, little way? Did she wish to give back to the liveliness that inspired her? To return all the beauty she saw with what she hoped would be a sweet and pleasant emotion for Nikki? Did she really like Nikki so much that she wanted to be more like her, and have Nikki want the same? To blend themselves in some small way? A sweet and simple emotional exchange? Was she hoping that Nikki would pick up on the subtle things? Read her mind and her soul? Was she hoping for something more at all? And was she clinging on to that hope too hard? Was she dreaming more than she was seeing?

Oh, it was so confusing…

#my writing ~* #nikki/yexiao #yexiao/nikki #nixiao

[jumunkrp-blog]

RESIDENCY DIRECTORY UPDATING...

LOADING RESIDENT INFORMATION:  ❝ — [ YOO JINSEOK ], also known as [ WANG-JA ] is currently 22 YEARS OLD, a YOO and PUREBLOOD, and currently is a CONSULTANT TO THE YOO BUSINESS GROUP. Please click here for more information on this resident.

ACCESSING DATA...

—  LOADED PERSONALITY:

his eyes are always rimmed with dark circles.

it’s thesis season, he says, but the way his hands are covered with the scars of tell-tale wand rebellion (gumiho cores are incredibly stubborn) would suggest otherwise. this is why his hands are always kept in his pockets, one set of his lean and long fingers fiddling with a golden galleon he once took home from his family’s short trip to London. fiddling, because he is struggling hard to focus on the conversation, an impossibility as his brain wanders instead to his slowly delaying schedule, the looming threat of unbalanced balance sheets and mismatched inventory lists gaining volume in his conscious.

yoo jinseok. open a lifestyle magazine on a page discussing siblings in power and his name will be plastered in bold. he’ll give a bashful smile if asked about it, but only to hide the heavy bitterness that seeps from never getting what he thinks is rightfully his. on good days, he’d probably slip in a half-hearted comment about how his brother, his dear eldest brother, inspires him to achieve more in his life, but the glint in his eyes motions that admiration is not the cause of this drive. he does the same when the days are bad—the glimmer in his hues just turn a bit more sinister.

he’s been described as many things by many words that almost always fail to encapsulate the whole of his manners. he’s been tagged as an heir, an elite, a socialite, a genius—a rising star of his own generation with the privilege, the power, the looks, and the smarts needed to conquer. to public eyes and the press’ lenses, he is calm and collected—the closest thing a person (ha!) could ever get to achieving the dictionary definition of perfect.

but he isn’t. far from it. he’s aware but he’ll deny it to his grave. hubris.

the pages do not write how hot-headed or abrasive  he can be. only a few can bear witness to his obsessive need for more and more power, and even fewer can read his strikingly utilitarian way of dealing with people. for him, there are only business associates and family members. it takes one hand to count the number of people he genuinely cares for and his most genuine smile can only be seen in the presence of magical creatures.

yoo jinseok. the press calls him the perfect millennial heir, almost unlikely for his generation. mothers all wish their sons would grow up to be like him. his best friend, however, thinks he’s nothing but an asshole with a heart.

—  LOADED BACKGROUND:

i.

he is born in the middle of a solar eclipse.

his mother screams and writhes in the posh delivery room, and the moon occults the sun the moment he exits the womb. his father thinks this is a good omen, a sign of a near future where his youngest son will conquer. his brother, then twelve years old, waits outside the delivery room, his expression unreadable at the news of a baby brother. it is unease, perhaps, that clouds his usually bright hues, but it could also just be the gloom from the missing sun.

they name him jinseok—a precious stone to be set in the crown of family glory.

he is barely hours old when the heavy burden of being an elite is passed onto his conscious. “he will show us great things,” his father murmurs, out of ear shot from his eldest son poring over ancient books. his gaze is steely, yet brimming with immense expectation. his mother’s lips form a solemn line as he is cradled upon her bosom—it is unclear if she approves of her husband’s sinister tone. “he is a boy born to vanquish.”

ii.

a fallen cherry stem grows into full bloom the moment he takes it into his little hands. he is two and he is overflowing with magic, and everything he touches springs into life. they call him a genius—a pureblooded wizard with abilities too advanced, too powerful for his age. his father notes this with much approval, and jinseok grins whenever the man gives his hair an affectionate pat and endearing ruffle after he sings of his achievements.

he is young and his heart is yet to be hardened.

the little boy longs for nothing more than to make his family proud.  

he is four when he finds a dancing partner with the water, the rippling tides and the congealed droplets swirling around his tiny form as his little feet splish and splash on the shallow end of the pond. he is six when the lights from their banquet’s overhead chandelier goes out once he sneezes, only to return to its majestic illumination when he bursts into an airy giggle. he is nine when he befriends a wild phoenix, injured from a hasty trip from the markets, and he finds solace in the downy softness of her glorious feathers when she allows him to nap with her on the field.

his father never fails to remind him of the omen that heralds his birth, and the boy grows confident to where his fate is placed. like the moon that covered the sun as he came wailing into the open, the man expects the darling boy to overtake a looming empire that has been in power for too long. jinseok nods, taking in every praise, every syllable.

he has yet to know of the murk that swims beneath all the glitter.

iii.

he is twelve and he is tall for his age, all long limbs and modelesque proportions that have earned him the cover of many teens’ magazines for the young and the rich and the famous. his brown locks match the deep pools of his sleepy hues, his eyes bordered with lashes so long it could make any girl jealous. he is twelve and his magic still overflows, but it is far more controlled upon receipt of his wand during his last birthday. his hands are covered with scars he has charmed into disappearing (ah, the gumiho, ever stubborn), but he hides the pair in the pockets of his oversized cardigan, as he stands, ever-attentive, in front of the family’s stern patriarch.

“honor is to be earned,” his father tells him. the room is dark save for the grandiose chandelier that hangs overhead, the same one that he once  made glow with a simple giggle. but that was ages ago, and simple tricks do not anymore entertain the man. “our family has worked and toiled for century upon century just to get us to where we stand.”

jinseok nods without question. he knows that this is the truth he has been born to.

the elder continues on with his litany, prattling about duty and the moral pillars the yoo family is built upon. hard work trumps all. privilege falls second to true talent. determination is the true essence of success. anything can be achieved with enough ambition. there is no tradition that cannot be overthrown by a turn of the tables.

he takes it all in with zero disbelief, every syllable tightly ingrained into his conscious. he recites it back with utmost sincerity, and his father beams with much pride. it is then that he is asked to come forward, and his father takes his slim hands in his. cold, he thinks. rough. but he doesn’t mind. not even for a second.

“your potential with magic is astounding.” the patriarch sings with much praise, rubbing circles onto the back of his scarred hands. jinseok tries his hardest not to wince .”you will only grow more powerful, more grand—like fine wine once aged.” his smile drips with mystery, but the young boy is much too focused on his father’s words to notice that something was amiss  “our family would be safe in these hands when you come of age.”

iv.

it is tradition, they answer, every time he poses to ask. still, he fails to understand the novelty behind attending a school infested with muggles, when he has been doing so well with the tutors at home. they tell him it’s to prepare him for his life outside of the protective barriers of their manor, to set him up for even greater challenges, but hubris makes him think that he can handle himself well enough without the influence of the lower class.

he has no choice, though. he’s already been enrolled.

he finds it hard to fit in with the kids who’ve known each other for far longer, but he has no plans of ever blending in with their crowd. he is raised to think that muggles are of a lower stature than wizard-kind, and it pains him so that he has to breathe the same air that they do on an almost daily basis. but he’s an heir and it is because of this that he has to maintain his airs, so he keeps his vile thoughts to himself and focuses, instead, on graduating quick.

his classmates hear news of his being an elite and do their very best to earn his favor. the girls giggle and blush when he walks past them in the hallways, and he scoffs at their whispered praises towards his looks. they all want to sit with him, to be with him, to talk to him, possibly thinking that forging friendships with an heir will transfer blessings to their baskets. perhaps it would’ve worked on others, but it only all it did was piss-off the haughty boy.

yosul is no different. they all awe and sing praises at his prowess, but he could feel the empty  flattery beneath their tones. these are children of parents who owe his family debts, children of fathers who are in need of a pay raise. they want to be called his friend for the benefits, and jinseok refuses to allow them the privilege.

(one succeeds in gaining his friendship, though. and they remain close to this day.)

in the morning he is hounded by pink-cheeked girls aiming to earn a million-dollar smile from the stoic ice prince, chased by sweaty guys who want to pull him into their muggle sports teams. in the afternoon he is surrounded by overeager wizard kids  asking him how he does his tricks in the most exaggerated of ways. at night he comes home to shower thrice and rid his skin of the filth it has touched, and he slips in one more scrub as a precaution.

just a few more years, jinseok, he thinks to himself as his forehead rests upon the shower’s wet tile, a mantra to keep himself sane amidst his unfortunate circumstance. it will all be over once you’re head of the family.

v.

his hopes and dreams collapse  a few hours after graduation.

he is told to go home for a sort of celebration, and jinseok wholeheartedly thinks that it is to congratulate him for his stellar performance at the school. he arrives to the manor to see a banquet laid out, and his arrogance leads him to believe that the festivities are all done in his name. their entire clan is in attendance and he greets all of them with a sweet grin, barely wondering why only a few offer their congratulations, too engrossed in his own hubris.

it is only until the heirloom is revealed and handed to his brother that he realizes that the ceremony isn’t for him.  

he moves on instinct and runs, out of the compound and into the busy streets of gangnam. he is met with a torrent of rain and he curses the sky for its heavy need for dramatics. he feels crushed, humiliated, betrayed by the words-the promise!— of the father he so trusted. the tears in his eyes mix with the droplets of rain that hit his handsome face, crumpled by the weight of a dream that slipped out of his hands  before he could even achieve it.

“that should’ve been mine,” he coughs out in between choked sobs, dragging his aching legs to the hongdae station, his wand feeling like fire against his tightly clenched fist. “that heirloom was promised to me.”

he enters the arena after six in the evening and exits at dawn with an unparalleled win streak.

he disappears for two days to collect his thoughts, his wizard guards unable to track him down, their spells blocked by a protection charm he cast for the sole purpose of solitude. he returns to the manor with dark-rimmed hues, his brown eyes clouded with a need to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his. he announces that he will move out in the morning  to the sound of his younger sister’s shock, and he declares war to his brother for the family head’s most prized seat.

his brother only laughs at his challenge. jinseok vows to make him regret every second of glee.

vi.

he’s in his second year at university when the government commends him for his undergraduate thesis. it’s a masterpiece, reporters quip, quite intrigued by the innovations the twenty-one year old’s ideas  would bring to seoul’s underground transportation system. he answers every question with studied ease, his smile soft and his voice gentle as he smoothly explains his work in layman’s terms to the eager presses.

“did you brother have a hand in your thesis?” a newsman carelessly motions.

jinseok feels the muscles in his jaw clench for a second, but he is quick to school his expression to a more appreciative front. “aside from giving me inspiration,” he begins, his tone sounding most sincere despite his syllables being nothing but mere lies, “my brother has never touched my work. everything i wrote was from my own research.”

the magazine headlines read “brotherly love and friendly competition.” the young man smirks and scoffs at the irony. with a flick of his finger and a wordless spell, the flammable bunch bursts into flames and crumbles into ashes.

vii.

there is a blanket of fog that always envelopes the black market’s premises.

it is especially strong around the dueling arena, the view from inside the cross-hatched cage obscured by a thick layer of smoke, the only visible thing being the sparks of magic that hint at an ongoing battle. the screams from the audience grow louder with each strike, and they get to their feet when a victor emerges. the duel for the championship trophy is over, and the fog lifts to reveal an empty stage, devoid of any more of the noisy onlookers.

there are footsteps on pavement that echo lightly in the enchanted chamber. the new champion is led to one of the inner rooms, expectant of a lavish banquet to be held in his glory. the room is dark when he enters, abysmal when the doors close. his frightened snigger bounces upon the hollow walls.

“this is not fu—“

“incendio!”

the silence breaks with the incantation, and the new victor barely moves in time to avoid the incoming inferno. he grabs his wand from his pocket and aims at the blackness, blinking his eyes to will them to adjust to the dark. they do not. not before another spell is called and it hits him right above his chest, effectively knocking out the air from his lungs which leads him to crash to the ground in a pathetic heap of former glory.

from the darkness emerges a tall man with brown hair, half of his face concealed with a hard golden mask. his hand, tight against his darkwood wand, is etched with remnants of scars, a tell-tale sign of a most stubborn core. he heaves a tired sigh at the sight of the fallen victor, his head shaking in what looks like utter disappointment.

“master yoo,” the man behind the masked one begins, but he is cut-off with his male’s  raised hand.

“get him out of my sight,” the masked one commands with venomous spite, removing his elaborate headgear  to reveal the youngest male heir of the revered yoo clan. “there is no place for the weak in the yoo undergrounds.”

#jm: acceptances #jm: yoo #jm: pureblood #krp #kpop rp #kpop roleplay #hyungwon #chae hyungwon #monsta x

[nehasy]

Dance in the Darkness

This is my contribution to Esca-week 2017  with the prompt Light.  The original got eaten by my computer so hopefully this works well seeing as how it was a rush job.  \^_^  After reading the posts about name and personalities, I had to make a vicious little Guimel.

Characters Shesta and Guimel.  Warning, there is a little gore and violence.

****

“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”

T.S. Elliot

                 He could still hear the odd scream cut through the joyous cries of the gathering crows.  It still sounded so strange, so wrong to hear the sounds of such abject misery and horror alongside the laughter and cheers of victory.  They’d never mentioned that at the Academy; or the stink of the battlefield, how it wasn’t just the comforting tang of crima metal and guymelef oil.  Instead, those smells were overpowered by the reek of ruptured stomachs and the stench of blood.  It made him feel dizzy with every tainted breath he drew in, the thick smoke burning at his lungs, punishing him for daring to continue living when so many had fallen.

               The remains of a small market surrounded him.  Bright banners and curtains which once danced in the gentle morning breeze were now trampled underfoot or smoldering sullenly where they lay on the ground.  Goods from the area were strewn around haphazardly, knocked free from their displays when the people had panicked.  

               They hadn’t gotten far.  Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of their final moments.  Drying splashes of crimson sprayed across a wall, a crumpled figure behind a crushed stall, neither easily recognizable anymore.  His haunted blue eyes quickly skirted over a small form which lay by the side of a building in a spreading pool of crimson while a larger hand reached out towards it… the rest of the body was missing and he couldn’t bring himself to try to locate it.

               A glimmer of light caught his eye as he slunk through the carnage hunting for those unlucky enough to have survived.  Approaching cautiously, Shesta bent down and picked up a small piece of crystal someone had carved into the shape of a flower.  The stem had broken off when it had fallen, but the petals had remained intact.  The clear stone sparkled rather prettily as its edges caught the few shafts of sunlight which managed to fight their way through the darkened pall of their artificial night.  

               He hadn’t expected to find such beauty in amongst this horror, but it caused him to clutch it to his heart for a moment, cupping it protectively in his hands.

On the other side of the village, he could hear someone’s guymelef still crashing around and knocking over buildings.  The sound of mechanized laughter echoed over the din.  He only paused long enough to ensure it wasn’t the captains.  Dimly he figured that it was most likely André and Renard, two second string Dragonslayers who had a certain penchant for breaking anything that wasn’t theirs.  They’d complained to Gatti in their pre battle briefing about having to hold the perimeter rather than getting to take part in the initial attack… as if it was some sort of game.  Lord Dilandau must be in a good mood if he was letting them keep playing like that after the battle

Another crash shook the ground around him and a thick cloud of dust rose up, further blotting out the sun.  Only a few thin rays still cut through the smoke and grime the attack had filled the air with.  One final act of defiance in an otherwise defeated village, and even that was slowly failing.

Unable to handle any more of the horror, Shesta ducked inside the nearest building, wanting to put some sort of barrier between himself and the rest of the world.  His breath was coming in a short sharp rhythm, making his head spin and he knew that if any of his team saw him in this moment, he’d be mocked mercilessly for his weakness.  

Closing his eyes, he wiped a leather gloved hand across his brow, feeling the grit of ash and dirt mixing with sweat.  It was odd that the filth actually made him feel cleaner.  It let him pretend that he’d fought these frightened villagers with honour, giving them a chance to defeat him rather than sitting safe and secure in his guymelef, cutting them down as they ran.  

Sighing loudly, he turned around to take in his surroundings and froze in horror.  Empty brown eyes stared up at him, the spark of life faded from their depths as the light from a single narrow sunbeam danced across her face.  The playfulness of the light was juxtaposed against the grizzly scene, creating a certain surreal quality which forced Shesta to stare.  In the shadows, he could pretend that it was mud spattered across her body and sprayed across her delicate face but that single shaft of light shattered his illusion.  So brilliant and crimson, it stood out in stark contrast to her once warm golden skin.

               Long colourful skirts had tangled around youthful legs which might have previously been lithe and shapely but now were twisted and broken.  The beam which had crushed them still rested on her, smoldering sullenly in the shadows of the fallen ruins.  He imagined that her simple clothes had originally been a garish combination of yellow and blue, the sun and sky caught in the folks of her skirts.  Now they were bathed in crimson blood and darkened ash, the joy sucked out of them.

               “She wasn’t any older than us.”  Shesta murmured softly as he stared down at the broken body, his hands clenched tightly around the crystal flower which still glittered defiantly in his fists, the sharp edges pressing into the leather of his gloves.

               “And now she never will be.”  A voice echoed from behind him, sounding almost jovial.  The blonde turned around to see Guimel sitting on the remains of the window sill.  A few rebellious beams of early morning sun managed to cut through the smoke, bathing him in gold and making the boy look like something from a Cesarion manuscript.  

               The boy was the perfect picture of fallen innocence.  A slender wide eyed youth, his golden curls shining beautifully even as he sat there, surrounded by death and destruction, drinking it all in with every breath.  Blood soaked the front of his armour and stained his right hand.  Even a few locks of that golden hair bore crimson streaks, making Shesta wonder how many souls his friend had cut down before dawn had even broken over the doomed village.  A smudge of ash marred Guimel’s left cheek and brow where he’d wiped away some sweat, unnoticed amongst the gore.

               Despite the macabre markings which he bore with obvious pride, the smaller boy was utterly relaxed as he leaned against the empty wooden frame, one leg tucked up against his chest, the other dangling below, waving idly back and forth.  The lazy pose was ruined by the canny look in his eyes as he studied the scene around them.

               “You’re trying to sympathise with them again aren’t you?”  Guimel’s voice was voice soft and deceptively gentle sounding.  Tearing his gaze away from the body, Shesta swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something against the rules.

               In the distance, another building was toppled, causing the feeding crows to screech loudly in anger.  The low rumble followed by the sounds of shattering wood and mortar made him tense as he struggled to not imagine how many bodies were now buried beneath their ruined home.

               “Stop moping and join the rest of us for some fun.  Lord Dilandau is going to behead the mayor!  You don’t want to miss it.”  He understood that this was war, that these were the enemies… but did Guimel have to sound so pleased by that?  Honestly, sometimes he was sure that the curly haired menace enjoyed senseless violence almost as much as their captain.

               “She wasn’t a warrior.”  He found himself saying instead, turning back to watch the way the fading sun shone on the tears which stained the girl’s cheek.  “She was just a kid… like us.”

               “We’re not kids.”  Guimel growled, his eyes suddenly losing their innocent light as they narrowed dangerously.  He hopped off the ledge and walked over to the body, crouching down to study her with cold indifference.  “And you keep forgetting that there are no innocents here.”

               “Then where’s her armour?  Her sword? She was just a kid hiding in her home Guimel.  Hiding from us.”

               “Fat lot of good it did her.” The shorter Dragonslayer snorted absently, toeing at the girls arm with his foot.  “She should have tried to fight rather than dying like a coward.”

               Suddenly furious, Shesta spun around, glaring at his friend, his hand tightening around the crystal flower, the pressure threatening to crush the precious carving.

               “You don’t get it do you!?”  He snarled into the curly haired youths face.  “She’s dead for what?  Is this the bright future we’re fighting for?  How is this slaughter supposed to bring peace to Gaea?  How is it supposed to show the world how beautiful and wonderful Zaibach is?  This was just slaughter!  We’re supposed to better than that!”

               “No, you don’t get it.”  Guimel shot back.  “They were smuggling weapons to those raiders who’ve been harassing the border.  Those same raiders who put that little hamlet in the hills to the torch last month.  Remember them?  Ryuun certainly does, he had family there!”  The two boys glared at each other angrily, neither of them willing to give ground.

               “There’s only one way to achieve perfect peace and that’s by exterminating all the vermin who don’t know how to play nice with their neighbours.  Cesario has been raiding Zaibach for centuries and here you are getting all teary eyed because we’re finally hitting them back!”

               “And what does that prove about us?  They hurt us, so we hurt them back, now they’re going to want vengeance and strike back!  We’re not changing anything Guimel, we’re just making the situation worse!”

               “Not really.”  Guimel smirked, the expression clearly copied from their captain.  “They’re dead.  What are they going to do-”  His jeers were cut short by the sharp sound of an open palm hitting his face.  

For a long moment, there was only silence. Both boys stared at each other in utter shock.  Guimel cupped his cheek while Shesta stared at his offending hand, unable to believe that he’d just struck his friend.

“Guimel…”  He stammered out.  “I‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“YOU HIT ME!”  Guimel shrieked and launched himself at Shesta.  While he might have been the smaller of the two, his ferocity was both well-known and dreaded by his team.  In seconds, he’d knocked the taller blonde over onto his back and was pummeling him wildly with his armoured fists.  It was only the hours of intense training that kept Shesta from cracking open his skull on the stone floor, but that was little relief as he was now subject to a vicious rain of attacks.  Each one landed hard enough to leave the promise of deep bruises in their wake.  

Refusing to fight back against his friend, all Shesta could do was try to curl up protectively, holding his arms in front of his face as he tried to keep the other boy from hitting anything vital.

“DON’T. YOU. EVER. HIT. ME!”  The curly haired boy continued in his fury, each word punctuated by a heavy blow, leaving Shesta gasping for air.  “Why do you care so much about them?  Why waste a single tear on these barbarians!?  They’re animals!  Nothing but filthy disgusting animals who need to be taught how to behave like humans or die!”  

Several more bruising strikes landed on Shesta’s defensive form before Guimel heaved a heavy sigh and sat back, straddling his friends hips.  The smaller slayer was trembling slightly from the adrenaline, but the wave of violence seemed to have passed as quickly as it had struck.

“Ugh, it’s no fun if you don’t fight back you know.” He huffed softly, rocking his weight back as Shesta hesitantly opened up an eye, making sure that the attack was well and truly over.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to make my next beating more entertaining for you.”  He ground out, hating how rough his voice sounded.  Giving a little kick, he shoved the now calm Guimel off of his hips and just lay there, trying not to think about the fact that he’d bumped into the girl’s body during the attack and now blood was likely soaking into his hair.  

“I just don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”  Guimel finally said, giving his hand a negligent wave around the destroyed room, and likely meaning the village as well.  “They defied us.  Anyone who defies the Empire deserves to die.”

“Stop parroting the Captain.”  Shesta grumbled softly as he forced his now aching body to look down at his hand which had been holding the flower.  A strange deep sadness filled him as he saw that the petals had been broken off and several had been crushed to a fine glistening powder.

“Why?”  Guimel shot back.  “He’s brilliant.”

“Lord Dilandau only cares about fighting.  He doesn’t care about our perfect destiny, or bringing peace to Gaea.  He’s said that often enough.”

“So?  Everyone has their reasons for fighting.  He just happens to be the best warrior in Zaibach.  You should be flattered to be in his unit rather than crying over the enemy.” All Shesta could do was shake his head at his friends words.  “There should be more to it than that… It’s not right.”

Sighing softly, Guimel ran his fingers across his brow then combed them through his hair, not realizing that he’d just smeared a dark smudge of black ash into the golden curls.  

“Can I tell you something that Miguel told me?”

“Sure… but I’m not really in the mood to have a battle statistic quoted at me.”  Shesta managed a grudging smile, earning himself a rather rude hand gesture shot in his direction.

“He said, Tales tell of great battles won solely on the virtues of hope and love. They are the great candle in the darkness, the warmth that keeps the terror away. But tales are little more than lies dressed up as truths and they rarely survive true conflict.  Don’t cling too tightly to the light of the candle.  It’s too easily snuffed out in the storm of war, leaving you with a deep fear of the darkness.  Instead, embrace the darkness and make it a part of yourself.  In the darkness, you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear and in that emptiness you can do what needs to be done.  In the darkness, you can be strong, you can be safe. Be one with it and it will protect you. Dance in the darkness and know no fear.”

“That’s … morbid.”  Shesta wrinkled his nose slightly and shook his head as he finally forced himself to sit up.  “Was he drinking when he said that?”

“No you moron.”  Guimel lightly smacked his arm.  “It means that you shouldn’t beat yourself up about the bad things that happen in war.  Stop trying to be the hero carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. War is hard.  It’s dark, gritty and cruel.  Accept it, do what you need to do and move on.  It’s the only way to be at peace with yourself.  If you don’t, you’ll tear yourself apart.”

“He couldn’t’ just say that?”

“Hey, you know how Miguel gets.”  Sighing heavily, Guimel stood up and turned around to offer Shesta a hand up.  “Come on, if we’re late Lord Dilandau will kick both our asses.”  

Nodding his head, Shesta accepted the proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet with a slight grunt of pain.  Taking a moment to straighten out his uniform, he then turned to look back down at the girl’s body.  The sun’s light was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the surrounding smoke, choking out the few remaining beams and bathing her body in shadows.  

Reaching down, he gently placed the crushed crystal flower on the ground next to her, watching for a moment as it sparkled playfully in the fading light.  Sadness welled up inside him again but he resolutely pushed it aside and faced his friend.

Together, they walked out the ruins of the door. Up above their heads, the thick smoke choked out the last of the suns light, reducing it to little more than a sullen orange disk drowning in the darkness they had brought.

isin��S �k

#Esca-week 2017 #Vision of Escaflowne #tenkuu no escaflowne #escaflowne fanfiction #Dragonslayers #ryuugekitai #shesta #guimel #child soldiers #pre series