Into Thin Air drabble (2015-06-18)

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“You think I didn’t grieve for you?” Windy spits at her stupid brother, so small and so trusting of everyone else except for her, “You think just because I’m wearing this suit, because I didn’t choose to start bombing random buildings, that I don’t love you? That I stopped being your sister?” She hates that they even have to have this conversation, but she hates that they’re having this out in front of fucking Lockheart and the rest of the ragtag band of AVALANCHE terrorists even more.

Cloud says nothing. Because he’s always been taciturn and shy but in this case it’s probably because to him Windy’s just some stranger with a similar face. Worse, a ShinRa stooge with a similar face. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe her anything.

Windy shakes off that thought, straightens his back, and continues his tirade, “You are my brother, Cloud. You will always be my brother. I have always tried to help you. Even now. Even now when you don’t remember who you even are, much less who I am. When you think of me as an enemy. I don’t need you to like me back, and I don’t need you to love me back, and that fucking,” zie chokes out, voice thick in hir throat, “It fucking tears at me, okay? But that doesn’t mean I won’t help you.”

Zie’s trying not to cry, but is obviously failing spectacularly because zie can feel the twin trails of wetness on her cheeks. In her peripheral vision, blurred as it by her tears, she can see the rest of AVALANCHE shift uncomfortably but remain in their watching. His hand, bereft of his bow, clenches compulsively around empty air.

And still Cloud says nothing.

“We’re the Strife twins. We were the pariahs of Nibelheim and we traveled half the world to go try out for SOLDIER and fail out because they’re sexist prigs and you had more heart than skill and I helped you through all of that. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there when General Sephiroth went mad and burned our shitty hometown to the ground and nearly killed you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when that asshole Hojo faked your death and spent the last four years experimenting on you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were apparently wandering around in a catatonic state for anyone,” zie pointedly does not look at Lockheart, “to pick up and indoctrinate. But I’m here now, okay? And if you want to blow up my employer’s property then I will help you do that. If you want to kill Hojo, I will more than gladly help you do that. So please–”

“Windy,” Cloud finally says, brow furrowed.

“What?” Zie responds immediately, both in confusion and for clarification.

“Your name is Windy. Not Winter.”

“Yes…”

“Not Wind, either.”

“Okay?”

“Cloud and Windy Strife,” he adds, unhelpfully.

“Excuse you, it’s Windy and Cloud Strife. I’m older,” she argues automatically, before biting off whatever else she was going to say because…

Cloud steps closer, hand outstretched. Zie freezes, eyes opened wide, as he carefully brushes away hir tears.

It’s not very comfortable, the fabric of his gloves rough against hir face, and it’s not very effective either because it’s still obvious that zie had been crying, but it’s the thought that counts.

~

A/N: I haven’t actually played the game so I don’t know shit. That being said, I personally don’t hate Tifa. I just think that Windy, having grown up in Nibelheim alongside Cloud and Tifa would not like Tifa very much as a kid and then especially not after her honest misunderstanding basically brainwashed Cloud.

Untitled drabble (2015-06-17)

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“And the both of you can go rot in hell with your stupid matching uniforms and your dumb codes and agh!” he shouted, storming through their apartment and straight to the bedroom he shared with Hazel where he slammed the door in an angry smack.

In his wake, at a much slower pace, were Hazel and Joey, indeed wearing matching uniforms because they were coworkers and they had to wear matching uniforms.

“Can’t you talk to him?” Hazel asked, fretfully unlacing her shoes to slip them off her feet, “He’s your brother.”

“He’s your husband,” Joey responded, calmly kicking off his own pair of boots, before padding over to the kitchen and opening the fridge, “You were the one that chose him. I just happened to get stuck with him.”

“It’s as much your fault as it is mine that the station thought we were together,” Hazel grumped, but followed Joey to stand in front of the fridge.

“We live together because we live with Kevin, and you always bring up household chores when we’re at work. And I told you not to change your last name when you guys got married.” He grabbed two yogurt cups–blueberry for him, peach for her–and motioned at her to grab a pair of spoons.

She sighed, in agreement or exasperation–or both, because Hazel was a fan of multitasking–before grabbing two spoons from the cutlery drawer and flopping down on one end of the couch. A dip let her know Joey joined her, warning enough for the peach yogurt held out in exchange for a spoon.

The day had been frustrating and embarrassing all around, but especially for her–on behalf of and towards the rest of the station, who had gotten it in their head that she and Joey were married and that Kevin, her actual husband, who had shown up for a surprise lunch, was some kind of home-wrecking interloper.

Apparently, not only had Joey and Hazel been everyone’s ideal of perfect partners–in the field and at home–but there had been a series of betting pools on each of their nonexistent relationship’s milestones.

“They’re going to have to reverse all of those payments,” she said inanely, before morosely partaking in her yogurt.

Beside her, Joey snorted, “I don’t think anyone had ‘secretly in-laws’ as their bid… They’d have made serious bank.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hazel sighed again, this time more amused than not.

“Okay, rock paper scissors? Two out of three; loser has to go comfort his majesty first?”

“Don’t bother, I’ll go first,” she waved away his outstretched fist.

“’Cause you know you’re going to lose?”

“Because you always choose in the same order and I always win.”

He didn’t deny it.

Ode to 11010201 drabble (2015-06-16)

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“For some reason, whoa,” he begins, climbing on top of a fallen log and walking along it in a wobbly fashion.

Feet firmly on the leaf strewn ground next to him, R glances at him warily, but lets him do so.

“For some reason,” he repeats, arms outstretched for balance, “I don’t really feel protective of you.”

R hums in part acknowledgement, part agreement, but says nothing in response.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love you, and I also like you, which–the latter is not always guaranteed with the former, let me tell you–and I’m really glad that you’re in my life and stuff. But. I dunno, I just don’t really… I mean. I don’t get worried about you? Like, my best friend? He’s such a dweeb and I’m always worried he’s going to do something dumb and get himself hurt. And my dad, well, his job’s not exactly a cushioned, luxurious office job y’know? Don’t even get me started on all the supernatural bullshit that can happen to either of them. But it’s like, with you? I don’t really care? Like, if either of them said they had been attacked I’d be freaking out, but with you I’m just. It’s not that I wouldn’t care, I just would ask what you did and then that’s it.”

“Well, I do know how to protect myself,” R replies, bemused.

“Yeah, no, but. I know that, but I don’t think that’s it? Like, if my dad were to tell me he almost got mugged but then he fended off the mugger I’d still be freaking out. But if you were to tell me that I’d probably just ask what spell you used and if you could teach that to me, you know?”

“Hm, yes. I see…”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way…”

“No, of course not. I understand what you’re trying to say,” she reassures, pausing by the end of the log while he jumps off, “I suppose I feel much the same way.”

“What, really? But you’re teaching me all sorts of stuff.”

“It’s because… hm… well, you’re rather on the zealous side when it comes to your dad and your friend, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, unsure of the direction the conversation is going.

“Let’s hope it never comes to it, but I get the feeling that you’d probably die for them if it meant keeping them safe.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, this time far more firmly. Because he totally would.

“But you wouldn’t do the same for me,” R states confidently as they continue their walk.

“Uh… no? I don’t… I don’t know why.”

“It’s because if you died, I’d die. I sincerely doubt our magic would let only one of us die. To some extent, us sharing magic makes us the same person. You don’t feel protective over your hands. Obviously when you injure a hand, you want it to heal, but once it’s healed that doesn’t mean you stop using it.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. That makes sense. But what about you teaching me?”

“Well, you have to train your hands in order to maximize their potential. I’m not naturally ambidextrous, you know.”

“Do you mean that literally or figuratively?”

“Hm, both, actually.”

Into Thin Air x Naruto drabble, part two (2015-06-15)

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The same week that Windy meets hir erstwhile… nephew… they are situated in a new two bedroom apartment situated on all sides by ninja, three of whom are pretending to be civilians. Zie doesn’t mind it too terribly, and it’s not the worst situation zie will find hirself in in this strange future world.

(Approximately four years later, Windy is screaming, to the utter surprise of not only Konoha and their allies, but also their enemies because, “FUCKING JENOVA? AGAIN?! FUCK THIS SHIT!”)

Sharing domestic space with what amounts to a total stranger isn’t new. At the very least it’s a stationary home base with a non-hostile person, which is more than could be said for hir previous attempts at co-habitation, and, while still a teenage boy in all that entails, Naruto is decent at keeping things tidy even if they’re not necessarily clean. Also, it’s not a barracks full of nine teenage boys. After that? One is a cake walk.

The language barrier, however, continues to be an issue. It doesn’t help that Naruto, apparently, isn’t a very concise speaker and his hand writing is awful. But facial expressions and body language and tone of voice are effective enough communicators, and zie was a Turk so… Windy makes do.

Windy spends most of hir time shadowing hir nephew, trying not to cringe every time the slouching not-Sephiroth looks in hir direction, inwardly laughing at how fluffy and disgruntled the tiny Valentine look-alike is, and pondering which of hir past acquaintances would best fit the pink-haired girl. Zie regrets it when zie considers it might be Lockheart, because Lockheart has always hated hir. A mutual hatred, of course, but it sucks that the memory taints hir perception of someone who is clearly an important person in hir nephew’s life.

When not doing that, or when zie finally gets bored of that, Windy tries to figure out how this strange future world works. All of the ninja seem to have the physical prowess somewhere between a normal human and a SOLDIER, even the younger ones would be a match for a Turk at peak health. Physically, that is.

But hir nephew’s martial arts style, if it can even be called such a thing, is shoddy at best. Such a thing could get him killed, so zie does hir best to correct it… by occasionally pummeling him into the ground. It reminds Windy of hir brother, really.

On top of superior strength and speed, the ninja can use magic without materia. But it varies, not only between ranks, but between individuals of the same rank. Not everyone has the same magical skills, but theoretically everyone could use the same jutsu.

Zie’s lucky the old man didn’t see fit to take hir materia, shiny and obvious as they are. It gives hir a semblance of a fighting chance. And zie means that literally.

~

A/N: Ugh, I know I said I wasn’t going to continue this… but it just popped into my head and I thought I might as well. Tbh, I mostly just wanted Windy to freak out about the Jenova – Kaguya similarities but didn’t want to actually write that far, hence the flash forward.

Ode to 11010201 drabble (2015-06-14)

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“Ooh,” R coos, then lifts her teacup up to her face, breathes in the scent and then takes a sip. “Ooh,” she repeats, though this time it’s unrelated to her beverage, “Keep going, darling,” she prompts, perfectly content to listen to her nephew rant about school and teachers and girls and boys and all sorts of teenage drama. A little eager, in fact.

He flushes a little, both pleased and embarrassed at being called darling. It’s not quite the same–his mom preferred sweetie and that was before he got to kindergarten–but the affection is still palpable. He sets the feeling aside, though, and continues his diatribe.

“Who even does that? What kind of person sets another person’s textbooks on fire? What the hell–not only is that a massive fire safety violation, but I mean… the textbooks aren’t even really mine! They’re the schools! And it’s not like I’m the one whose going to get in trouble for it! There were witnesses and one of them was even the chemistry teacher so I don’t even have to worry about being a narc. But seriously, I don’t. What?” Today had been really weird–horrifying, yes, but mostly just weird.

He still had ashes on his clothes from his poor, incinerated textbooks; could smell the smoke lingering around him. Time zones being what they were, he hadn’t wanted to shower and change clothes and postpone their video call too late in the day for R. Though, at least he had had the opportunity to shower after hockey practice.

“Considering you filled his locker full of cheese yesterday, I suppose we should be thankful he didn’t try to set you on fire…” She responds, the epitome of calm–which, while preferable to his dad’s absolute freak out, is a little on the apathetic side.

“Yeah, but before that he kept tripping me in the cafeteria! You know how prone I am to falling by myself, adding in deliberate tripping is just overkill. I ended up wearing my lunches for two weeks instead of eating them,”

“… though I doubt you would have been hurt if he had tried,” R murmurs, pointedly tapping her left middle finger against her tea cup. The fingernail is painted red, the rune for fire hidden underneath. On him, his pinky is the one designated for fire, having a greater affinity and thus needing less help.

“What, really?” He asks, completely derailed from his rage, “Our magic makes us immune to getting set on fire?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like I’ve been jumping into bonfires to test it out,” R disclaims, “but I did walk away when someone tased me a few months ago. I was taken off guard, so I didn’t use any of my mini-weavings, so it couldn’t have been that.”

“Holy shit!” He yelps, nearly jolting off his desk chair, “Someone tried to tase you?” He peers at his screen skeptically, as if she were hiding fresh injuries underneath her pajamas, “Are you okay?”

“It was a while ago,” She waves away, “And the point is, we’re a lot more powerful than the average human. Steer clear of this guy, for sure, and that means stop antagonizing him with things like lockers full of cheese.”

“Yeah, well, since he was caught red-handed destroying school property he’s been suspended with possible expulsion if he pulls anything like that again,” He concludes, expelling his righteous anger at being avenged.

“And you’ll steer clear of him?” R prompts, eyebrow raised. If there was no explicit agreement, then she knows he won’t do it.

“Yeah, I’ll steer clear. The guy’s a total creep, though, so I can’t be held accountable if he comes to me,” He grumbles.

“And if that’s the case, then you have my blessing to do whatever’s necessary to defend yourself.”

The Delgado Pack, Prologue (Part Two) (2015-06-13)

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The Delgado pack is slightly over a dozen strong, but not much more than that. It doesn’t really sound like much in comparison to the older packs around the country. Even the Hales, who despite their lengthy heritage aren’t all that large, have greater numbers.

So from the outset, the Delgado pack doesn’t really seem like much. A dozen members, not all of them wolves even, and all of those bitten not born. It would be easy.

And yet. Yet. Setting aside each members’ above average ability to deal with crises, the Delgado pack is a dozen strong and not even a decade old; most of them are unrelated young adults.

The packs that number fifty, sixty strong? They’re families. The Hale pack, too, are made up of family. Grandparents to newly born infants; children and parents and siblings and cousins.  It’s the norm for pack and family to be synonymous, but that just makes the Delgado pack all the more striking.

Their’s is a small pack, but it can only get bigger, can only get stronger. The Delgado pack is one that has been forged through the fires of supernatural disasters, reinforced by being a pack of choice not birth.

~

A/N: I dunno, another short drabble full of Delgado pack feels. I guess this could also be considered part of the prologue? Meeeh. I don’t really know who I want to include as Delgado pack and who I want to have as unrelated but featured in the fic that I may not actually write.

The Delgado Pack, Prologue (2015-06-12)

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They’re called the Delgado pack, even though not a single member is named that.

“After my mom’s family,” the alpha says, Alpha McCall, the first true alpha in centuries. While other alphas wield their power like a weapon, he wears his the same way doctors and nurses wear scrubs–a necessity; not inherently frightening, but still worthy of respect, more so in fact.

He’s the ideal of what a werewolf should be, made all the more impressive by the fact that he was bitten not born. Bitten by a crazed rogue alpha, no less, leaving a recently turned, teenaged werewolf to stumble his way through the previously unknown world of the supernatural. Fortunately for him, not by himself.

Alpha McCall isn’t the only unique or impressive or exemplary member of the Delgado pack. It would be more truthful to say that all members of the Delgado pack are each as unique and impressive and exemplary as the next.

“It just rolls off the tongue so nicely. Not as nicely as the Stilinski pack does, but it’s pretty good,” adds the Delgado pack’s emissary, a human spark and, if rumors are to be believed, somehow a survivor of a Nogitsune possession, “And even though I think it would be funny–”

“We’re not calling ourselves the Argent pack,” interrupts Allison Argent, heiress of the Argent clan of hunters. She says it with exasperation and fondness, as if she weren’t in line to be the next matriarch of an entire paramilitary society whose goal is to kill people like Alpha McCall, like a human spark possessed by a void demon.

“But just think of how amazing it would be,” the emissary whines in jest.

A pack of supernatural creatures named after a clan of hunters? Scandalous–obscene and offensive to both sides. And yet, it could be hesitantly considered, revolutionary. Almost as much as a hunter being a member of a pack.

Not just honorary or as an ally, either, but integral.  There are tales told of how the three of them–Argent, Stilinski, McCall; hunter, spark, werewolf–took part in a ritual that took their lives and revived a world tree. But that must be just a tale, obviously, an exaggeration. A world tree? Just a myth.

Just as much as banshees and kanimas were myths. And yet… the Delgado pack. It didn’t just end there, though. A kitsune, a werecoyote brought back from the edge of being feral. Even the normal beta werewolves, if such a word could be used to describe werewolves and werewolves of the Delgado pack at that, were worthy of impressed whispers. Even their other human members were subject of a murmured story or two.

“They’re total dorks. Just a bunch of assholes and morons,” Says Ms. Harlowe, the high school biology teacher and advisor for the ‘Forestry Club’ whose member consisted entirely of teenagers in the know about the supernatural. “Don’t get me wrong: they’re good people, and they’ve been through some tough shit.”

When her students ask, she talks about them frankly. She’s not really a member of the Delgado pack (she’s not a member of the Hale pack either, though she is training the Deaton siblings for that role) but, as she puts it, “I went to school with them, and after you witness people go through embarrassing high school drama, it’s pretty hard to look at them and not see all the dumb stuff they pulled.” She’s friends with the members of the Delgado pack in a supernatural society that considers an alliance with them to be the Holy Grail.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise when she says some of pack members will be visiting her during spring break and might be willing to talk to the Forestry Club. Only if they want to, of course.

The speed at which all of the students willingly sacrifice their spring break is unnatural, to say the least.

~

A/N: Slightly inspired by hoars’ “age: a sum of years and experiences” Specifically, the esbat section, in which Derek is 16 and Stiles is 24 (so basically a pack generation swap between the Hales and the McCalls… sort of). You should totally read the fic. It’s fantastic. I also especially love the Voodoo Doll section. SO CUTE.

Also, I haven’t actually watched a full episode of Teen Wolf so all of this? Is the bits and pieces I’ve gleaned from tumblr and fic so… I dunno, don’t bash me if I’m getting canon accidentally mixed up (as opposed to purposefully mixing up canon and fanon).

Also, also, Ms. Harlowe! Because I believe that Rebecca ‘Harley’ Harlowe from the first episode should have totally been a recurring character (but then she might have been killed off if she had been, so… at least she’s alive?).

Hahaha… actually, I was going to go more into the whole “oooh, legendary figures” thing but then I was like… nah starting to get bored. Which is why except for Scott, Allison, and Stiles, everybody’s squished into a single paragraph. And, I didn’t really mean to, but I guess the why I set it up could lead to more parts in the future? And the other members will get their own “ooh, legend” introduction then… maybe? Who knows…

Untitled drabble (2015-06-11)

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“There, perfect!” Jun cheers as he finishes styling her hair. He rests his hands lightly on her shoulders and in the mirror she can see how pleased he is with his work, his smile matching her own.

Hair artfully arranged over the tips of her ears into a low bun at the nape of her neck, a layer of makeup transforming her normal blue-grey pallor into cream and tan, and contact lenses to modify the shape of her pupils, she looks… human.

“I’m so impressed with myself right now,” Jun crows, packing away his supplies into his cosmetics bag, “You look great,” he continues, as much a compliment for himself as for her.

“Thank you, Jun,” She says, her gloved hand–it’s already November, so it’s not too out there–touching the space a centimeter above her cheek, so as not to smudge the makeup.

“Hey,” she meets his eyes in the mirror, he looks serious. Happy, still, but controlled, “You’re welcome, okay? Any time you want me to do this, I will totally spend the hour and a half to do this. I got your back.”

They spend a moment beaming at each other before he continues, “Now, are you ready to explore the fascinating world of Cadmium City during the daytime? Because, let me tell you, there’s a bakery that always closes before sunset that is fantastic and you have been missing out!”

~

A/N: A short… whatever. I was in the mood for something cute and then kind of got bored midway so just stopped.

Ode to 11010201 drabble (2015-06-10)

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They are in the middle of painting each others’ nails, one of the lessons that can’t really be done other than in person, when R decides to randomly talk about her past. It’s not a bad thing–because he likes hearing about her past, whether or not it includes stories about his mom–it’s just kind of weird. Usually he’s the one that throws their lessons of the rails.

“When I first moved to New York, I didn’t know I had magic,” she begins, words flowing in time with the smooth strokes of the nail brush, “I had never really lived outside of California before–study abroad year, notwithstanding–and there were so many things I needed to adjust to.”

She finishes the first coat on his right hand. The runes, painstaking drawn with an ultra fine point marker, are still visible through the layer of colors. He’s a little glad that today is Friday and that he doesn’t have school tomorrow. He’s not embarrassed at wearing nail polish to school, he’s known for making odd fashion choices, but he appreciates having the weekend to become accustomed to it.

“And at that time, my magic… our magic, still hadn’t been fully triggered. So what I had back then wasn’t really magic so much as a potential for magic.”

He nods in agreement, but not quite understanding. His magic… their magic… had blind-sided him. One second he was human, then the next he was more.

“When I first applied to my job, well, to be honest… they weren’t really interested in me. I got an interview, of course which was surprising to me, but during the interview itself, well. I could tell Patrick wasn’t very impressed.”

“Wait… Patrick… your PA? He was the one interviewing you? How does that make sense?” He interrupts, recognizing the name, but confused at the rest.

“The company was still small then–I guess technically it could have been called a start up–and the only ones working there at the time were the core clan members.”

“So… Patrick, Ann, Vi, Lucas and Bromley?” He guesses, trying to recall the names of some of R’s coworkers.

“Not Bromley, he was only recently turned. But you got most of them. Fred, too.”

“But Fred–” Fred was the receptionist, so his confusion perhaps makes sense.

“Yeah, I was surprised too. But he invested about forty percent of the initial start up capital, so…” She shrugged, careful to hold the nail brush away from his hand perched steadily on her knee so as not to smear the polish.

“Oh. Okay, go on.”

“What was I saying? … Oh right, Patrick wasn’t really impressed during the interview. Apparently the entire time he had been sending out flares of enthrallment and he had been expecting me to confront him about it with a spell or something,”

“But?”

“But I just thought I was getting nervous about actually having a job interview, my first thought wasn’t exactly ‘oh vampire psychic abilities’–”

He laughs, and she chuckles in return.

“–It was at the end, when we shook hands, that he finally… well.” She pauses, blows gently on his fingernails, before gesturing for his other hand, “Come on, and don’t fidget with that one,” she directs, before continuing.

“Apparently I zapped him with enough magic that he didn’t need to feed at all for the following month. After that, he was pretty keen to get me signed into the company even if I was a recent graduate.”

“So what you’re saying is that being magic means I don’t have to worry about any other life skills because I’ll be hired by a group of supernatural creatures to be their living battery?”

She sighs, shakes her head, and chuckles ruefully, “That does sound like the moral of the story, doesn’t it?”

“I was just kidding,” He says in a rush, worried at insulting her, “I mean, I don’t know what your actual job is but I’m sure it’s great. I know Patrick actually likes you as, you know, a person and not just an energy source.” And also because if that really is the point of her story then that bodes poorly for his own relationship with his pack of werewolf friends.

She grins widely at that, “Do you know why the clan calls me ‘crow’?”

“Uh… because it’s cool sounding?” He responds, unsure.

“My official job title is C-R-O. Chief Resource Officer. At other companies it would be Chief Research Officer–usually whoever’s in charge of R&D–which for us is Lucas. But his actual title is Head of R&D…

It’s a bit of a joke, really. Because I’m head of HR. Except most of the company then wasn’t human… still isn’t, really. So instead of Human Resources, I’m just in charge of Resources.”

“… Okay?”

“When I first got to New York, none of the magical covens approached me. To them, because all of my magic was contained, they thought I was weak, thought I was insignificant. I didn’t even know about the supernatural world, didn’t know what kind of insult I was being paid every day I walked down the street, passed by a witch and they did nothing. But now? I’m partially in charge of the largest vampire clan in the country, the largest collective of supernatural and magical beings.”

“… So, is this about how things get better in the future?”

“Not really. It’s just a story. Things don’t always have to make sense. There are a few witches working for the company that look at me like I have all the answers, as if me being so high up in the company means that I’ve gone beyond the need for a coven. The truth of the matter is, I know less about magic than they do…

If your magic… our magic… had never been triggered, all I’d have is magic potential. It’s why a lot of what I’m teaching you is internal or self-sustaining, because I didn’t have the chance to learn any ‘real magic’. And now that suddenly our magic is active, I have more than enough power to compete with any of the New York covens, much less a single witch.

I was never taught limits because as far as the covens were concerned, I was inherently limited. I wasn’t worth teaching, so I never learned that some things shouldn’t be done… couldn’t be done.

It’s why we can do the impossible.”

~

A/N: Needless expository dialogue for a story I probably will never write in full. Whoooo.

Untitled drabble (2015-06-09)

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This drabble is NSFW.

They first meet on a Friday evening.

Besides the custodian, she’s the only one left on her floor and half of the lights have been shut off already. The walk to the elevators is dim, but it’s a well-practiced route, one she could do in her sleep. Her stockinged feet pad softly across the carpet. As she passes by Phil emptying trash bins, head bobbing to the music in his headphones, she gives a small wave. Her high heels are clutched in her hand, but the other arm weighed down by her bag; he nods to her in greeting, used to her late hours.

It’s been a long week, she thinks as she pushes the call button for the elevator. She’s eager to go home and change into her pajamas and just veg out in front of her TV for the next two days. Possibly go to the dog park with Felix. Try that recipe for blueberry cheesecake that her brother sent her.
Then the elevator doors open.

She’s so caught up in fantasizing her weekend plans that it takes her several moments to process what exactly she’s seeing.

They first meet on a Friday evening, Mina shoeless and silently gaping in front of the elevator doors, Jessie in said elevator on her knees with Steve from Accounting’s dick in her mouth.

“Ah,” Mina says, unsure of what there is to be said, yet being the only one able to say something–without someone else’s genitals or their own hand in her mouth.

It’s… well. It’s actually not that explicit, really. The occupants of the elevator are mostly clothed, only slightly disheveled. Really, if it weren’t for the way Jessie’s hand was conspicuously in Steve’s trousers and the obscene stretch of her lips around his cock, it wouldn’t even…

Okay, no. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on, she can’t deny it.
Steve’s stuttering, helpless hip thrusts notwithstanding, the elevator occupants are almost frozen in their graphic tableau of interoffice fraternization. As if so long as they didn’t move, didn’t make any noise, it was as if they were simply paused in time instead of awkwardly interrupted.

“… I’ll just get the next one then” Mina chokes out after the silence has extended long enough to leave her ears ringing. Luckily, the elevator doors take pity on her, and close with an apologetic ding, taking away all the evidence that the past thirty seconds ever happened.

When Phil and his cleaning cart pass by her ten minutes later, her cheeks are still flushed a ruddy, embarrassed red.

~
A/N: I’m gonna be honest, this is my first time trying to mention/reference/write sex in any sort of explicit manner. But this blog is a way for me to develop my writing skills so it’s as good a place as any to start. I know it’s not like full on smut and porn but getting into even a somewhat sexual headspace is kind of difficult for me, so… I am, unsurprisingly, more like Mina in this situation than anything else.

I think I’m going to continue this… like a specific NSFW series I can go back and play with when the mood hits me. I’ll try to come up with a title for this series, then.