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kookslastbutton · 2 months

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Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter one

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love,

word count: 6.5k+

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained yoon, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, rude Hybe executive that should be fired, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, and cute yoon and oc interactions bc yeah....its thier first time actually meeting so it must be cute!

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: YAHHH chapter one!! Ok i apologize if the meeting is so long and drawn out...I really tried to make it fun but so much info is needed too haha. Anyway this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Winter in Seoul feels like stepping onto the set of your most beloved holiday film.

As the brisk air wraps around you, delicate snowflakes gather atop your head, urging you to cocoon in your finest wool trench coat. Yet, despite the chill, the sight of frost-bitten trees basking in the morning's golden rays offers a source of warmth and delight. Perhaps the most radiant tree of them all is the towering Christmas tree that sits proudly in the heart of the city. Adorned with shimmering red and gold baubles, the giant evergreen catches the eye of every person that walks by–both tourists and locals alike.

Nearby shopping malls buzz with holiday fervor too as shoppers scour for treasures, couples engage in friendly competition to find the ultimate gift, and children line up to take their picture with Santa. But the best part is when night falls. The whole city comes alive with joy and laughter as loved ones meet one another on the ice-skating rinks, while karaoke bars echo tipsy renditions of timeless songs sung by overworked professionals, each with a bottle of soju in hand.

Yes, Seoul is a place for making memories and you’re in the thick of it.

Having been in the city for three years, one might assume you’ve become well accustomed to the energy of the season. You've really grown to love it here. But adjusting to the new environment is still proving to be a challenge, the most outstanding being the prevailing beauty standards.

Massive billboards featuring stunning models serve as constant reminders of the type of beauty one should aim to achieve as you commute to work. Impossible to miss are the shining examples themselves – iconic k-pop groups Seventeen, Red Velvet, EXO, BlackPink, Mamamoo, TXT, and of course BTS plastered on the side of every flat surface imaginable. You’re not exactly complaining about that aspect as you’ve helped design a good handful of them as a top marketing and advertising professional. But the strict image of what constitutes a beautiful and worthy individual weighs on you more than you’d like.

While a conventional body type isn’t what you’ve been given in this life, you don’t consider yourself to be completely unattractive either. Having high cheekbones, a strong jawline, striking light brown eyes, good enough ass, and a full chest shouldn’t classify as undesirable. Still, you wish you’d adopt this more body positive mindset rather than your current overthinking one. It’s easier said than done, being that you not only see idols everyday on the streets in digital form but at work as well.

You continue further into city until a set of tall, glass doors meet you mere steps away. You tilt your head back to catch the name of the skyscraper before nearing the building’s sturdy, silver handle.

BigHit Music.

Feeling its cool metal under your fingertips, the door swings open with an easier pull than imagined to welcome you into the bustling lobby. You feel a rush of confidence return to you upon entering– this is your domain, this is where you truly shine.

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall Bang PD's voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before.

Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

After another late-night prep session for Monday’s D-Day proposal, you trudge through your apartment door well past 8:30 pm with an empty stomach and a throbbing headache. Good news is that your graphic design team seems to be well on track with their album mockups ready to present.

The same can’t be said for your U.S. promo team however, who required additional guidance on their projects. The social media team was in a similar boat. Somehow several of their members lost track of time and were convinced the proposal was still two weeks away.

Despite the hiccups, you managed to tie up the loose ends, but it meant that none of you got to leave early.

When you finally get to curl up in your fluffy sofa, a loud, exasperated sigh leaves your lips. Your lids flutter shut too as you rest your head against the soft cushion. Silently, you make one last mental rundown of all the tasks you checked off today.

Did you miss anything?

D-Day is the most crucial project you’ve ever taken charge of—you need it to be flawless.

When nothing pressing comes to mind, you grab the tv remote from your dark oak coffee table and aimlessly flip through the channels. You’ll unwind for an hour and then call it a night.

Ten minutes into an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and the light chime of your phone's notification bell catches your ear.

Tae 💚: Haven’t heard from you all day. Everything alright?

Taehyung, your best friend. You smile fondly at his message as your thumbs hover over the reply button. He's always checking in on you. You and Taehyung have been friends ever since you first moved to Seoul and started working at Hybe. You didn't expect your friendship to become this strong, but both of you are sociable individuals, which led to discovering several unexpected commonalities. One of those is a shared love for jazz, which has been one of your all-time favorite genres for as long as you can remember.

You: yeah, I’m good. Just tired. Been working on D-Day's proposal for months and finally got it fully prepped for.

Tae 💚: Well, that's amazing news! You feel good about it?

You: I don't know. I’m definitely ready for this project but I’m also starting to feel a little burned out. The proposal is only the beginning you know, and it's already taking the wind out of me.

Tae 💚: Sorry to hear that 😞 I'm sure it must be draining, but I also know this is your territory. No one is more fit to head this project than you. Everyone thinks so. How about you take the weekend to rest?

You: Yeah...I'm watching B99 rn

Tae 💚: B99?! Without me?

You can't help but giggle. Somehow over the course of three years you've roped your best friend into becoming obsessed with your mindless sitcoms. You've done more than a handful of binge watching together, until all hours of the night.

You: Wanna come over for an hour?

The company might be nice.

Tae 💚: Be there in 20 🏃

Your door bells rings exactly twenty minutes after you and Taehyng finish exchanging texts. He's so prompt it scares you sometimes.

“Hey.” His deep, baritone voice greets you first, along with a friendly hug. Taehyung slips his snow covered boots off upon entering your apartment and hangs his wool jacket on your coat rack. His limited edition Gucci scarf is next. Taehyung loves the winter as it’s the time he can wear his most luxurious clothes.

“What’s this?” You peak inside a brown paper bag that Taehyung has conveniently set on your kitchen countertop. He flashes you a playful grin and gestures you to open it. Naturally, you're suspicious but it all washes away when a new, unopened bottle of whiskey presents itself. “Oh my god, you didn’t!" You swat his arm in a rush of excitement.

“I had to!" Taehyung opens a kitchen cupboard and grabs a glass from the top shelf. He's been in your apartment enough times that he’s grown comfortable with your place. That and he's also your best friend.

"With all the recent events you've had going on, I think it calls for a celebration." Taehyung expertly pours you a glass of the smooth, rich liquor and offers it to you.

“Thank you, Tae," you say, taking the glass from his hand. "Come sit down. Jake's about to sing I Want It That Way with the police lineup.” Taehyung pours himself a glass of Pinot Noir and follows your lead.

After about forty minutes of sitcoms and booze with your best friend you begin to feel yourself relaxing. Whatever challenges lies ahead, you know you'll be able to handle them one whiskey at a time.

All stream of thought is interrupted when your phone dings off again. It's now half past 9, who on earth is trying to reach you?

Fuck.

You tighten the grip on your phone as soon aa the message appears. Taehyung, previously occupied by the end credit scene, catches the sudden shift in your demeanor and calls your name but he's inaudible to you.

Mom: It’s been almost two weeks since we last heard from you. We know you're busy but your father and I want to know if you’ll be coming home. The holidays are coming up right? Why don't you use some of that time to come see us? There's someone we want you to meet.

"__, who is it?" Taehyung's voice manages to break your intense concentration.

“Just my mom.” You answer briefly, still averting eye contact.

“What’d she say?”

“She wants me to come home for the holidays.” You shut your phone off in an effort to calm yourself.

Unlike Taehyung your relationship with your parents has always been rocky. Expectations are set high from birth and you never see eye to eye. Likely, the only accomplishment that's earned genuine praise from them was when you accepted your initial job proposal with Hybe. A respectable career is only second to health to them after all. Your father was more torn with the news that you’d be moving hundreds of miles away than your mom however, not that you’re surprised.

Of course while having a healthy and respectable career is priority for your parents, there is no mistake that their greatest wish is to see their daughter married. A stable man with ample resources to provide her a secure home and healthy children is preferable.

You love your parents and you'll always be there for them, but you must admit that their traditional outlook is one you can never live up to. They tried setting you up dozens of times before, and tonight's request to have you come home "for the holidays to meet someone” is simply another attempt to marry you off.

Yes, you would like some sort of companionship in your life and you hope if you find it that they’ll approve. But giving your hand in marriage to the first notable suitor isn't your forte. You consider yourself to be an independent woman with a tender heart, and you'd rather be single for the entirety of your life than be forced into another obligation.

Preserving your independence is highly important to you. So no, you draw the line when it comes to relational affairs.

If only you could be firm and repeat all the above to them aloud, rather than within your own head— if only.

“So are you gonna go?"

You don't respond immediately, still weighing out your options. "Not sure," you murmur. "I don't really want to but maybe I should. I haven't gone home to see my parents since last year."

Taehyung recognizes the growing tension in your voice as well as the flushed expression playing on your face. He wishes he could take it all away but instead he moves closer to your side of the sofa and lets you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He's silent for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you tell them you can't go because of work? There must be a number of things you'll need to get ahead of for Yoongi's album."

"True. But it's too easy, they won't buy that. I have to go."

"What if you say I invited you to celebrate with my family this year? We're going to a nice, cozy cabin a few hours north of here for Christmas."

The offer is temping and you know he means it but it's also not enough.

"No," you reject. "They'll think we're dating and ask to meet you."

"I'll do it!" Taehyung's voice lifts into a more playful tone, earning a soft chuckle from you.

"Very cute Taetae, but no. Neither of us are going to say 'that was a good idea' in the end, trust me. I'll have to make this decision on my own."

Taehyung grimaces slightly at your last choice of words. "I really think you should consider telling them you can't due to a full schedule. We don't get that much time off at the company any way. Don't your parents live at least 7-10 hours away? Come on, spend the holidays with me and the guys. Plus, it'll be my birthday soon. I want you there at my party."

When you look at your best friend to gently scold him for not so sneakily using the guilt tripping technique, he's pouting. Like a baby. Not even you can resist him with that face on.

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"Good," Taehyung chirps and snatches the tv remote to flip through episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. "I want you to be around those closest to you, especially around the holidays. You're my badass best friend who deserves more than some stupid forced marriage to a guy with an unhealthy alpha male complex. Should we top the night off with one more episode by the way?"

You nod and Taehyung hits play on the remote. "Thank you," you coo, feeling a tad better.

The weekend is a blur at best and you’re back at the office before you realize. Of course this is no ordinary work day however, given that today signifies the day you officially start work as D-Day’s marketing director. You’ve been perfecting every detail of the proposal like a madman since the beginning, meticulously obessing over every element. Your new team members must have a pretty eye-opening understanding of what it’ll be like having you as a lead for the next year–you pity them to be honest.

Between your fingers clutches a small tube of lip balm, berry flavored with a faint tint to match. You love chapstick for some odd, inexplainable reason and you felt the need to apply a generous amount of it on your lips for good luck.

“No one’s here yet,” Yi-joon, one of the members of your graphic design team, speaks first upon stepping foot into your assigned conference room. Others hum, unsurprised. Being the ones leading the presentation, you’d be startled if anyone actually arrived beforehand.

A grand mahogany table, seating up to 14 individuals, boasts itself to you in the middle of the room with every chair lined in genuine black leather. Traditional seating arrangements have one chair at the head of the table, but today’s meeting has two, both positioned to face the wide presentation screen at the opposite end.

Undoubtably, they’re reserved for Bang PD and Min Yoongi.

A momentary shiver courses down your spine, yet fades quick when one of your team members asks if anyone's seen the remote to the projector. There’s no time for nerves to be acting up, you remind yourself calmly. Only 15 minutes remain until every C-suite executive in Hybe congregates into the room.

With a composed demeanor, you swiftly gather your thoughts and respond, "Try checking inside the podium. It's likely close by, but if not, we can always power it on manually." You then start delegating tasks to the rest of your team, mentally rehearsing key points of the proposal between each instruction.

Time appears to have vanished in the blink of an eye because in a matter of seconds a gentle breeze slips through the conference door, accompanied by the arrival of several Hybe executives. You offer a polite "good morning," which is briefly reciprocated as they take their respective seats around the conference table.

You count twelve at the table in total, including your own team.

"Sajangnim should be here in about–"

Hybe's Chief Finance Officer doesn't get to finish his sentence when an older gentleman in a freshly pressed suit walks through the door, fully immersed in conversation. The person following close behind him is none other than the man of the hour himself–Min Yoongi, fitted in a clean white dress shirt that's unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His soft, raven hair falls gently in front of his eyes, framing his face a little too well.

Unexpectedly, both your gazes shift from Bang PD and onto one another. His dark, intense eyes pierce through you as they observe you from the opposite side of the room. You're certain he recognizes you from your previous shared encounters, though you don't have the slightest clue what he's thinking. Min Yoongi has been known to be many things, but an open book isn't one of them.

He then walks in your direction until he's directly toe to toe with you for the very first time. Completely against your wishes, you feel all the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. You've never officially met before.

"It's nice to finally meet you __-nim. Those nods we give each other in the hallway hardly count as a proper introduction." He extends a hand to you, offering you a sturdy handshake which you accept.

"Absolutely, it's a pleasure to meet you as well Min PD-nim," you say, smiling warmly. "I'm looking forward to working with you on your new album. I truly appreciate the opportunity."

For a split second, Yoongi allows his professional demeanor drop. "I should be the one thanking you. You'll be the one leading this whole operation right? So I'll be in your care."

You want to respond with gratitude, but you're not given the chance due to an authoritative voice speaking up from behind.

"Min PD-nim," Hybe's Vice President calls out to the man in front of you, requesting his attention.

Yoongi is hesitant to leave you mid-conversation but you assure him that it's alright. "Please, feel free to take a seat," you offer. "The presentations will begin soon."

A small, subtle smile graces Yoongi's lips before he turns around to take his seat beside Bang PD at the head of the table. He engages in small talk with Hybe's Vice President who's conveniently seated across from him. Yet despite their conversation, he's only half focused; his eyes repeatedly wandering back to you. At this point, however, you've already stopped looking at him.

"Good morning, all," you address the room when the time comes to commence the meeting. "We'll be getting started now that everyone's here. I'm sending down samples of the album design our graphics team has created for D-Day. Please pass them along." You hand the stack of copies to Hybe's Chief Technology Officer who smiles courteously.

"On behalf of my team and me, I want to thank you for joining us today to discuss our marketing strategy for Min PD-nim's upcoming D-Day album. Our agenda will be as follows," you guide everyone's attention to the presentation board, which provides a rundown of all the points you plan to cover for the remainder of the meeting.

"Let's begin with introductions. My name is ___ ___, I hold a Bachelor's degree in Electrical and Electronics Engineering from NYU Stern, as well as an MBA in Marketing. Over the past five years, I've worked in the music industry as a marketing manager. Three of those years were spent here at Hybe. The recent promotional campaign for TXT's The Chaos Chapter was lead by my previous team and me, resulting in a positive return on investment. Now, with a new team, I aim to achieve similar success with Min PD-nim's D-Day album."

Once you finish your introduction, you introduce each member of your team. This is soon followed by a brief introduction from each c-suite executive.

The whole room falls silent when you begin diving into the bulk of the proposal; every measurable objective, goal, and market analysis is shared for D-Day. When it comes time to present the brand guide and album design, you invite your graphics team to speak.

"You'll notice that we have two versions of Min PD-nim's albums on the sheet in front of you," Yi-joon refers to the mockups you handed out earlier. A few executives nod quietly as they study the proposed album packaging while Yoongi leans over to Bang PD. He's whispering something but you're far to distant away to hear. His expressions aren't telling either.

Does he like it? Does he not? You don't know.

Nevertheless, you give a subtle smile to Yi-joon as encouragement to continue.

"We've opted for a sleek, pitch-black design for the first version, and a dusty brown for the second. The first version symbolizes the past, characterized by societal expectations and internal struggles, while the second represents the present and future, conveying a message of liberation. To complement these themes, we've selected a bold and daring font to exude the album's transparency. This design consistency extends to the album's contents; for instance, lyrical cards will reflect the respective color and style of the version they belong to."

Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer appears to be in approval with the entirety of the plan so far, yet it's short lived when a low voice interrupts.

"I think the vision of album's design aligns closely with mine, so I like what I see in front of me." Yoongi pauses and places the mockup on the table. "There's one aspect that I'd like to discuss in hopes of some insight however. I've been mauling over it for a while now."

"I'll do my best to–" Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer opens his mouth to respond yet closes it immediately when he notices Yoongi's gaze sharply shifts to you. It's a signal that it's your insight he specifically requests.

"Please go on," you reply.

"Regarding the name under which the album should be released, should it be 'Agust D' or 'Suga'? I'm personally biased towards Agust D because it holds more weight for me. It's close to my heart and the stories I have to tell as Agust D are heavier than those of Suga, right? The D even stands for Daegu, my hometown where I grew up and where my parents still live. Suga on the other hand is my stage name, which I have some identity in as well."

You don't answer immediately, preferring to carefully process everything he's said. Your team has already proposed to release the album under 'Agust D', yet he makes a valid point that 'Suga' is also a part of him.

"I understand that releasing the album under 'Suga' has its merit. However, I still support the original idea of releasing it under 'Agust D'. As you've mentioned, the name carries a deeper meaning, evoking memories, emotions, trials, and tribulations. I'd also like to emphasize that by releasing D-Day under 'Agust D', you can showcase who the real Agust D is. The collaboration with IU in People Pt. 2 already has you one step in that door."

Like you, Yoongi considers your words cautiously, weighing them in his mind. "Thank you ___-nim," he finally speaks. "Your perspective is reassuring. We'll proceed with releasing the album under 'Agust D'.

Following your short discussion, the graphics team continues presenting their design materials. Minor comments are made by Hybe executives, but Yoongi doesn't comment again until half-way into the social media segment.

"Why do we need to schedule this many Weverse Lives? People might get tired of seeing my face after so many in a row. ARMY will read, 'Min Yoongi started a live' and say to their friends, 'This is the fifth time in a row, is he in love with his own voice or something?'." His joke sparks a light in the room as Bang PD gives a chuckle.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue for you Yoongi," he replies. "Don't you know the strength of your own fanbase?" Bang PD's statement is undeniable. Everyone in the room is well aware of Min Yoongi's international fanbase who willingly stay up all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. In fact, rather than seeing less of him, they hope to receive his live notifications more, as Yoongi isn't as active on Weverse as other idols.

It's clear that compliments like these aren't easy for Yoongi to take though, judging by the flushed look that subtly sweeps over his face. You'd react the same way to be honest.

"If I may Min PD-nim," you speak up, deciding to offer an alternative plan. "Leveraging Weverse Live to help promote D-Day will draw significant international engagement. We know that time differences pose to be a challenge which is why we proposed an increase of live sessions per week. However, we understand that going live this often might be exhausting. Would you consider reducing the frequency to once or twice a week instead?"

"I'm open to once a week but didn't we film the 'Suga: Road to D-Day' documentary for a similar reason? Won't it be too much to add more than two Weverse Lives throughout the entire promotional phase?" Yoongi's challenge is met with an unanimous hum of support from his fellow executives. You'd feel intimidated if you didn't already have a justification mapped out.

"The objective behind releasing 'Suga: Road to D-Day' on Disney+ differs from that of Weverse Lives," you rebuttal confidently. "While the documentary presents a structured behind-the-scenes view of D-Day's development, the Lives focus on building hype among your existing fans who know you well, will spread the word to their peers, and will likely pre-order the album. As you're aware, Lives are more personal and stripped down, allowing your fanbase to feel closer to you."

Thinking of no further objectives, Yoongi, still somewhat unsure, accepts your suggestion. "Once a week will be fine then. While we're still on the topic, do we know when 'Suga: Road to D-Day' is set to release on Disney+?"

"Our digital marketing and promo team will be reviewing the specifics of that soon," you inform. "Right now we have the documentary releasing April 23 of next year. The poster for the film will release a week and a half earlier on the 12th."

Rather than furthering the discussion, Yoongi sends an understanding nod your way which allows the social media team to resume their portion of the proposal. Recording more Weverse Lives than usual remains a pain point for him, but he's willing to move forward if it means connecting with his fanbase.

Alast, after what seems like three hours of social media; followed by financing & budget talk, the last team to present their material takes lead of the meeting.

"We'd like to provide a timeline for D-Day's promo schedule as a way to wrap up today's proposal," So-hyun from your digital marketing and promos team explains. "Promotions will begin April 10, 2023 and will run until April 25th. During this time the album's track list, concept photos, MV Teaser, and official MV will drop. As far as concert schedule, we're proposing April 26-June 24. These dates include U.S, Asia, and Korea Tours."

"We might need to rethink concert dates but for now I'm on onboard." Yoongi remains brief in his interjection, allowing So-hyun to continue.

"As far as other marketing channels, we plan to implement both print and digital methods including billboards, banners, paid search ads, and YouTube. We'd also like to reach out to a variety of magazines like Rolling Stones Magazine for interviews. If we want to extend our global reach even further, we can book a time slot on the Jimmy Fallon Show. Bare in mind that if we go this route, we'll need to decide fairly quick, as slots are in high demand."

You notice Bang PD whispering amongst Yoongi and his Chief Finance Officer when Jimmy Fallon is mentioned. Yoongi seems the least interested. Perhaps he isn't fond of being front and center of talk shows, you guess.

"When will we need a decision for the Jimmy Fallon Show?" Bang PD inquires for the group.

"No later than three weeks from now," So-hyun answers. "It's a tight deadline but it can been done if we get the official go."

Bang PD directs his attention to Yoongi who's chosen to be silent in this conversation. "What do you think, Yoongi? It's your call."

"Maybe," he says, "give me a day or two to think on it."

Another ten minutes of productive overview with your promos team pass and soon, you're standing up to adjourn the meeting. You have to admit that out of all the proposals you've given in your career, this goes right to the top.

Your team was phenomenal today, and despite the the fact that several Hybe executives are biting at the bit to finally go on their lunch break, you feel confident that everyone is leaving on the same page.

"Min PD-nim."

You're ears inevitably pick up the conversation in front of you as you make your way out of the conference room. Yoongi and his Chief Financial Officer are running through some quick numbers only a few steps steps ahead, but with everyone simultaneously rushing in the same direction, neither must have realized you were within earshot.

"There's no doubt that she's good at what she does," Hybe's Chief Financial Officer continues. "Still, it's hard to believe that she's only 27 or 28. A person should take better care of themselves don't you agree? Like our Eunchae for example."

If there was a way to erase what you just heard, you'd do so, because in an instant, all previous successes you felt from today's proposal shatters to the ground. You're no stranger to receiving these sorts of comments about your appearance, yet it leaves your confidence fleeting, along with any amount of resilience you've built.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, you exit the conference room the first chance you get. You have no desire to stick around for Yoongi's reply.

Not long after you leave does you phone ring off.

Tae 💚: Hey! How's the meeting going? Still available to get lunch this afternoon? I'm heading to the cafeteria as I type this.

You: It went okay. But I don't think I'll be coming to lunch, just a lot to do. I'm also not that hungry.

You second-guess how convincing your message is, knowing that it's your best friend on the other line. Regardless, it's the only words you can come up with right now. You really do have a lot of work ahead of you though, at least that part is true.

Tae 💚: Are you sure? I was looking forward on hearing how the meeting went! Wasn't there something you had to give me too?

The meaning of the last line suddenly dawns on you as you make your way down the long hallway. How could you forget? You made Taehyung one of his favorite foods to surprise him for lunch; Japchae, a sweet and savory dish of stir-fried glass noodles and vegetables.

You: Right, sorry it slipped from my mind for a second. I'll meet you in the cafeteria to give it to you.

"Why won't you stay and eat with me?" Taehyung devours the homemade Japchae you made for him with delight, a pair of chopsticks clamped in his hand.

"I don't have much of an appetite, Tae."

You've already told him this twice already, clarifying that you'd be heading back to your office once you deliver his food. Evidently, he's not letting you slip away easily.

"Then take a break with me instead, even if it's only for ten minutes." You watch as your best friend swiftly pulls out the chair next to him from under the table, gesturing you to sit. "Tell me what's got you down," he says. "Did Yoongi say something to you? He can be a bit too outspoken with his opinions sometimes."

Feeling defeated, you slide into the chair. "No, the meeting was fine. I'm just overthinking something that happened."

You then proceed to explain what you overheard Hybe's Chief Finance Officer say about you from earlier, that you didn't look healthy enough for your age and using Eunchae as an example. The scowl that appears on Taehyung's face as you retell the incident is unmistakable–he's clearly pissed.

"First of all," Taehyung starts once you finish, jaw clenched. "Eunchae is 17 and is a part of a Korean girl group. She has an entire team dedicated to making sure her appearance is flawless. It's the idol life; trust me, I'm well acquainted with it, so it's not a fair comparison. Secondly, Hybe's CFO is an asshole who I'd replace in a day. I don't want you letting him make you feel insignificant just because you don't conform to his narrow idea of how a woman should look."

You appreciate Taehyung's efforts to cheer you up, though you remain unaffected. Besides, he still isn't aware of Yoongi's involvement since you purposely left that detail out due to their close friendship.

"Yeah, I don't know. We don't have to talk about it anymore." You decide to dismiss the topic entirely and reach for your phone, along with a pair of earbuds bundled in your pocket. "Wanna listen to something?"

Music has always bonded you and Taehyung's friendship, as you've frequently found yourselves fully immersed in timeless songs from King of Leon and Led Zeppelin together. Taehyung nearly accepts the offer to listen with you once again, but then he freezes all movement. An eager grin follows close after.

"Hyung!" His voice echos though the room, earning the attention of Min Yoongi who's just entered the cafeteria. This time, you feel nothing but discomfort when the man looks your way.

"I have some material I need to review from my promo team. I'll text you later, okay?" You leave your best friend no time to reply as you quickly rise from your chair, stick your phone in your pant pocket, and head for the nearest exit. Yoongi attempts to make eye contact with you on your way out, but you avoid it completely.

When he approaches Taehyung, he acknowledges your semi-odd behavior. "I didn't mean to make her leave," he states, joining the younger at the table.

Taehyung offers a light shrug in response. "Don't worry, you didn't. She had other matters to get to. Something with her team members I think."

Yoongi grabs a fresh clementine from a nearby fruit bowl and beings peeling it little by little. "You two must be pretty close if you're having your lunches together."

It's not hard for Taehyung to read between the lines of what his member is insinuating.

"We've been friends for a while," he clarifies. "Just friends, nothing else."

a/n: Hope you enjoyed! Lmk what you think 🥰

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts scenarios #fic:thoseeyeschico #kookslastbutton

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undercoverpena · 2 months

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for frankie friday, i wanted to put a little spotlight on the FRANKIE MORALES multi-chaps that I've enjoyed/enjoying. there are also plenty of standalones/oneshots that i love, but this week, i want to put some shimmer on longer works. please check warnings on each individual works if i've forgotten you, but you know i've read you, it is a lapse in judgement. gif credit to @perotovar

˗ˋˏ MY FIC RECS | ˗ˋˏ MY FRANKIE MASTERLIST

CURRENT WIP

table for two by @hellishjoel [linecook!frankie]

into the beat of the night by @perotovar [nb!oc / reader]

adrift with you by @morallyinept [ofc!jude]

the melting point by @penvisions [reader is a baker, but also ex-emt!]

frost on the windows, flowers in the bed by @5oh5

let's get lost by @thelightsandtheroses

hold fast by @jeewrites

tonight you belong to me by @intheorangebedroom [reader/ofc]

home by @dancingtotuyo [dad!frankie]

the study by @superhoeva [sexologist!frankie]

on call by @luxurychristmaspudding [neighbour!frankie]

COMPLETE WORKS

grays by @fuckyeahdindjarin [hairstylist!reader]

the layover by @goodwithcheese [dad!frankie]

something new by @prolix-yuy [sexworker!frankie] (i read this on ao3 and had no idea it was here so i need to reblog this)

santa fe by @goodwithcheese

weeknights by @frannyzooey

frankie in new york by @iamskyereads

pleased to meet you by @intheorangebedroom [ofc!gabrielle]

turbulance by @rhoorl [part of the Delta Landscaping world]

homecoming by @astroboots [frankie x reader x santi]

sweet lies by @lavendertales [another ao3 read]

#jo: fic rec lists #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie friday #happy frankie friday

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lilcatdraws · 1 month

Note

How would Joker feel if Y/n died? Can you write something for this?

My Everything

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, mention of suicide, violence

Summary: Y/n is killed by one of Joker’s many enemies and as we can all predict, J loses his everloving mind

Author’s Note: Thank you thank you thank you for this request beloved anon!!!! This has been my favorite thing I’ve ever written so far. And also the longest I’ve wrote in one sitting. I’m so proud of myself, I wrote almost 4000 words! I need to do that more often.

This is going to be an angsty one. But it’s not all bad. My oc Matilda makes her debut and there’s a ton of bromance going on between J and his right hand man. As always, enjoy! <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @unholiiness

“She’s gone…she’s…she’s…” Joker mumbled to himself.

The phone slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. He sat down on a chair and stared out into space, disassociating.

Frost noticed his boss from across the room. He knew those distant eyes from anywhere. It only meant trouble.

“Boss! Boss! Snap out of it!” He shouted.

Joker jumped up out of the chair. He grabbed Frost by his shirt collar and shook him in anger.

“What the fuck happened, Frost?! How did they get to her?!” Joker thundered.

“I-I don’t know! There’s no way they could’ve gotten past the security we set up. I’m just as shocked as you are!” Frost pleaded his case.

Joker grumbled and released him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Frost was right. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The security and all the cameras J had set up for your apartment were all working fine that day.

Joker stormed into the control room with Frost tagging along right behind him. He scanned the footage from that day and stopped when he saw movement around 2 pm. No wonder the cameras didn’t catch anything. You had left the apartment.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. If he had been home or nearby he could’ve saved you.

Frost’s phone dinged and he glanced at it. He looked up at Joker gravely.

“They found her body. She’s in the boardroom.”

Joker didn’t say a word and marched straight out of the control room into the boardroom. He pushed open the double doors and walked up to the table. His henchmen backed away in fear.

Your body was placed carefully on the table. You looked so pale, your hair was a mess, and you were splattered with blood. Clearly you didn’t go down without a fight. Joker felt a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for letting this happen to you.

As Joker observed, Frost came into the room behind him and motioned for the goons to leave before things got ugly. The men cleared out and Frost walked up to Joker.

“Um, boss, what do we do now?” He asked.

Joker turned and looked at him solemnly. “I don’t know…”

They stared at the table in silence for a while. Joker couldn’t stand it. A surge of rage swept over him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing Frost to jump.

“Keep her here. I’m going out. I’ll figure out what to do with her later and give her a proper burial and all…” Joker trailed off.

Frost nodded.

Joker grabbed his jacket off of a hook on the wall, threw it on, and rushed out the doors. He had no idea where he was going but he had to get away from this. He ran down the sidewalk, his brain moving a hundred miles an hour. His worst fear had come true. You were taken from him in cold blood.

The crisp Gotham night air burned in his lungs as he ran. Long before he donned his Joker persona, running had always helped him clear his head. The adrenaline was a temporary relief from the pain.

It was dark, not many people lived in this area, and he was wearing casual clothes so he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Not that he cared. Nothing mattered anymore.

Joker gave one last burst of energy and stopped, panting. He ended up on the west side of Gotham harbor. A bridge was a few feet ahead. He walked up to the railing and gazed out over the water. The moon cast a shimmering reflection on top.

He sighed. Nights like this reminded him so much of you. You loved to go on walks through the park or other scenic spots in Gotham on cool, clear nights, holding his hand and skipping down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

You were his light in the dark places, his rock, his everything. You showed him real genuine love and compassion. You made him feel alive again. Now you were gone and he would never forgive himself.

He breathed heavily as he felt the intense emotions weigh down on him. His first response to your death was shock and then fury but now the reality of the situation hit him and he broke down. He felt his breathing hitch and tears form. He blinked them away with a snarl of disgust. He would not succumb to such weakness!

But he underestimated the effect you had on him and felt the anguish come surging back. Then Joker did something he hadn’t in years.

He began to cry.

It started out soft but the more the tears fell, the louder he wept. These tears were long overdue. So much pain over the years but he could only think about you.

“Oh God, why? Why her?” Joker sobbed.

He looked out over the water again, letting his misty eyes wander down to the base of the bridge. The waves crashed against the stone pillars holding the bridge up. Clusters of giant rocks lined the two banks. It was at least 30 feet down.

He felt the sudden urge to jump. He rejected it at first. He wasn’t done yet. He still had many years of causing chaos left but then he thought of how different his life was going to be.

No more beautiful smiles to come home to after a gruesome day’s work. No more warm cozy mornings spent cuddling with you. No more late night strolls at the park. No more shared laughter. No more y/n…

A life without you wasn’t worth living. So he went for it. He turned his back to the water, spread his arms out wide, looked to the sky, and fell backwards. He closed his eyes as he went over the railing.

The sound of the crashing waves got closer and closer until…silence.

…

Joker opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was strapped to a bed and hooked up to several things in Arkham’s infirmary. At first he didn’t fully grasp what he was seeing. Then it hit him. He regained his senses and jolted as upright as the restraints would allow him. He wriggled around and struggled against them.

A nurse came running in and grabbed his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Joker recognized her as Matilda.

“J, relax. It’s alright.” His favorite nurse said gently as she eased him back.

“No, no, no! It’s not alright! It’s…it’s…” He struggled to get his words out and panted.

Matilda rubbed his back in another attempt to calm him.

“You have got to calm down, honey. You’re hooked up to a heart monitor. It starts going off and they’re all gonna come running in here like chickens with their heads cut off.”

Joker breathed in and out and tried to think clearly. His head was spinning with a sensory and information overload.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He blurted out.

“They found you at the bottom of the bridge at the harbor last night. You jumped.” Matilda responded calmly.

Joker groaned as the events from the previous day came back to him. He woke up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare but once again reality came crashing down.

“Why did you do it?” Matilda asked.

Joker looked up at her with sorrowful watery eyes. The older woman had never seen such a look on his scarred face before.

“My sweet girl, my y/n, she’s…she’s dead.” He mumbled.

He was delirious with grief. Matilda could see that now. Under normal circumstances, he would never have shown such emotion.

And hold up, the Joker in love with someone? It seemed so unbelievable. Throughout all of his time in Arkham he’d never once mentioned this girl to Matilda. Most likely to keep her safe and hidden.

“Who was y/n? A lover? A girlfriend?” Matilda questioned him.

“She was my everything…my special treasure that made me feel again. She never hurt anybody. She didn’t deserve this.”

“I’m so sorry, J. She sounded like a wonderful person. Listen, I know you’re still grieving but try not to think about it too much. You need to rest. You hit those rocks pretty hard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest.” Joker whined.

“I know dear, but you mustn't dwell on it too much if you’re going to recover. Just lay here and rest. Your body will thank you for it.”

“Okay…” Joker murmured as she pulled the blanket resting on his legs up over his chest and then left the room to finish her rounds.

The rest of the day Joker laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was you. Your absence felt like a gaping hole in his heart.

A few other nurses came by throughout to check on him. He didn’t speak a word to them. They didn’t either. He let them do their job and get out. Normally he would torment them by being difficult or teasing them but this time he just didn’t have the energy.

That evening he grew restless.

What am I doing here moping around? I should be out there getting even!

It had just occurred to him that by giving up he was letting your murderer go free. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would not allow that. He was extremely glad he didn’t die. Even if he didn’t think of it when caught up in the moment, it would haunt him forever that your killer got away.

Sofia Falcone and her lackeys would pay. But first, Joker needed to escape.

He waited until a young nurse came in a little later to give him a sedative that would help him sleep. Before she could prepare the syringe, he looked up at her innocently.

“Um, nurse, can you loosen these straps? They’re really botherin’ me.” He asked nicely.

The nurse laughed to herself. “Ha. You think I’m gonna loosen your restraints? No way. Nice try though.”

“Please? Just a little bit…” He said and stared her down with his big pleading brown eyes. This was when his handsomeness really came in handy.

The nurse sighed. “Well, okay. But only a little bit.”

She bent down and loosened the buckles on his wrists a notch or two. When she came back up, Joker head butted her and she collapsed onto the ground.

He slipped his hands free from the straps and unbuckled his feet. Then he unhooked himself from the different monitors and quickly took his IV out. He grabbed the nurse’s badge and keys and sprinted out the door.

Luckily, the infirmary was close to the back entrance so he could get out much faster than if he was coming from his cell. He dashed down the stairs to the ground level and through the halls, shoving a few nurses out of the way as he went. He had a small limp in his leg but other than that he was able to run just fine.

How did I survive that fall? He thought as he ran.

He made it to the double doors of the back entrance and used the nurse’s badge for the identification scanner that unlocked them. Regardless, someone must have reported him because the alarm went off anyway. So much for stealth.

“Screw this.” Joker muttered and ran into the parking lot.

He used the nurse’s car keys to find which one was hers. A small white car flashed in response. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He hurried over to it, climbed in, started the engine, and took off. He made it to the gate and sped through just as another car came through the opening. The guard stationed there just sat there dumbfounded.

Joker flew across the bridge and into the mainland where the cops were waiting. He groaned loudly in frustration but kept going. He drove straight towards them as bullets whizzed past his head through the windshield and the windows. Then he made a sharp turn and went around the blockade of cars.

The police hopped in their cars and sped after him. Joker weaved in and out of other cars as he drove into the city. He made turn after turn and took back alley after back alley, trying to lose them. Finally, he crashed into a dumpster in an alleyway, crawled out of the car, and hopped the fence before the cops could get there.

He ran down the sidewalk, unsure of what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. There was a very high chance they were going to catch him and drag his ass back to Arkham. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly a black car pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window and shouted, “Get in!”

Joker breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in. It was Frost, there to save the day like always. Frost made a quick glance to the passenger seat as he sped off. Joker was wearing white scrubs, no makeup, his hair was everywhere, he was covered in bruises, his forehead had a bandaged gash on it, and his lip was busted.

Frost chuckled. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware��” Joker grumbled.

“I saw the escape on the news so I figured you needed some help. And I also saw that you, uh, well…I’m just glad you’re still here, boss.”

“Aw, quit your blubbering and drive, Frost. I’m fine. I won’t try it again. Y/n wouldn’t want me to.”

Frost nodded and looked into the side mirror. The cops had gone in the other direction so he slowed down a bit. A few minutes later he made it to the hideout. He pulled into the garage and parked.

Joker thrust the door open and made a beeline for his office/sometimes living space. He desperately wanted to get cleaned up and change his clothes. He shut his office door and flung the closet open. There were spare suits and casual clothes hanging in there. He grabbed his signature purple suit and laid it out on the desk to change into.

He walked into the built-in bathroom in his office and locked the door. He ripped the bandage off his head and examined the gash.

Yeesh. That’s nasty. He thought as he threw the gauze away.

He turned on the shower and stripped off as he waited on the water to warm up. He looked at his body in the mirror. His body was dotted with bruises and small cuts. He still had no clue how he survived that fall.

Once the shower was ready, Joker hopped in and started washing himself off. He didn’t know why but Arkham always made him feel dirty. Whether it be the combined smell of bleach and vomit or those itchy patient scrubs.

The hot water stung his wounds a little but Joker relished in it. The water comforted him and soothed his aching muscles. The last two days had been hell. This was a temporary escape from his current circumstances.

Joker finally returned to the real world and shut off the water. He staggered out and dried himself off. Then he secured a bandaid on the gash and slathered white paint over it, quickly reapplied his makeup, and dyed his hair green again. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his office. He dressed himself, careful not to smudge his makeup too much.

He went to the lounge room, where Frost was sitting on the couch drinking some coffee. He looked up and waited for Joker to speak.

“Go call everyone together for a meeting. We’re nailing that bitch.” Joker ordered gruffly.

“Yes sir.” Frost replied and hopped to it.

Not long after, the goons were all seated in the boardroom as Joker had requested. He walked in and the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

“As some of you are already aware, something very important to me has been…taken. Sofia Falcone is responsible. And as you all know, we’ve been waging in a bit of a war for years now. I did a pretty good job eliminating Gotham’s mob but then she came along and rebuilt her father’s empire, encouraging others to rebuild and ruining all my hard work. This is the final straw. We’re going to storm her headquarters tonight and destroy it along with everyone inside.”

The men cheered but quickly silenced themselves when both Joker and Frost glared at them.

As Joker laid out the plans, Frost couldn’t help but feel a knot of fear turn his stomach. The Falcones were dangerous. It was a suicide mission. The majority of the goons were probably going to get killed. Joker knew that but it didn’t matter. He had to avenge y/n or die. Frost came to terms with it, deciding it was a noble cause.

Once everyone was armed and ready to go, they all piled into the four black cars lined up in the garage. Joker and Frost got in the last car in line and took off. To not draw attention to themselves by traveling as a group, the cars each headed out in different directions but were all going to the same place. When they reached the Falcone base of operations (an abandoned club), the cars pulled in towards the back of the building. They walked up to the door and waited for Joker’s instructions.

Joker stood up on the steps and looked over all of his men.

“Shoot to kill, boys. But Sofia is mine.” He growled.

Frost kicked in the door and stepped aside. The goons stormed in and began shooting at everything. Sofia’s men were caught off guard so many of them were killed instantly while others had a delayed reaction. Groups of Joker’s men moved into other rooms to attack. Blood and debris was strewn through the air. Men were dying left and right and more so of Sofia’s than Joker’s.

Joker stood back and watched the chaos ensue with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of reddish brown hair stream down the hall adjacent to the back room. He made eye contact with Frost who caught on fast. They both went in different directions to seal off both ends of the hall.

Sofia and her bodyguard were trapped in the middle. Sofia dashed back into her office while the bodyguard blocked the doorway. He went to fire at Joker but Joker was too fast and killed the bodyguard with a quick flick of his pistol.

Joker came inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. Frost stayed out and went back to overseeing the goons. Sofia crouched behind her desk in fear.

“J-Joker, please! I’m sorry about having your girl killed, honest! Maybe we cut a deal- Aaaah!”

Joker didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close to his face. He unsheathed his knife and held it between her lips. Trembling with pure rage, he steadied his hand and bared the knife down on her cheek.

“You…took…EVERYTHING from me! She was innocent! She was not involved with any of this! How the hell did you even find her?!”

When Joker got this angry, he sounded demonic. Sofia’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped for air as Joker switched his other hand from her hair to her throat.

“ANSWER ME!”

Sofia cringed. “I…I have my s-sources.” She sputtered.

Joker took a deep breath to calm down and tightened his grip around her neck.

“I’ve, uh, tolerated our little war over the years, taking hit after hit. You were a hated enemy but not my biggest concern. Now you’ve really gone and done it. I will not ignore you this time.”

Sofia grunted and tried to wriggle free from his grip. Joker grinned sadistically.

“You really need to smile more. Here…let me help!”

He pressed his knife down and sliced upwards. Sofia cried out in pain. Joker laughed maniacally and loosened his grip on her. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him away. Joker brushed it off and shoved her to the ground. She grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her. They fought for what felt like forever. Punching, kicking, pulling hair, whatever they had to do to keep the other down. Sofia was a broad, muscular woman so she put up a good fight against Joker.

Finally Joker managed to gain the upper hand and pinned her down. He drew his pistol and pressed it to her temple. Sofia’s eyes widened in horror. Joker wasted no time and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the floor and her body went limp.

Joker stood up and decided this was enough. He left the office and went back to where the shootout was happening. There were still some of Sofia’s men left. Joker got in on the shooting and killed four of them. Frost took care of the rest. Joker gave him the signal for the next step of the plan.

“Everybody out! Unless you wanna be burned to a crisp!” Frost shouted to the remaining goons.

They hurried out and piled back into the cars. Frost grabbed two gas cans sitting on the steps outside and handed one to Joker. They both poured them around the building, in every room. Joker purposely dumped some on Sofia’s body.

He threw a few lit matches down on the ground to get the fire started. Then, once he and Frost were out on the steps, he took a grenade out of his coat, pulled the pin, and chucked it inside.

Joker and Frost sprinted back to the car. Frost hopped in the driver seat and sped away. The others had already left. Joker looked over his shoulder at the burning building in the distance. It was completely engulfed in flames. He felt content with this outcome.

He successfully avenged you but he’d never be the same again.

#ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #jonny frost #my oc #sofia falcone #the dark knight #heath ledger #lilcat writes #cross posted on ao3 #asks

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residentdormouse · 3 months

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Find the Words...

... (and the theme)!

Dangerous game you're playing @mrsmungus, tagging me in this. I can hear the train whistles in the distance, and feel the vibration in the tracks... Gotta get my ticket ready, I suppose.

The rules are simple - find a sentence, or excerpt, that includes the words you're given and paste it in, and include a link to the finished story of you want. But honestly, guidelines at best - do what you want.

My words to find: honey, calm, trust, shimmer, darkness, fall, crime, portable, stain, crisp.

(It's not a slam, but I heard honey crisp apples shimmering in the darkness of a calm fall night, and I'm stubbornly sticking with the Autumn theme.)

No Pressure Tags: @imagine-you @cxttlefishcxller @asirensrage @athenswrites (don't feel the need to join in if you don't want, but saw your writblr post, and figured I'd send you one) And of course, sending this right back at you, @mrsmungus. Tag, you're it.

As always - OPEN TAG - if you'd like to join in!

Your words are: White, Cold, Snow, Frost, Ice, Gloves, Hat, Cocoa (or Tea), Blanket, Snuggle/cuddle (or any variation of this)

Excerpts below the cut...

I only have a small amount written ahead for my original story WIP 'Close to the Vale', so most of this will probably still be from the 'Wonderland' fanfiction series ('Something Like a Spiral' and 'Just Keep Diving Down'. I'll give Close first priority though.

Honey: (I was worried about this, but apparently my 'Diving' OC Lauffey has a proclivity for using this word. That said, I also found it in a section that allows me to post 'Fuck off, Flagg' and I can't resist.)

While outwardly charming, maliciousness shown through in the minute details on his face. She should have known this was going to be a big game to him. Cat and mouse, it was his favorite. Fortunately, it seemed like the typical roles were reversed at the moment. "Fuck off, Flagg." "Always so rude. You catch more bees with honey, you know…" If she could have kept all her other memories and just erased him, took away everything about this nightmare of a man, well it would have been a tempting offer. The bubbling anger building up inside her was now a known response to interactions with him. Fear was somewhere close behind, though she wasn’t looking to give him that satisfaction anymore.

Calm: (Two chapters down in 'Close' - Not used in connection with who I thought it would be though...)

"You know him?" The reply was calm and level headed. The same could not be said of the more visible distressed man to his right. "Please. If– If you know anything that could, I mean, anything that help us find—" The picture of another younger man was thrust at her. Same raven hair, same chocolate eyes. Slight differences, but clear relation. Brother most like. He had a striking smile, and she would have been charmed if not for the small tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. Plain as day, just as Paul had said. She may not know this particular man, but she knew where he’d be.

Trust: (found in a short section I wrote for farther ahead in 'Close'. This could potentially change a fair deal. First drafts and all.)

“And you were just going to politely ask me to leave everything. My life? My home?! We were only there to look for you, you know.” “Yeah, I know. Trust me, I fucking know.”

Shimmer: (wow... it's a Flagg day I suppose - pulled this from 'Spiral')

He moved close enough that only inches remained between them, and a chill emanated from his presence. Conflicting to the nature of their conversation, he gently brushed a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear. "I don't need to be your enemy." Despite the chill, his breath was hot against her face, and she braced herself for any attack that followed. But it never came. In a shimmer of smoke, he was gone. Nothing. Emptiness. She let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "But I have no problem filling the role if that's how you want to play the game."

Darkness: (Might as well let him run with it... Another Flagg burst from 'Diving')

She didn't know where it came from, certainly didn't call for it, but sympathy for the man in front of her shook her resolve momentarily. For somebody with a positive nature, lighter memories are going to pull first. Bright memories to shine through. And there was most likely a larger abundance of them. It's what makes them who they are. Flagg was an embodiment of darkness. What must have happened to turn somebody into this? How does one make a monster such as him? What memories haunted him most? This paired with Rayna’s lack of delicacy. Ruthlessness. "I'm sorry."

Fall: (Not the fall I was imagining, but its all 'Close' has so far.)

Once outside the stuffy office, she found herself easily falling in step next to him. Silence dominated the first few feet. To say she didn’t know where to begin was an understatement. When she came here, she hoped to be leaving with these papers, but not under these circumstances. Not through this exact chain of events. That said, she certainly wasn’t complaining about the change in course. Damsel in distress was not her M.O., but if it led her here, it couldn’t be all bad.

Crime: (Not going to lie - very first draft and not even a completed chapter of 'Close' - has the potential to change a LOT. But I did say I was giving this first crack.)

Why wasn't the general public angry? The security cameras picked up a tattoo on the man leaving the building at the estimated time of the crime. A tattoo known to be a mark of the downtown gangbanger shitheads that were a thorn in many sides. A menace in their own backyard. Shouldn't they want a resolution? A safer community?

Portable: (From 'Spiral' again. Flagg is really showing up today...)

Food, drink, frivolity. Everything was planned out thoroughly. The pavilion was decked out with small lights. A portable generator Glen had found was fired up. But her mind was on her task: Ad Hoc Committee welcome and rundown on the darker agenda. Find out what Larry knew about Flagg, and fill in what blanks she could.

Stain: (Yup, just letting him take it over I suppose... From later in 'Diving' Also snagged a bonus 'shimmer'.)

“It's over now. Do you think anybody here cares about…" her hands waved quickly about him, highlighting his new appearance. "Nobody cares here. Not about that. But that?" Another movement to indicate at her wounds. To the new red stains on her clothing. "That behavior we do care about, and will not be tolerating, do you understand? This is a place of acceptance. All kinds. And we do not fight our own here." A shimmer of bright red flashed over his eyes before it fell to the duller shade. The rigidity in his stance faded away. All outward appearances were reverting back to the carefree persona he usually adopted, as if he were unaffected by the actions surrounding him. Actions from those he surely considered beneath him. But he had shown his cards. He cared. And he hurt.

Crisp: (Well now it just feels weird not having Flagg. Pulled from the last section of 'Diving'.)

Her duster was hanging on the coat rack, and she grabbed it before heading back out. So much for taking a breather from it all, not that she had breath to take. The show must go on; best get back to it before somebody started ad-libbing something she wouldn’t be prepared to say yes to. The night air was crisp on her skin, and she welcomed the cold for a moment. Feeling it on her face was a welcome change from the mornings. Layers upon layers to protect from the hazards of being her. Daytime hours were meant to be her reprieve; she wasn’t built for this nonstop push, but there was little option. Protection was what mattered now. Moving people away, stopping the internal fighting, trying to find what weakness that could be exploited. The thoughts swirled in her head as she walked the dirt path towards the outskirts, but they didn’t have long to sink in. Rumination ended with an explosion, and a burst of light.

#you started this #and I will take no responsibility #for running off the tracks #or on if we're keeping the analogy #alitteration station is just down the tracks #from these theme schemes #mouse is back on her nonsense #mouse's tag games and reblogs #Close to the Vale #Jumping to Wonderland #Something like a Spiral #Just Keep Diving Down

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hinataoc · 9 months

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Kingdom Hearts OC Week Day 6 - Alphabet Prompt - Fairy

We’re nearing the end of @khoc-week and I’ve had such a lovely time this year. One more day to go!

But for today, it’s Fairy Hinata!

This is Hinata’s Christmas Town design, She became the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Christmas ballet, Nutcracker. When she arrives in Christmas Town, she struggles to control her wings. They arrive there fresh out of escaping the nightmares and Hinata is working through a lot of anxieties from it.

I had the idea that the magic in Christmas Town works similarly to that of Neverland. Rather than being an elemental power, it instead revolves around your emotions. At first, Hinata’s wings make her thrash around and fly without even meaning to. She has no control over them due to all of her pain and uncertainty. But as she works things out, she realizes it’s connected to her heart.

"I'm not sure if your flight works the same way mine does, but from what I've learned, it's a special kind of magic. Rather than being an outside element you can draw on, it's rooted inside your heart." Hinata placed her hand along her chest and closed her eyes. "If you focus, you can feel it there, faintly. It's like an echoing beat of your heart."

It takes her a bit to figure this out on her own. She has a bit of help from a couple of baby reindeer she’s told she has to train how to fly by Santa’s grumpy head elf Hermey.

Below the cut, I’ll post the scene from Chapter 26 of Forgotten Traveler. First though, I’ll reshare the reference of Hinata’s Christmas Town design that @amyhayanora and I co-designed.

Scene from Forgotten Traveler Chapter 26

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Whistling wind swirled around Hinata, making her flight up the mountain more difficult than it already needed to be. She squinted her eyes against the ridgid snowfall. The golden glow from the reindeer cabin lighted her way, beckoning her through the storm. She wanted to grumble to herself about how she got herself into this situation and even more unsavory things about Hermey in particular, but the prospect of getting a mouthful of ice kept it confined to her thoughts.

Her wings buzzed against her back, their movement only creating more of a breeze for the snow to get caught up in. Still, the chill of the cold wasn't hitting her as harshly as she expected it would. It was even more surprising given the lack of layers the magic drive dressed her in. Candycane swirl leggings and a short puffy dress didn't exactly spell out warmth, but somehow they did the trick to keep Hinata from being bitten by the frost.

The reindeer cabin began to take shape up ahead, though difficult to make out through the blizzard. It was built into the mountainside, much larger than it seemed from the ground. Hinata tried to make out its details, but decided to instead focus on the glow to light her way. She pushed forward, determined to get out of the snow. As she neared the mountain she noticed snowflakes landing on what appeared to be nothing but air. She tilted her head and slowed to a stop, noticing more and more snowflakes landing on an invisible dome right in front of her.

Reaching out her hand she tentatively touched the snowflakes and a shimmer of iridescent light rippled across the dome. With an excited flutter to her wings, Hinata flew forward. For a single moment a wet sensation covered her body. She gasped, blinking wildly before realizing there wasn't a speck of snow falling in front of her.

With a grin, she spun around and gently waved her hand through the dome barrier. The iridescent light sparkled around her fingers. "Magic, of course." She brought back her hand and rubbed her fingertips together. "I should have known."

Without the howling wind, Hinata could hear the crackling of a fire and the clop of reindeer hooves not far behind her. A spark of excitement ignited inside of her and she turned around, finally able to see the cabin in its entirety. Thick logs and panels made up its exterior, creating several buildings, each connected and decorated to the nines with garland and candy canes. In the center of it all appeared to be the landing platform. It jutted out with polished wood, reflecting the light of the fireplace further in.

Hinata made her way towards it, struggling to lower onto the platform itself once she arrived. A few of the elves inside paused their chores, watching amused as Hinata kicked her feet in an attempt to reach the floor.

"Calm down, calm down," Hinata muttered under her breath, coaxing herself to relax.

Her wings gradually slowed and she stumbled onto the platform. Clearing her throat, she stood up straight and smoothed out her dress, flashing a smile to all the staring elves. They chuckled before getting back to work.

Walking further in, Hinata went towards the fireplace. Handmade stockings hung from the mantle, each one embroidered with a different reindeer name that Hinata recognized from carols—except for two smaller stockings on the end that read Holly and Jolly.

"Even the reindeer get presents." She ran her thumb over the embroidery, smiling to herself.

"Sweet Jiminy Christmas!" A woman's heavily accented voice spoke up behind her. "Hermey told me we'd be gettin some help around here. Coulda told me it would be the Sugar Plum Fairy herself!"

Hinata looked over her shoulder, taking a moment to remember to glance down to see an elf beaming up at her. The elf seemed older than any of the other elves Hinata had seen, with a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders and gray hair done up in a bun with a pair of candy canes. Hinata's smile grew at the sight of her and she turned around completely before kneeling to be eye level with her.

Before Hinata could say anything, the elf patted Hinata's hand. "We are just so happy to have ya dear. Look atcha, done up like the princess ya are in the play."

"Thank you," Hinata quickly cut in before the woman continued. "But actually, you should know I'm not the fairy from the play. I look like her, but I'm not actually her. I don't want anyone to feel like they have to treat me differently because they think I'm the performer."

The woman blinked a few times. "Well that don't make a lick of sense."

Hinata stifled a laugh. "Fair." She mulled it over for a moment, before saying, "Well I suppose we'll just say, don't feel like you need to give me any special treatment?"

She pointed towards Hinata. "That I do understand. What should I tell everyone to call ya?"

"Hinata is fine. And you are?"

"Josie, or Granny Jo accordin' to the youngins around here that think they're funny." She shook her head and whispered, "They're not."

"Josie it is," Hinata replied with a laugh.

Josie chuckled and sent her a wink before turning around. "Well then, follow me Hinata. I'll show ya to Holly and Jolly."

Hinata found out rather quickly that taking normal steps would put her ahead of Josie, so she considerably slowed her pace and took the time to instead look around. Elves scurried past them, much faster than Hinata's guide, with stacks of hay and buckets of oats balancing precariously in their arms. Entering the adjacent building to the landing zone, Hinata finally got to see the reindeer for herself. They were thinner than she expected them to be—with twig-like legs and narrow heads—but still just as cute as she imagined. Each one had its own spacious stable, decorated with carrots done up with ribbons. Then in front of each door hung a hand painted sign with their name in calligraphy.

Past the stables they entered a cylindrical room. A staircase spiraled up along the walls, leading to ledges Hinata had to crane her neck to see. Cushions and piles of hay covered the floor, making it difficult to walk, and as Hinata went further in, she realized the walls were padded too.

"This here is where you'll be trainin the little guys," Josie said.

Hinata nodded. "This seems like the perfect place for it."

"Sure is." Josie sighed with a smile, then clapped. "Welp, I'll be seein ya. Got things to do."

"Oh"—Hinata glanced over her shoulder—"who is the elf I should be waiting for?"

"What elf?" Josie asked.

Hinata chuckled nervously. "The one that I will be helping train Holly and Jolly?"

Josie stared back at her as if something strange had crawled onto Hinata's face. A silence stretched and Hinata kept waiting for a reply, hoping Josie's old age gave her a momentary lapse in memory.

"It's just me…?" Hinata finally asked.

Josie crossed her arms. "See anyone else 'round here that can fly?"

Hinata sucked in her lips and blew them out with a pop. "I think there might have been a slight miscommunication somewhere—I'm happy to help, but I am not qualified, in any way, to handle this by myself. I don't know what Hermey told you—"

"He told me you'd try to get out of it," Josie interrupted with a cackle of a laugh. "Oh that old coot is usually a pain in my rump, but when he's right it's a hoot."

"I promise I am not trying to get out of it," Hinata quickly addressed. "All I'm saying is that I just learned to fly half an hour ago."

"You made it here!"

"Barely!"

Josie tapped her foot impatiently, a similar habit Hinata attributed to Hermey, but perhaps, she realized, should be more appropriately attributed to elves in general. "Why did ya fly all the way up here if ya weren't plannin on helpin?"

"Once again, I am happy to help," Hinata explained. "I just don't think I should be expected to train alone. Unless you for some reason expect your new upcoming reindeer to fly uncontrollably. Because that's what you will be getting with me in charge."

With a roll of her eyes, Josie waved her off and turned to walk away. "You're sellin yourself short, sweetheart."

"I'm really not!" Hinata called as a pair of wooden doors shut behind Josie.

The scrape of the doors against the floor grated against her ears. She winced from the sound, then found herself completely alone. Blowing out a breath, she backed up several steps until she was in the center of the room.

"Not the worst place to be left, I guess," she mumbled. "Should I just leave?" She craned her neck to see the higher platforms. "One of those has to have a way out…"

A way out…

The halls of Kamino flashed through her mind and with a sharp breath, Hinata wound her arms around herself. She shivered, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, even the vaulted ceiling seemed much too confining.

Hinata's feet lifted off the ground. Her entire body careened side to side, smashing into the wall. She gripped the extra fabric of the cushioned wall and steadied herself, only then realizing how loud her heart pounded in her ears along with her wings batting erratically behind her.

"Get a hold of yourself," she scolded under her breath, a lump choking her throat.

Even with the chiding, her wings continued, lifting her higher against her control. Then the doors scraped against the floor and a pair of fluffy reindeer trotted excitedly into the training arena. They were considerably smaller than the fully grown reindeer Hinata had seen earlier. Their coats were still fuzzy and their eyes large and innocent. They hopped around, their bleats bouncing off the walls as they searched for something, or someone. Hinata's grip on the wall lessened considerably. Her shoulders relaxed and her wings slowed.

"I'm up here," she called down to them, realizing her entire body was beginning to lower as her wings subsided. Kneeling to their level once she reached the ground, she giggled as both the reindeer immediately jumped into her lap. They were so soft, she thought. "Holly and Jolly, I take it?"

With a bleat, they both puffed out their chests, proudly showcasing the shimmering name tags fastened around their necks. Holly was just a bit smaller than Jolly, Hinata noted, and noticeably fluffier; while Jolly had a darker shade of fur.

"Well I don't have a fancy name tag," she said, "but I'm Hinata. I'm going to try my best to help you both learn how to fly."

They hopped out of her lap and sat like a dog would awaiting a treat. Hinata looked between them with an amused and curious smile as she stood back up. She brushed off the loose straw stuck to her dress and surveyed the room. The pinstriped stair railing caught her eye and she turned back towards her students.

"Alright, so, maybe let's start with seeing where both of you are at." She clapped her hands together in front of her, attempting to seem like she knew what she was doing. "Show me how far up the staircase you can fly and we'll go from there."

She watched their reactions, unsure how much they could understand. Jolly seemed to get enough of a jist as he stood up and shook his body, sending straw in every direction, much to Holly's dismay. Wiggling his tail, he readied himself before leaping forward. Hinata backed up, expecting a flight, but instead Jolly flopped straight to the ground.

"Ah," she realized. "So we're really new to this." Kneeling back down, she helped Jolly up then folded her hands in her lap. "Which is ok. I'm new to it, too. Maybe we can figure it out together."

Holly whined in such a way that it seemed like asking a question. Hinata looked at her and stifled a laugh at her tilted head.

"Yeah, I'm not a very experienced flier or teacher, for that matter," Hinata confessed with a lopsided smile and a shrug. "But I'm here and you two need help, so, let's figure it out."

Holly and Jolly awaited her instruction, or maybe they didn't have a clue what Hinata was babbling about and were entranced by the strange tall fairy talking to them. Both seemed equally likely in Hinata's mind, but she continued regardless.

"I'm not sure if your flight works the same way mine does, but from what I've learned, it's a special kind of magic. Rather than being an outside element you can draw on, it's rooted inside your heart." She placed her hand along her chest and closed her eyes. "If you focus, you can feel it there, faintly. It's like an echoing beat of your heart."

She peeked an eye open and was pleasantly surprised to see both of their eyes shut.

"Can you feel it?" she asked, grinning when both of them opened their eyes and nodded enthusiastically. "That's great! That's the magic that will help you fly. It's tricky to control, it's something I'm still working on myself, but that's the root of it."

She moved her legs from under her so she could sit completely and leaned forward, knowing now they could fully understand her. "Ok, so, the tricky part is that your emotions can interfere with it depending on how intense or sudden they are. That's something that will probably get better with practice and understanding. Intense emotions send you flying like crazy, calming down slows things—well, down. But to start, just focus on that beating magic and reach out to it. See what happens."

Holly and Jolly looked at each other, then shut their eyes. Hinata waited in nervous anticipation, drumming her fingers against her leg. Her wings batted against her back, but not frantic enough to lift her off the ground. A warm glow emanated from Jolly's coat. His fur fluffed as if air was being blown up from underneath him. Then his body raised off the ground, his legs hanging limply beneath him, until he opened his eyes and realized where he was. He cheered, kicking his hooves and prancing through the air.

Hinata gasped. "Yes!" she cheered along with him, flying up beside him without even having to try. Her wings glowed brilliantly behind her, along with her tattoo against her cheek. She hardly noticed between the sheer joy elating her heart and the sight of the tiny reindeer dancing around the room. "That's it, Jolly!"

A crash beneath them cut through Hinata's excitement. Looking towards the sound, she spotted Holly just a few inches off the ground, flailing her legs wildly, kicking straw and cushions across the room. Hinata swooped down and grasped Holly's sides, steadying her. Holly bleated with frustration, her entire body drooping.

"Hey, it's alright." Hinata cradled Holly in the nook in her arm. "You should have seen me the first time I realized I had wings—which admittedly was not that long ago.."

Holly whined, her body trying to rise higher, but Hinata held her in place. She could sense the magic emanating off of Holly's body. It felt different from Jolly's, which was warm and infectious with joy. Instead, Hinata sensed it was nearly identical to hers—uncontrollable like a whirlwind. Letting out a breath, Hinata lowered both of them to the ground, noting how much easier it was than before but she wasn't sure why.

Sitting quietly beside Holly, Hinata watched Jolly continue to fly above them. He kicked off the walls, twirling and dancing while continuing to cheer. The sound bounced off the walls and though it made Hinata smile, she couldn't help but notice how Holly only seemed to retreat further into herself from it.

"You've been having a hard time, haven't you?" Hinata asked softly. Holly let out a heavy breath and Hinata gently scratched the fur behind her ears. "I'm sorry."

Hinata wasn't sure what to say next. There were plenty of platitudes she could express, encouragement and promises that things would work out. But every time she thought of one, it wisped away with not being genuine enough. Though she was sure Holly's inner turmoil wasn't nearly as life altering as her own, even telling her she'd figure it out seemed wrong to say.

"You can't… let it control you," Hinata said finally. "That doubt and frustration. Even if it seems like nothing is working the way you want it to. The best thing to do is to keep moving forward. Find the silver linings that make it all worth it and focus on that." She looked up at Jolly and chuckled. "You know, I think that's exactly why Jolly figured it out so fast. His optimism overpowered any doubts he might have had." Holly peeked up as Hinata continued, "I noticed it myself when I got excited to see him flying. Before it was difficult to control my wings, but in that moment it happened without a second thought." Hinata grinned and lifted Holly up to be at eye level. "That's what we're missing—joy!"

Holly blinked several times, tilting her head side to side. With a giggle, Hinata placed Holly back on the ground and knelt in front of her.

"I know that everything seems overwhelming right now, but think of the happiest thought. Think about why you're doing all of this, why you want to fly and who you're doing it for. Think about the presents and Christmas and all of the things that make you forget the rest of the world is even happening."

Before Hinata even finished talking a warmth emanated off of Holly's body. Her fur fluffed up just like Jolly's had earlier. Hinata could nearly cry, her hands clasped together in front of her mouth as she watched Holly lift off the ground. Holly fluttered her eyes open, looking around frantically before she lit up and twirled through the air.

"You're doing it, Holly!" Hinata called out, jumping up and down.

Jolly immediately noticed Holly up there with him and flew over to celebrate. Hinata watched from below, a grin clear across her face. Her wings fluttered behind her back, glowing softly and allowing her to hover. Looking over her shoulder at them, she hummed with an understanding appreciation, then flew up to join the reindeer. The happiness in her heart resonated around her. She could feel its warmth, the exhilarating life it rushed into her movements. Her wings were an extension of her, not something she needed to fight to control. She spun and flipped with a whoop, laughing at her childish antics, but continued as Holly and Jolly followed suit.

They went higher and higher, reaching the ledges that seemed so daunting and far away before. It wasn't long until they neared the rafters at the ceiling and where the spiral staircase reached its end.

"We did it!" Hinata cheered, grasping the rafter as Holly and Jolly arrived seconds later.

"Ya sure did!" Josie yelled, startling the three of them.

Hinata looked over to see a room the spiral staircase led to. There she saw Josie, along with all the stable elves and grown up reindeer awaiting them. Decorated tables of cake and presents stood in the center of them all, along with a banner that read, 'Congratulations Holly and Jolly!', across it.

The two young reindeer looked between each other with the biggest smiles Hinata ever imagined a reindeer could have. They flew over and Hinata followed. She landed behind them, smiling graciously as the elves thanked and congratulated her while a plate of cake was placed into her hands.

"What did I say?" Josie asked, nudging Hinata's leg with her elbow. "You were sellin yourself short."

Hinata smiled, watching Holly and Jolly show off their new flying tricks to the other reindeer. "I guess I was."

#khocweek2023 #kingdom hearts

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snowysmol · 7 months

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I call myself winterkin, but there's so much more to it than that.

I have the essence of winter running deep in my veins. My form is fluid, ever changing. OC, dragon, deer, and things inbetween.

Underneath pale skin and frigid bone, thick fur and shimmering scales, soft feathers and frost-kissed webbing, my heart beats all the same.

This side of me is often dormant in the warmer parts of the year, but once it gets colder, I feel so much more alive. The world is made anew in white snow and dark branches. Snowflakes fall in my hair and I am holy. I am a creature of the cold. I am the cold.

I can’t wait to see the snow this year. Also labels are overrated sometimes.

#rambles #winterkin #otherkin #alterhuman

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homicidal-slvt · 4 months

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"Summer Snow"

MDNI

Warnings: Fluff, Toxic Family Situation Implied, OCs

A young girl sat upon the front steps of the building, a night breeze blowing past as she plays on her own, the sound of her parents arguing echos within the home.

Snow Moon stood on the roof of the building as the pale light of a full moon illuminates him, he doesn't even flinch when he hears the steady footfalls of a pair of heels behind him, knowing immediately who is approaching.

Her eyes watch as the man she knows as grumpy as all hell stands there- his attention entirely elsewhere. She has become used to his distant demeanor over the course of working with him, now taking chance to admire him in the light of the moon.

His short snow white hair is a bit of a floofed mess, the straight strands sticking out everywhere and some of the longer bits carelessly tucked behind his ears, his hands stuffed into his dark blue jeans front pockets. His porcelain skin pale enough it could give paper a run for its money, however then there is his eyes... Always striking in an unnaturally bright blue, tonight though they seem to practically glow.

A puff of breath leaves him and the temperature surrounding them steadily begins to drop, making her shiver as she clutches her arms- confusion etching across her features.

"Ey, Frosty... The hell are ye doin'?"

Being dressed for the warm summer night definitely made the sudden drop much more offensive... Though something is so eye catching about him, his pale skin slowly gains a shimmer to it- a light coat of frost forming across his flesh making him sparkle in the moonlight. It's beautiful. A cold display of pure art... Snowflakes begin to drift through the air, a few catching onto her hair and eyelashes.

"Jesus, what-"

She doesn't continue her sentence as she hears the over joyed laughter of a little girl below, moving up beside Snow Moon to look down as well. The snow is drifting down towards the child, her eyes bright with wonder at the miracle of snow in summertime.

The little bit of snow warms the heart of an innocent kid in a tough situation, the sound of arguing much more distant now...

A slight smirk crosses her face as she looks back up at Snow Moon.

"I see... That heart o' yours ain't completely made of ice, eh?"

"Shut up."

He grumbles with his typically irritated tone, sparing a little glare in her direction... But nothing could remove the faintest hint of a smile he has, warmed inside at the sound of the child below having the time of her life. A much needed distraction.

The world is cold enough in spirit, perhaps a little miracle could warm a soul for a lifetime.

{I wrote this awhile ago and I've been scared to post it. Idk if anyone is interested in this content but <3 presenting my babies.}

#vee's oc Snow Moon #vee's oc Heart Crusher #vee's oc works

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theshinykingdomhideout · 10 months

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Possible names for Mlp OCs:

Express selection; Expected report; Permanent fortune; Post-war variable; Selective murderer; Helpless ability; Restricted spectator; Rotten revolution;

Part-time vegetarian; Part-time vegetation; Herb hold; Moonshadow colt; Mister dare; Moon petal; Ebony breeze; Little snow; Dark heart; Tiny; Sky shadow; Sunrise shadow; Sugar song; Little gadget; Peppermint tooth; Nettle kiss; Caramel twister; Apple comet; Sweet prickle; Frost blossom; Dancing star; Scarlet arrow; Flawless blanket; Stone fury; Fancy hooves; Moon dust; Lightning star; Rapid shadow; Sky note; Sunshine dough; Brushed meteor; Fruit cake; Shadow eyes; Shining leap; Twinkle steps; Star mist; Rainbow scar; Ocean meteor; Morning sunshine; Lunar thimble; Lucky prize; Ocean shadow; Sugar dash; Buttons; Tiny mystery; Frost light; Ocean breeze; Fire fly; Midnight sparkle; Snow star; Dark vision; Stone sunset; Lucky star; Sugar light; Hazel magic; Ender honeycomb; Mistral wings; Rosemary velvet; Apple jubilee; Meadow flier; Sugar nectar; Diamond bluegrass; Firefly comet; Grape lime; Monsoon cake; Silver nectar; Harvest crush; Lucky zephyr; Forest seashell; Spring bubbles; Hazel berry; Ember cherry; Walnut wishes; Petal shimmer; Cloudy flutter; Ruby cuddle; Crescent eclipse; Paradise lotus; Bunny bunny; Misty apple; Solstice shimmer; Crescent sunbeam; Golden candy; Honey twinkle; Eclipse sprinkles; Aurora melody; Moonlight sunbeam; Paradise jubilee; Autumn morning; Rainbow dreamer; Ocean firefly; Bonnie gypsy; Blue rose; Ocean flier; Vanilla lily; Eclipse ember; Snow rose; Magic moon; Summer bubbles; Magic afternoon; Nutmeg apple; Sunset glow; Velvet prancer; Magic wishes; Crystal wishes; Sunbeam cherry; Shining wings; Juicy rain; Ginger posey; Night white; Master force; Dark mask; Fluffy dream; Strawberry moon; Moonstone bristle; Sunrise comet; Star metal; Midnight whistle; Orchid dream; Nightlight bee; Lilypad petal; Cloud star; Brisk sweeper; Shining haze; Wild bristle; Moon daisy; Ivy jewel; Sweet hero; Arctic gust; Brisk bronco; Dark road; River berry; Star gem; Ebony blossom; Solar jewel; Moonlight jester; Nimble storm; Moonshadow road; Wild venture; Brisk spirit; Wild hero; Jade starlight; Night armor; Moon dawn; Electric drop; Little sparkle; Comet wing; Cloud facade; Sky chaser; Golden starlight; Bulky strikes; Ivory arrow; Night ace; Sunrise specter; Willow mercury; Sweet bristle; Steel comet; Master night; Little night; Mythic meadow; Crimson colt; Sky gust; Moonshadow sorbet; Crimson mark; Silver gust; Solar spirit; Sunrise victory; Arctic star; Crimson strikes; Straight ice; Caramel mane; Little tail; Twilight star; Berry thunder; Platinum comet; Mister shadow; Mythic meadow; Rapid feet; Little mask; Snowy diamond; Nightlight eyes; Starry flower; Moon breeze; Solar love; Lila fashion; Water drop; Rose gem; Little diamond; Star love; Moon glow; Cutie jewel; Lucky charm; Rose star; Velvet harmony; River rain; Electric star; Strawberry petunia; Fluffy aura; Diamond kisses; Ebony candy; Violet snowflake; Mythic shadow; River dusk; Cinnamon fire; Star candy; Celestial petunia; Amber rain; Midnight light; Sapphire night; Emerald night; Ruby night; Onyx night; River drop; Pearl spice; Nightlight song; Electric lily; Celestial dawn; Sugar sunlight; Flawless glow; Ruby eyes; Twinkle bee; Ice dusk; Moon glow; Crystal gem; Sugar rain; Solar petal; Snowy love; Amber blossom; Velvet charm; Aqua sunlight; Star nourish; Fluffy snow; Flawless pie; Thunder flutter; Star chaser; Orchid wings; Silent step; Stone steps; Master metal; Sweet spectre; Solar fire; Starry breeze; Sky whistle; Crimson moon; Onyx haze; Red lacing

#pony oc #mlp #names #hypothetically

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himbos-hotline · 2 years

Note

Ok, number 7 on your fluffy prompt list ("you should sleep" "I am not human. I don't need sleep.) screams Hookhausen. Please?

Very nice, Very tired, Very Evil

Word count: 2513 words. Ship: Hookhausen, Mentions of Jay and Wheeler Characters: Hook, Danhausen, Mention of Wheeler Yuta and Jay Orton Setting: Bakery!AU Triggers: None Authors note: Look at this good ol' Hookhausen fluff from the bakery AU my big sibling and I talk about. There is mentions of an OC [Jay] but only because he works with Hook!

Read on ao3

The lights to Vagabond Treasures antique shop never seem to be off. Hook walks past the shop when the sun is barely rising and the lightbulbs flash brighter than the stars. The light shimmers past the bars when Hook walks home, barely stopping to watch as moths twirl between the bars, knocking weakly against the window. He wonders if the person inside sleeps. Or if anyone ever works there at all. Hook never sees anyone walk in to buy anything from the old antique shop, only stopping to parooze the small collection of chairs and boxes that sit outside, pressed against somewhat fogged windows.

Maybe it's curiosity or maybe it's foolishness but Hook ends up staring at the antique shop more and more. Brown eyes watching under a tangled mass of spiky hair, someone picks up a small bag of coins and rolls it carefully between their hands before putting it down again and walking off. Hook makes a small sound of distaste almost as if he was the one missing out on business.

“What ya lookin’ at?” The voice is new into the world around him but familiar. It doesn’t stop his body from twirling to face the person it came from, his hip knocking against one of the counters. He grumbles, pressing his lips into a grumpy thin line.

Jay holds a stack of old records, tanned hands crossed over the record covers. The two of them had worked together for as long as Hook could remember and been friends for longer. He remembers them appearing for family dinners as a child, mismatched eyes sparkling as she spoke around forkfuls of potatoes. Hook rolls his eyes, using them to gesture at the people who wander through the streets and peek through the frosted windows of the antique shop. “Does anyone even work there?”

“Yknow, I dunno.” jay hums, sliding the records out their arms and into a nearby box. “I’ve seen some kinda thing scurrying around.I don’t think he's human though.”

Hook makes a sound and wraps his fingers around the strings of his hoodie, tugging slightly at the stray fabric. “I'm gonna.” Still holding his hoodie pull chords, he raises the hand and points. “I'm due a break.” He smiles, small and distant, when Jay nods and dismisses him with a way of their hand. The bell above the door chimes and it rings distantly in the back of Hook’s brain as he makes the short walk across the street.

The dark green paint is chipping against the door. It’s the first thing Hook notices when he's close enough to spot the little things. Vagabond Treasures is written in gold and covered in a layer of dirt that sticks to the sleeve of his hoodie when Hook drags it across the arched curves of the letters.

He uses his foot to push open the door and a bell tolls overhead, heavy and loud. It echoes around the surprisingly large interior and Hook flinches away from the sound, the ringing dims in the room but continues in his ears as he takes a few tentative steps inside the building.

The floorboards, covered in a dark brown carpet, squeak under his scuffed trainers. There's a few people scattered about; an old man resting his back against a bookshelf as he scans through a dust covered book, a lady who twirls a jar between her fingers before holding it up in the air before placing it back against a wooden shelf. Hook feels remarkably out of place as he turns a corner and stares at who he perceives is the owner through a gap between old mugs.

His shoulders are hunched and Hook runs his eyes over the curve of his shoulder blades; Hook tilts his head curiously to the side as the man turns; dark eyes meet his and the man smiles, awkwardly raising a waifish hand. Hook jolts backwards, catching his ankle on the bottom shelf; cups go tumbling and Hook ends up in a pile of unruly hair.

“Is the man okay?” Hook winces, blinking up at the lights as his face burns with embarrassment. “That was a very evil fall.”

Dark eyes are red-rimmed and glittering; a stark contact to the black and white paint that decorates the man's face. He’s staring down at Hook with his eyebrows creased in concern and Hook wants the world to swallow him whole. The man leans backwards, out of his eyeline and Hook sighs, nearly choking on his own spit when a hand casts a shadow over his face.

Hook feels eyes burning into the two of them and he's careful to take the hand, trying to stop hsi muscles from locking as the other man helps him stand. Now face to face, Hook represses the urge to storm off and hide in his bedroom. But he can’t walk off so he simply shifts the grip he has on the other man's palm and shakes his hand. “Hook.”

“Danhausen.” he replies, shaking Hook's hand once before letting it drop weakly in front of him. “Hookhausen has broken my stock.” He gestures wildly at the floor, bits of broken mugs and plates surround their feet. “He must pay the human monies!”

Hook huffs, pressing his lips together. He can’t ask his father to borrow some money and he doesn’t get paid for another week. The only money in his savings is the inheritance form his grandmother and Hook almost feels sick that his brain even requested using that to pay for a stupid accident. He fiddles with his hoodie strings again, pulling the hood tighter around his head until it feels like there's an elastic band wrapping around his skull.

“I can clean up your store after work?- at least until I get my paycheck?” Hook feels like this is the most he's spoken in a while, his voice is rough and wobbling, an imperfect mix of shyness and embarrassment merging on his words, making them smaller than what he intended. Danhausen seems to think about his offer, eyes rolling around his head as if having a silent debate with someone that Hook can neither see nor hear.

Finally his face cracks into a small and Danhausen nods once. “Yes.” It's a simple reply before he turns around and points to the record store. “Blackthorn records is where Hook works, yes?” From the window, Hook notices Danhausen staring at him and he nods once, pulls his hood around his face more and squirms past Danhausen to push open the door.

Jay looks up when the door slams shut and Hook turns the sign to closed. “I fucked up.”

“E-fucking-scuse me.” Jay states, looking up at their friend from the counter. Bills hover in his hand and Jay raises his hands furiously when Hook brushes them away to sit on the counter.

“You did not fall!” Jay stifled a giggle by biting on his tongue, patting Hook on the shoulder. “I can lend you the money or just pay you now-”

“No” Hook raises his head from his hands and shakes his head, sliding them into his hair. “No it aint right.”

Jay blinks, not understanding his friend's thought processes. “A’ight. Well you should go start soon. I’ll tell your dad that you won't be home for dinner.”

Hook glances over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What? I have self defense tonight- your dad runs the gym remember?” Jay quips from behind the counter, Hook rolls his eyes and flips his friend off. The bell above the door chimes and Hook lets it echo in his head as he makes the short trip across the street.

Danhausen greets him with a joyful sound, a small hum that seems to squeak past his teeth. The jars in his cupped hands clink against one another and Hook leans a hand outward, palm up to catch any that he may drop. “What do we need to do?” Hook asks, voice almost unnaturally small. When he reaches the floor, Danhausen settles the jars on the lowest shelf and shrugs. “Hook could sweep?”

He nods over to a brush behind the counter and Hook has to repress the urge to roll his eyes. He had never liked cleaning- as a child he remembers pushing toys under his bed and balling clothes to stick in the back of his closet. Sweeping was the one task he had every fall, sweep up the dead leaves and collect the falling apples from the old apple tree that his father had planted as a child. Hook stares at the brush and it stares back; it's eyeless bristles challenging him. Hook squares his shoulders and wraps his hand around the broom's neck. The bristles scratch against the floor and Hook feels the hair on the back of his neck rise in dislike.

Danhausen nods to himself, turning his back on Hook. He opens the cash register, shoulders shimmying at the small collection of dollars and shimmering coins. He separates them into jars; humming at the sound of metal against glass and how it splits through the scratch of the broom on linoleum. The two men work silently, careful not to get in each other's way.

Hook fixes the shelf that he broke while Danhausen organizes books, running sharp nails across the covers before settling them on a shelf by the door. The sun sets slowly and soon the moon paints white light across the dark tiles. Hook pauses by the window and yawns. Stars blink down at him and he has to strain his ears to hear the town clock chime, he counts along with the tolls under his breath. “It's ten PM.” He states simply, walking over to Danhausen and sitting on the counter. “You look tired.”

Danhausen raises an eyebrow, head cocked to the side. Hook thinks he looks somewhat like a puppy. A weird face paint clad puppy with red-ringed eyes that sparkle. “Danhausen is fine.” He states, eyes dropping to the glass counter, a long nail poking against the glass at the treasures safely hidden under lock and key. Hook follows his fingers, tracing with his eyes how they run the length of old bracelets.

“You should sleep. I never see the light off in this place.” Hook raises a hand to gesture at the lights still burning above them. Danhausen raises his eyes, seeming to stare into the dim yellow lights, his pupils shrink against the dark backdrop of his irises before he looks away and blinks quickly, smiling when Hook barely contains a small laugh, his serious face cracking into a little smile that sucks the corner of his lips in.

“I am not human. I don’t need sleep.” Danhausen sounds brash and sure of himself. The strength of his voice is quickly betrayed by a yawn that spreads his mouth wide enough that Hook, if he wanted to, could count each of his pointed teeth. But he doesn’t because why would he? He traces his eyes across the curve of Danhausen’s lips when they press together slightly. “Hook can go now.”

Hook blinks for a few seconds. Slow and confused. “Have I-?” He gestures to the floor. “Do I come back tomorrow?”

“If Hook wants.” Danhausen replies, standing to wander into the backroom. His elbows are pressed into his sides and Hook thinks that, with his hands limp in front of him, Danhausen looks like T-rex and something feels strangely warm in the bottom of Hooks stomach as if someone had poured warm soup slowly down his throat. “Danhausen would like that..” Hook looks up, brown eyes wide but softened.

“Okay.” Hook mumbles, unable to stop the smile that spreads across his face. He hops off the counter, feet landing against the floor with a thud that makes the two of them smile more. Hook waves goodbye and chuckles when Danhausen curves his hand and waves as if he could barely bend his wrist. He walks Hook to the door, locking it behind him. The two of them share a look through the frosted window and Hook waves goodbye again.

The walk home Danhausen swirls around his head the way seafoams swirl around someone's ankles as they walk into the sea. His dad opens the door and pulls him into a hug, Hook fails childishly and his dad just laughs, smoothing a hand over his hair. “There’s leftovers in the fridge. Are you gonna be alright alone?”

“Yeah dad.” Hook replies simply from the steps, smiling when his father kisses his temple and closes the front door. Hook picks at his dinner, twirling noodles around his fork before watching them drop back into the bowl with an unsatisfying plop. Sighing, he drops the noodles into the trash, washes up his bowl and curls up on the couch.

Hook is not sure when he fell asleep but he’s sure that he did. Because he wakes up to the sound of his fathers alarm ringing annoyingly above him and sunshine stabbing him through his eyelids. He grumbles, rolling off the couch and tiptoes his way upstairs. He passes his dad's room, peeking through the gap in the door. His father sits on the end of the bed, folding shirts.

“Hey dad.” Hook mumbles, pushing the door open. He sits beside his father and lays his head on his shoulder. He feels his dad smile and Hook feels better about the early morning shift. The two of them dress together, Taz stopping to smooth Hooks hair down with his hand. Hook feels a bit like a little boy again as he rolls old clothes and tosses them into his fathers dirty laundry basket. “What?” He scoffs, when his father raises an eyebrow.

“I’m very proud of you son.” Taz’s voice is sincere and soft, the arm around his son's shoulders is comforting and Hook slumps into his dad's side, trying to stifle an almost childish laugh. He feels small in his fathers arms, small and round like a newborn kitten and Hook would deny it if anyone else was to question it. Taz kisses his forehead and Hook squirms away. “Mom would be proud of you.”

The five simple words make Hook preen under his fathers eyes, shoulders back and chin tilted up as if he was marching. Taz nods and waves his son goodbye when he steps towards the door and scurries to his own room. Rain drops steadily onto the floor when Hook leaves for work thirty minutes later.

It dries against his hoodie, staining the soft gray fabric dark and shadowed. He passes Adam’s bakery, Yuta’s flower shop. Hook stops for a little, watching Yuta tuck a flower behind Jay's hair, smiling at their wordless conversation that makes Yuta’s skin turn a dusty pink.

He pauses and chuckles.

The lights to Vagabond Treasures antique shop are off. The shutters are down and there's a note pinned against the door with thich silver package tape. The writing is pointy and messy, letters bleeding together because of the rain.

Closed. Danhausen is very tired, very evil.

Taglist: @allelitesmut @homoeroticgrappling @dustinslovehandles @paradoxunknown @katries @mrsmatt @echoxshxrx @malewifemoxley @kass-the-kitten @itsnoosetome @racerchix21 @jacedoe @thekadster @chuckstaylors @old-no7 @mandiableclaw @tahiri-veyla

#hookhausen #hook aew #danhausen #all elite wrestling #fanfic #writers on tumblr #reblogs are appreciated

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 1 year

Text

Bejewelled

pt2

This is a collab between me and the brilliant @goronska with my oc, Faye (that you haven't actually met yet 👀) and her oc, Agat :)

CW: BBU, objectification, conditioned whumpee, bruising (lmk if I should add something else)

The frost was still present on the shards of grass beside the driveway, despite it already having passed nine o’clock. Faye’s heavy breath gathered in a white fog as she returned home after her morning run, this time to a new circumstance. A large wooden box waited upon her doorstep, almost blocking off the door completely. It was decorated with layers of tape reading ‘fragile’ or ‘heavy’ and corners where the damp ground had damaged it.

Faye’s heart raced from exhaustion, but also confusion. She’d seen boxes like these before, but it didn’t make any sense. Why would it be here? Maybe it was Flynn’s, but he wouldn’t order something like this if he weren’t going to be home to receive it. Whatever, it was probably a mistake.

The icy ground crunched under her step as she trudged up the path to her door. A rather large label became clearer the closer she came. Along with the shipping address, there was a card labeled with her name. It was for her? Curiosity overcame her and she ripped the envelope off of the box, opening it quickly. From Flynn? That bastard.

The woman could swear she heard teeth chattering from cold when she put her ear to the side. Or it was just her imagination?.. When she knocked on the box, no other noise could be heard from the inside, no whimpering, no whisper, no knocking back in response. No choice left, but to open it.

Pushing it inside proved to be quite a challenge. It was, indeed, burdensome and heavy - too heavy for just one person. She rolled the box instead so that it crashed onto one of the sides- and at that, there was a distinguishable cry from within. Even then, it had only made it halfway through the doorframe. She’d have to push it at least one more time to get it fully in the house.

Still breathing heavily from the jog and all the pushing, she took a last look around, as if checking for a hidden prankster in the bushes or around the corner of the house, but not having noticed anything off, Faye just locked the doors behind her and started tearing at the box. Soon, surrender came. The box has been sealed shut with nails - some kind of tool was needed to pry it open. Flynn kept the hammer in the kitchen despite her having bought him a toolbox. She hurried, trying different drawers - all full of random crap - until she found it. As she walked back to the hallway, she couldn’t deny she was excited. She needed it open now.

Not without a struggle, she removed the top to discover a pale woman, in a white dress, as plain as one can be, massaging her elbow. As soon as the lid went off and the light reached her, the woman’s eyes snapped to focus on Faye’s face. Their light brown shimmer almost had cues of tangy mandarines, virtually glowing in her face like two headlights; her paleness framed by an ebony bob haircut.

She looked so delicate, all curled up. It was sweet, the way her face pinched in obvious pain every so often, gripping her elbow just that little bit tighter. The only insulation in the box being a bit of bubble wrap and her having just this petite dress, her feet bare, she must have been freezing in the crate outside. Faye checked her smartwatch to see how long she’s been out. OK, apparently it wasn’t enough time to get the contents of the package any lasting damage.

As Faye marveled, the girl weakly asked.

“May I come out now, Ma’am?” revealing a red collar when she looked a bit more up.

‘I shouldn’t be asking that, I shouldn’t’ she thought to herself, knowing full well that speaking up without permission will mean punishment later, but the pin and needles in her legs painfully reminded her that she must stretch soon or there will be no graceful way to leave the crate and kneel properly.

“I-uh,” Faye gulped. She’d known what was inside this whole time, but actually seeing had a whole different effect. How the hell was she supposed to act? Not like this, that’s for sure. The note Flynn had left vexed her.

The girl dropped her head with a sad smile, patiently waiting. She stopped rubbing her elbow and just hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Not a word more, not a word more, Owner is in charge…’ she repeated the mantra in her head.

Faye finally took a deep breath and nodded her head, “Yeah, you can get out. Just, uh, wait here a second.” Fuck. Was that too casual? Flynn said she needed to practice being in charge, followed by a comment along the lines of ‘you’re a lonely bitch, get some practice xoxo’.

Meanwhile, the collared woman scrambled out as elegantly as possible, did a curtsy and then got on her knees in front of Faye on the floor, her hands on her thighs. A bruising getting more visible on the elbow by the minute, toes a bit red from the cold.

“Are you, well, okay? Do you want a blanket, or I don’t know, a hoodie?”

“I will wear whatever you like me to wear” was the reply, with no eye contact whatsoever. Just an uneasy shift on the heels.

Faye looked over her shoulder, “I got both, so like, whatever you want… I guess?” She really didn’t know what to do and at this point, was just hoping to get her settled and then leave her alone to figure out what the hell she was doing. The boxgirl pondered the choice for a moment, thinking about the toes screaming for warmth and almost begged for a blanket with an apologetic tone.

“Woah, calm down, you’re acting like I’m giving you a fuckin Oscar, jeez.” Faye rolled her eyes and turned, signaling with her hand for the other woman to follow her as she walked to the living room. She wasn’t really prepared for another pers- wait, no, she’s a pet - well, for anyone new to be living in the house. Where should the boxie sleep? In Flynn’s room until he gets back tomorrow? No, judging by how she’s acting at receiving a blanket, that’s far too much.

‘I already made her annoyed, already annoyed, maybe I shouldn’t have picked the blanket, maybe that was a test, maybe a hoodie was the right choice?’ wondered the pet following obediently, throwing just the tiniest of glances left and right, as she followed the new owner. “I am very sorry, Ma’am” she added loud enough for the other woman to hear.

Faye simply glanced back as the apology was given, narrowing her eyes slightly. Good. Look dangerous. Look like nobody messes with you. Look like you actually know what you’re doing. “Go, sit over on the sofa. Grab the blanket lying over the back of it.” Perfect. No stuttering, no apprehension, and no open requests. Just a sharp command. The pale one apologized a lot, especially for things that didn’t even seem worth apologizing for, almost as if she were scared. Well, perhaps she should be scared. Maybe that’s what Flynn wants - for his sister to grow some thicker skin and treat the girl like she’s been trained to be treated.

“Of course!” the box girl did a sharp turn on her heels, and without further noise, wrapped her legs in a blanket cocoon and sat rigidly, with hands on her lap again, on the sofa. Head down, shoulders shivering ever so slightly from the tension of expecting further instructions. Until her new Mistress didn’t complete her customization, she cannot engage in anything. Just waiting, just waiting.

As Faye watched her settle down, she realized how weird it was. She didn’t know this woman and yet she was waiting for her command. “So what’s your name?” she asked, standing in front of the huddled figure.

“Agat, Ma’am, they shipped me here as Agat. My whole batch was named after gems and jewels. But if it’s not to your liking, you can name me otherwise, Ma’am.” for the first time since here, the pet smiled gently, as if engaging in a highly trained scenario. Or was it..? Her eyes laughed for a while, too, but… why?

“Hm, no, I like it.” She contemplated her next move before asking, “What do you know about… this? I just, well, I wasn’t expecting to receive you.” Faye crouched to Agat’s level, moving slightly closer, “Did they perhaps tell you anything before you were shipped here?”

“That I will be your red, Ma’am, that I will love you. And you are indeed the most wonderful and caring woman I’ve ever met.”

‘The only one I met’ Agat quickly thought. There were no women in the facility. Maybe there were some b e f o r e, but she didn’t remember much from pre-facility times.

The cheek of that man! It’s Flynn’s fault for her failed dating life anyway - and now look at her! Being complimented by a woman who arrived at her house in a box. “I mean, like, thanks, Agat, but considering that so far I have just kinda let you out of a box and let you sit on my sofa, it’s a bit much? I don’t know.” She said it with a very matter-of-fact smile as if she were asking Agat to reconsider.

Agat took a deep breath and sighed.

“You simply don’t know how lovable you are. Your dark skin, the curve of your lips, your strong arms. I’ve been told you are very smart and funny, too. I feel so lucky to be here, I will do everything to make you more happy. Anything you want!” There was a small pause in her speech and the smile turned into a grimace for a while “Just please, don’t send me back, Ma’am!”

Anything. Never did Faye think she’d see the day when someone was devoted enough to offer that, and this is certainly not how she imagined it. The boxie was obviously scared to be sent back, it was evident in their wide-eyed expression. “I won’t…” She leaned in to gently stroke Agat’s hair, lightly easing the tension. “You’re far too precious.”

The touch was leaned into. This fair-haired being was so damn touch-starved that a few hair strokes sent visible goosebumps down her forearms. And… was it a purr? Faye could play the sounds so easily, what symphonies could she get out of that fragile thing?

pt.2 here

#bejewelled #collab #bbu au #conditioned whumpee #objectification #bruising #whump #whump fic #whump writing

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fatal-blow · 2 years

Text

Brush With Death

Fucking around with some symbolism and the relationship between a couple of my OCs

Sat above the fireplace looms a deer skull, antlers arcing across the wall to either side. Light flickers across hard angles. Like looking at the yawning maw of Darme himself, deep black eyes pulling in all they could see.

A crack and a pop of sparks would once made Fergus flinch. He’d gazed into the flames as a child, mesmerized by what he saw inside. A something he could reach out and touch, even. At that age, Elliot’s hand burning against his shoulder, he couldn’t have taken it up on the offer.

He didn’t need Elliot to burn him anymore. Darme’s whispers are calming now. Death and war aren’t his domain, but oh how it purrs…

He would never say it out loud, but he never did understand James’s hesitancy. Not his domain, but it’s always spoken to him has always spoken to him. In the lick of blood. The kiss of a knife’s tip. The hot singe of a dancing flame.

Elliot’s face is gaunt these days. Sharp edges and deep creases catch the dark more and more, as if death has started to knock. Haunting. Inviting, but in a way he couldn’t describe. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it. Of death.

Her fingers are gnarled from decades of an arthritis that has long warred against her body, yet they cling to her wine glass like the grip of rigor mortus. He can imagine them around his wrist, just as tight. Makes his scars itch.

“My meds, dear?”

She unfurls a hand that creaks like old bark, but as much as the rest of her ages, sugar sweetness still slicks her tongue.

With practiced ease, Fergus takes the delicate top of the glass bottle and unscrews it with a single, elegant gesture. She extends her glass and lets him pour. He doesn’t need measurements for a command he’s enacted since his hands had become deft enough to do so. With a gentle spin, he saves the final drip of the viscous liquid, watching shimmered gold spiral in her drink.

She pulls it to her lips. “You’re a darling.”

Her honey glazed words soak into him as he replaces the bottle, and he releases a breath. It frees like a caged bird.

He takes a familiar spot kneeling beside her chair, letting a finger run the line of his jaw. She does not look at him, idly capturing a curl and letting it twist around her.

“I have news,” she says, her breath frosting the inside of her glass. “You will be first to hear it. Henry doesn’t know yet.”

He swallows an old, childish pride that builds in the back of his throat.

“Good news,” he says. Statement, not a question. Of course it’s good news.

“Yes. Maybe not news—a revelation, if you will.”

A thumb grazes over his brow. He can feel the heat in the joints as if it dwells in his own. It’s been a very long time since her pain has bothered him.

Less her pain, though, and more a lightness that spreads in his chest right alongside hers. The upward tip of a leaf seeing sun for the first time in far too long. He hasn’t felt her elation in a very time. He drinks it in like dew drops in a desert.

He silence is mandatory for her to continue: “I know you can feel it. I was starting to believe our cause was for nothing. All this fighting taking us nowhere.”

“It was always going to take us somewhere.” The reassurance leaps out of his throat before he can wrangle it. Her fingers press into his cheek. He’s pleased her, this time.

“And I should have listened to you, shouldn’t I?” She tuts at herself. “Nonetheless. There’s been a use for the good sir Dumonte, finally.”

Her mood relaxes him into her grip. Across her lips, a smile lights in response. One of her fingers traces delicately down the arch of his hooked nose, catching only slightly at the place where it had once been broken. The corner of her lip twitches, but Max’s inability to spare the flaw doesn’t bother her tonight.

“Sometimes the most complicated problems have the simplest of solutions.” She takes the last sip and places her glass. It clatters just a bit with the tremor of her hand. “The catacombs never wanted old blood—they wanted something fresh, all this time.”

Her fingers take his chin, lifting his eyes up to hers as she lets the silence settle, lets her words sink in. Does she see it, the way his heart sinks with them?

That ghost of a smile broadens.

“Fresh blood. Others like you—now isn’t that a rare treat?” Her dark eyes study his features, obediently blank. “Maybe you won’t be trying to kill these ones. You shouldn’t. They’re about to usher greatness into the world.”

He fights a nervous urge to wet chapped lips. Perfectly stone faced. Statuesque, even.

“They aren’t,” he says. “But you are.”

A warmth enters the creases on her face. The fire’s heat has reached her.

“So it seems.”

#fataldrabbles #the man the myth the legend he returns #fergus my beloved

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hihimissamericanbi · 2 years

Text

The Watcher and the Dancer

Rating: T

Pairing: F/F

Relationship: James/Sirius

Wordcount: 9,857k

Summary: Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

AKA: Dreamy sapphic summer crush fic set in New England in the aughts with a side of sister feels

Notes: Hi! Hello! I am old and don't know how to use Tumblr at all but decided to try to post this here while I wait to join AO3? For context: Wolfstar is OTP but I wrote this with OCs originally (like not as a marauders fic), then decided it could work as Prongsfoot so I made some tweaks and here we are. Fem Siri and Jamie because it's my fic and I said so. Based on my experiences so please be nice? Also kind of my love letter to Maine. Promise to write Wolfstar and Jegulus in the future, as it should be (actually, very big believer in Jegulily, might do that first...)

So wear me like a locket around your throat, I’ll weigh you down, I’ll watch you choke, you look so good in bl—

Siri paused her pink iPod mini as she felt the rental car slowly swing off the paved road and decelerate onto a bumpy dirt path, dusty granite crunching beneath tires while low-hanging birch boughs screeched against the windows.

“Alright everyone, electronics away, we are almost there!” Walburga yelled unnaturally loud from the front. Siri winced but didn’t say anything. Leaning against a pillow on the window opposite her, Regina blinked her eyes open and frowned. Red patches flushed high on her pale, nap-creased cheeks as she wiped a bit of dried drool from her chin with the heel of her palm. Siri snorted. Regina flicked her off, holding her hand down low so their mom couldn’t see in the rearview.

Siri rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the window, where the trees were thinning to make way for one of the strangest views she had ever seen.

Life-sized gingerbread cottages, painted pale gumdrop colors and trimmed with lacey eves reminiscent of piped frosting, lined the street one after the other like tin soldiers in an old-fashioned Christmas movie. They stood sentry to welcome the Black family forward, Range Rover groaning as it crested the pebbled hill, Dorothy stepping from her black-and-white world into a sugar-bright alternate universe. Just beyond the houses, the Penobscot Bay shimmered blue and magical; it winked at Siri between each latticed cornice and Victorian spire as the car trundled bravely onward, following the gray-gravel road deeper and deeper into the Azure City.

“Welcome to Bayville, girls. Your father and I trust you both will be on your best behavior, and that you will remember you are young ladies. We are taking you on this very nice, very expensive vacation; we expect you to act accordingly.”

Walburga was still talking too loudly, unaware her eldest daughter had paused her Fall Out Boy playlist minutes ago, but Siri did nothing to disabuse her. She wanted to exist in a few more moments of precious liminality, fraught with fragile expectation: the “before” of a summer vacation, dreaming of memories caressed like worn sea glass before having to go and actually break the bottles that make them.

“Do I hear a ‘Yes, ma’am?’”

Siri physically startled at the warning tone in her mother’s voice. She and her sister chorused the required reply automatically.

The car squelched to a halt alongside one of the cookie-cutter dollhouses, patchy green grass muffling under tire treads. Siri took her headphones off and reached for her seatbelt; chipped silver nail polish flashed in the afternoon sun as she unclipped the buckle, and she made a mental note to redo her nails tonight before her mother saw.

She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

And oh, the smell; it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t just briny ocean and wet grass and fallen pine. It wasn’t just heady florals and baked limestone and fecund soil. This scent was far greater than the sum of its parts: stirred up in a summer-sun cauldron and poured out across the coast, it smelled like familiar laughter and promises to be kept.

It filled Siri’s nose and lungs only after it filled her heart.

It would be remembered for the rest of her life.

After claiming the upstairs room to the front of the little house, with a window box full of geraniums peeking from behind billowing white curtains, Siri found herself wandering down the main road, away from her father’s loud complaints about a lack of cell service for his Blackberry and her mother’s backhanded comments regarding the cleanliness of the cottage. She wanted to be long gone by the time either of them decided to turn their attention to her.

Regina tagged along. Siri ignored her.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, the knot of strange little cottages leftover from a different century opened into a semicircle, proudly overlooking a sailboat polka-dotted bay where sapphire waters faithfully reflected the cloud-clear sky.

The Black sisters stood on Bayville Beach, such as it was, only about 30 yards wide and covered in rocky pebbles turning to treacherous boulders. Primary-colored canoes and kayaks were tied up along the mouth like obedient Labradors, waiting for their masters to take them for a swim. A dock rose to the right and jutted out into the water; a cerulean-painted covering sat square in the middle of the old wooden planks. To the right of that, a tiny yacht club perched on the cusp of the ocean, triangular emblem flown modestly above the slated roof. Behind the sisters, a sloping center lawn with a few ancient oak trees and wrought-iron park benches guided vacationers down towards the water, verdant arms swept wide, beckoning, those cotton candy cottages lining the edges like flagstones.

With a toss of her dark wavy hair, frizzing fast in the ocean breeze despite the John Frieda serums and mousses with which she had diligently coated the strands, Siri hopped up onto one of the bigger rocks along the beach and picked her way across the shore. She held her arms aloft for balance, paying special care not to slip. Tiny crabs skuttled within sunken tidepools; salted kelp rocked back and forth with the waves. The fabled Maine sun caught on the edges of everything, lighting up the cove like a glittery disco. She could hear Regina whining warnings from the safety of dry land. Siri ignored her.

When Siri got as far as she could before the shoreline sheared off into untamed wilderness, she turned carefully, Rainbow flip flops catching on the occasional barnacle, and made her way back to her little sister. She was almost to the beach before she looked up.

On the path behind Regina, appearing from behind the blue structure in the middle of the dock, were a group of teenagers making their way up the grassy hill. They were in various states of swimwear; boys with baggy trunks and loose tee shirts, dampened in places by saltwater clinging to not-fully-dried skin, girls largely in cutoff jean shorts and bikini tops. All had beach towels around their necks and were laughing loudly.

Regina whipped her head around at the commotion and stared. Siri felt her cheeks flush; she was perched precariously on a boulder several feet from land, suddenly faced with a bunch of unknown peers. From behind Regina’s mop of raven curls, longer and fluffier than her own, Siri locked eyes with the tallest of the pack, a pretty girl who looked about Siri’s age, black hair piled high in a messy bun.

The girl flashed a criminally blinding grin and waved. Siri startled and snapped her eyes away.

The sudden movement caused Siri to lose her footing. She scraped her ankle on the rough granite as she stumbled ungracefully off the rock into the shallow water.

Regina laughed. Siri ignored her.

Two days later, and Siri was bored. The rain arrived in Bayville almost as soon as her family had, crowding out the finnicky northern sun with dull clouds and a frustratingly steady drizzle. There was only so much War and Go Fish a rising junior could play with her eighth grade sister before one became a sore loser (eighth grader) and the other got hangry (take a wild guess). So now, Siri was sitting on the front porch, stomach growling, watching the rain muddy up the gravel while pretending to do her summer reading. Huckleberry Finn. It was brutal.

Siri perked up at the tell-tale crunch of a car about to pass slowly in front of their rented cottage; honestly, she was like a dog left home alone, staring out at the street, desperate for any stimulation. The car in question pulled into view from the left, heading in the direction of town. It was a beat-up black SUV, rap music thumping over the drone of the rain. As Siri watched, a pretty face with a mess of black hair and oversized glasses appeared in the front passenger window. The face saw Siri and did a double take, craning her neck to keep Siri in her vision as the car went by.

“Young lady, what do you think you are you doing?” Walburga stuck her immaculately coiffed head out of the screen door. Her pink lipstick shone lurid in the overcast light. “Come inside before your hair is ruined.”

Siri blinked, closed her mouth. “Yes, momma.”

For the next three days, the pretty girl with the wild hair could be seen passing the cottage on a morning run. For the next three days, Siri sat on the porch to eat her breakfast, Huckleberry Finn laying uselessly on the side table.

Jamie Potter, Siri would soon learn, was the owner of the pretty face and the blinding smile and the morning runs that happened to take her past the Blacks’ cottage.

Almost a week into their stay, Siri was once again sitting on the front porch, sipping her coffee and pretending to read. The sun had mercifully returned; she and Regina had spent some time exploring, wearing swimsuits underneath shorts and tee shirts, venturing to the beach or the dock or the little corner store out by Route 1, faded sign reading “Cote’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream and Burgers” hung reverently against Nantucket red siding. They had seen the group of teenagers here and there, sunbathing on the dock and flirting shamelessly with the college-aged lifeguard, or gearing up outside the yacht club for a sail, or playing basketball on the courts near the central lawn after dinner. The tall, pretty girl seemed to always be in the very middle, laughing the loudest, touching the most. Like she was the sun their little social circle revolved around. Siri had watched the group hungrily, desperate to be included but far too terrified to make any moves. Regina, meanwhile, was too caught up in having her big sister all to herself to much care about hanging around even more moony high schoolers.

Siri took another gulp of coffee and watched the morning sun catch on the graveled hill, flecks of mica sparkling beneath lingering dew. She imagined a dark ponytail swinging into view from over the crest, followed by long, powerful legs, propelling their body impressively up the incline. Then, she wasn’t imagining it; she was watching it.

Only this time, the powerful legs slowed and the girl trotted to a walk, breathing hard. A hand reached up under the hem of her tee shirt, stopping at the waistband of rolled Soffe shorts to pause the iPod Shuffle clipped there, flashing a sliver of tan skin in the process; her other hand tugged out her headphones.

Siri immediately looked down and picked up her book, not wanting to embarrass herself by inviting any sort of acknowledgement of her existence. She could feel her face turning red and her pulse picking up.

“Hey!”

Siri continued to pretend to read. There was no way this girl was actually calling to Siri.

“Hey!!”

Siri looked up with a start. Fuck. The girl was leaning over the railing of the porch, grinning right at her. It wasn’t entirely innocent, somehow.

“Hey,” Siri choked out. How were this girl’s teeth so white?

“You’re new this year, right?”

Siri’s vision was tunnelling; she was having a hard time processing the girl’s words. She wished she would stop blushing.

“Sorry?”

The girl seemed to smile even more at Siri’s confusion. It made her deep rosy flush from exercise pop beneath her complexion.

“It’s just, we’ve been seeing you around, but no one knows who you are—”

No no no no no people have been noticing her?!

“—and you haven’t come said hi.”

Siri was going to die, simply pass away from embarrassment. “Um, no, yeah, I mean, we haven’t been here before…um, so…” Siri barely remembered to smile. It probably looked more like a grimace.

“Exactly!” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully. They were dark brown and incredibly expressive. “I would definitely remember if I had seen you before.”

Siri wasn’t sure what that meant, but the girl didn’t pause long enough for her to work it out.

“Don’t you want to hang out with us?” The girl craned her neck and leaned farther over the railing, peering into Siri’s lap where her book split open, still on page 10. Siri could pick up the fruity scent of her deodorant. The girl’s eyes flicked back up to Siri’s. “Or do you want to sit and read…"

“…Huckleberry Finn.”

“Yikes.” The girl’s teasing smile was replaced with a look of horror.

“I know.” Siri felt her mouth relax a little, a small quirk of her lips.

The girl shook her head, like a buck huffing in annoyance, bordering aggression. She cracked her knuckles, continued. “…Or do you want to sit and read books by dead white guys on your porch all summer.” It wasn’t said like a question.

“Um. Okay?”

“Okay what?” She was bouncing up and down on her toes, hunched over the porch railing. Sunkissed shoulders poking up from rolled tee shirt sleeves. Deep-sea dark eyes boring into dawning-sky gray.

“I—” This girl was very disorienting. “Sure. Let’s hang out.”

The girl’s face split back into a grin, like that was its natural state. Though her cheeks were made round and even more rosy by the smile, her eyes didn’t crinkle with it the way most people’s do, Siri thought.

“I’m Jamie.”

They stayed sharp and honed.

Siri’s summer looked very different after that. Following her introduction, Jamie Potter had promptly asked for Siri’s cell phone number (written on Jamie’s inner forearm with a sharpie Siri found in the little kitchen) and told her “they were having a dock day, after sailing,” whatever that meant. But Siri had agreed to meet outside the yacht club at 1pm that afternoon, promising to bring snacks and a moderately-behaved thirteen-year-old.

“Dock days,” as it turned out, consisted of spreading towels on the far side of the dock, behind the little blue gazebo (every square inch of which, upon closer inspection, was covered in scrawled names, dates, hearts and the like: a living history of summer lovin’), and eating chips and salsa while soaking up temporal sunbeams and wearing as little clothing as possible. Flirting was a prerequisite, Siri had gathered from her week-long observations from afar, but there wasn’t much of anyone she felt the need to devote such attention to. She was thrilled just being included, happy to sit quietly on her hibiscus-printed towel and follow Jamie’s cues, laughing at the right places and inserting a quick one-liner here and there where she felt confident enough to deliver.

The group ranged in age, which gave Regina a few peers to talk to while Siri fell into Jamie’s orbit. Jamie was a year older than Siri and had her childhood best friends Remus and Peter staying with her (“Their families ship them off to Maine with us every summer. They are a pain in my ass—ow! hey—but I love them.”). Then there were the twins, Gillian and Fabian, also a year older than Siri, then Tuney and her little cousin Lucy, who were a couple years younger. Tuney’s older sister, Lily, was away at some competitive chemistry program for the summer, and apparently things were much more subdued this year without her around to get everyone into trouble.

“The definition of chaotic evil,” Jamie had explained with a twinkle in her eye and a faraway grin tugging her lips. Siri was glad Lily wasn’t here this season, but she wasn’t sure why. Probably just because she didn’t like getting into trouble—at least anywhere her mother might find out.

Siri soon learned the ins and outs of the little group that pulsed the beating heart of the magical seaside village. Most had been coming here every summer since they were little, growing up on bowline knots and July sparklers and Gifford’s blueberry ice cream. They had a hearty skepticism for “renters,” as they called them: part-time vacationers who came and went without getting much involved in the community. When Siri had asked why they had befriended her, since she was a “renter,” the boys had looked away sheepishly and Jamie had scoffed. “Please,” she had said, bumping her bare shoulder into Siri’s, “Like my idiot brothers-from-another-mother would ever forgive me if I didn’t introduce you.” Remus and Peter had turned bright red and then shoved a cackling Jamie, whereas Fabian had met Siri’s gaze, unashamed, and smirked. Siri hadn’t known how to react, besides blush furiously. Were they making fun of her? She felt rather exposed. Regina had squeezed her hand protectively. Siri had squeezed it back.

By this point, Siri had already analyzed everyone’s physical shapes and quirks in comparison to her own, a foible of adolescence she couldn’t wait to grow out of. She tanned easily and had a flat stomach, badges of pride for any teenager under the tyranny of Laguna Beach and Abercrombie, but she was self-conscious about her small chest, wide hips and unshapely legs. Jamie was a star athlete back home in Massachusetts, championing in soccer and tennis, and was lean and strong, everywhere. Siri envied the way she filled out her bikini top during the day and her low-rise jeans at night.

Siri’s hair was rather untamable (“Mia Thermopolis hair”, the other cheerleaders called it), especially in the humid sea air, and never dried soft and silky like the most popular girls’ seemed to. Jamie’s hair was a paragon of that effortlessly messy look: never frizzy, but piece-y and wavy, jet-black with shots of caramel laced through from days in the sun, it reached passed her shoulder blades even when pulled into a high ponytail. Siri would discover she loved playing with it, braiding its dampened ends while Jamie lay on her stomach on the dock, water droplets sliding down the soft skin of her back, or gently brushing it out after a day of sailing, working through the knots with careful fingers.

Then there was Siri’s face. People commented on Siri’s face a lot. She generally refused to leave the house without makeup on, and had even packed waterproof formulas for this vacation. None of the other girls in Bayville seemed to wear makeup.

Siri wondered how they still looked so pretty.

She wondered why Fabian was looking at her like that.

Dock days turned into movie nights and lunches at Cote’s, which turned into card games on front porches and excursions to the Coffee Pot in town for “Potts” sandwiches, a play on Jamie’s last name that seemed to have existed longer than some of their younger siblings had been alive. Siri couldn’t believe that not only had she been included in this tight-knit group who were so wary of outsiders, but that their central star paid so much attention to her. Jamie, as the leader, was the one who texted Siri when plans for an adventure were being made to ensure sure she didn’t get left out. She always spread her towel next to Siri’s, yellow stripes beside pink and orange flowers, and was the first to whisper jokes and confidences into her ear. She made sure to get an extra side of ketchup in addition to her mayonnaise—“Mayonnaise is white people’s greatest invention, I’m telling you,” she would say, while mixing in pinches of extremely hot spices she kept tucked away in her bag for such occasions—when she ordered fries, in case Siri wanted some, and punched the boys wordlessly when they inevitably crossed the line (which was about seven times a day).

They took Fabian’s battered SUV inland to go blueberry picking, blasting Panic! At the Disco and Kelly Clarkson and singing along with the windows down. Despite their parents’ explicit instructions to collect more than they ate, they spent most of their time horsing around in that green-and-gold field, sated with fruit, laughing freely and dreaming loudly beneath a buttercup sun and bluebird sky.

Predictably, Fabian got bored and started throwing blueberries at Siri. Jamie got irrationally irate every time he did so, eventually turning it into a competition to pelt him with as many blueberries as possible in return. Somehow that turned into an argument over who was taller; Fabian was also athletic and played lacrosse, but was on the shorter side for a guy. Jamie insisted they go back-to-back and demanded Siri be the judge. Siri felt uncomfortable for some reason, but acquiesced. Jamie’s sparked eyes stayed trained on Siri the entire time, something plaintive behind them. When Siri objectively announced Fabian was taller, the plaintive glint hardened sharp and heavy. Neither girl smiled when Fabian whooped with victory.

Siri sat next to Gillian on the ride home.

Evenings in Bayville took on a completely different tone, exchanging sun-soaked shimmer and the smell of No-Ad sunscreen for the heliotrope haze of dusk, citronella wafting heavy on the night air. Those summer nights weren’t just dark and twinkling, they were laden with potential energy, the silver ball perched at the top of a physics experiment, a penalty shot lined up against a tied score and less than a minute left.

One navy night, Jamie had taken Siri by the hand, identical sailor knot bracelets scratching against each other’s wrists, and dragged her to her mom’s porch. This was an important ritual in Bayville: hopping from porch to porch after the sun sets to receive parental praise and affection and, if you were lucky, leftover lobster meat or a fresh-baked whoopie pie. This was the first time Siri had been included.

Mrs. Potter was sitting in a rocking chair, reading glasses perched on her nose and a cup of chai on the little table beside her, paperback novel splayed open in her hands. A generous lilac bush off the corner of the cottage steadily pulsed out its sweet perfume, writing itself into Siri’s memory like a madeleine on the tongue.

“Hi Mommy!” Jamie rushed up the steps and then swooped down to give her mother a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Mrs. Potter didn’t even have time to respond before Jamie gestured proudly to Siri.

“Mommy, this is Siri!” Jamie stepped back with that Cheshire grin, the one where her eyes stayed sharp, vibrating with excitement as she directed her mother’s gaze.

“My goodness, she is beautiful, isn’t she,” Mrs. Potter commented, surveying calmly. She was smaller than her daughter, with a weather-worn face typical of New England parents, dark hair shot with gray. Siri could tell, however, where Jamie got her eyes: Mrs. Potter’s were piercing and narrowed in an eerily familiar fashion. The breeze picked up; lingering sea-salted air blended dizzyingly with the evening florals and spiced tea.

Siri stammered through her blush. “Oh! Um, thank you… it’s nice to meet you.” She really wasn’t sure what she did to deserve getting double-teamed by the Potter Stare.

“Ugh, Mom, I told the boys to stop being gross about her!” Jamie whined.

“I didn’t hear it from the boys,” Mrs. Potter replied, still calm, still piercing. “There are whoopie pies inside on the counter. Help yourselves, girls.”

For some reason, Jamie flushed almost as deeply as Siri.

One rainy afternoon, Jamie and Siri perched across from each other on Siri’s bed, beat-up Vera Bradley toiletries bag sitting between them on top of the multi-colored patchwork quilt. Tuney and Lucy were in town at the movies with their families; Gillian was back home at a women’s lacrosse camp for the week. Regina had whined to be included, but Siri had kicked her out unceremoniously.

The two friends were meticulously stroking colored paint onto their toes: crimson red for Siri and metallic gold for Jamie. Siri’s mother would kill them if she saw they were using nail polish on the bed without a towel, but hey, Siri’s a rebel.

“Can I ask you something?” Jamie ventured without removing her focus from the task at hand—er—foot.

Siri’s breath caught a little at the change in tone. Just moments ago, they had been talking about their respective AP Lit reading lists and decrying the lack of women authors. “Sure,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

Jamie eyed the concealers and eyeliners spilling from Siri’s bag. “Why do you always wear makeup? I mean, it’s Bayville.”

Siri bristled automatically. She got teased a lot back home, either for wearing too much makeup or not enough. Always, it came back to her face, and the expectation Siri accepted unquestioningly that she owed the world perfection, and she better not dare present their judgement-day eyes with anything less than that.

She continued applying the blood-red paint to her toes, not looking up. “I mean, everyone wears makeup in Georgia,” she began defensively. “And I cheer, and I’ve done pageants—"

“Shut up!” Jamie interrupted, jaw dropped, pedicure abandoned, gold bottle of polish eagerly twisted shut and tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You’re a beauty queen?!”

Siri chanced a glance upwards. Jamie looked like Christmas had come early. It was not the reaction Siri usually got from other girls when that bit of information got pried from her.

“I mean… I never won or anything,” Siri shrugged, looking away, out the rain-splattered window. The nail polish brush in her hand hovered precariously over her left foot, threatening to drip red all over her careful paint job. “But yeah, I’ve done some of that, and like, modeling, for like department stores and stuff…” The geraniums bedded in their little window boxes outside were getting absolutely pummeled by the downpour.

“Do you like wearing makeup every day?”

When Siri returned her gaze to the room it caught on Jamie’s fish-hook stare, already angling to snag her. Siri didn’t look away.

“I like feeling pretty.”

Jamie held her gaze. “That’s not the same thing.”

Siri searched Jamie’s face for the inevitable cruelty that always slipped in front of jealousy like a vicious guard dog, brutally defending young girls against the pain of insecurity, the fear of rejection, of abandonment. Siri had wielded it thoughtlessly as much as she had been hurt by it, time and again.

But in Jamie’s brown eyes there was no trace of green, only curiosity, and maybe something a little softer? A little… safer? Jamie blinked, tilted her head and let a tiny smile crease the corner of her marble-carved mouth, encouraging Siri.

Siri sighed and dropped her eyes back down, finally closing the bottle of nail polish. She wouldn’t be able to say this next part if she was looking directly into the face of the prettiest girl she had ever seen. “I don’t like how I look without make-up. Sometimes, it’s… it’s all I can think about. How I look.” Siri had never confessed this to anyone before, this shameful, vain secret. “I wish I could be like you… you don’t need make up.”

The next thing Siri knew, warm, soft hands were gently but firmly holding the sides of her face, tilting her jaw up, making her breath catch with the sudden contact. She kept her gaze downcast until the last second, and when it finally did rise it was swallowed immediately by entire galaxies.

Jamie and her swirling orb eyes were maybe a few inches away from Siri’s, staring intently. She spoke with conviction.

“You don’t owe the world shit.”

Siri couldn’t rollerblade. Normally, that wasn’t much of an issue for her. It only became one when Jamie, accomplished athlete with a doe-like grace and the stubbornness of a young buck to match, found out.

So, on a Friday evening around the summer solstice, Siri agreed to let Jamie teach her. In exchange, she had bargained for minimum one hour with Jamie’s stunning face all to herself and her Vera Bradley makeup bag. Siri was chief makeup artist on the cheerleading bus for a reason; it was a creative outlet, painting on shadows and colors and creases to create a work of art you can smile and blink and laugh through. Putting makeup on others allowed Siri to embrace the artistry of it, rather than fight against the compulsivity that overshadowed her own complicated experience.

Jamie had arrived at the Blacks’ cottage around 6pm, just after an early dinner, and followed Siri up to her room where she could work her magic. Siri had been glad her parents were out for the night—she had heard enough off-color comments from her mother about “that Potter family” over the last few weeks and didn’t want to put Jamie at risk of hearing any of it. Regina, the better hairstylist of the two sisters, had been permitted to give Jamie two long French braids that showed off the subtle variations in her thick dark hair, shiny onyx strands rippled with chocolate and auburn.

Now, Siri was starting to regret her actions; the dramatic smokey eye she had indulged in creating electrified Jamie’s laser-beam gaze to the point of distraction.

It made it all the more difficult to stay upright on two thin rows of wheels.

“Jamie!” Siri squealed with a jolt of adrenaline, windmilling her arms out as she lurched forward, gaze ripped from Jamie’s face to the fast-approaching ground. The taller girl cackled but caught her with one hand all the same. Siri clutched at it like a lifeline, heart still pounding.

Their hands stayed clasped. Siri’s heartbeat stayed elevated.

They had found a bit of paved road, out closer to Route 1, and slowly made their way along the empty stretch before them, rolling farther from the safety of the familiar cottages with their slamming screen doors and sneaky garden gates, venturing onwards as the sun sank fast into an approaching dusk.

Both girls were clad in denim miniskirts; Siri’s was dark wash and kept riding up her hips as she maneuvered along the asphalt in a pair of old skates borrowed from Jamie. She had to keep tugging at it from underneath an oversized gray college-branded hoodie, so large it threatened to swallow her petite frame all together. Jamie’s mini was a light wash and fitted tightly to show off her strong thighs and butt. Paired with white and yellow layered tank tops that she filled out so enviously well, Jamie Potter looked like nothing less than Roller Derby Barbie. When Siri had told her so, Jamie had almost skated into a tree.

“We’re close to Cote’s,” Jamie commented after a stretch of not-quite-comfortable silence. Siri was grateful for the interruption; she got along better with Jamie than anyone else in Bayville, but one-on-one hang outs with her were becoming threaded with something unsettling, an uncomfortable crack of buzzed-out current that kept Siri’s body tipped on the edge of fight-or-flight. “Want to get an ice cream?”

There was something in the way she said it that made Siri look over at her friend in the fading twilight. Jamie’s eyes were practically glowing, the whites phosphorescent against her dark irises and the looming forest shadows, but there was still enough light to see her cheeks were darkened. Siri didn’t think she had put that much blush on her; she hadn’t wanted to pull focus from her eye makeup. Furthermore, in a way that didn’t usually accompany casual suggestions of ice cream, Jamie’s eyebrows were oddly drawn together. Siri wanted to reach out and smooth them, trail her fingers down her cheek, maybe hold her jaw tenderly and—

Oh.

Shit.

Siri gulped.

When they rolled up to Cote’s, however, the two girls were not alone. Fabian, Remus, Peter, and a couple more boys Siri didn’t recognize were sitting at one of the picnic tables out front, eating burgers and fries and making a general ruckus. It was late enough that a street lamp had flickered on, bathing the scene in artificial light. It made the faces of the boys glow eerily, joker grins and flinted eyes.

Every pair landed on Siri and Jamie and stayed there. Grins growing wider.

“Oh shit, look who it is!” Fabian was the first to crow. Remus groaned, no doubt annoyed by the unwelcomed intrusion of the two girls.

The two new boys made no pretense about continuing to stare openly.

Jamie’s grip on Siri’s hand tightened briefly before dropping.

“I was just teaching Siri how to skate. She’s never tried.” Jamie sounded uncharacteristically defensive. Territorial, even.

“What happened to your face?” Remus deadpanned. Fabian snickered.

Jamie drew herself to her full height, even taller than usual with the roller skates, and looked down her nose at the entire table. “She did my makeup. I love it.”

“It looks like you got punched,” Peter offered.

Fabian chimed in, “Why do you even wear that stuff? Girls look better without makeup, anyway.”

Siri and Jamie let that comment hang in the air for a beat or two. Watched Fabian squirm a bit.

“Gross,” Siri pronounced, once she had determined their point had been made. Jamie cracked her knuckles.

“Anyway, we were just here to get some ice cream. Come on, Siri.” Jamie made to grab her hand again and stomp them both into the tiny store, skates and all, when Fabian grabbed Siri’s other hand.

“No, Siri, stay with us. Potts’ll get your ice cream, right Potts?” He grinned up at Jamie, laying on the charm. A strange, fiery look passed between them before they turned to the girl in question.

Siri, not wanting to draw out—whatever that was—quickly agreed, pulling herself free of their grips. “Yeah, you go, I’ll wait out here.”

But at Siri’s response, Jamie’s face immediately clouded over into something downright murderous. Her eyes flashed as she turned and clomped into the store. A beat passed before Remus hopped up and announced he wanted some ice cream, too, and dragged Peter along with him. Fabian called to get him a cookie dough. Remus flipped him off without turning around or loosening his grip on Peter.

Siri carefully lowered herself to perch on the spot vacated by Remus, next to Fabian. She had her back facing away from the table along with the two random boys and was angled towards the door of the shop. She picked at a hangnail. Fiddled with a coil of long hair, dried curly after a day of dock jumping. Hoped her stupid fucking red cheeks could pass as exertion from roller skating.

She felt Fabian scooch closer. He muscled a tricep into her shoulder blade to get her attention. When she turned to look, he was leaning in, face close.

“Uh, these are my buddies from home, Benji and Caradoc.” Drew gestured to each boy across the table. “Guys, this is Siri.” He was hunched over and not quite making eye contact. He fidgeted with a few cold fries.

The weird energy pushing uncomfortably around them had Siri too agitated to remember to smile, but she did at least adjust her body to face the boys. They were built similarly to Fabian and both sported flowing locks peeking out beneath baseball hats.

Siri was outnumbered three to one by lax bros. She looked around for Satan, wondering why he wasn’t present to welcome her to what was clearly hell itself.

The boys still hadn’t stopped looking at her.

“Shit, dude, you weren’t kidding about this place,” one of the boys—Caradoc, maybe?—smirked cryptically. The other boy snorted, nudged the first.

Fabian’s eyes widened and he threw a soggy fry across the table. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled.

They were all saved by the tinkling of the shop door as Jamie, Remus and Peter returned, ice creams dripping from their hands. Siri scrutinized Jamie for a sign of what might be going on, but the taller girl kept her eyes averted and mouth set in a determined, hard line. Remus appeared frustrated, Peter nervous.

“Thanks, Jamie.” Siri spoke sincerely, trying to catch her friend’s eye, as a cone piled high with fruit-flecked ice cream was deposited emotionlessly into her hand.

“Welcome.” Jamie replied. She grabbed a stool from the outdoor counter, carried it over, placed it across from Siri and Fabian so the three of them formed a triangle of sorts, and threw herself onto it with her legs splayed despite her skirt. Somehow, she held onto her strawberry ice cream effortlessly throughout the process—rollerblades be dammed.

Remus, meanwhile, leaned on the end of the picnic table next to Fabian and handed off the requested cookie dough cone. He began eating his own chocolate ice cream quietly. Peter skulked behind him and slurped a milkshake.

“What flavor did you get?” Fabian asked Siri, low like he was only talking to her.

“Black cherry.” Siri spoke loudly as if it were a group conversation. “Jamie knows it’s my favorite.” She punctuated the statement with a smile in her friend’s direction, rolling over, a submissive flash of soft white tummy.

Siri’s tail went between her legs when it wasn’t returned; Jamie’s stare was trained on Fabian.

“Wanna try mine?” Fabian proffered his cone to Siri. She could hear more snickering from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind her.

Siri whipped her head around. “Oh! Uh—”

“Come on, it’s good.” Fabian cracked a shit-eating grin. “My cone needs to be tasted.” All four boys, minus Remus, were snorting heartily.

But before Siri could vocalize the acerbic reply forming in the back of her throat, Jamie suddenly leaned forward off her stool and licked Fabian’s cone herself, tongue wide and pink against the creamy vanilla. Her eyes met Siri’s as she flicked the tip of her tongue up at the crest of the cone, cream dripping down into her mouth, before pulling the clever appendage back behind her teeth, swallowing, and finishing off with a final swipe of her full lips.

Oh.

Shit.

“There.” Jamie concluded, sitting back. Siri’s mind was blank. “Your cone has been tasted. No one else needs to be subjected to it. Besides,” —a cocky wink to Siri, a shrug to the boys— “it could have been bigger.”

Everyone, even Remus, howled with laughter; it was peak “that’s what she said” era.

Everyone except Siri.

“Truth.”

Siri and Jamie were laying on a blanket in the grass, flat on their backs, looking up at the stars. After they had finished their ice cream, Fabian had given the girls a lift back to Bayville. He had offered Siri shotgun but Jamie had complained her long legs meant she needed the front seat more. Eager to please and wanting to get back into Jamie’s good graces, unsure why she had even fallen out of them in the first place—must be an only child thing—Siri had acquiesced and sat in the back with the rest of the boys. To her relief, it seemed to have worked. Jamie was back to her usual loud, joking self as soon as Fabian had dropped them off.

They had stopped at the Blacks’ cottage to change out of their skates and grab a blanket—hot-blooded Jamie refusing to borrow a sweatshirt—before wandering down to the central lawn ostensibly to stargaze but really to giggle and gossip. It hadn’t taken long to strike up a round of Truth or Dare; Siri had just selected truth.

“What’s your number?” Jamie asked in the direction of the North Star.

Siri turned her head, traced her eyes over Jamie’s profile outlined in the moonlight. Her nose was elegant, fit perfectly to her face, her top lip pouting prettily just beneath it.

“Zero,” Siri answered after a beat. Unashamed, but also unsure.

Jamie turned her head as well, brow furrowed almost in offense, eyes deep and searching of Siri’s face.

“You can tell me.”

Siri smiled with only half her mouth, derisive. “Trust me, I would.”

Jamie’s gaze refused to let up. Siri could feel heat prickling along her hips, under her arms. “I…yeah, there hasn’t been anyone worth it, I guess.” Her pulse was throbbing harder the longer Jamie looked at her like that.

“What about you?” Siri asked, looking for relief: Jamie’s stare was like an exacting silver needle, threading the two of them together without mercy, sewing them closer and closer.

Jamie made a strange face; a little sad, a little hopeful. “Just one. My ex-boyfriend. Sophomore year.”

Siri took a breath, to work out how she felt about that. “Did you love him?” Siri decided she hoped she loved him. Hoped he loved her, more like. Jamie deserved love, all of it.

That needle-eye stare punctured the night with quiet catching sounds as it stitch, stitch, stitched away, pricking spindled fingers with gift and curse alike as Jamie Potter thought hard before answering.

“In a way, yeah, I think so.” She turned back to the stars, pulling but not snapping the immortal threads. “I definitely thought I did.”

Siri didn’t respond, but redirected her gaze skyward as well. The two girls simply breathed together, laying side by side, woven and watching as the earth turned. Nature was serenading them ardently, crickets and frogs awake and amorous, calling for mates. The gentle lapping of the bay against well-worn rocks and weathered boats and steadfast pilings and rooted banks beat in time to steady stolen hearts; the rustle of oak leaves in the trees above, caught dizzy in a midnight breeze, blew secrets in and out of seashelled ears.

Siri felt like Ariel, floating in a blue lagoon. Just missing a crooning crab.

Then, to the moon: “Was it good?”

“It hurt,” Jamie replied, also to the moon. “But I wanted to do it. I just, haven’t really wanted to… since then.”

The wind picked up and Siri looked over in time to watch Jamie shiver. Goosebumps erupted all down her toned arms and chest, across the gleaming tops of her breasts gently swollen against the moonlight. Siri allowed her eyes to continue trailing downwards, clock the evidence of Jamie’s chill even through her bra and layered tops.

Siri turned and sat up, pulled off her own sweatshirt with crossed arms, pink Abercrombie polo getting caught up a bit in her effort. When her vision reappeared from the tangle of cloth and curls, Jamie was staring at her.

“Here.” Siri tossed the sweatshirt, still warm with her body heat, into Jamie’s lap. Jamie didn’t move. Siri raised her eyebrows. “I know you’re cold, Potts, I just watched you shiver.”

Jamie didn’t smile, but sat up slack-jawed and put on the sweatshirt without protesting. That’s a first, Siri thought.

“Your turn.” Siri said once Jamie was bundled up. She missed the sight of her smooth shoulders, her sculpted clavicle, and okay, yes, her tits in those tank tops, but there was something pleasant about seeing Jamie in Siri’s clothes that made it worth it. Plus, in their new semi-seated positions Jamie had her long legs stretched unendingly in front of her, ankles crossed, as she leaned back on her hands. The top of her shin bone seemed to fucking glow, radioactive in the mirror-blue night. Siri’s legs were curved under her as she sat slightly hunched toward Jamie, close to the bend of her waist. “Truth or dare.”

Jamie surprised Siri by picking truth.

“Ok…” Siri’s eyes flicked to Jamie’s perfect mouth. She took a risk. “What’s the deal between you and Fabian?”

Siri was braced to get told off, or for Jamie to dissolve in girlish denial. Instead, she was serious, considering carefully before replying. “He used to have a crush on me.” She twisted her neck, popping the joints. Looked out towards the water. “Followed me around all last summer, like a lost puppy.”

Siri snorted at the image. “Did you like him back?”

Jamie pulled her mouth to the side, lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Siri thought of the boys back home, a few in particular… always lurking around hall corners and by lockers and on sidelines. She could relate.

“So what’s different this year?” Siri pressed, slightly afraid of the answer.

Jamie leveled Siri with a look, ancient amber sparked with starlight. “Well, you’re here.”

Ah, fuck.

Siri sighed, looked away. Forced herself to ask, “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jamie whispered.

Siri’s heart sank like the Heart of the fucking Ocean. She turned her head fully away from Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the dark trees and shadowed cottages in the distance. Most of their lights were out.

“Well I don’t really like him, like that, so,” Siri mumbled into the darkness, giving Jamie the green light. At least now it was out in the open. Maybe now they could go back to being normal friends.

Well, normal-ish, for Siri.

Jamie, however, perked up, excited. “Yeah? You don’t?” She shuffled forward, angling her face to try and catch Siri’s avoidant eye.

To Siri’s horror, she felt heat press into her sinuses, her throat, her eyes shimmering and shaking, threatening to spill at any moment. She really didn’t like Drew, so why did she care so much if Jamie did?

You know why, Inner Siri whispered.

Go to hell, Denial Siri muttered back.

She took a shaky breath in, forced her emotions back down—stomped on them with gusto, really. “It’s your turn to ask. Go.”

“Truth or dare.” The pleased smile in Jamie’s voice carried, although Siri still hadn’t turned back around to face her. Hearing it in this context felt like falling from a stunt; a deeply unpleasant drop in your stomach followed by getting the wind brutally knocked out of you.

Siri sighed again. “Truth.” She had learned long ago never to pick dare. At any rate, she found people fascinating, their secrets, their fears, their dreams: learning those intimacies and sharing them back helped her love deeper, love specific, when she chose to. Like right now, Inner Siri noted, smug. Shut the fuck up, Denial Siri replied, pissed.

“What about just kissing? How many guys have you kissed?”

Siri should have known Jamie wasn’t going to let the general topic go. She groaned and rolled her head back, exasperated, before finally lolling it around to glare at Jamie, whose braids were still holding her thick hair tight away from her face, fine baby hairs whisping in front of her ears and over her brow. Dark eyes rimmed in charcoal smoke glinted with intent: mischief, and something else Siri couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Siri inhaled, nostrils flaring. This one was less fun to talk about.

“None.”

Jamie’s jaw dropped. But her eyes. They positively lit up, bright and keen.

“None?!”

Siri shook her head. Thought, again, of the simpering boys back home, of Fabian and his friends from earlier. Sure, those guys were hot, but the thought of trusting them enough to hold her, touch her. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’ve only kissed two guys,” Jamie quickly offered. There was something unspoken behind her teeth. “My ex, and a random boy at the 8th grade dance.”

That seemed odd to Siri. Jamie was friendly, popular. Confident. Girls like that had no trouble kissing for fun.

“Okay then.” Jamie sounded like she had decided something, God help us all. She angled her body, taking Siri’s silence as some sort of invitation, and gave her an uncommonly brilliant demonstration of the Potter Stare paired with her signature smile.

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Siri gaped; blood coursed through her ears. No, no, no this wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t like that—a pity kiss, or, or an experiment or something silly to giggle about—

“It’s not your turn!” Siri sputtered. “And… I didn’t pick dare! I never pick dare.”

Jamie was leaning towards Siri, head tilted down so she could quite literally bat her thick, darkened eyelashes up at her. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she pouted, smiling. Cheeky. Siri felt a shiver ignite down her helpless spine.

The problem was, Jamie had no idea how badly she did.

Siri was powerfully reminded of the first time they met. “Don’t you want to hang out with us?” She was so sure, so confident. Easy. Everything Siri was not.

Now, Jamie’s face had turned on a dime from flirty to focused. It was a little terrifying.

Because behind that carefree ease and sunlight smile, Siri knew, there was a deep and raw hunger. An ache to be needed. To be seen, and delighted in, just as she tries so hard to see and delight in everyone else around her.

Siri saw Jamie.

“I… I don’t.” Siri swallowed, tore her eyes away. “I don’t want it to be a dare.” She was grateful for the darkness, knowing that for once her berry-red face was getting some camouflage.

Jamie, meanwhile, changed tack. Siri could still feel the intensity of her gaze, but she also felt her sit up a little, square herself, blend her characteristic curiosity into that swirling stare.

“What about not guys?” Jamie asked evenly.

Siri frowned, mirrored Jamie’s body language, met her eyes once again. “What?”

She repeated, patient. Dead serious. “How many not-guys have you kissed?”

Was Jamie asking what Siri thought she was asking? Siri was silent, could only stare, searching her face for clues.

It had gotten closer to her own, somehow.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

Jamie took a deep breath, eyes locked on Siri. “I’ve kissed… a few not-boys,” she confessed.

Did Siri imagine it, or did Jamie’s eyes flit down to Siri’s mouth when she said it?

Then, slowly, unbelievably, Jamie reached out a warm hand. Siri’s breath hitched and something flipped pleasantly low behind her tailbone as with the backs of her knuckles, Jamie tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Siri’s forehead, fingers turning and tracing down her cheek, so impossibly soft and delicate. Ice and fire whooshed simultaneously along Siri’s face where the tips of Jamie’s nails caressed her skin; Siri’s eyes fluttered shut. She leaned into the touch.

“I don’t want it to be a dare, either,” Jamie whispered, honey-glazed, low. Assured.

Siri’s heart stopped. She opened her eyes.

And Jamie’s were dancing, burning waves of desire, a whirlpool and Siri was drowning. Jamie’s fingers slid from Siri’s cheek to grip deep within her hair, hold her firmly around her jaw and neck.

She was so close now there was hardly any space left between them. Siri’s lips parted with soft pants. She could feel Jamie’s breath on her tongue, creamy and sweet.

“Siri, I—” Jamie murmured against Siri’s open mouth, nosing into her. “I want to.” She gripped the other side of Siri’s face, fierce, desperate. “I want you.”

Siri closed the distance.

And it was… Fireworks? A revelation? Angels singing Handel’s chorus in four-part harmony?

It was so easy. So easy to revel in the feel of Jamie’s lips on her own, to slowly open her mouth for her, willingly, taste her, gently. So fucking soft and warm and wet and sweet, a delightful echo of the ice cream she had so lustfully watched Jamie lick away at earlier, sugared vanilla and tangy fruit, filling up her mouth and tongue.

Jamie expertly maneuvered Siri’s face sideways with knowing hands still holding her neck, sending Siri’s stomach swooping down to her toes (though it felt more like a well-executed tumbling pass than a dropped stunt), and deepened the kiss.

It was incredibly sexy.

Jamie’s tongue was down her throat and butterflies were rioting through her body and congregating between her legs and in her pelvis and Siri pushed in, gripped the front of that damn sweatshirt, wanting more. She felt their teeth bump and their movements fall out of sync, but then Jamie merely giggled into her, the corners of her mouth pulling with her smile and pushing that fucking tongue out of her mouth just that little bit to meet her own outside their lips.

So they did that for a minute. Just took turns carefully, slowly pushing each other’s tongues back and forth, fingers dancing over smooth cheeks and warm necks and warmer waists, peppering in soft licks and nips to bottom lips, growing plumper and redder by the minute. Siri was pretty sure she was remembering to swallow, because nothing felt too sloppy, just really fucking hot.

So hot that she somehow ended up straddled on top of Jamie, skirt hiked up by those confident hands dangerously high on her thighs, rolling her hips hungrily, even aggressively, against Jamie’s body and feeling her so fucking soft underneath her.

She wasn’t sure who came up for air first. It might have been Siri, but only because Jamie tugged deliciously at the roots of Siri’s curls, forcing her head back and making her moan out to the stars and the moon above while Jamie collapsed against her throat.

“Holy fucking shit, Siri.” Jamie panted after a beat, looking up into her face, wild-eyed. Shocked.

“Sorry! Jamie, sorry, I—too much?” Siri struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure how, in the span of twenty minutes, she had gone from never having a first kiss to rutting into the hottest girl alive in a semi-public area. Her underwear felt uncomfortably wet.

She didn’t hate it.

“Jesus Christ, no,” Jamie breathed through a maniacal grin. And Siri saw then that the shock was really pride.

Smug, cocky, balls-a-swinging pride.

And under that, a deep and radiant and joy-filled relief.

Siri figured it was probably reflected incandescently on her own face.

Inner Siri agreed.

She was sprawled on her tummy in bed, heart still pleasantly in her throat and head very much still on the lawn under the stars, when the unmistakable feeling of being watched prickled across Siri’s already-sensitive skin. Sure enough, she rolled over to find a familiarly slender shadow quietly darkening the small crack in her bedroom doorway, belied only by the faintest creak of old floorboards beneath socked feet.

“You’re back,” the shadow said.

Shortly after midnight, Jamie had walked Siri home, hand protectively around her shoulders and Siri nuzzled happily into Jamie’s chest, arms encircling her waist like a needy koala, enveloping each other in the smell of hair and skin and laundry soap as they had stumbled up the hill. Siri had taken care not to wake her family when she crept back inside the cottage, parting kisses stolen behind blind-eye hedges after giggled insistences to keep it, I like seeing it on you.

“Obviously,” Siri whispered, waiting.

Wordlessly, Regina pushed Siri’s bedroom door open enough for her to slip inside and pad over to the bed. The wrought iron frame groaned, unnaturally loud in the still of the night, as she wiggled beneath the covers next to her sister.

Regina’s copious curls spilled across the pillow, taking up half the bed with untamable tendrils and tickling Siri’s nose and neck. Siri pushed them away, pressed her icy toes under Regina’s calves.

Their breathing evened as they settled next to each other, Siri on her back, looking up at the moonlight cast in scattered shapes across the ceiling, Regina on her side with her head tucked in like a burrowed kitten.

“How was it?” Regina whispered into the covers.

“Good.” Siri replied, guarded. The butterflies she had been enjoying were flying right up her throat and out her mouth with each exhale, leaving just plain nerves in their wake. She wasn’t sure what Regina would say about, well, everything.

“I talked to Remus, after y’all came back from Cote’s.”

Siri glanced down at her sister. “Oh?” Remus wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was a boy several years older than Regina, and Siri didn’t think they had had any direct conversations before.

“He said it got a little… awkward,” Regina tried delicately.

Siri sighed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Regina’s eyes opened and batted up to look at Siri, eyebrows and lashes dark on her pale face. She looked impossibly young, tender, like a fawn waiting patiently for its mother in the wooded thicket. “And that someone likes you.”

Siri thought of Fabian, and Remus, seated next to each other on the picnic bench, their reactions when she had rolled up. Fabian’s immature behavior. She groaned.

“Yeah… I figured.” Honestly why did it always come back to a freaking guy? Was this really what it was always going to be like?

“So… did something happen?” Regina pressed.

Siri never lied to her sister, so she didn’t say anything.

Regina could read her like a book anyway.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Siri breathed out, barely a whisper. “Yes.” Her lips quivered. “But it’s not with… it wasn’t who you think.”

And all the emotions and the overwhelming bigness of just, everything, came crashing back, and the tears Siri had stomped down earlier finally spilled hot down her cheeks.

Regina was calm, steady. Blinked her fawn eyes gently.

“Was it Jamie?” She had always possessed a wisdom beyond her young years.

Siri turned a tear-streaked face to her sister. Cried a little harder. Nodded.

Regina shrugged. “Remus said he and Peter were pretty fed up with how she was acting. Wanted her to just go for it already. He asked me if I thought you liked her back.”

“Really?” Siri smiled, watery, hopeful. “What did you say?”

Despite her sensitivity, Regina was still a sassy little shit. She rolled her eyes. “Duh.”

And there, in the soft quiet night with silver moonbeams carrying dreams and desire back and forth across a star-strewn bay, Regina hugged her.

Siri hugged her back.

On the easternmost tip of the country, dashing up 95 or lazing along Route 1, over tiny suspension bridges and past sleepy lobstering towns and through fields alive with black-eyed susans and purple clover and Miss Rumphius’s famous lupine,

down dusty country roads that crunch under car tires and kick dust behind sneakers,

between paper-white birch trees and evergreen pine lined with split-rail fences and wild rose bushes hiding monarchs and honeybees,

tucked among rocky, cragged coastline where red quartz cliffs break squally sprays over pebbled stones warmed gray by the sun,

following the call of seagulls and dinghy bells and misplaced rhotic consonants within winter-gruff voices (ayuh),

where the smells of white bar soap and mineral-crusted pipes and salt, salt, salt mingle with those of lilac and bug spray and ozone,

there lies a fairytale village on a wishful blue bay.

And if you make pilgrimage to its venerable wooden dock, last stop before plunging into ocean deep,

and perhaps rest on its cerulean-bright benches, look out in wonder at how blues so blue can exist, and whites so white, and greens so green, and breathe what feels like nothing, the air so crystal clean,

and sigh and turn your head, look north, you might see

written in black sharpie, bubble letters marking permanently chip-worn paint,

the initials JFP + SOB.

And somewhere to the left of that, your curious eyes tracing, find that same sharpie and youthful handwriting among the various inking and carving,

SOB + RAB

#marauders #prongsfoot #sirius x james #twatd #sirius and regulus

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