“The FRICK are you talking about? I totally saw you swapping spit with Hannah at cotillion. How could anyone miss that?!”
Julian scowls, deeply offended, and folds his arms in front of his chest. The glamour muscles give the impression that he is much more fit than a human noodle that likes to eat Cheetos dipped in ketchup while watching reruns of Maury on holy days of obligation. Quite the feat, Lonnie notes, before Julian opens his stupid mouth and offers and even stupider excuse (also quite the feat).
“She had braces, bro! It was exactly like making out with a circuit board. Which doesn’t count.”“Haha, how would you know wha–”“JUST TEACH ME, BITCH!”
Lonnie throws his hands up partially in disbelief, partially in defeat and seals the deal with a resigned sigh. If this is how he wants things to go, then fine, they’ll do things his way. But there’s no way he’s eating Cheetos with ketchup. Fucking animal.
“Okay, dude. Look at me like I’m Hannah.”“But– you’re not.”“Close your eyes, then, you dick.”“Look, maybe this was a really stupid idea.”
As Julian begins to turn away, Lonnie catches one swole bicep and yanks him close. “Bro,” he says, softly, “this was your idea.”
“Yeah,” Jules replies, pretending to stare at the ground but obviously looking up at Lonnie through his obscenely long lashes. What kind of business did they have being that long? Absolutely none. Now Lonnie was self-conscious about the length of his own eyelashes.
“OKAY,” he began abruptly, “okay, look, you wanna kiss girls? Then the secret is to go ninety percent of the way. And then she has to come in with the last ten.”
Julian looks unimpressed. “What the hell?”
“Consent is sexy. Or, y’know, she should think that. Whatever.”“O… kay?”“So you gotta go ninety percent on me. I’ll tell you if it’s fine.”“Gaaaaaaaay.”“Dude. Do I have to say it?”“No. I feel you.”
Lonnie foregoes another gay-ass joke (“you feel me?”), mostly because Julian is now openly gazing at him with those half-lidded, exponentially-lashed, baby-blue eyes. If he was a girl, this would almost certainly work. No, scratch that, this would absolutely work. Jules leans closer – he must be at about eighty percent now, but then again, Algebra II isn’t Lonnie’s best subject. And he leans closer, closer–
His lips.
Are on his.
And, if that wasn’t bad enough, his lips then go over Lonnie’s, and it’s open-mouth, but more like a leech sucking everything out of his bloodstream from blood and plasma to dignity and self-respect. At this point, Lonnie wishes he had braces, if only to slice that tongue clean off.
When he finally shoves Julian off his radiant face and onto the shitlordy basement sofa, the dick has the nerve to give Lonnie a pitiful, confused look. The confused part resonates, but as for pity–
“NINETY PERCENT OF THE WAY!”“I DID! YOU DIDN’T GO TEN!”“NEVER GO TEN! GO NINETY! FRICK.”
Lonnie buries his face in his hands, then faceplants on the couch for added loss of time and space. His only comes careening back to the plane of reality when someone (obviously Julian) taps his shoulder – and leaves an orange fingerprint on the powder-blue cotton.
“I think I know what I did wrong, and I wanna try again.”“Oh my god.”
A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.
“Do you think… listen, hear me out– they’ll ever have a car that runs on water?”“You mean like a boat?”
Dastan hugged his knees to his chest and snickered uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity. It might have been one, actually – Anais had once said eternities were contained within each and every person. They were all star-stuff. No, wait, that was Carl Sagan. Anais liked him, though. But she wouldn’t have plagiarized… or would she?
“Billions and billions…” he mouthed, then laid flat on his stomach, as if that would have helped him catch his breath. Anais leveled him with her usual haughty stare from atop her lofty (rather, lofted) twin XL bed. And then she laughed, too, and crawled down the side, and over to Dastan.
“Are we quoting Sagan?” she drawled. Dastan opened his mouth to reply, but she reached through the haze to cover his mouth. A rhetorical question, as always. Her other hand grabbed what was left of the blunt out of his grasp.
Anais blew the smoke towards the ceiling, disrupting the swirls that hung suspended above their heads. “We’re at a critical branch point in history.” She drew herself up, attempting to regain that regal posture she’d held only moments before. It was a sign she was about to show off. Dastan was speechless. “What we do with the world will proliferate down through the centuries and affect our descendants’… densities.”
Actually, he took that back. Now he was speechless. Suddenly slack-jawed, Dastan propped himself up with an arm so he could stare at her properly. It was quite disappointing to think about. People were bettering the world – or fucking it up while attempting to better it, as humans were wont to do – but they would never be able to see the fruits of their labor. If they were lucky, maybe they could see the blossoms one day, or the tiny green sprouts not yet ripened, or… insert some other farming analogy here. Human beings, for being so selfish, were always selfless at the end of the day. It was almost like he should have had more faith in humanity, or something. Wild.
After a while, he waved his hand for the joint again.
“Deep.”“Yeah. I know.”“But– this is important– I don’t think you’re taking DeLoreans into account.”
///
énouement + team sugar rush
The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.
“For what it’s worth, I think things turned out well.”
The three of them chose to split a massive basket of chips from their local pub. The Fiddler’s Arms wasn’t one of the regular haunts of MI9 spooks. Their pubs were usually centered around Lambeth, and they always felt like an extension of work… just with (open) drinking. Here, however, was home.
Or maybe that was just the company they kept.
“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, Sara,” Custard replied. He gently nudged Andy, who abruptly stopped shoveling chips into his mouth. One of them fell out of his mouth and into his lap. Sara grinned.
“I mean it. We could have died, but we didn’t. And we ended up with more than just our lives.”“I guess you have a point.”“You know.”“Aye.”
By this time, Andy had swallowed his chips and now sipped at his pint. Together, they watched an old Arsenal match on the pub’s outdated television. At half-time, it was evident that Andy had been stewing over something for the past forty-five minutes. His nose was more crinkled than usual.
“I’m sorry I put you lot through all… that. If I could just tell myself–”“No.”
Andy set his pint down and stared over at Sara.
“What?”“It happened as it happened. You can’t change the past.”“Hakuna… matata?”“Exactly.”
A brief silence. Andy stuffed some more chips in his face to fill the void. Sara looked a bit sad. Custard watched this as he had always watched the two of them together – painfully, but tenderly. “Sara–”
“That’s not what I–” She stopped, sighed, and took a long draught of her pint to drown her defeated look. “Alright. So I do think about it. And if I could tell myself – that is, the me before all this happened – one thing, I think I’d tell myself to quit being a daft tit and kiss you.” Sara pointed directly at Andy’s nose. He dropped several chips into his lap.
“I’d tell myself… hm.” Andy wipes his fingers on a napkin, his brow creased in thought. “I’d tell myself that I don’t speak Russian. And living in Russia doesn’t mean you’ll pick it up. So, you shouldn’t go to Russia.”
They turned to Custard. He stared back at them over the rim of his pint.
“I think I’d tell myself…” He left a long pause, but he didn’t even pretend to ruminate. He’d had this planned for a while. Sara and Andy could tell. “… to take out the Trash.”
///
chrysalism + snoopies
The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.
“The torches take the fun out of it. We should be using candles.”“Aw, I’m sad to hear you’re still having war– flash– backs, Salsa.”
Three pulses of the flashlight blinded poor Rafael Salas for a good minute. Pierce snickered into his tea while Hester and Evie took turns thwapping him on each of his shoulders. Desi, as it turned out, appeared to be the only soul still focused on their game of Cluedo. A summer downpour pounded off the Porter-Sandses’ windowpanes. The thunder that had doused their power and, subsequently, the weekly S.N.O.O.P. Family Dinner rolled ominously in the distance.
Underneath the great blanket fort that encompassed nearly the entire sitting room, the storm – and the rest of the world out-of-doors, for that matter – was a different sort of reality. If this was all that Pierce had ever known, he would have been perfectly content with that. After waving Evie off of him, Hester’s arm settled over his shoulders and half-hugged him into submission. He sipped his tea in a vain effort to hide his abhorrently smitten grin– and then, vainer still, had to swallow his tea rather than spit it out at Desi’s outburst:
“Shhhhhhut up! All this stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Pierce’s blood ran cold. Hester pulled her arm off of Pierce so she could surreptitiously shrug her shoulders. He slowly turned his attention back to Desi, his expression very nearly betraying the dangerous cocktail of emotions that continuously fluttered in his chest. All would be revealed in due course, but for now, that was confidential information. Nobody knew. Not even Mum.
He chose his words so carefully he wound up with only two of them.
“What baby?”“Me.”
The soldiers posted at the blanket fort erupted into laughter – all except Pierce who, naturally, stared into an invisible mockumentary camera. It was similar to how they all jokingly wished him a happy Father’s Day earlier in the evening. Actually, no, it was a blatant rehashing of that incident, whether they knew it or not. (They definitely did not know.) (Or did they?)
Desi noticed Pierce’s expression. It wasn’t his usual look of desiproval. He appeared rather ill, although maybe that was just the poor lighting.
“Is… there another baby?”“Yes.”
No. There isn’t. You idiot. The laughter that had consumed his friends had been stunned into submission. There was no way out of this. Salsa would never shut up about it being ‘about time,’ Desi would cry, and– huh. Maybe he wasn’t backed into a corner.
“Evie.”
Pained groans of “PORTER” filled the blanket fort as he leaned back and grinned. Hester punched him in the leg and muttered something about being “rude.” Raf stirred his tea and then made his move in Cluedo. Desi’s laugh continued, fake, forced, and obnoxious. Still, that probably wasn’t what drove Evie to crawl out of the blanket fort and scream into the night.
lol am i limited to just one???? if so, then no homo (lightning round: doomed assholes)
you come into my house
LONNIE X JULIAN
who said “i love you” first
julian. they were reading romeo & juliet. julian had romeo’s part so like. they kinda had to. but don’t worry julian added a soft ‘bro’ in so it wasn’t gay
who would have the other’s picture as their phone background
julian has a pic of lonnie’s swole toids. lonnie is too conceited to have his phone background to be anything BUT himself. jules isn’t helping
who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror
lonnie
who buys the other cheesy gifts
julian ‘all this chocolate releases endorphins so what i’m really saying is we should skip leg day, bro’ crowley
who initiated the first kiss
lonnie ‘what the fuck do you mean you don’t know how to kiss girls here let me show you, but like, no homo’ taggart
who kisses the other awake in the morning
fucking. julian
who starts tickle fights
lonnie and his perfect hands
who asks who if they can join the other in the shower
‘yo if we shower together we can conserve water and shit’‘ok julie but like. don’t make it weird’‘the greeks bathed in giant pools together, i don’t know how this could possibly be any weirder than that’’someone’s really into greek life’
who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch
they both work at gael mary full of grace so idk how they could surprise one another with lunch lmao i think they just raid the finger foods in the freezer. sometimes julian surprises lonnie and splurges on the smiley potato fries. does that count???? it counts
who was nervous and shy on the first date
who said anything about DATING they are just GUYS bein DUDES (read: lonnie)
who kills/takes out the spiders
lonnie. see: 2:31 of this video
who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk
JULIAN (BUT LIKE….. NO HOMO…….. BRO….. BROTATO CHIP….. I LUV U……… SOOO MUCH…….. BE MY BROFRIEND………….. b r u h)
DASTANAIS
who said “i love you” first
neither
who would have the other’s picture as their phone background
dastan has anais as his background and he never changes it
who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror
anais leaves notes reminding dastan to do basic shit and he never does
who buys the other cheesy gifts
dastan doesn’t buy gifts (stickin it to the man) but there was one time on valentine’s day where he got ridiculously high and burst into the local hallmark and bought all the cards that made him laugh (like 20 of them) and then multiple BEANIE BABIES. this qualifies as cheesy in comparison to anais who spends at least 2 months contemplating what to get dastan for christmas that doesn’t have to do with weed
who initiated the first kiss
anais
who kisses the other awake in the morning
dastan, if he wakes up first
who starts tickle fights
dastan
who asks who if they can join the other in the shower
what makes you think dastan asks
who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch
anais brought salad to dastan one time while he was dying as he covered the americana hour at the radio station for their “friend” and he threw it on the GROUND
who was nervous and shy on the first date
anais. dastan was high
who kills/takes out the spiders
anais. dastan doesn’t fuckin care about spiders getting all up in his business, the misunderstood spider meme changed him as a person
who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk
Kit & Charlotte/Odessa (Romantic Kiss)narglehuntingHe stands comfortably behind her, hands gently covering her eyes, positioned so that there’s no peeking, until they’re in the doorway of the sunlit, pale yellow walled room. She can’t see the stupid grin on his face, but it’s there. Kit isn’t one for romantic gestures, but this girl deserves the world. And he (perhaps foolishly) thinks he can give it to her.“Alright, mi vida, go on, look,” he slides his hands away, tucks them into his pockets, sheepishly moves to stand next to her with a glance, what do you think?Charlotte exhales, taking in the gloss of the unfurnished room. “Crib can go there, maybe,” Kit indicates a spot just outside of the light streaming through the window, already mapping out the soon-to-be nursery in his head. She walks inside, taking his hand and threading their fingers together as she slowly leads him to circle the room, stopping in the center to snake her arms around his neck.He cups her face in his hands and looks searchingly into those blue, blue eyes, a brief hesitance, a momentary pause, I love you, and kisses her, traces his touch down neck, collarbone, stomach where his hand brushes over, lips only parting for him to rest his forehead against her forehead, both of them smiling.
///
Andy & Sara (Forehead Kiss)lyonfreddieHe’s panicking a little (or a lot).Sara’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, and she is very much asleep, and he’s faced with a muscle-cramped dilemma of moving (risking waking her up), or being late for being early to the airport to catch a flight for his latest assignment.There isn’t much that could tear him away from the sleepy snugness of them, together, on the couch, movie credits long since ended, playing the menu screen song on repeat (though Andy doesn’t mind, honestly, Andy doesn’t even notice).Justice, however, is one of those things. And Justice needs him in Budapest, under the guise of Everett Sphincter, business tycoon.Andy holds his breath, trying not to jostle Sara as he tries to slide off the couch as gently as possible. The result is an awkward maneuver that involves trying to guide her into a lying down position that he does (kind of) successfully. At one point she starts murmuring in her sleep and Andy freezes, mortified, that he’s disturbed her, and instead just sort of watches her, refusing to exhale for a few seconds before she finally settles in.Immediate relief.He glances around to make sure no one’s looking (who would possibly be looking?) before leaning and placing a soft kiss on her forehead, his reluctance to pull away, overwhelming.
///
Andy & Sara (Eyelid Kiss)“Hold still.”There is an eyelash sitting directly beneath Sara’s eye. Naturally, Custard thus far ignored all of Andy’s imploring looks that he should be the one to be a gentleman and remove it. Andy still has a difficult time handling being anywhere in Sara’s general vicinity without becoming a blushing mess. But there is an eyelash. Beneath her eye. And her attempts at brushing it away have been futile.He clears his throat before delicately pinching his fingers together with surgical precision, so thankful that Sara’s eyes are closed so that she won’t see how hard he’s concentrating on this task. In his mind, he manages to pluck the eyelash smoothly from her cheek so that it’s sitting on his finger, and he, suavely says, ‘make a wish.’Except this is pure fantasy.Because he gets distracted by her face and how lovely it is and how she’s breathing so softly with an expectant look, because he, of course, told her to hold still. He’s tempted to kiss her – actually kiss her, full on the lips – what a romantic thing to do. Then again, what if she doesn’t want to be kissed? He panics, and instead, kisses her eyelid. And he hastily collects the eyelash while pulling away, flustered, making an excuse for why he needs to immediately leave the room.
///
Cole & Eve (Firm Kiss)obaraisms
Don’t.
Cole grabs her by the arm, not intending to hurt her, but the pressure beneath his fingertips, into her skin, makes his urgency and desperation certain.
Don’t go.
He knows if she walks out that door, nothing will be the same. No more them, no more family, just the memories and the mistakes and the regret that follow in its wake. Something about this particular night, this particular fight, is symbolic – as though all the other times she’s left the room or the house because of something he’s said or done have only been leading up to this point, this final breaking point, a time too many, maybe.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, for the thousandth time. He can’t even say for what. He can’t bring himself to say for everything. Morgan is already asleep, and Eve claims that all she needs is some air, some time alone, some time to think. And he wants to respect that, but holding onto her is like trying to hold onto sand.
Cole presses her back against the closed door, kisses her firmly as though to say, stay, just fucking stay, their lips brushing together near-bruising before he nuzzles the crook of her neck. Stay this time, and things will be better.
[swooces right in] 16 pester!! 5 connie/lula!!! (is this allowed omg but) 20 ginny / vienna or desi. OR BOTH??? aaaaand (rated) 21 sandy !!!(!!)
how dare
pester + upside-down kiss(obaraisms i’m dying)
He appears over the back of the armchair and peers down at Sands. Pierce’s attention settles not on her legs splayed to either side so that the base of her spine can press against the back of the chair, and not on the way her shirt rides up over her stomach as her back slides off the seat and arcs towards the floor, but on the book in her hands – specifically, the number of pages on one side as opposed to the other.
“Not much further to go.”“Shh.”
The Picture of Dorian Gray does get quite tense near the end, Pierce can’t really blame her. Still, it’s odd that she should be the one shushing him, and odder still that his hand trails up her leg as he circles around the chair (and end table with lamp, it takes skill) and ends up sitting on the floor with topsy-turvy Hester Sands beside him.
“So’ve you gotten to the part wher–”“Shhhhh.”
This time, Pierce crosses his arms. And he sits there for a few good minutes before he realizes Hester hasn’t turned the page once. That concentration face had him fooled. What a beautiful idiot. He adjusts his glasses and leans closer.
“I can read it to you, if you’d like. In bed, maybe, so you can sit like a regular–”“What part of ‘shh’ don’t you understand? You always tell me I should read things for myself, and I’m doing that, and you won’t leave me alone. Don’t you have to write something?”“I just finished, actually.”“Okay. Well. I’m reading.”“And you don’t want me to read to you?”“No. I don’t.”
What a beautiful, stubborn idiot.
He sits there for a little while longer, shifting on the floor so he might see what page Sands is on before giving up with a sigh.
“Hester, can I kiss you?”“If I say yes, will you shut up?”“You should want to do this.”“I do, it’s just that I think you should throw in something extra.”“Yeah, sure.”“Fine.”
Hester sets the book down on her chest pages-first to save her place before she finally gives Pierce the undivided attention he’ll deny he always needs. Her fingers curl into his hair and pull him down to her level, where their lips meet at odds.
It’s nice, though. Awfully nice. So nice that Pierce has to remove his glasses with a single shaking hand lest they get horribly fogged up. Everything around them seems to slow down, and it would all be quite fine if things stay this way, but Sands makes a small noise that escalates to a full-blown groan the moment she wrenches herself away (and shoves her husband into the coffee table).
The Picture of Dorian Gray lays face-down on the floor. Closed.
“You made me lose my place, Porter!”“Sorry, I didn’t know you were reading.”
///
connie/lula + firm kiss(iowntheplace i’m also dying)
After looking everywhere high and low and eye-level, Lula finds Connie out on the balcony. He’s leaning on the rail, head propped up with two fists squished into his cheeks, and he stares out across London at night. They’re only a few stories up, but all the cars and people and chaos seems so far away.
“I’ve looked all over for you,” she whispers loudly, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around from behind, “high and low and even eye-level.”
He’s visibly jolted out of something akin to a reverie. Lula’s touch settles him quickly enough – not at quick as She could, however. But that’s not the point; he shouldn’t even be thinking of Her. Connie twists in Lula’s arms and grins.
“What’s the matter?”“I came to see what was wrong with you, hun bun.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.” She gives him a pout, and his grin only widens, verging on shit-eating. As long as he’s Connie Coulter, nothing will ever be fine. But with Lula, everything has to be perfect. So he leans in close and presses a firm, steady kiss to her lips. The pad of his thumb runs from her cheek down to her chin, then gently boops her nose. “Honestly.”
She beams right back at him and wraps him up in a tight embrace.
///
vienna/ginny + hot, steamy kiss
Whoever said Codename missions couldn’t be fun?
(No one, ever.)
“We’ll pay you a hundred pounds if you make out for a minute.”
Men. No, not even men. Boys. Ginny casts a sidelong glance to and equally-unimpressed Vienna Janvier.
“Only a hundred pounds?” Ginny scoffs.
“Only one minute?” Vienna adds.
The two men turn around for a murmured sidebar. Ginny and Vienna exchange a mini-high-five – and then, when the guys keep whispering as they pull out their wallets, a mini-low-five, too. They turn back around and drop several large notes on the table. Ginny has to stop herself from biting her fist and cutting the knuckles.
Without another word, Ginny takes Vienna’s face in her hands. The moment hangs suspended in the air, all eyes, skin, touch, bated breath. Then it is lips, teeth, heat, unbearable heat. She could be back in Hawaii, sipping a banana daiquiri on the beach, and she wouldn’t know the difference.
Instead, she’s helping Vienna on top of the table, lips still locked, hands still wandering. Ginny pushes deeper, tasting nothing but Negroni and – is that chocolate? It doesn’t really matter, though, because the lads have called “time.” And “time,” again. And once more. And then they call it “fuck it, I need another drink,” and away they go.
The girls break apart seconds after they’re out of sight. Ginny picks the notes out of Vienna’s hair, then hands her drink back to her.
“Men are too easy.”“Not men. Boys.”
///
desi/ginny + underwater kiss
“No! Porter said I have to wear this. If I don’t, he’ll find out. He always does.”“What, like I’d tell him? Come on. I’m practically a walking life vest. And I look much better.”
Ginny has a point – she does look much better than the fluorescent death trap currently fastened on his chest. What Porter doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The moment Desi places it on the floor of the boat, however, he finds himself tackled over the edge of the houseboat. His and Ginny’s backs hit the Thames and they both begin to sink.
He latches onto her just like a baby sloth held onto a mom sloth in a nature documentary he watched the other day. This means hooking his arms and legs around Ginny, making it extremely difficult for her to maneuver – even when her dolphin senses are factored in. He needs to loosen up.
It’s not going to happen all by itself.
Ginny hesitates for a moment, then presses her lips to his. She’s tempted to break it off the moment he registers what’s happening and his eyes nearly pop out of his head, but his grip is only tightening. As soon as she moves to deepen the kiss, Desi finally pushes away.
That’s all she needs.
Only seconds later, they’re back on the deck of the houseboat, and Desi’s already peeled off his shirt and wringing it over the edge.
“What. The hell and fuck. Was that for?!”“Keep you on your toes. Always be prepared.”“Oh my GOD, you’re worse than him.”
///
sandy + then there’s tongue
A few seconds in and Sara begins to laugh. It starts innocently enough with just a few quiet giggles, only to have them popcorn out of her mouth and directly into Andy’s face. He pulls away, scrunching his face into the most adorable puzzled look ever.
“Ohh, God, sorry,” she wheezes in between peals of laughter, “it’s just–”
“I can’t be that bad, can I?” Another look crosses Andy’s face – one of pure existential angst. Maybe Priya had been lying to him the whole time, and their whole relationship just plainly ignored the fact that he was a terrible kisser. For years. He shakes his head and glances back at Sara, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth.
“… okay, look, I don’t know why, but when you did that thing–”“–with the tongue–”“–yeah, I… I remembered the one time a puppy licked the inside of my mouth. Sorry. It’s a little gross.”“O… kay?”
She’s losing him.
“But you’re not like that!” Sara uncurls her limbs and reaches out to Andy, pulling him back over to her bedroll by the front of his shirt. “It’s just what I thought of, because you’re…” A pause. Her fingers tap his chest thoughtfully. “… I mean, that’s what you are, right?”
Andy freezes, having been distracted by how good her hair smelled, even while they were Roughing It out in northern Wales. He lifts his nose out of her hair, unsure of how to proceed and too Andy to let her know that he wasn’t listening.
“Yes?”“Good boy.”
Sara hugs him close and cannot let go until she begins to nod off. Andy gingerly sets her down on her sleeping bag, slips her boots off after unlacing them, and crawls out of the tent – directly into Custard’s knees.
the one place they sometimes end up falling asleep – where they’re not supposed to
sara can fall asleep anywhere after her coffee wears off, so she tries to make sure she’s at home when it happens. she’s fallen asleep in cabs, on a bus, on her desk at work with dangerous materials inches from her face, and, one time, at a mcdonald’s. she did a faceplant into her cup of ketchup.
the game they’d destroy everyone else at
JENGA
the emoticon they’d use most often
c:
what they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep
jacked up on coffee so probably trembling like a leaf. overly enthusiastic about all the things. lots of fist clenching and fist pumping and friendly punches that probably leave bruises (sorry).
their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights. or mornings. or whenever.
is this really a question
how they like to comfort/care for themselves when they’re in a slump
sara puts on her frumpiest jumper, makes a pillow fort on the couch in front of her tv, and puts on an 80s teen flick OR a disney movie, depends on how rough her day was. she usually ends up ingesting an entire pint of ben & jerry’s, too.
what they wanted to be when they grew up
when she was very tiny, she wanted to fish like her parents, but then she almost drowned and that kind of shot down all her hopes and dreams. her super tiny child dreams. ummm. then she wanted to work in the biology field, specifically genetics research and what caused certain traits (read: superpowers) to manifest in some people but not in others.
their favorite kind of weather
right before and right after it rains, everything just smells so earthy.
thoughts on their singing voice (decent? terrible? soprano? alto?)
she was part of an a cappella group at uni but was never their Featured Singer, and never took singing lessons outside of that group. she can sing pretty well though!! mezzo-soprano 4 lyfe \m/
how/what they like to draw or doodle
frogs, mostly. all over the page. sometimes she’ll draw the subject of a nature documentary she watched the night before (badgers, meerkats, etc) but she usually sticks to animals. and frogs especially.
DAS(S)TAN PRABHAKAR
2-4 songs that are probably on their iPod (HOO BOY)
a whiter shade of pale - procol harum
sunday morning - the velvet underground
god - john lennon
something - the beatles
the one place they sometimes end up falling asleep – where they’re not supposed to
the radio station. and it’s not ‘falling asleep,’ it’s ‘falling into a fucking coma for FOUR HOURS.’ which is why they now keep a sleeping bag there.
the game they’d destroy everyone else at
this noodle is surprisingly good at twister
the emoticon they’d use most often
e___________e
what they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep
like his usual self, but worse. an achievement in itself
their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights. or mornings. or whenever.
chamomille tea tbh
how they like to comfort/care for themselves when they’re in a slump
#BLAZEHITT and then clean out the pantry afterwards. though his entire life is one big slump so like. yeah.
what they wanted to be when they grew up
does it even matter, life is pointless, we’re all just dust in the wind. (he wanted to be an information specialist in silicon valley, but then he realized how much science and math it would take to get there and gave up to study history)
their favorite kind of weather
severe thunderstorms & tornado-watch weather
thoughts on their singing voice (decent? terrible? soprano? alto?)
kinda quiet, but pretty soothing. tends to sing obnoxiously off-key just to annoy people (read: anais) though
how/what they like to draw or doodle
anais, secretly, but then he covers everything up with penises because he’s only human
♔ pester (a tiny crown for the king of trash ships), ♟ no homo (ofc) and ♦ dastanais (crying sunglasses emoji)
[michael scott voice] i hate
PESTER
♔ finding your muse wearing their clothes
“That my shirt?”“Mmm.”“And my socks?”“Hmm.”“And… my cereal?”
Hester started to open her mouth to answer with something that was more than just an affirmative noise, but some milk dribbled down her chin and she resigned to sit on Pierce’s counter as some sort of small mammal that wore human clothes. Although she was not part of the Alvin and the Chipmunks universe, she had the potential to be that annoying. Not that she was, but the potential was there.
After Pierce had run his hand across his face top to bottom as he did every morning upon trudging downstairs, he finished buttoning his own shirt and tucked it into his trousers, then poured himself a bowl of Raisin Bran.
“Something wrong?”“No.”“You don’t like me wearing your stuff.”“No, I do. In fact, it’s actually quite…”
He trailed off just as he caught himself about to use the c-word. What made things worse was that Hester anticipated the c-word as well, and had leaned forward intently. Now was probably not a good time to point out the tips of her hair were getting in the milk.
“It’s what?”
Her grin was highly contagious; it had already spread to Pierce. He shoved a heaping spoonful of cereal into his mouth to hide his symptoms.
“Pierce, you think I’m cute.”“Mmm.”
NO HOMO
♟ patching up a wound
“Uhh, the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
As Lonnie pressed a hot rag to his bicep and stared at their popcorned ceiling, Julian noisily rummaged through their medical kit, laying out all the tools and treatments on their kitchen table.
“You need stitches, bro.”“Then take me to the hospital?”“Who do you trust more, Mr. Pedophile-in-a-White-Coat, or me, your very best friend?”“Why is the doctor automatically a pedo?”“Dunno. ‘Cause he’s a pediatrician?”“But I’m a man. Fucking adult. Person.”“Not if you keep squirming like that, asshole.”
With a quiet ‘yeah, bitch,’ Jules pulled the needle, thread, and forceps from their jumbled-up bin of medical shit, placed them in front of Lonnie, then pushed his dumb glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was so close he could see the beads of perspiration gathering on the very fringes of his face – was it warm in the apartment? It felt a little warm.
Lonnie applied more pressure and felt bad about it when he winced and Jules grabbed his chin.
“Fucking trust me.”“I don’t even know if you can do sutures properly.”“Dude. I took a class on this shit. I totally know what I’m doing.”
DASTANAIS
♦ slow dancing
“Come on, Admiral Asshole.”“Admirals don’t dance.”“You’re so full of shit. Also, you’ve never known anybody in the Navy.”
He let her drag him out onto the balcony anyways, the snooty waltz rising up from the high society ballroom below and wafting out of the mansion’s every orifice. They didn’t know the steps, but none of that mattered when they were the only ones moving their feet.
Only it turned out that Anais, the true Admiral Asshole, had been lying straight to his face when she confessed she didn’t know know how to waltz. Not well, at least.
As a result, the only steps Dastan knew were the ones directly on top of her feet.
They danced until she could dance no more – a solid two minutes.
[laughing maniacally] MAN. pester, 2 + 3 ; no homo 23: things you said that made me feel beautiful ; distant explosions 16 (lmao) ; dastanais 5, 20 + 22 OKAY BYE
ONE MILLION YEARS DUNGEON
PESTER
things you said through your teeth
“Shut up. The only way you’re going to win this argument is if you take your shirt off.”“I don’t believe that.”“Well, you should. Because it’s true.”
Hester’s hands ball into frustrated fists. Pierce’s hands are folded neatly behind his back. He meanders a few steps closer.
“You’re telling me to cheat. Bit of a dick move, isn’t it?”“That’s what dicks do. Move.”“Hester.”“Porter–”
His last name pierces through a chink in his armor and down to the bone. He can only stare down at Sands as she glares back up at him, jaw clenched, knuckles white, eyes ablaze.
“Take off your fucking shirt.”
It’s the only way.
things you said too quietly
“God, FINE, I’ll take your stupid soup to work,” she groans, snatching the thermos from Pierce’s hand like a child grabbing a brown paper bag that contains the tuna sandwich of death; she adds, without much thought (and volume), “but only because I love you.”
Puzzled, Pierce glances at her curiously, expecting her to repeat herself – he didn’t catch it, and besides, it’s common courtesy. Everyone knows that, Hester Sands. But she only pulls him down to her level and kisses his nose before she’s out the door, leaving him with only an earful of mumbles to last the workday.
He realizes as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it on the chair in his office that Hester could have said anything. Only because – what?
Feeling ill, he postulates, brewing coffee in the breakroom. The dark drink in his mug, for some reason or another, seems to disagree with him. He needs more coffee.
It tastes good, yeah, no. He snickers to himself as he copies several articles, scowling when an underling gives him a look.
I’m pregnant.
Shit.
He doesn’t even make it to 10 o’clock before texting her:
— You didn’t have to take the soup, but you did because…??
— I love you???
— That’s what I thought.
NO HOMO
things you said that made me feel beautiful
“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?It is the east, and Lonniet is the sun.”
God, it just feels so right – not just to be called the sun (which is pretty fitting, come to think of it), but to be recognized as such by Julie Crowley. Julian. Crowley. Who somehow has managed to lock down the part of Romeo Montague in the spring play. Sarcastically.
(Lonnie wanted to be Juliet – not just for authenticity, bitches, but you wanna see how high and ladylike his voice can be? – but, unfortunately, the tables have turned and theatre now infringes upon men’s rights. Why does Jenny Fugelhorn get to be Juliet, while Lonnie has to settle for Mercutio, who is totally gay for Romeo and against his religious beliefs? Ridiculous.)
Still, to be called the sun… it’s only a line written hundreds of years ago by a bisexual fairy playwright… but it makes him feel so radiant. His palms would be glowing by now if he hadn’t quickly regained his senses and slipped back into theatre mode.
“Dude, you did it again.”“Did what?”“‘Lonniet is the sun.’ Really?”
The tips of Julian’s ears turn pink, but once his face screws up in that stupidly determined way of his, Lonnie knows he can nail the part.
He’s a natural-born Romeo.
DISTANT EXPLOSIONS
things you said with no space between us
“You said this place was deserted.”“It is. Mole people aren’t people. They’re mole people.”“But, still, people.”
Renee sweetly places a hand over his mouth, which he has to close to keep himself from retching. A tiny closet is not the best place to meet one’s dinner again. Pierce would prefer to keep Hester’s supper in his stomach, thank you kindly.
He needs air that isn’t filtered through Renee’s talons. Pierce pushes himself away and, ironically, ends up pressed even closer to the harpy (he cannot think of a proper mythological allusion at the moment for reasons which should be obvious) as he attempts to shift on his feet. When did putrefaction acquire such a rosy scent?
A slender hand slithers from his hip down to his knee. More of a brush with death than a caress. Pierce freezes, his eyes straining in the complete darkness.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, now touch me BABE–”
He’s not sure what part of her body his elbow connects with, but it hurts.
DASTANAIS
things you didn’t say at all
Through the thick haze that’s settled in the corners of his vision, his fingertips trace meandering patterns on her bare back. There is something he should say, something she should say… but, like most everything in their respective existences, it becomes stagnant and remains suspended between them.
If this is love (it isn’t, is it?), it’s a goddamn swamp.
“Horse latitudes,” he mutters, slowly sliding next to her.
“Doldrums.” The crook of her elbow catches most of her voice. Not that it’s entirely important to their conversation. “We could stay forever.”
“Will we?”
A shrug.
things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear
He’s come down with the LA Crud, as he calls it, curled into the fetal position in his twin XL bed with the shakes. He should be asleep, but he wants to see – rather, hear – what Anais can do by herself on the air.
“It’s our monthly vinyl day, just pull random shit out of the box,” he’d croaked into the receiver, wondering if wrapping the phone cord around his neck would end his worldly suffering, “I’m not fucking listening. We can deal with shit ratings when I’m better.”
Click.
“We’re back, dear listeners, or should I say I’m back because someone–” Dastan can feel her glare in the airwaves, which is saying something “–couldn’t practice basic hygiene. Anyway, it’s World Record Day here at the station. I didn’t come up with the name.” She did. It sucks.
Dastan wants to throw up, but the bucket is across the room.
“Looks like the next track is ‘Sexy M.F.’ by Prince. Listeners, enjoy.”
Anais might as well have shoved her own two fingers down Dastan’s throat and triggered his gag reflex. The torture continues for an hour, but Dastan is absent for most of it – he bundles up in his warmest clothes and stumbles down to the station. Anais is shrugging on her windbreaker when he blunders through the door.
“I cannot fucking believe…”“That you listened? You weren’t supposed to, and yet…”“Fuck you. Carry me back to my room.”
things you said after it was over
“What are the odds–”“Of us being in a group project? The way we sit at polar opposites of the room lined up with how the professor chose group members. God, you’re so vapid.”“You forgot to mention that group projects are straight from Hell.”“Hell doesn’t exist, Admiral Asshole.”“Look, it’s fine. I didn’t really want to talk to you, anyway.”“Whatever.”“Whatever.”
