foxtrot on my skin

FINAL FANTASY XVI Fanart:

Jill - Snow White

nobody tells you, when you join the security service, how boring it's liable to be. they lure you in with promises of a more interesting way to use your degree and the image of bond (who was, albeit fictionally, a member of six and not five, anyway), and forget to mention that you might spend hours in a freezing car in the dark with nothing to show for it save an upcoming report for the desk of a man who'll never read it. they definitely don't say that you'll be assigned to hell in a rundown office building for the sole purpose of spying on a man you actually like, because the bitch who pays your salary is insecure or threatened or whatever other excuse taverner comes up with to justify making sid surveil cartwright.

maybe she spends her life making fun of him, but sid does actually enjoy his company. maybe she should tell him, so he's aware. even if he'll hate her. even if he'll need restraining so he doesn't run over to the park and threaten second desk himself.

over...breakfast, then. she's going to do it.

❝ i don't make a habit of going places in walking distance of slough house, just in case i have to deal with anyone who works there. ❞ she grins at him in the dark; it's not a no. ❝ but since i've had to deal with you for hours anyway, and it's 3 in the fucking morning, let's go. you're buying. ❞

He promises. Forebodingly like some metronome, his knife snks like the seconds.

The rain starts. Pours. Announces its arrival with the seasonal medley of approaching thunder. Henry might have thought that in some small part of him, somewhere dark and squirreled away past the slots in those ribs, that this betrayal, this exile, was all that he wanted. As it were, Finlay knew of decadence and excess, his tongue now with the knowledge of the most succulent roasts. Should he desire to, he could abandon this soundly, try scrabbling at some facsimile of that luxury he lost. But he stayed. Stayed and joined him in this cave in the woods. Hal wondered. Perhaps the thing with orphans is that need for...this.

a situation he wished he was not in, but would not leave regardless. he was a better man than that.

manon has a good line, now, someone she works well with, and they're a pretty formidable team...and yet it was something she had to work at, none of the instantaneous chemistry she's had with samantha for almost their entire lives. it's why she loves any canada event; aside from the thrill of it, the adrenaline in her veins, she and sam just slot right back in as though they'd never left. it's easy. and that makes it fun.

there are, after all, times hockey just feels like a job, something to get to—if not the game itself, then everything surrounding it. media and travelling and becoming a role model without ever asking for that. manon wants to enjoy it. she's playing professional hockey, for fuck's sake.

❝ impossible. ❞ manon is, after all, also chatty, and she has missed her friend; they text, of course, but it's not the same. it never is, but that is how it goes. players you knew growing up go to teams on the west coast, or your teammates are traded and become your opponents. that's sport. ❝ god, yes. i don't think I've seen much of it outside of hotels and a couple of restaurants. you can show me prince's house, or whatever. ❞ she speeds up, now, wanting to get her legs under her properly, wanting samantha to match her. ❝ ouais, ça paraît. but i guess it's not your fault, ❞ she teases, tapping samantha's shin pad with her stick. ❝ we'll go out, next time you're in montréal. french only. ❞

this has been an exercise in restraint—and fionn only has himself to blame. when he'd invited @anoffering to the climbing centre, his motivations had been twofold. first, he wanted to share something he enjoys with the man he likes; he was a little tired of calling going for a run together a date. and he'd wanted to show off, just a little. his persuasive argument had been a couple of videos, after all, fionn from the ground in a tank top and shorts as he worked through a bouldering problem; he knows he looked good, that they showed off his arms. and scott's an athlete; its nice to be good at something physical, around him.

but god, it's hard not to touch him. and it hurts a little, too, that this is all that they get. doesn't scott want more? fionn wants dinners in actual restaurants, and to hold his hand, and to be able to kiss him in public. not to call him man and be limited to fucking high fives. is this all it's ever going to be?

❝ yeah, use your legs for momentum! ❞ he calls up, watching scott work through a slightly harder route—and if that mostly means staring at his ass, so what? nobody's going to know. he's given scott equal opportunity to do the same to him. once scott's made his way back to the ground, fionn claps him on the shoulder (platonic, platonic, platonic; don't leave it there too long, don't let your thumb stroke, don't linger), gaze caught on the chalky outline of his hand on his shirt. ❝ good job, man. you had enough? ❞ he smiles, pushing his hair off his forehead. ❝ or if you're good with going higher, we could race a couple of times before heading out? ❞ he gestures over to the speed climbing area, with its leads and tall walls. ❝ promise i'd go easy on you. ❞

but despite the anxiety that weighs heavily in his chest, he's having fun. scott is smiling and watching fionn from the ground below, who is yelling some instructions at him that will apparently make him descend faster. this was fionn's thing, climbing a wall. but scott loved seeing what made him happy, even if he was on the verge of a panic attack.