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"Come in, come in!" Charlie calls through to the main room when he hears the door, scrabbling around on his desk because he was //not// ready for the first person to arrive yet. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Is the identity of the first interviewee a factor in his unpreparedness? Maybe. He grabs some gummy worms from the pile of snacks on his desk and takes a second to cringe at saying 'come in' //twice//, because $mche probably got the message from the first one and now he just sounds pathetically overeager and... Fuck. He should //not// be thinking about this so much. After an (almost entirely unsuccessful) attempt to shake that line of thought from his mind, Charlie <<else>>Turns out, spending the afternoon procrastinating by learning origami is //not// the best way to prep for an interview - who knew? He reaches past the cluster of misshapen magazine swans, grabs some gummy worms from the pile of snacks on his desk and<</if>> kicks one foot against a filing cabinet to send him sailing across to the doorway, where a well-placed hand on the doorframe stops him. At least if the TV production thing doesn't work out, he could probably make a career as the star of wheelie chair derbies. $mcname stands in the doorway waiting for him, <<if $charlierom gte 2>>and as much as he'd love to play it cooler, he can't help but grin at $mchim. Then he pulls himself the fuck together, because he is basically making heart eyes like a Looney Tune and he's pretty sure that if he was animated they'd have bugged out of his head.<<else>>and he grins across at $mchim, warm and welcoming.<</if>> "Gummy?" <<if $conscientiousness gt 50>>He knows $mche <<if $mche is "they">>aren't<<else>>isn't<</if>> going to take one, because <<if $mche is "they">>they're<<else>>$mche's<</if>> very sensible and boring like that, but it feels rude not to ask. The last thing he wants is a reputation as a gummy worm hog. Hey, if word gets out that he's offering them freely then maybe the rest of the cast will be more willing to be interviewed - God knows he's gonna need //some// kind of fantastic incentive to get anything useable out of Vinh. "The interview?" $mche <<if $mche is "they">>ask<<else>>asks<</if>>. "//Alright//, alright," Charlie groans, throwing his gummy snacks down onto a side table. He relaxes back into his chair and refers to his old moleskin. It's the same one that he's used from the start - one notebook for each cast member just keeps things neat. This one is particularly battered, though - well used, well loved.<<else>>$mcname steps forward to retrieve a gummy worm, and Charlie nods approvingly. He slings one of his own between his teeth and pulls it til it snaps. "We probably should do this interview, huh?" he asks, eventually, as he refers to his old moleskin. It's the same one that he's used since the start - one notebook for each cast member just keeps things neat. This one is particularly battered, though - well used, well loved. "Yeah, probably," $mcname affirms, noncommittally, and Charlie is glad that <<if $mche is "they">>they're<<else>>$mche's<</if>> as reluctant as he is. Sure, they had a great rapport in those early casting interviews, but he can't help but be a little nervous about how that'll translate to the camera.<</if>> <<if $entrancemeet is "vinh">>[[Next|cip1]]<<elseif $gkiss is true>>"Okay, well..." Charlie begins, <<if $charlierom gte 2>>trying //really// hard to keep his voice level as he thumbs through the pages of his notebook like he doesn't remember //exactly// what he needs to say next.<<else>>thumbing through the pages of his notebook.<</if>> "We've got to start with your kiss with Griffin. First in the villa to break the saliva barrier." [[Next|cik1]]<<else>>[[Next|cin1]]<</if>>

In truth, Charlie's been feeling guilty about $mcname's panic attack all day. Avery didn't even tell him off about it, which either means that he //really// fucked up and she knew he'd already know, or that it was good enough TV that she didn't care. She'd never been that mercenary though - he was pretty sure it was the first one. He takes a deep breath, swivelling back and forth on his chair, tries to decide whether or not to say anything. Because what can he say, really? An apology just feels so pathetic, and it's not like he can go back in time and fix it. In the end, that's precisely how he decides that he has to mention it. "First of all, I just feel awful about your entrance. I've been thinking about it all day and I should have made sure you were more prepared, and I am //so// sorry." The words come out all at once, so quick that they almost end up a garbled mess. But it's contrite, honest, and doesn't sound //too// lame. <div class="choices"><<link 'It\'s absolutely not his fault. He couldn\'t have predicted it.' 'cip2.1'>><</link>> <<link 'I don\'t want to talk about this. Thanks for the apology, but let\'s move on.' 'cip2.2'>><</link>> <<link 'As it turns out, hours of chatting about Star Wars doesn\'t really prepare someone for a reality TV show.' 'cip2.3'>><</link>> <<link 'Good! He should feel awful!' 'cip2.4'>><</link>> <<if $men>><<link 'Charlie\'s been thinking about me all day? Well, that\'s a win, at least.' 'cip2.5'>><</link>><</if>></div>

"It's not your fault," $mcname assures him. "You couldn't have predicted it. <<if $neuroticism lt 60>>Hell, //I// couldn't have predicted it."<<else>>I should probably have warned you."<</if>> Charlie leans forward, bending his fingers back and forth. His mum always used to tell him off for doing that - she said he was going to get arthritis in his hands and he said he was pretty sure that was an old wives tale. They'd bickered a lot about stupid stuff like that. It's easy to wish he hadn't bothered with it, not least because their disagreements pop into his head every single time he catches himself doing it. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>She had always been so free with her opinions, which is how he tried to be now. Of course, he was failing miserably in one noteable regard. To be open with or about $mcname would reveal to everyone that he feels more than he should.<</if>> "I should have just come back in." "You'd have got in trouble." <<if $charlierom gte 2>>And that's why he didn't, but is that really a good enough reason? "I know, but I shouldn't care about that. I just care about..." He's not doing this. He can't do it. This whole situation is fucking stupid. What sort of loser ends up falling for a cast member they're producing on a reality show? It's some hallmark movie bullshit. He can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the fact that he really just almost slipped. He shakes his head, dusts himself off, moves on. "Well, anyway, I have a duty of care. I should have been there for you." Sprinkling in phrases like 'duty of care' totally makes this seem business professional, right?<<else>>"I know, but I have a duty of care," he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. "And I should have been there for you."<</if>> <<include cip3>>

"Thanks." Charlie's chest burns in that horrible way that it always does when you know you've fucked up, because a "thanks" doesn't really feel like an acceptance of an apology, it feels like a dismissal. $mcname doesn't want to talk about it, which is fine, but it's also not really in keeping with Charlie's usual approach to fucking things up. He wants to push it - to keep apologising, to explain, to have $mchim accept it. He won't do that, though. If <<if $mche is "they">>don't<<else>>doesn't<</if>> want to talk about it, the least he could do to make it up to $mchim is respect that. <<include cip3>>

"As it turns out, hours of chatting about Star Wars doesn't really prepare someone for a reality TV show," $mcname replies, and Charlie feels his stomach drop. He's totally fucked this up. He let himself get distracted and now $mcname is here and $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> unprepared and it's way too late to fix it. "Yeah, apparently so," he mumbles, in the absence of anything better to say. "Anyway, I have a duty of care. I should have been there for you. I'm sorry." <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Sprinkling in phrases like 'duty of care' totally makes this seem professional, right?<br><br><</if>>"It's weird seeing you be so earnest." "It's weird being earnest," he smiles at last, mouth tentatively twitching up at one corner, "but it needed to be said." <<include cip3>>

"Good." "Good?" Charlie looks taken aback, because he is. It's not like he was expecting his apology to be accepted more readily, because $mche didn't //owe// him forgiveness or anything, but... he sort of expected it to be more freely accepted. $mcname must be //pissed//. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face, frantically brainstorming how the fuck he's going to fix this. But this isn't about him. His feelings don't really factor into this equation. $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> pissed, and he just has to let $mchim be. "Yeah, good. I hope you do feel shitty," $mche <<if $mche is "they">>confirm<<else>>confirms<</if>> flatly. "Okay, well, I do. So same page, I guess," Charlie shrugs after a moment, in the absence of anything better to say. He rolls his shoulders uncomfortable, trying to work out some of the tension he's carrying. This isn't about his discomfort. If $mcname stops being mad at him, then it needs to be on $mchis own time, not because <<if $mche is "they">>$mche feel<<else>>$mche feels<</if>> bad that Charlie feels bad. <<include cip3>>

<<if $extraversion gte 50>>"So you've been thinking about me all day, huh?" $mcname smirks, and Charlie immediately laughs. His relief is palpable. $mcname isn't mad - at least, not mad enough that $mche <<if $mche is "they">>aren't<<else>>isn't<</if>> going to keep flirting with him. No, not flirting. Joking around. Continuing to bring their established workplace rapport. Right? "Well, nice to see that you have recovered well," Charlie retorts, with a smile that he hopes conveys how glad he is that they can still do this.<<else>>"You've been thinking about me?" $mcname asks, and Charlie's mouth goes dry. "Always." For a moment, Charlie just looks at $mchim. Why the fuck did he say that? What exactly does he think is going to happen here? He's not doing this. He can't do it. This whole situation is fucking stupid. What sort of loser ends up falling for a cast member they're producing on a reality show? It's some hallmark movie bullshit. He can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the fact that he really just almost slipped. He shakes his head, dusts himself off, moves on. "I mean, I'm a producer, it's kind of my job, right?" Nice save.<</if>> <<include cip3>>

<<if $gkiss is "true">>Charlie clears his throat, swinging slightly from side to side in his chair for a moment before he plasters a smile back onto his face. He is relying //heavily// on that terrible fake smile to get him through this next topic of conversation, because God knows he has no idea how he's going to get through it otherwise. "Next topic," he tries to keep his voice level as he thumbs through the pages of his notebook like he doesn't remember it frame by frame, "your kiss with Griffin. First in the villa to break the saliva barrier." <<include cik1>><<else>><<include coupleq>><</if>>

<<if $charlierom gte 2>>Charlie's gaze is focused pointedly at the page as he speaks, voice strained. "How are you feeling about that?"<<else>>Charlie leans forward, a curious grin playing on his lips. "How are you feeling about that?"<</if>> <<include cik2>>

$mcname grins, <<if $charlierom gte 2>>and Charlie feels his heart stop as that horrible feeling of dread creeps up his spine.<<else>>and Charlie grins back. He's happy $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> happy - and there's something natural and easy about the whole interaction. It's just like two pals catching up at the pub, which is kind of how most of the early interviews felt.<</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>"That good, huh?" he croaks, immediately adjusting his position in his seat and clearing his throat. Then he curses himself, because //nothing// about that question sounded cool and calm and collected.<<else>>"That good, huh?" Charlie's mouth twitches up into a smile and he clicks his tongue as he scribbles away in his notebook.<</if>> <<if $coupledwith is "Griffin">>"And now you're coupled up, right? Griffin looked pretty jazzed that you picked him - you must be like the cat who got the cream?" Charlie pauses for a moment. He //hopes// that $mcname would tell him how $mche <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> actually feeling, but he can't really be sure. Avery'd roast him if he didn't give a proper little disclaimer. "Oh, and I didn't give you a disclaimer, but this is a space for you to be honest. Nothing you say here will be heard by the rest of the cast."<<else>>"But now you're coupled with $coupledwith, right? What's the deal - how are you feeling about that?" Charlie pauses for a moment. He //hopes// that $mcname would tell him how $mche <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> actually feeling, but he can't really be sure. Avery'd roast him if he didn't give a proper little disclaimer. "Oh, and I didn't give you a disclaimer, but this is a space for you to be honest. Nothing you say here will be heard by the rest of the cast."<</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>//Nothing you say here will be heard by the rest of the cast.// God, he wished he didn't have to hear it either. He wished he didn't even have to ask the question. He could just drive this pen right into his eye and then maybe he'd get to leave? No, that's stupid, he's not gonna do that. He does briefly wonder which would suck more, though, and the fact that he even contemplates it tells him that it might be preferable to the answer he's about to hear.<</if>> <<include feelychoice>>

"//Saliva barrier//?!" $mcname scoffs, and Charlie grins. "You're so right. That was gross," he concedes, "but you've still gotta answer the question." <<include cik2>>

"Griffin is just the first hurdle for me to get to the prize," $mcname replies, <<if $extraversion gt 50>>gaze shooting straight down the camera,<<else>>averting your gaze from the camera lens,<</if>> and Charlie raises his eyebrows. It's a mercenary approach - not really one that he could ever take himself. He just doesn't //get// it - the whole playing with peoples feelings like they don't mean anything thing. $mcname isn't fucking stupid - surely $mche <<if $mche is "they">>know<<else>>knows<</if>> that Griff isn't playing things that way? The guy isn't exactly hard to read. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Of course, it would be a lie for him to pretend like that's the only reason he's unsettled. The truth is that he can't keep away the dread creeping up his spine that tells him $mcname is just like this. That he's let himself... that whatever the fuck he's let himself feel for $mchim is entirely one sided, that it's just a dumb game for $mchim. Because really, there was never any possibility that things could go any different, was there?<</if>> <<if $coupledwith is "Griffin">>"Okay, so..." Charlie begins, frowning like he's just been asked to solve a really tricky equation<<if $charlierom gte 2>> - like how the fuck he could let himself catch feelings for someone who has //clearly// just been joking around with him this whole time.<<else>>.<</if>> "You kissed Griff because you thought it'd sweeten him up for getting the prize, coupled up with him to seal the deal? Makes sense." <<include boringstuffdone>><<else>>"Okay, so you kissed Griffin, and then you coupled with $coupledwith. How do you feel about your current partnering?" Charlie asks, frowning like he's just been asked to solve a really tricky equation<<if $charlierom gte 2>> - like how the fuck he could let himself catch feelings for someone who has //clearly// just been joking around with him this whole time.<<else>>.<</if>> <<include feelychoice>><</if>>

"It was perfectly nice, but I'm not planning the wedding or anything," $mcname answers. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>For the briefest of moments, Charlie actually lets himself feel something like relief. He immediately shakes it off. It's none of his business to be relieved that $mcname isn't totally into someone else, right? $mcHe <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> still on this show. It's not like this really changes anything, and it's not like it keeps things the same either. Okay, not that there is a 'the same'. There's nothing between them, so it's not like there's //actually// anything to be protected or preserved.<</if>> <<if $coupledwith is "Griffin">>"Ok, so Griffin's kiss wasn't enough to capture your affections... but you //did// still choose him for the coupling? So how are you feeling about that?" Charlie pauses for a moment. He //hopes// that $mcname would tell him how $mche <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> actually feeling, but he can't really be sure. Avery'd roast him if he didn't give a proper little disclaimer. "Oh, and I didn't give you a disclaimer, but this is a space for you to be honest. Nothing you say here will be heard by the rest of the cast." Actually, maybe it would have been better without the disclaimer. Charlie all but crosses his fingers as he waits for the answer.<<else>>"Ok, so Griffin's kiss wasn't enough to capture your affections and you ended up coupling with $coupledwith instead. How are you feeling about that?" Charlie pauses for a moment. He //hopes// that $mcname would tell him how $mche <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> actually feeling, but he can't really be sure. Avery'd roast him if he didn't give a proper little disclaimer. "Oh, and I didn't give you a disclaimer, but this is a space for you to be honest. Nothing you say here will be heard by the rest of the cast."<</if>> <<include feelychoice>>

"Probably not my finest hour, was it?" $mcname groans, and Charlie smiles reassuringly back at $mchim. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>For the briefest of moments, Charlie actually lets himself feel something like relief. He immediately shakes it off. It's none of his business to be relieved that $mcname isn't totally into someone else, right? $mcHe <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> still on this show. It's not like this really changes anything, and it's not like it keeps things the same either. There is no 'the same'. There's nothing between the. Right? $mcname can kiss whoever $mche <<if $mche is "they">>want<<else>>wants<</if>> in whatever pools $mche <<if $mche is "they">>want<<else>>wants<</if>> to.<</if>> <<if $coupledwith is "Griffin">>"Okay, so," Charlie begins, frowning like you've just asked him to solve a really tricky equation, "you aren't thrilled about the ill-advised smooch in the pool with Griffin, but you //did// choose to couple with him. How are you feeling about that?"<<else>>Charlie attempts to look sympathetic, but he's still smiling. "Okay, so you had an ill-advised smooch in the pool with Griffin, and then you chose to couple up with $coupledwith. How are you feeling about that?"<</if>> <<include feelychoice>>

Charlie watches $mcname shift uncomfortably in $mchis seat and tries not to read too much into what it is about this conversation that $mche <<if $mche is "they">>aren't<<else>>isn't<</if>> enjoying. The lump in his throat feels so big that he doesn't know how he'll be able to get any words out past it, so he just waits. Looks at $mchim, wonders what $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re'<<else>>'s<</if>> going to say, tries desperately not to hope for anything more than he should - whatever that means. "Oh... that..." $mcname says eventually, not looking at him. "That." Charlie wonders if his voice sounds too dry, if it's too obvious that he's on the edge of his seat now. This shouldn't feel like anything. It shouldn't, but it does. "I wasn't thinking about you seeing it." $mcname's reply is quiet, <<if $extraversion gt 50>>which is something that Charlie isn't particularly used to and doesn't really know what to do with. $mcname is a lot of things, but $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re'<<else>>'s<</if>> never really quiet.<<else>>which isn't really anything new, but it still feels... different. Charged?<</if>> Charlie knows he's overthinking it - it's sort of his trademark move. Time to move on before he gets ahead of himself. "You shouldn't be," he replies quickly, eyes flickering up from his notepad for a split second before he averts them once again. It's a second too late when he remembers that he probably shouldn't be wearing a face like somebody died, so he forces a smile. This is good, right? He's at work, so it's a good thing that they're getting good footage. "I'm here to think about production quality so you don't need to." Alright, it sounds a little hollow, but he needs the reminder. Maybe if he says it enough times out loud, he'll actually feel like this is a //work// interview for his //work//. <<include cik11>>

Charlie watches $mcname shift uncomfortably in $mchis seat and tries not to read too much into what it is about this conversation that <<if $mche is "they">>aren't<<else>>isn't<</if>> enjoying. The lump in his throat feels so big that he doesn't know how he'll be able to get any words out past it, so he just waits. Looks at $mchim, wonders what $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re'<<else>>'s<</if>> going to say, tries desperately not to hope for anything more than he should - whatever that means. "Yeah, I'm sorry you had to see that," <<if $neuroticism gt 50>>you mumble, feeling the heat spreading up the back of your neck.<<else>>$mcname says, like there's nothing to it. It cuts through the awkwardness like a knife, and Charlie feels his cheeks heating under $mchis gaze. He really has just been overthinking this whole thing, huh? It's kind of a trademark move for Charlie, but it still doesn't feel any less stupid every time he does it.<</if>> "Don't be," he replies quickly, eyes flickering up from his notepad for a split second before he averts them once again. It's a second too late when he remembers that he probably shouldn't be wearing a face like somebody died, so he forces a smile. "It's what you're here for, right?" He immediately feels stupid for phrasing it as a question, because there isn't one. That's what $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> here for - he knows it and $mche know<<if $mche is "they">><<else>>s<</if>> it and now everybody else does, too. He shakes his head briefly like he might be able to erase that dumb inflection and moves on. <<include cik11>>

"So, how are you feeling about it? Good? Bad? Indifferent?" Charlie presses, tapping his notepad impatiently with his pen. <<include cik12>>

"I'm not talking about this with you," <<if $neuroticism gt 50>>$mcname asserts, pointedly avoiding Charlie's gaze hard enough to not realise that he is working just as hard to not make eye contact.<<else>>$mcname asserts, adjusting $mchis position to convey that $mche <<if $mche is "they">>are<<else>>is<</if>> putting a foot down by doing everything //but// literally putting a foot down.<</if>> Charlie doesn't really know what to do with that, and he finds his eyes trailing back to $mcname's face like they're being drawn there by some kind of tractor beam. $mche <<if $mche is "they">>don't<<else>>doesn't<</if>> seem to feel the same pull, if the way $mchis eyes are fixed on a spot across the room is anything to go by. A silence stretches out between them. About a thousand different versions of what $mcname could possibly mean by "I'm not talking about this with you" cycle through Charlie's head and he doesn't know what to do with any of them. He can't ask why $mche <<if $mche is "they">>don't<<else>>doesn't<</if>> want to talk about it with him, because the only answers that he can think of are all painful in their own different ways, and he just doesn't want to hear them. He's a coward - he's always been a coward. Instead of asking any of the questions that he wants to ask, Charlie chooses safety. Safe in the knowledge that he is doing his job by shakily maintaining some semblance of professional boundary, and safe from whatever heartbreak he might endure if he asks what he wants to ask and doesn't get the answer he wants to hear. "Yes. You are." Charlie does his best assertive voice, and he's pretty sure he accidentally mimics Avery's clipped British accent to do it. "This is my //job//, $mcname." Finally $mcname looks back at him, and their eyes meeting feels like an electric shock or frozen in carbonite. Charlie's breath catches, and he lets it. Just for a second. Then he just hopes that maybe $mcname can read his mind and know that //please//, he doesn't want to get crushed like a bug today. <<include cik12>>

Charlie lounges back in his chair, swivelling from side to side slightly as he taps the end of his pen against the page. It wouldn't be entirely true to say that $mcname's time in the villa has been //uneventful//, but there isn't really anything that Avery would totally kill him for not asking. Best loosen $mchim up first with something unrelated to the standard interview dirge<<if $charlierom gte 2>> (and bask in the glory of the fact that he wasn't having to ask them about kissing Arthur or something, if he was really honest)<</if>>. "Wouldn't it be wild if there was a zombie apocalypse while we were here filming?" he asks, lips quirking up into a smile, "And like the whole rest of the world got all messed up apart from this island?" <div class="choices"><<nobr>> <<link 'Yeah, I guess that would be pretty wild? Is this part of the interview?' 'cin3'>><</link>><br> <<if $conscientiousness lte 50>><<link 'Okay, I\'ll take hypothetical zombie apocalypse over interviewing any day of the week. Let\'s dive in to //logistics//.' 'cin4'>><</link>><br><</if>> <<link 'Has he been binge watching zombie movies in here or something?' 'cin5'>><</link>><br> <<link 'Does he know something that I don\'t?' 'cin6'>><</link>><br> <<if $conscientiousness gt 50 or $charlie lt 50>><<link 'Charlie, //the interview//, Jesus Christ.' 'cin7'>><</link>><</if>> <</nobr>></div>

<<if $extraversion lte 50>>"Uh, yeah? I guess...? Is this... part of the interview?" $mcname shuffles in $mchis seat and Charlie laughs.<<else>>"I mean, I guess so? Wait, is this part of the interview or are you just stalling?" $mcname looks equal parts bewildered and amused, and Charlie can't help but laugh.<</if>> "//Fine, jeez//," he groans, theatrically rolling his eyes. "I'll do an //actual// interview question for the VT." "Very out of character for you." "How dare you," Charlie retorts, pressing a hand to his chest, expression full of faux-indignance. For a moment, it actually feels like it did during the casting interviews - light and easy and very much not with a big camera pointing right at $mcname<<if $charlierom gte 2>> (and a lingering thread that they might crack on with somebody else at any moment)<</if>>. "Now, you chose to couple up with $coupledwith. How are you feeling about your choice?" <<include coupleq2>>

"Oh, okay, good question," <<if $agreeableness gt 50>>$mcname grins, leaning forward in $mchis seat.<<else>>$mcname leans forward in $mchis seat, tapping $mchis fingers on $mchis chin.<</if>> "Could we sustain ourselves on this island? We probably wouldn't have enough food to last more than a couple of months?" Charlie leans forward to match, like he's being pulled in by a tractor beam, and he can't keep the smile off his face. "We'd have to set up some kind of farming system, I guess? Plant some of the vegetables and hope they grow? Griff seems like the farm type, I bet he'd be useful." "Griff was quite emphatic about not being a farmer, actually," $mcname chimes in, and Charlie laughs. Charlie isn't entirely sure how long your discussion about the logistics of zombie avoidance goes on for, but it's long enough to end up with an agreement about the quarantine policy for new arrivals to the island (to prevent a spread of infection) and that he has a chance to explain at length the need to select an upbeat theme song for the group (for morale). For a while, it actually feels like it did during the casting interviews - when he could kind of forget that they were interviews at all, just conversations with an old friend<<if $charlierom gte 2>> or... Well, he tried his best not to think too much about the 'or' (although he often failed)<</if>>. Just as Charlie's mind begins to drift, as it tended to do, the walkie-talkie on his desk crackles into life. "//Charlie//?" comes Avery's harassed voice from the other end, and Charlie immediately swivels around. He can't help but feel like he's just been caught doing something that he shouldn't be - like when he was a kid and his mum'd catch him hiding his gameboy under the covers when he was supposed to be sleeping. Then, like now, he knew exactly why he was in trouble. "//Are you done with the interview? Remember how we agreed only fifteen minutes per person?//." Charlie wrinkles his nose and slides in his chair to snatch up the device, pressing a button down to reply. "All over it, boss!" He tries to sound as bright and unrattled as possible, but he knows that Avery will have a read on him already. He is //not// looking forward to hearing what she has to say about this particular delay to the interview schedule. "Time to do the actual interview?" $mcname asks from behind him, and Charlie takes a second to compose himself before he swivels back round to face $mchim. "Go on, then," he chuckles, checking the viewfinder of his camera and wiggling a hand to get $mcname to shuffle a little to the left in $mchis seat. "How are you feeling about your coupling?" <<include feelychoice>>

"Have you been binge watching zombie movies in here or something?" <<if $agreeableness gt 50>>$mcname laughs, and Charlie has to hold back his grin. Busted. Instead, he presses a hand to his chest, expression full of faux-indignance.<<else>>$mcname asks, raising a brow and folding $mchis arms in a way that hints at $mchis disapproval. Charlie presses a hand to his chest, expression full of faux-indignance.<</if>> "I am //offended//, $mcname, that you would think that this is a zombie apocalypse planning is a fresh concern for me and not a topic that has been living rent free in my brain since I was, like, fifteen." He may have been watching a few zombie movies in his down time on the island, but Charlie definitely isn't lying when he says it isn't a fresh concern. When there is a whole world of issues worth actually stressing about, there's something kind of soothing about planning for the fictional ones. He has a bug-out bag in his hallway closet and a surprising knowledge of edible plants to show for it. "What happened when you were fifteen? Brush with a zombie?" <<if $charlierom gte 2>>$mcname asks, and Charlie feels his cheeks heating again.<</if>> "The Walking Dead's meteoric rise to popularity," Charlie laughs. "But alright, fine, if you're going to be that way I'll just do the //actual// interview." He shakes his head, smiling down at his notebook as he flicks through the pages and then checks the viewfinder. <<include coupleq>>

"Know something I don't?" $mcname asks, arms folded, and Charlie laughs. "Uh, yeah, //tonnes// of stuff," he grins, holding his moleskin under one arm so he can begin listing things off on his fingers. "I'm pretty sure you can't speak Wookie, you know basically nothing about the layout of this island and-" "I meant about the impending zombie doom," $mcname cuts in, and Charlie grins even wider. "I know," he replies, a little smugly<<if $charlierom gte 2>> as he tries not to think about the surge of affection in his chest. Truth be told, it's the feeling he gets whenever he's teasing $mcname. This isn't the time for truth telling, though. At least, not from him<</if>>. He retrieves his notebook, flicking back and forth through it as he checks the camera viewfinder. "Okay, let's do actual interview stuff, then. Ready?" "Ready." <<include coupleq>>

$mcname groans, running a hand down $mchis face. Charlie just grins back at $mchim, knowing very well that his complete lack of determination to keep conversation to topic has always been something of an annoyance. "Charlie, //the interview//," $mcname sounds a little harassed, which makes it all the more amusing. "//God//, you're a very boring $mcman." Charlie <<if $charlierom gte 2>>does his best to hide the affection in his voice as he <</if>>rolls forward in his chair to check the camera viewfinder. "Go on, then. How are you feeling about your coupling?" <<include coupleq2>>

"So, how do you feel about your coupling?" Charlie asks, simply. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>He can't get away from asking the question any longer, as much as he dreads the answer.<</if>> <<include coupleq2>>

<<if $extraversion lt 50>>$mcname looks a little nervously between the camera and Charlie, who tries to soften his posture a little. "I know it's weird," Charlie smiles gently. "But just imagine I'm holding a caramel macchiato and it'll feel much more normal. How are you feeling about $coupledwith?" When $mcname takes a deep breath and straightens up in $mchis seat, Charlie can't help but feel a swell of pride<<else>>$mcname straightens up and fixes $mchis eyes on the camera in front of $mchim like it's what $mche <<if $mche is "they">>were<<else>>was<</if>> born to do. Charlie can't help but feel a swell of pride as he watches $mchim<</if>> - all the arguments he'd had with Avery about whether to cast $mchim suddenly feel extremely worth it. Alright, $mche'd felt worth it the whole time. He believed in $mcname from the start. <<include feelychoice>>

<<if $openness gt 50>>"I really like $coupledwith," $mcname grins, like a teenager with a crush.<<else>>"I'm //really// into $coupledwith," $mcname winces, like <<if $mche is "they">>aren't<<else>>isn't<</if>> at all accustomed to the feeling.<</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Unfortunately, Charlie knows it all too well. In this moment, it feels a bit like he's a bug being stomped on.<</if>> "Quite the first impression, then," <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Charlie strains a smile, gaze focused on the viewfinder and very much not on $mcname. He feels a bit like a kid playing peekaboo - like if he isn't looking at $mchim then $mche won't know how utterly crushed he is by $mchis four simple words. He just wants to get out of this room as quickly as possible. "I think we got the shot."<<else>>Charlie waggles his eyebrows at $mcname over the top of the camera's viewfinder and then beams back at $mchim. He's happy for $mchim - he brought $mchim here to find a connection, so it's kind of a relief that it's happened so soon. If there's anyone he was hoping it'd work out for, it's $mcname. "You were born for the camera, by the way. Excellent work."<</if>> [[Next|boringstuffdone]]

<<if $extraversion gt 50>>"I do like $coupledwith," $mcname grins cheekily, "but I've not put all my eggs in one basket just yet. It's only day one, right?"<<else>>$mcname takes a steadying breath before $mche <<if $mche is "they">>speak<<else>>speaks<</if>>, looking to Charlie for reassurance. "I do like $coupledwith..." $mche <<if $mche is "they">>begin<<else>>begins<</if>> uncertainly, "but I guess I'm just not //sure// yet. We only met today..."<</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>"Yeah, only day one." Charlie strains a smile, gaze focused on the viewfinder and very much not on $mcname. He doesn't know why he feels so much like a bug being crushed under a boot right now - this is about as vague as he could have hoped for. Still, just the //possibility// that $mcname will really come to like $coupledwith is enough to make his stomach twist. What did he expect $mchim to say? //'No, Charlie, I don't like $coupledwith at all. I only like you. Let's run away together and make out in the back row of a Star Wars double feature.'// Not likely. He can't think about that now - he just needs to get $mchim out of this room. "I think we got the shot."<<elseif $extraversion gt 50>>"Born for the camera," Charlie makes a little chef's kiss gesture as he checks the camera viewfinder and beams back at $mcname.<<else>>"Perfect," Charlie checks the camera and nods his head enthusiastically. Despite $mchis nerves, $mcname has actually delivered a delightfully earnest little clip - it'll play well, and he's sure Avery will be pleased. "You were born for the camera, by the way. Excellent work."<</if>> [[Next|boringstuffdone]]

"I'm just going to add $coupledwith to my body count and move on," <<if $extraversion gt 50>>$mcname answers, with a cheeky grin.<<else>>$mcname answers, plainly.<</if>> Charlie lets out a low whistle as he leans back in his chair and away from the viewfinder. Something about $mcname talking so flippantly about using $coupledwith to get to the prize sets him a little on edge. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>Maybe because it illuminates so clearly that $mche <<if $mche is "they">>were<<else>>was<</if>> probably using him to get to the prize, too. He can't believe he was stupid enough not to see it.<<else>>Almost definitely the jarring reminder of his romantically disastrous teen years.<</if>> "Be careful, $mcname. These are actual people - some of them have feelings." <<if $charlierom gte 2>>He doesn't say 'like me' at the end, but he's pretty sure $mcname will read it on his face. He doesn't know whether he's glad about that or not.<</if>> [[Next|boringstuffdone]]

"Me and $coupledwith are in a couple based on strategy. We're just in it to win it," $mcname explains, and Charlie nods along. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>He isn't really listening, though - he's attempting to decipher what the hell that means. If $mcname and $coupledwith are "in it to win it" then does that mean that they're going to be together the whole time? Is that really how $mcname feels? If it is, what if those pragmatic feelings grow into something... more? It's a stupid thought and he knows it. Even if $mcname doesn't fall for $coupledwith, it doesn't mean $mche will have any interest in Charlie. <</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>"Well, that's what we're all here for, right?" Charlie strains a smile, gaze focused on the viewfinder and very much not on $mcname. It's like he's a kid playing peekaboo - maybe if he doesn't look at $mchim then $mche won't see the mental gymnastics he's doing. "I think we got the shot."<<else>>"Perfect," Charlie checks the camera and nods his head enthusiastically. "You were born for the camera, by the way. Excellent work."<</if>> [[Next|boringstuffdone]]

"I think $coupledwith will be a great friend in the villa," $mcname answers politely. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>"Born for the camera," Charlie makes a little chef's kiss gesture as he checks the camera viewfinder and beams back at $mchim. He wonders if he looks too delighted to hear that $mcname hasn't already fallen for someone. He doesn't care if he does.<<else>>"It's only the first day," Charlie smiles reassuringly as he checks the camera viewfinder. If there's anyone he wants things to work out for here, it's $mcname. "I'm sure someone'll take your fancy."<</if>> [[Next|boringstuffdone]]

Charlie just watches as $mcname stares into space for longer than anybody else would find comfortable. Charlie isn't anybody else though, thankfully, so he finds it quite amusing. If anything, it takes the edge off his creeping anxiety for a moment. "$mcname?" he probes, with a bemused smile as he waves a hand to recapture $mchis attention. "Coupling feelings? Ideally without the glassy, thousand yard stare thing you've got going on right now?" <<include feelychoice>>

"Now we've got that out of the way..." Charlie rolls back into free space and spins in slow circles on his chair, pen poised over his notebook once again. He hasn't written a single note so far, but it's nice to have the option. That, and it gives him the air of someone that might actually be doing work. "I just need to get some stock footage of you //existing// that the editors can cut in. So, anything you want to ask //me//? Ideally something that will let me make you laugh - the people love a stock laugh shot." <<if $charlierom gte 2>>It might be true that viewers would love some stock laughing footage, but if he's being really honest, Charlie is mainly motivated by the fact that seeing $mcname laugh is unfortunately one of his favourite things. <<if $agreeableness gt 50>>Actually being the one to make $mchim laugh ranks even higher.<<else>>$mcname is pretty sparing with $mchis laughter, that the one time Charlie can remember being the one to draw it out of $mchim ranks among his favourites of the time working on the show.<</if>><<else>>Will the editing team probably take this laughter completely out of context to use in a more dramatic moment? Yeah, probably - but that's just reality tv, right? Charlie wonders if Avery warned $mcname that $mche'd have to wear this outfit at every interview this week for that exact reason. Probably not, since $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'s<<else>>'re<</if>> wearing the same thing that $mche wore for the speed dates earlier. <</if>> <<if $charlierom gte 2>>[[Next|chflirt]]<<elseif $thot gt 53 and $men>>[[Next|chflirt]]<<else>><<include chjoke>><</if>>

"Hit me with a joke," <<if $agreeableness gt 50>> $mcname smiles, quirking a brow.<<else>>$mcname requests, reluctance plain in $mchis voice. $mcHe <<if $mche is "they">>have<<else>>has<</if>> already had to listen to more of Charlie's dumb jokes than most other human beings and, to be fair, $mche <<if $mche is "they">>have<<else>>has<</if>> tolerated it like a saint.<</if>> "That should do it." "Because I'm soooo hilarious and witty, right?" Charlie grins back, swivelling back and forth in his chair. He doesn't need $mcname to confirm it - he knows it's true. "Ok, I've got one... Uuuh... Something about an interrupting sheep? I actually can't remember the opener." <<if $conscientiousness lt 50>>"I think it's-"<<else>>"Yeah, that isn't-"<</if>> "BAAAAA!" Charlie bleats abruptly, cutting $mchim off with a satisfied grin. <div class="choices"><<link 'Ok, he\'s got me, I\'m laughing.' 'chj2'>><</link>> <<link '//God,// Charlie, that isn\'t even the joke.' 'chj3'>><</link>> <<link 'I couldn\'t be scowling more at him if I tried.' 'chj4'>><</link>> <<link 'What an adorable dork.' 'chj5'>><<set $charlierom += 1>><</link>></div>

$mcname laughs, and Charlie feels extremely triumphant. <<if $charlierom gte 2>>That sound, their face, the soaring feeling in his chest...<<else>>On the short list of things he's good at, making people laugh is up there.<</if>> <<include chj6>>

$mcname just groans, head lolling against the high back of the chair as $mchis eyes roll back. Charlie grins. He does find $mcname's exasperated reactions to dumb jokes endlessly amusing, and they can totally cut this footage in with a clip of Arthur talking or something. <<include chj7>>

$mcname folds $mchis arms across $mchis chest and scowls back at Charlie. Despite the stern expression being directed at him, though, Charlie is unphased. <<include chj7>>

You can't help but laugh - it's a joke so bad that it's sort of become endearing. "Pretty hilarious, huh?" Charlie grins smugly across at you, swinging happily back and forth on his chair. "What can I say? I'm a man of great wit." <<include chj6>>

"Aaah, that did the trick," he leans back away from the camera with a satisfied grin. "Now, you're free to go. I'll catch you later?" He turns away quickly, wheeling himself across to a desk on the other side of the room where he can start typing up notes - apparently his handwritten jottings aren't quite adequate for Avery anymore. [[End|charlieshortend]]

"What?!" Charlie grins in faux innocence. "That's a //good joke//!" It isn't entirely a lie - Charlie believes fiercely in the fact that the worst jokes are often the best ones. He and Adegoke had a lovely exchange of terrible knock knock jokes as part of their entrance pre-amble, so he knows he isn't alone in thinking it. <<if $agreeableness gt 50>>"//Charlie//," $mcname chuckle, "I expected better from you."<<else>>"That wasn't even a joke," $mcname tells him flatly, expression decidedly unimpressed.<</if>> "What do you mean?! //It's a good joke!//" Charlie repeats indignantly as he switches off the camera, huffing exaggeratedly as he flops his hands into his lap. "God, there's just no pleasing some people. Hopefully the team can do just as much with some exasperated-at-Charlie's-"bad-jokes"-footage as they could with a nice laugh shot. You're free to go! I'll catch you later?" He knows Avery won't be entirely thrilled with the footage, but hey, he can lead a horse to water but he can't make one drink. If $mcname won't appreciate his hilariousness then that's a $mchim problem. Charlie has already turned away at this point, wheeling himself across to a desk on the other side of the room where he busies himself at a laptop. He's pretty sure the sight of him actually working will give $mcname a heart attack - maybe it'll even make $mchim laugh enough to get the a shot for Avery after all. [[End|charlieshortend]]

"Who would you have chosen?" <<if $extraversion gt 50 or $thot gt 50>>$mcname smirks, leaning forward in $mchis seat. Charlie's mouth immediately goes dry.<<else>>$mcname asks, tilting $mchis head to one side. Charlie's mouth immediately goes dry.<</if>> "If you had been a cast member, I mean. Who do you think you would have coupled with?" <<if $charlierom gte 2>><<include chflirtwin>><<else>><<include chflirtfail>><</if>>

It can't be what he thinks it is. No, not even thinks it is. Sort of perversely hopes it is? Whatever. It can't be that. Rather than shrinking away, Charlie leans back from the view finder on the camera and he rests his elbows on the chair, absentmindedly twisting his fingers in his lap. He doesn't even realise he's doing it - if he did, he'd stop himself. If $mcname sees past his grin and the way he tries to boldly meet $mchis gaze, his posture is a dead giveaway that he's absolutely bricking it. "What are you doing?" he asks, hoping that he sounds a dignified hybrid of amused and curious and not like a nerd who's worried he's being pranked. He certainly feels more like the latter. <<if $extraversion gt 50>>"Flirting with you," $mcname replies, matching Charlie's grin. Charlie always finds it amazing the way $mcname doesn't seem flustered or bothered or rattled - like $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> totally in control of every situation. As much as it's admirable, it certainly doesn't help the feeling that Charlie is a helpless mouse and $mcname is the cat that's toying with him. <<include chfw1>><<else>>"...Asking a question?" $mcname ventures. $mcHe actually seems nervous, which is nothing but an enormous relief to Charlie. At least it's not just him - they're both out of their depths together, and they managed to swim out here all on their own. A pair of //total// idiots. <<include chfw1>><</if>>

Charlie spins away in his chair, because he knows that if he keeps looking at $mcname then he'll give something away. He doesn't really know what, and he doesn't even know if he wants to keep the thing a secret. This just feels... safer. The truth, if he could admit it to himself, is that he's a coward. Despite years of watching heroic protagonists being daring and bold on screen, Charlie considers himself to have completely failed to absorb any of those traits. He's always been a coward. "You know what, I actually think it'll be better if I get this shot another time," he shoots a tight smile back over his shoulder. "You can get back to the merriment inside." [[Next|chfw2]]

It isn't until $mche<<if $mche is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> almost out of the door that Charlie makes a sound. It's stupid, really, because as he hears it coming from himself it //definitely// sounds like he wanted $mcname to look back, but he can't imagine wanting anything less. He'd been watching $mchim leave - he was //so close// to being out of the woods. If he could shrink away into the bland paint of the wall, he would. But $mcname turns back to look at him, hand on the doorknob, quizzical expression. Hopeful, even. There's a beat of silence between them until Charlie realises that he can't just let this moment pass him by - not least because he made the sound that caught $mchis attention in the first place and he'd seem completely deranged if he just sat in silence now. <<if $charlierom gte 3>>"You know why I can't say that I'd pick you, right?" he asks, voice a little strained. Because he //would// pick $mchim. There could be a thousand cast members and he'd still pick $mchim. A million, even.<<else>>"You get why I can't play this game with you anymore, right?" he asks, voice a little strained. Because he //can't// keep doing this. The flirting and banter might be a fun distraction for $mcname, but Charlie can feel himself falling in love with $mchim and he just... doesn't know what to do with that.<</if>> <div class="choices"><<nobr>> <<link 'No, actually, I don\'t. It\'s not that deep.' 'chfw3.1'>><</link>><br> <<if $charlierom gte 2>><<link 'So he admits that he\'d pick me?' 'chfw3.2'>><<set $charlierom += 1>><</link>><br><<else>><<link 'I\'m not playing a game.' 'chfw3.3'>><</link>><br><</if>> <<link 'Yeah, I do... but I wish he could.' 'chfw3.4'>><<set $charlierom += 1>><</link>> <</nobr>></div>

"No, actually," $mcname replies flatly, "I don't." If Charlie didn't know what to do with whatever they had before, then he //definitely// doesn't know where to put this. He's pretty sure that the aching feeling in his chest is his heart cracking in two. $mcname doesn't get it, because $mche <<if $mche is "they">>don't<<else>>doesn't<</if>> feel what he feels. It really is just a game for $mchim. He just looks at $mchim for what is probably a moment too long while he tries to formulate any response that might feign indifference. At the very least, he needs to mask the completely foolish heartbreak he's experiencing over someone who has, in hindsight, never expressed any real interest in him. As with most things, it's just something he's dreamed up instead of living his real life. Months wasted pining after a reality tv show contestant who, //of course// was just nice to him to get cast. It shouldn't be a surprise, but... Well, it still somehow is. "I'll see you later, $mcname," is the reply that Charlie eventually settles on before he tears himself away. [[End|charlieshortend]]

"So you admit that you'd pick me?" $mcname smirks. Charlie rolls his eyes, but he can't keep the smile off his face. It's contagious. "That's //not// what I said," he replies, with a shake of his head, and he can't quite believe he's being drawn back into the same game that he was just trying to put a stop to. He //knows// he shouldn't do it, but he's just too weak to resist. <<if $extraversion gt 50>>"But it's what you meant...?" $mche <<if $mche is "they">>press<<else>>presses<</if>>, and Charlie laughs. "//God,// you are so..." "Adorable? Delightful? Incredibly hilarious?" All of the above. He doesn't say that, though. "//Annoying//," he finishes. He needs to get $mcname out of the studio before one of them says something (even more) stupid. Probably Charlie, at this rate. "I'll see you later, $mcname." Then, still smiling to himself, he turns away again. Smiling like an idiot, because that's exactly how it feels. Still, there's actually quite a large part of him that cannot suppress the idea that $mcname is continuing to play with him because $mche <<if $mche is "they">>//like//<<else>>//likes//<</if>> him. It's an idea that is too good to ignore. <<else>>$mcname lingers in the doorway while something that Charlie can't quite name hangs between them. He knows what he would like it to be, but he can't be sure what it actually is. As much as part of him wants to find out, most of the rest is screaming at him not to. Not yet. "There are ice lollies in the freezer, by the way," Charlie says, breaking the silence. It's the only thing he can think of to change the subject, and he hopes that $mcname doesn't call out his terrible segue. "What?" "Ice lollies. If you can't get to sleep, they're good for cooling down," Charlie smiles weakly, and then he turns away. God, why did he say that? The polar opposite of a smooth move. Han Solo would never say 'tHeRe ArE iCe LoLlIeS iN tHe FrEeZeR'. He hears the door click shut behind him and lets his head clunk off the desk. //Idiot//. <</if>> [[End|charlieshortend]]

"I'm not playing a game," $mcname replies. Charlie just looks back at $mchim, mouth dry, heart hammering in his chest. If he wasn't a total coward, then he would do something about it. It feels like the sort of moment that he could, but there's too much distance to cross and suddenly all his limbs feel like they're made of lead. Instead, like he's watching himself from somewhere off in the sky, he hears himself reply. "Oh..." he says, dumbly, voice a little hoarse. Thankfully, it only takes a moment to shake himself out of it, chuckling quietly as he feels heat spreading through his cheeks and tears his eyes away. "Well... then that's probably even more reason that you should go." And as much as he wishes that he could be wrong, he knows that he isn't. $mcname opens $mchis mouth to interject, but Charlie can't let $mchim. He knows that his resolve will absolutely crumble the second he hears whatever $mche <<if $mche is "they">>have<<else>>has<</if>> to say. "I'll see you later, $mcname," he finishes, as firmly as he can, and he watches $mchim leave. If this isn't a game, then what exactly is it? [[End|charlieshortend]]

<<if $neuroticism lte 50>>"Yeah," $mcname answers. "I wish you could, though." For a second Charlie thinks that this means $mche <<if $mche is "they">>feel<<else>>feels<</if>> the same way that he does. If he wasn't a total coward, then he would do something about it. It feels like the sort of moment that he could, but there's too much distance to cross and suddenly all his limbs feel like they're made of lead. Then it dawns on him that it might not - it might just be that $mche miss the lack of formality of those early coffeeshop interviews. Playing their silly little game. Charlie feels his heart sinking into his stomach and offers a weak smile. "Me too." But probably for a whole other reason. Their eyes meet and, just for a moment, Charlie lets himself believe that $mcname wishes it in the same way that he does. Then he forces himself away, swivelling his chair back towards his laptop. "I'll see you later, $mcname."<<else>>"Yeah." $mcname smiles, but it doesn't reach $mchis eyes. For a second Charlie thinks that this means $mche <<if $mche is "they">>feel<<else>>feels<</if>> the same way that he does. If he wasn't a total coward, then he would do something about it. It feels like the sort of moment that he could, but there's too much distance to cross and suddenly all his limbs feel like they're made of lead. By the time he forced himself up out of the chair, he knows he'd lose all his bottle. Just as Charlie opens his mouth to say something else, and he has absolutely not thought through what the something will be, it dawns on him that he might be wrong. It might just be that $mche miss the lack of formality of those early coffeeshop interviews. Playing their silly little game. He feels his heart sinking into his stomach as $mcname lingers in the doorway, something that Charlie can't quite name hanging between them. As much as part of him wants to find out what it is, most of the rest is screaming at him not to. Not yet. "There are ice lollies in the freezer, by the way," Charlie says, breaking the silence. It's the only thing he can think of to change the subject, and he hopes that $mcname doesn't call out his terrible segue. They must both know that isn't what he'd set out to say when he'd first opened his mouth. "What?" "Ice lollies. If you can't get to sleep, they're good for cooling down," Charlie smiles weakly, and then he turns away. The polar opposite of a smooth move. Han Solo would never say 'tHeRe ArE iCe LoLlIeS iN tHe FrEeZeR'. He hears the door click shut behind him and lets his head clunk off the desk. //Idiot//.<</if>> [[End|charlieshortend]]

"How's that supposed to make you laugh?" Charlie chuckles, shaking his head. "Do you just loooove the idea of a dork like me having to do the whole villa thing? Alright. I'll indulge you." Charlie drums his fingers against his chin in faux deliberation, gaze flickering across to check the viewfinder. <<if $coupledwith is "Arthur">>"Well, I know you've already pipped me to it," he begins, deep voice tinged with disapproval, "but how about Arthur? Think you could see us together? You //know// I love getting lectured..."<<else>>"How about Arthur? Think you could see us together? You //know// I love getting lectured..."<</if>> <<if $agreeableness gt 50>>$mcname scoffs, immediately spluttering over the image of it. He's glad that $mche <<if $mche is "they">>agree<<else>>agrees<</if>> that he would be a terrible fit with Arthur - he'd judge himself very harshly otherwise.<<else>>$mcname rolls $mchis eyes, but a smile does break onto $mchis lips at least. Thank god - at least the terrifying image of Charlie and Arthur together wasn't in vain.<</if>> <<include chj6>>

Thanks for playing! I hope you enjoyed a tiny little peep into Charlie's inner workings. Feel free to suggest other alternative perspective scenes or mini games you'd love to see in the future by messaging me on Patreon or dropping a mention in the Body Count Discord server! xoxo <<link 'Take me back to minigame character creation' 'minigamestart'>><</link>> <<link 'I want to choose another minigame' 'minigamestart3'>><</link>> <<link 'Take me to the snippets menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>>

<h1>body count bonus hub</h1>

<button id="nav" onclick="openNav()" class="material-icons material-icons-outlined"><span class="material-icons material-icons-outlined">arrow_left</span></button> <div id="menu-tray"> <<link "saves">><<run UI.saves()>><</link>> <br> <<link "settings">><<run UI.settings()>><</link>> <br> <<link "restart">><<run UI.restart()>><</link>> <br> <<if tags().includes("noreturn")>><<link "return" $return>><</link>><br><</if>> <<link 'back'>><<run Engine.backward()>><</link>> </div>

<<if settings.safari>><<link 'Open Menu'>><<run Dialog.setup("Menu");Dialog.wiki(Story.get("UIBar").processText());Dialog.open();>><</link>><<else>><<link '<span class="material-icons material-icons-outlined">save</span>'>><<run UI.saves()>><</link>><<link '<span class="material-icons material-icons-outlined">settings</span>'>><<run UI.settings()>><</link>><<link '<span class="material-icons material-icons-outlined">power_settings_new</span>'>><<run UI.restart()>><</link>><<link '<span class="material-icons">undo</span>'>><<run Engine.backward()>><</link>><<link '<span class="material-icons">redo</span>'>><<run Engine.forward()>><</link>><</if>>

<<link 'adegoke + i didn\'t mean to say that but yeah, i love you' 'adegokesnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'adegoke + there\'s a leaf in your hair' 'adegokesnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'adegoke + happily doing everything with just one hand if it means they don\'t have to let go' 'adegokesnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

You relax next to Adegoke on the couch, legs resting across his lap. Your hand rests on the cushion between you, fingers laced with his, his thumb rubbing slow, distracted circles over the back of your hand. You’re supposed to be watching MasterChef, but your attention has been caught with Adegoke’s quiet struggle at the other end of the couch. He wrestles with the lid of his pen, currently held between his teeth, and you watch with amusement as he jabs himself in the lip in his feeble attempts to get the cap back on. “Need your hand back?” Adegoke looks up with a smile, the dots of black ink on his lip even more obvious. He spits the lid defiantly down onto his pad, every last millimetre of the page covered with writing and scribblings out and annotations and big whirly arrows. He makes no attempt to get rid of the pen on his face, and you suspect he hasn’t realised it’s there. You might tell him eventually. “Nah, I’m good,” he answers happily, pulling your hand a little closer to rest against his thigh, “Doesn’t need a cap anyway.” <<include adegokesnips>>

“How do I look?” you ask, whirling around to face Adegoke. He just shakes his head, running a hand down the sleeve of your jacket. “There’s a leaf in your hair,” he replies with a smile, and you stamp a foot petulantly. You’re being serious and he can’t stop making fun of you for two seconds. This is important. It's his parents - and Adegoke doesn't exactly keep his love of his family a secret. Adegoke runs his hand over your head and retrieves the leaf, wafting it in front of you before he discards it to the wind. “You have nothing to be nervous about,” he tells you, decisively, when you don’t say anything else. You scoff. “What if they hate me? Me and my leafy hair?” “They’ll love you, because I love you.” Adegoke takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, resting the other on the gate. “And your hair isn’t leafy – I fixed it. Now, can we go inside?” <<include adegokesnips>>

You storm down the street, your jacket on as you go. In your haste, you just cannot get your arm into the fucking sleeve. While you’re now basically impervious to the London drizzle, it does undercut your anger a bit to be flapping around like a deranged chicken. “You’re being belligerent,” Adegoke calls after you, and you stop, look back. He’s standing on the pavement with his arms folded, steadily holding your gaze. Solid, unwavering. He’s never been the type to run after you, but he always has a way of drawing you back regardless. “No, you’re being… irritatingly reasonable.” And it’s true, he is. You’ve really fucked up this time, and he just… doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps saying very sensible things, calm things - the sort of things you’d expect to hear from a therapist rather than a boyfriend. “So, what is it you want? For me to get all mad and yell at you and smash some plates? Not all feelings have to be loud to be real.” What do you want? You don’t really know. Your head has been scrambled ever since you got back. Nothing feels as easy as it used to feel. Everything feels fucking hard. Even getting out of bed in the morning is a challenge - and not in a steamy sexy way. “I’m not going to just let you walk off, $!{mcname}. I want to talk about this. I love you, and that’s not just… That’s not something I’m willing to just give up on.” Adegoke folds his arms across his chest, wet t-shirt sticking to his skin. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the cold. He also doesn’t seem to have realised what he’s just said. You haven’t said that to each other before. You’ve thought it. You’ve thought it a lot of times – when he wakes you up in the morning with a cup of tea and a kiss on the forehead, when he climbs back into bed with you when he’s all sweaty from his run, when he rests his hand on your leg when you’re sat on the sofa. About a million times a day, actually. You just haven’t said it yet, because you’re a mess. You’re a mess, and he is just trying to hold you together, and he deserves better. “Oh,” is all you manage to reply with, which sounds fucking stupid. It comes out all distant and gormless as you walk back towards him. You’re not struggling with your jacket anymore. Then he realises, but he doesn’t seem regretful. You were worried that maybe he would be. “I didn’t mean to say that, but yeah, I love you.” “Saying something you mean? Doesn’t sound like you.” you smirk, digging your hands into your pockets as you reach him. At least, you hope it looks like a smirk - you might be too nervous for it to be all that convincing. You look into his deep brown eyes, and they remain steady as they look back into yours. “I said that I didn’t mean to say it, not that I didn’t mean it. I do.” A smile slowly spreads across his face, and it looks much lighter than yours feels. Easy. Confident. “Do you love me?” “Of course, I do,” you breathe back, because you just know that you do. And now you know that he really isn’t going to let you leave. Even if maybe he should. “Good. Then let’s go back inside, and I’ll get mad and yell and smash some plates for you, and then we’ll get on with our lives again. Okay?” <<include adegokesnips>>

<<link 'arthur + removing your lover\'s tie, putting it behind their head and pulling them into a kiss' 'arthursnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'arthur + kisses with their last dying breath' 'arthursnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'arthur + my love for you is unconditional' 'arthursnip5'>><</link>> <<link 'arthur + last birthday' 'arthursnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'arthur + i\'m not wearing that' 'arthursnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'arthur + orpheus looking back' 'arthursnip6'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

for a moment, only a moment, it’s like his heart stops beating altogether. just like theirs. “they were here all along. they followed.” he says to no one in particular, voice ragged, broken. “yes. they were.” and then it’s silent as arthur stands still, hands balled into little fists, unmoving, unbreathing. his eyes are fixed on the spot where they had stood. where they stand no longer. “oh.” he whispers, after a very long time. <<include arthursnips>>

Arthur paces back and forth on the wooden floors. He’s been doing this for what must be approaching an hour now, tying and untying his tie, and you’d make a joke about him wearing through the floorboards if you didn’t think that would just have him pacing even more. You, in contrast, have been lounging on the couch for at least as long, already fully dressed and listening to him talk himself through the logistics of your planned visit to his family home. You've lost count of how many times he can debate the merits of train versus car, blue shirt versus white, home versus hotel. “So, we’ll get the train because it’s just so much faster. I’ve arranged a car from the station, but will you want to change before we arrive? No, don’t worry about changing, that will just-“ “Why is this visit so important to you?” It's been on your mind all afternoon. For weeks now, actually. You don't know how you can make it clearer that you don't care what his family think of him or of you. It's not important. It doesn't matter. “Because you’ll be there,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world (because Arthur seems to think that everything he thinks is obvious). “You’re going to meet my family and… Well, what I mean to say is…” It’s not often that you get to see Arthur stuttering over his words. You quite enjoy it, actually, in a perverse sort of way. His misery probably shouldn’t be this amusing to you, but it’s nice to see him worried every once in a while. “Arthur, my love for you is unconditional.” Arthur stops pacing at this, and you get up to walk across and fix his tie. He lets you, hands buried in his pockets. His face tilts upwards, nose in the air like that would ever be enough to keep his thoughts from you. “So even if you have a horrible time with my family and they make me seem like a… Well, if they say that I...” He probes, eyes focused on something very interesting over near the chandelier, expression neutral apart from the flush in his cheeks. All this time, and it really hadn’t occurred to him. “I’ll still love you.” You finish tying the knot. A full Windsor: you’ve heard Arthur explaining about seven million times that it’s the only appropriate way for a civilised man to knot a tie. “Yes.” “Oh,” he replies, and as he drops his chin to meet your gaze, he can’t quite keep his smile at bay. “Well, that does take the pressure off a little, then.” <<include arthursnips>>

“I’m not wearing that.” Arthur very literally turns his nose up at the costume you’re holding out to him. He’s been insisting for weeks that he won’t arrange his own, so you’d had to take matters into his own hands. “Because it’s not fancy enough or because you’re worried you won’t look good in it?” Generally, if Arthur refuses to wear something, it’s because of one of those two reasons. You’d once made the grave mistake of trying to get him to wear a shirt that turned out to be a polyester blend – never again. “Neither. This is ridiculous.” “It’s a costume party, Arthur. The costume is key.” “I hate costume parties.” Well, that’s no surprise. Costume parties are fun, after all, and Arthur hates just about anything that normal people find fun. You roll your eyes. “And I hate pretentious posh boys, but here I am. Put on the fucking costume.” He snatches the garment bag from you, eyes narrowed, and tosses it down on the bench at the end of your bed. “Make me.” <<include arthursnips>>

Arthur leans back against the wall, sole of one shoe resting against the rough surface behind him as he tries very hard not to think about whether the brickwork is clean enough not to be dirtying his jacket. “Mother, I-” he attempts into the phone at his ear, even more emphasis on his clipped pronunciation than normal. He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, instead clenching his jaw and biting down on his tongue. Hard. Which is more painful – that, or this conversation? His free hand fiddles with his cufflinks – Tom Ford, onyx studs, simplistic and elegant. They had been a gift, sent without a card. “Yes, I am aware, but-” He sighs, once again unable to actually complete his sentence before he is cut off by the Campbell matriarch. His career is inadequate. He should have come home to celebrate with his family who love and miss him. He’s wasting his potential. Oh, that blue shirt really brings out his gorgeous blue eyes. He’ll never settle down if he insists on being such a wretched, abrasive, unpleasant man. Arthur closes his eyes, pressing his fingernails into his palm until they leave a little crescent imprint behind. He repeats the action, again and again. “Oh, nothing much. Just… dinner with some friends.” It’s a lie – he has no plans. His first birthday in a new town. He doesn’t have any friends here. He wanders around the patio a few times, silently looping his shiny new patio furniture as he listens to his mother rhapsodise about the new restaurant that he simply must try. There is a brief glimmer of hope that there might actually be something for them to talk about, but it disappears as quickly as it was sparked. She has tired of conversation, must be getting back to his father, their friends. “Alright, well, goodnight to you, too… Yes, yes, I love you, too…” She stresses that he should be very grateful that she took the time to call him. He isn’t. He slides the phone back into his pocket and lights a cigarette. It’s the only day of the year that he ever smokes. It’s caustic and burning and entirely unpleasant, but this way, he can pretend that is where the bitter taste in his mouth comes from. That it doesn’t just emanate from him; a warning to anyone as unfortunate as to venture close. There is a dim, nagging thought at the back of his mind, and he tries to push it away, swallow it down. He has tried to start over. He has tried it time and time again and it has never worked, never fitted, never stuck. Perhaps what he needs is something more substantial. Something truly different. Then again, maybe happiness just isn’t on the cards for him. <<include arthursnips>>

“I hoped that I’d go first,” Arthur murmurs, through lips that are stained red. “What?” “Didn’t like the idea of missing you. Sounded rubbish,” his sharp laugh turns into a wheezing cough, but even as he grits his teeth in pain, he manages to fix you with a smug smirk. Like he just knows how funny he is. “You’ll be fine without me, though. It’s better like this.” “Oh, shut up. Don’t talk like that.” You think about smacking him, but one of your hands is still pressed against the gash in his side, hot blood oozing through your fingers despite your best attempts to keep it at bay. The other rests on his pale cheek and, slowly, he reaches up to cover it with one of his own. “Go to Varenna. It’s lovely – you’d like it.” His thumb rubs a slow circle on the back of your hand. You know that it’s his best attempt at being reassuring; warm words have never been his forte. “Only if you take me there.” You try to keep your voice decisive and firm, but there’s an unmistakable wobble. Arthur’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he rattles out another breath. You think that in different circumstances, it might have been a laugh. “Kiss me now,” he rasps, “Please.” It’s not often that you hear Arthur Campbell say please. You oblige, softly, blocking out the metallic taste of blood as your lips brush his. “I’ve never been to Italy, you know. You’ll have to show me around.” It’s a lie, but this is the sort of statement that Arthur will find incendiary enough to surely evoke a reaction. You take great pleasure in teasing him – watching his indignant expression and disbelieving laughter as you reveal one or other thing that you have never done. And, right now, you’d say just about anything to hear him laugh again. You want it more than you ever thought you would. It doesn’t come. There’s just… silence. <<include arthursnips>>

you stagger backwards, lips locked together, until you reach a wall. well, you actually reach a table, the lamp atop it wobbling uncertainly before you reach out a hand to steady it. knowing the campbells, that lamp probably costs more than everything in your apartment combined. with that thought, you sort of wish you hadn’t saved it. arthur shushes you, briefly, but then his mouth is on yours again and your back is against the wall and his hands are on your sides and he’s way too busy for further shushing. his shirt is already unbuttoned to the navel, but the tie is proving elusive. on your first try at getting it off, you’re pretty sure you accidentally strangle him a little; you’re obviously much better with buttons than knots. he breaks the kiss to splutter for a moment as he loosens it with one finger, giving you a look that suggests he thinks you’re a complete idiot. it’s not the first time you’ve seen this particular look - it’s basically his resting expression at this point. then his lips are on yours again, tongue in your mouth, hands tugging at your clothes wherever he can to find skin, clumsy and rushed. that’s exactly the sort of behaviour that had you almost knocking over a lamp, you think dimly, but you find your own hands similarly fumbling as you pull off his tie and loop it around the back of his neck. it’s entirely unnecessary given that he’s already kissing you, bodies as close as they can be, a thin layer of fabric the only thing separating you. when he tries to draw back, presumably to direct you to somewhere slightly more private, he finds himself unable to. the magic of the tie. “so you don’t care if we get caught?” he murmurs against your lips, almost a dare, and you grip his tie a little tighter. “not in the least.” he should know better by now than to give you a challenge, even if it’s only implied. and you don’t care in the least – worst case scenario, arthur’s parents kick you out of this dull gala, and that might just be for the best. you push his shirt off down his shoulders, smooth skin under your fingers, and discard it onto the floor. you’re a considerate guest. if there’s a chance that you’re going to get caught here, you might as well make sure you’re giving a show. <<include arthursnip1>>

<<link 'atticus + kisses as a promise' 'atticussnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + intertwining your fingers' 'atticussnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + that one \'shut up and don\'t ruin this for me\' look' 'atticussnip5'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + i\'m drunk and i hate everything except you' 'atticussnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + fancy parties' 'atticussnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + vulnerability isn\'t weakness' 'atticussnip8'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + are you scared?' 'atticussnip7'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + i want you' 'atticussnip6'>><</link>> <<link 'atticus + orpheus looking back' 'atticussnip9'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

he knows as soon as he turns his head, but he can’t stop himself from moving once he’s started. so, he keeps going. he lunges forward, reaches for their hand, anything to keep them here. it’s too late. he’s too late. they’re gone. but he can’t just take that for an answer, can he? so, atticus runs. as fast and as far as he can, until his lungs burn, until he tastes metal on his tongue, until he can barely hold himself upright. “you can never reach them.” he is told. “they are gone.” and he doesn’t answer, because he knows it’s true, and who is he to argue with fucking hades. but when he comes to the doors, he pounds against them until his knuckles split, until his voice is gone, until he is delirious with exhaustion. and it doesn’t feel like enough. because it isn’t enough. it’s unsalvageable. he’s irredeemable. it’s over - nothing left to fight for. <<include atticussnips>>

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady pounding of his heart, fingers running back and forth across the black lines on his side. A great white. Jaws open, teeth bared, ready to bite your face right off. Atticus shudders, twitching away from your touch, and the shark lurches towards you as he shuffles in place. “Stop that.” He’s ticklish, but he always tries to resist it. “What are you thinking about?” There’s a silence as you feel him tense, feel his heart pumping that little bit faster. All this time, and he still gets nervous when you ask what’s on his mind. “Vulnerability isn’t weakness, you know.” You sound much wiser than you are. Fuck it, you can be wise every now and then. It sounds good – you can just lean into that. “And there isn’t anything you can say that’ll make me stop liking you.” The second part is true, too, but you’re glad that you don’t have to look him in the eye as you say it. Atticus might make you look like a gooey little marshmallow person in comparison, but bold declarations are always hard – especially for someone that you know isn’t going to say it back. He might think it, you might feel it, but he won’t say it. Not yet. He takes your hand in his, and it’s unclear whether it’s because he wants to or if he just doesn’t want to risk further tickling. When you brave a glance up at him, his square jaw is clenched, eyebrows pinched together thoughtfully. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Atticus doesn’t say anything else. He just lets out a low hum, turning your hand over in his. <<include atticussnips>>

“Are you scared?” you grin. The little train trundles forward, lurching unsteadily as a pair of creaking wooden doors swing open in front of you. Atticus shoots you an unimpressed look, complete with raised eyebrow and pursed lips. “This is a kid’s ri-“ he begins casually, one arm slung over your shoulder. Then an enormous stuffed spider drops from the ceiling and into his lap. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOLY SHIT FUCK CUNT-“ He lets out a string of curses that you think would make a sailor blush, and you can’t help but laugh as you ignore the unimpressed huffing from the parents sat in the carriage behind you. Their kid is pretty small – if it knows what any of those words meant, then that’s more their problem than yours. “You were saying?” you grin, but Atticus is already wrenching up the metal bar that’s down across your laps and extricating himself from the little carriage. You should have asked about spiders while you were in the queue. <<include atticussnips>>

His fingertips trail lazily up your side, sandpapery scratch of his stubble against your chest as he takes your nipple in his mouth to bite down until you let out an involuntary gasp. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck, roughly turning your head so that he can speak right into your ear, gravelly and coarse. “Any time I’m not talking, I’m thinking about you making that sound. Next time I’ll get to hear it. What I’ll do for you to make it.” “You’re never talking.” “Cause I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Then he turns your face back to him, capturing your lips on his. Tongue on tongue, skin on hot skin, wet and filthy and slow. He rolls you onto your back, kisses you breathless, and you find yourself completely lacking the brain power for thinking about anything as petty as ‘breathing’. Atticus’ kisses, you find, demand your full attention. Everything about this is demanding. “I want you,” you gasp, when every small movement is enough to set you alight and you’re dizzy with it, overheated and overwhelmed. He just hums against your neck, sucking at the point where your pulse hammers away beneath him, tasting the salt on your skin and revelling in the fact that it was him that got you this worked up. Even as you’re left keening at the sensation, it’s Atticus who feels like the begging one. Because that’s what this is, really. He might like to think that he’s demanding or controlling or whatever the fuck, but this is nothing more than begging from him – like this will make you see him or know him or feel something more than whatever he thinks you’re feeling now. He draws back, just for a moment. You are met with the smug, lazy smile that you expected to see, but there’s something else too. His gaze flickers across your face, and there’s something else in it. “Then have me.” He doesn’t say that he’s yours – this is Atticus, after all. Even so, you know it. He didn’t tell you to take him; you can’t claim what already belongs to you. He didn’t say that he loves you, either, despite the way it radiates from his expression (and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows that it does, although he must). He says that you can have him. He’s yours, to have and to keep. So, you do. <<include atticussnips>>

It starts the second you get inside the bar. It’s exactly what you’d been worried about. Atticus had seemed reluctant to bring you along tonight, but his pals had been insisting that they meet you for weeks and he could only hold out for so long. They’d joked that they wanted to see whether you had magic powers – Atticus wasn’t exactly known for the longevity of his relationships. “If we could even call them that,” you’d heard one of them quipping on the phone that afternoon. Sure, it hadn’t been long, but it was still the longest anyone had known him to be seeing one person. You’re basically a unicorn. “Waheyyyy! Long time no see, fella!” “And is this the lovely significant other?” “Your partner?” “The ol’ ball and chain?” They yell across the room, one of them standing up and waving their arms overhead just so there’s absolutely no way you could miss them. You glance across to measure Atticus’ reaction. He isn’t your boyfriend – he isn’t really that kind of guy. This is the sort of thing that you could imagine would send him running. He could get agitated and start to pull away - draw back at the first sign of things getting too official. Stop replying to your texts, start dodging your calls and then just disappear into the city. Maybe you’re catastrophising. Atticus scoffs, rolling his eyes. He’s actually smiling – the sort of smile that people wear when a kid is misbehaving in a way that they can’t help but be amused by. His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you across the pub to your destination booth. “Get fucked,” he tells them firmly when you arrive. The wait for him to reply seems to have placed greater emphasis on his response, and his friends hoot with laughter as he shrugs off his jacket. They might already be laughing at your expense, but at least they ordered you a drink – that’s nice, right? “We’re just excited to meet the lucky lion tamer that’s got our Costello all settled down,” the blonde woman sat closest tells you, loudly, as she tugs on Atticus’ sleeve to pull him into a seat. Abbott, you think. She’s pretty attached to WhatsApp voice notes as a method of communication, so you recognise her voice. “Stop it,” he warns, pointing a rebuking finger at her. You can’t quite read his expression as you slide into the booth beside him, reaching for the glass in front of you so that you have something to do with your hands other than fidget nervously. There’s an intensity, an urgency, in his face as he frowns at her that you can’t quite put your finger on, but some kind of understanding seems to be passed between them. Abbott softens, rolling her eyes as she takes a sip from her glass, and she gives you an apologetic little smile as she sets it back down. You don’t get the chance to think much more about the look that they shared before you’re bombarded with questions. What do you do? How long are you in town? Did you watch Breaking Bad because Moose was just sharing a very controversial opinion about- You still don’t really know why, but something about Atticus’ exchange with Abbott has you emboldened, and his arm slung over the back of your seat isn’t hurting either. In fact, you’re suddenly pretty sure you’re going to make it through this evening with your ego intact – it might even be fun. Everybody laughs at a very funny joke you make, and Atticus laughs loudest of all, giving your arm a little squeeze as his arm slides down from the back of the seat to rest across your shoulders. Maybe got it wrong. Maybe he is your boyfriend. <<include atticussnips>>

Atticus doesn’t complain nearly as much as you expect him to about having to attend a swanky fundraiser. He takes pretty well to it, actually. You didn’t realise that he owned a bowtie and a pocket square, let alone a wide enough range for him to coordinate with your outfit. He didn’t ask, of course, but it seems like too much of a coincidence to actually be one. You’d had to dash up to his flat to hurry him along because he was taking ages to meet you, and he still hadn’t actually got dressed when you walked through the door. Then he was all bow tied and pocket squared and matching your outfit quite nicely, actually. You dimly wonder if that was why he’d been dragging his feet so much getting ready – God forbid he’d actually had to ask you what you were planning to wear. You break apart when you arrive, going your separate ways to work the room. Divide and conquer and all that. You loiter in a group of entrepreneur types, glass in hand, not really paying all that much attention to whatever they’re talking about. You’re far too distracted watching Atticus lift his head from his own conversation on the other side of the room, turning it slowly until his eyes find yours. He winks, and you can’t believe that still turns your knees to jelly like it does. He smiles like he knows. It’s much later when you are reunited. You’re leaning on the railing of the veranda, the night air raising goosebumps on the back of your neck, when you feel his hand on your hip, mouth behind your ear. He smells like cigarette smoke, champagne, cedar – wintery, even when the weather doesn’t quite match him yet. “Time to go,” he growls, barely above a whisper. You tip your head to the side to turn and look at him and he plants his lips on the corner of your jaw, pulling you insistently back against his chest, “Unless you want me to fuck you right here?” <<include atticussnips>>

You’re doing 90 on the motorway and it’s quiet apart from the sound of the engine, the rain hammering against the windscreen, the mechanical schwump of the wipers swinging back and forth. You might have been asleep – you’ve got that groggy dazed feeling that comes from not being entirely sure whether you were dreaming or daydreaming or somewhere in between. Your head rolls against the leather headrest, turning to one side to look at Atticus in the driver’s seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. You just watch him watching the road, the distorted streetlamp blurs that pass the driver’s side window, the raindrop tracks down the glass. Atticus shuffles slightly in his seat, moving one hand from its position on the steering wheel to rest on his thigh. It has to be an invitation, but he doesn’t reach out with it. Just turns it over and leaves it there, palm up on his jeans in a position that nobody has ever chosen to voluntarily rest in. You reach across, slide your fingers over his palm, intertwine them with his and give his hand a gentle squeeze. The hand-holding equivalent of a ‘Hi’. There’s a moment where he doesn’t move, doesn’t react, doesn’t even breathe really, and you wonder whether you misjudged his intention. Maybe he just needed to stretch. Then he closes his fingers, squeezing back. His doesn’t really feel like a ‘Hi’ though – it’s a little too tight for a little too long. Your eyes move from your clasped hands back up to his face, still fixed on the road ahead, but now with a tension in his jaw. It looks like restraint - like he wants to smile but won’t let himself. You have no such reservations. You grin across at the side of his face as he valiantly ignores you. Despite being an adult who should probably have grown out of this giddy, squealy feeling a long time ago, you can barely contain the butterflies that swarm in your chest. You’re holding hands with a boy and you know he wants to smile about it. <<include atticussnips>>

you stand in the kitchen where you are supposed to be paying very close attention to the microwave (lest you have another burned popcorn incident in atticus’ flat), but you’ve been pretty distracted watching him lounging on the sofa. atticus gets one side, you get the other, and your heads meet in the corner - it’s a solid system honed over many movie nights. you can’t actually remember how long it’s been now. you’d have to count the months back in your mind. “you’ll tell me if i ever get annoying, right?” you ask. “you’re annoying,” he calls back to you, without diverting his gaze from the screen. you huff, and he reluctantly props himself up on one elbow to look back at you. “i’m being serious!” atticus rolls his eyes and gets to his feet like he has just been asked to perform a very tedious chore, looping around the sofa to join you. you’d started pacing, but he plants his hands firmly on your shoulders to put a stop to that. “you can’t get annoying. you’ve always been annoying.” he tells you, but he looks at you in a way you aren’t sure you’ve noticed before as he says it. then he cups your face in both hands and kisses you firmly, the kind that makes you feel like you’re featherlight and drifting away. he kisses you like he sees you – knows who you are and wants you all the same, will keep wanting you. when you break apart, his blue eyes meet yours steadily, brows knitted together in a little frown. you aren’t sure what he sees – but then he kisses you again, and this one’s different. it’s soft and gentle, quizzical even. he sees you. do you see him? you don’t have time to answer before you are hit with the acrid smell of burning popcorn and the microwave beeping. you reckon there’s about 20 seconds til the fire alarm goes off. fuck it, that’s plenty of time to steal another kiss. <<include atticussnips>>

you roll over, bleary eyed landing on your phone as it buzzes on your nightstand. it’s 3am. you’re gonna fucking kill him. “yes?” you aim for crisp indifference, but you just sound completely exhausted. there’s a little hint of worry there, too, that you hope isn’t too obvious. something about the idea of someone calling you this late automatically sets you on edge. there isn’t an answer on the other end of the line and if you know atticus (you do), you’d guess that he has misjudged this phone call thing entirely. it’s a communication method that relies pretty solely on actually talking. another beat of silence passes before you sigh, prop yourself up on one elbow, rub your eyes. “atticus, if you’re gonna call me in the middle of the night, you have to speak. if you try to pass this off as a butt dial i’m gonna kill you.” you’re pretty sure it’s his laugh that you’re hearing on the other end of the call. more silence. you think he’s smiling, but you obviously can’t be sure. it feels like he’s smiling, though. wandering down some poorly lit street somewhere, one hand in his pocket, grinning like an idiot to himself at the sound of your voice. it’s a pretty optimistic mental image, and you try to dispel it. “is this a booty call? because it’s not working.” okay, that was definitely a laugh. good to know that the idea of him wanting to see you is so ridiculous, so laughable. “no.” “then what is it?” now you definitely sound impatient, irritated, and you hope it isn’t too obvious that your ego is a little bruised. perhaps bruised is too strong a word. jostled? “i’m drunk, and i hate everything.” yep, sounds like atticus. “start a diary.” “everything except you.” he says it like it’s something that you should already know, like he says it all the time. it isn’t, and he doesn’t. you don’t really know what to make of it. the idea that he had been thinking about you at all, let alone as the sole thing he doesn’t hate, makes your mouth all dry and your pulse quicken. you don’t trust that feeling, though. “i thought you said this wasn’t a booty call?” there’s that laugh again. “tell me about your day.” “atticus, it’s 3 in the fucking morning.” you groan, because you are way too tired for whatever game this is. he doesn’t reply right away. you listen to the dull rumble of traffic, rain, footsteps down the line. “i wanted to hear your voice.” and again, he sounds earnest, contrite… wistful? it’s hard to imagine atticus’ voice wrapped up with all those feelings. you want him to say it again, really get to digest it, but you don’t ask him to. clearly whatever paint stripper whiskey he’s been drinking has stripped away the thick layer of sarcasm that he normally brings to conversation. it’s 3am. you shouldn’t be entertaining this. “listen to my voicemail message.” “i was going to. you picked up.” now it’s your turn to be silent. you let your head fall back onto your pillow, pull the duvet up to your chin, close your eyes. you’re giving in. you’ve given in. fuck. “well… i went to tesco and i did that thing where you’re really hungry and just buy loads of random shit and…” you tell him about your day. <<include atticussnips>>

<<link 'avery + power\'s out' 'averysnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'avery + put your computer away and come cuddle with me' 'averysnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

“Power’s out.” Your eyes are still adjusting so you can’t see Avery well enough to know what face she’s pulling, but you can take a pretty good guess. The moment when all the lights and the TV turned themselves off was probably indication enough, but hey, can’t hurt to be sure. “Light some candles.” “Bit romantic, isn’t it?” you grin into the darkness. You still can’t see her properly, but now you’re sure that she is scowling at you. You’d bet your life on it. “If you consider having to eat everything from the freezer romantic, sure.” She’s starting to get up now to go off and fix things, but you catch her by the wrist and tug her back down onto the sofa. “Oh, come on. It’s seasonal. It’s fun. Halloweeny!” “You’re insufferable,” she whispers against your lips. “Hmmm, this feels like a pretty mixed message?” “Shut up,” and she kisses you again. Harder. <<include averysnips>>

Avery stands in the doorway, laptop cradled in one arm. The ridiculously large coffee mug in front of her mouth goes some way to hiding her deeply unimpressed expression, but it’s still unmistakable. “What are you doing?” You are sat cross legged on the living room floor in a sea of cushions and a particularly fluffy blanket. Overhead is a canopy of sheets, vaulted with a broom handle and the back of a chair. The structure is artfully supported by some bulldog clips that you stole from Avery’s desk that fix it to the light fixtures. You’d say that what you’re doing is pretty obvious, actually; you’re watching TV in a blanket fort in Avery’s living room, constructed from sheets that you stole from her bed (note to self: remember to put those back before you go to sleep). “I’m watching TV in a blanket fort in your living room constructed from sheets that I stole from your bed.” No point sugar coating it. Avery nods slowly, eyebrows raised, bringing her mug down to waist height so that you can fully appreciate the way her mouth quirks up into a bemused smile. She shifts her weight onto one foot, glancing down at her open laptop briefly before she snaps it shut. “And you’ve been doing this all day?” “…Yes.” “While I’ve been working?” She might have spent the day in her office writing very important emails and making very important phone calls and doing very important stapling, but hey, the construction of the blanket fort was no walk in the park either. It took, like, an hour to solve the back wall conundrum until you found the step ladder. You grin, reclining back on your elbows. “That one wouldalso be a yes. Now, put your computer away and come cuddle with me.” She rolls her eyes, but she does set her laptop and her coffee mug down on the counter. That’s a win. Then she drops to her knees and reluctantly crawls through the gap in the blankets to join you, straddling your hips, arms either side of your head. Another win. “Well, while we’re here,” she begins, nose brushing over your cheek, mouth nuzzling your ear, “I suppose that there are a few useful things you could do…” “I think you’re undervaluing my contribution to the household.” “You’re right - why don’t you remind me?” And then she presses her lips to yours. You might be a loser who spent the day building a blanket fort, but making out in it sure does make you feel like a winner. <<include averysnips>>

<<link 'charlie + spooning at night' 'charliesnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'charlie + you pull your lover back from a kiss, only to pock lips again because you can\'t keep your hands off each other' 'charliesnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'charlie + secret kisses' 'charliesnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'charlie + we\'re the coolest people here' 'charliesnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

You're about 2 steps inside the bar when you realise that you’ve horribly misjudged the vibe here. Everyone else is wearing mainly latex and fishnet and lace and… well, you and Charlie are Charmander and Squirtle. He’d insisted that a Star Wars costume would be too expected. What he had neglected to mention, though, is that this party is absolutely not a ‘make-a-cardboard-tail-and-paint-your-face-blue’ kind of party. You scowl at him, but he just grins back at you. A passing sexy nun shoots you a reproachful look, but it’s overshadowed by the glow coming off of Charlie. He couldn’t look more proud to be seen with you – even Squirtle you. “I knew it,” he tells you, sliding an arm around your waist, “We are definitely the coolest people here.” “We’re the weirdest people here,” you grumble as he steers you across to the bar. “Yeah, same thing.” <<include charliesnips>>

“If we get caught…” Charlie whispers, breath hot against your neck as he searches for any reason that you might both turn around and leave. “It’ll be bad,” you conclude for him, gripping the sides of his t-shirt to pull him closer. He sucks in a sharp breath as his body comes flush with yours. “Really bad.” Charlie’s nose brushes yours as what little resolve he has begins to crumble. “Disastrous.” You press kisses along his jawline and roll his earlobe between your teeth, relishing in the low hum that escapes his lips and the way his arms tighten around your back. “Catastrophic.” “World ending, really,” you smirk, pulling back to meet his gaze, eyes shining even in the low light. Charlie shifts in place, squaring his hips with yours as his uncertain expression is replaced with a mischievous grin. “You know, I’ve never really been that attached to the world anyway. Only a matter of time til we colonise Mars, right?” Then he kisses you, and if there’s ever been a kiss that would make the end of the world feel totally worth it, it’s got to be this one. Or the next one. Or the next. Or, really, any of the many that follow. <<include charliesnips>>

“i have to go.” “noooo, you don’t.” “yes, i do. i have to go to work,” you insist, and charlie hums thoughtfully as he pulls you back in for another kiss. they’re slow and sweet, a confection, while he thinks of some appropriate retort. your lips part briefly, and you think he might have something, but then he just leans back in for another kiss, more kisses, like he can’t quite get enough. eventually, though, he seems to crack it. “that’s on monday,” he informs you smugly, hands firm on your hips to impede your escape. as if you were even trying to escape. you very clearly are not - you’re too busy pulling him back in for another kiss, and then another, fingers in his hair until you’re both left gasping. “wait, it is monday.” “no, actually.” charlie looks up at you with a dazed grin and a hint of smugness. okay, rather a large dose of smugness, actually. “i’ve invented a new day. it’s called schmonday and it falls between sunday and monday.” “and you let my employers know?” “…no.” he frowns, “but you can just go tomorrow on monday and explain their error. it’ll catch on in no time.” “if you make me late…” any plans you’d had to get up and shower and get dressed and go to work like a sensible adult are quickly dissipating as charlie rolls you onto your back (and you think, perhaps charitably, that you had planned to do those things until this point). “just give me, like, five minutes.” he kisses your neck, your collarbone, your sternum. he rolls your nipple between his teeth and you let out a little gasp, back arching involuntarily, and he smiles against your skin. there’s that smugness again. “only five?” “i’m very efficient.” but he’s trailing his tongue down your stomach, which makes the words come out a bit more like “mm we-wy e-icent”. you would protest his utter ridiculousness, but you find yourself a little distracted. he is very efficient. <<include charliesnips>>

you don’t know what time it is, but it’s still dark out. charlie’s arm is draped over your side, hand balled up against your thigh, forehead resting against the top of your back. he’s close, but not close enough. not for the night. it’s when most of your fears tend to creep to the forefront of your mind - faces in the wallpaper, whispers riding the distant roar of city traffic, blood oozing through the gaps in the wooden floors. “are you asleep?” you ask out into the dark, voice quivering, knowing that the answer is ‘yes’ but hoping desperately that it won’t be. charlie shuffles behind you, his arm pulling tight against your chest. you grip his hand with both of yours, eyes welling with relief. you try to pretend that you hadn’t been panicking, but you don’t know why. this isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. “no,” he lies, groggily, pulling you back against him. you bend your knees to slide your cold feet between his shins and he groans. “you’re cold.” “you’re warm.” you used to joke that you kept him around so you didn’t have to buy a hot water bottle. then he got you one for your birthday and you were forced to admit that wasn’t the real reason you shared your bed with him at all – it’s more to do with the fact that you just want him there. you sort of need him there. you are, as it turns out, in love with him being there. in love with him. “love you.” he mumbles into your shoulder, and you feel his breathing slowing back down as he starts to drift back off to sleep, still all tangled up with you. you copy him, chest rising and falling in time with his until you can’t tell if you’re awake or not, too. <<include charliesnips>>

<<link 'ellis + pressing their foreheads together' 'ellissnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'ellis + eyelid kisses' 'ellissnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'ellis + your hands are cold' 'ellissnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'ellis + orpheus looking back' 'ellissnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

ellis just shakes their head, lips twitching up into a little smile. they hope that their eurydice will know what it means – that they will know all of the things that this brief look is trying to convey. they hope, desperately, that they will know all the things that ellis themself had doubted, just for a second. a second too long, it turns out. and then they are gone. ellis waits for a long time. they remember, and wonder. then, when they are ready, they speak again. “i think that i am ready to go.” “back to the surface?” ellis turns slowly to hades, controlled, calm. they have already failed. that much is done. it cannot be fixed, it isn’t a problem to solve. this is just what comes next. “no.” they hold his gaze. “i want to join them here. to stay.” <<include ellissnips>>

You finish your rant, pacing barefoot back and forth on the wooden floors at the foot of the bed. Ellis lounges back on their pillows opposite you, open book resting over their chest as they absorb your misgivings. You talk yourself to a halt, hunching over to grip the end of your bedframe in both hands. They just grin across at you. “My love,” they croon, in that infuriating voice that they use when they are always right, as they carefully close their book and set it down on the bedside table, “Is it really as bad as all that?” Of course it’s not, you are forced to reluctantly admit, and you crawl onto the sheets beside them and rest your head on their chest. Ellis drapes their arms around your shoulders, nuzzling their face into your hair as they slowly run their fingertips up and down your side. Your eyes flutter closed as they pepper kisses across your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and then eventually find your lips. <<include ellissnips>>

You stroll down the street, leaves crunching under your boots as you go. Wood smoke hangs in the air from one of the houses that you’ve passed – the smell of autumn. You turn to Ellis as they lace their fingers with yours, walking beside you. “Your hands are cold.” They smile gently back at you. It’s the look they always give you when you’re busted – worrying too much about them, they say. “It’s cold out.” “Want me to run back and grab some gloves?” You know they’d never let you, but you hope that if you offer enough times, they might realise that you actually do mean it. They squeeze your hand, gripping your arm with their other hand to tug you closer. “Your hands will do nicely, thank you.” <<include ellissnips>>

You stand on the beach, damp sand between your toes. All dressed up, but bare feet. Ellis had insisted - no one should die wearing shoes. The rain lashes against your face, needle sharp and freezing. Ellis clutches at your collar with both hands, forehead resting on yours, breathing slow and laboured. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and even in the biting cold, your cheeks feel hot. The grey sky rumbles, cracks. You keep your gaze focused on the warm, brown eyes in front of you. Calm. Certain. Your dig nails into Ellis’ arms, as if that might be enough to keep you both here. You know it won’t be. It can’t be. “I’m not ready.” “My love… Nobody is ever ready.” Their honeyed words start as a whisper and grow louder to be heard over the roar of the waves, the wind swirling around you, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. “But it’s time to go.” They press their lips to yours. They don’t even flinch. <<include ellissnips>>

<<link 'florrie + lets just kiss to see what it\'s like' 'florriesnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'florrie + hugging while twirling around' 'florriesnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'florrie + what do you think about couples costumes?' 'florriesnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'florrie + you\'re special, even when you\'re not trying' 'florriesnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

Florrie is sat cross legged in the middle of your bed, anxiously twirling a strand of hair as she repeatedly hits refresh with the other. Her tapping has an intensity that you are sure will not be good for the R key, but now doesn't seem like a good time to raise the issue of keyboard health. She’s been like this for the better part of an hour, despite having been informed via email, telephone and fax (somehow) that her results would be live at 11am. At 11:01, her arms shoot up in the air, one hand waving frantically to shush you while the other hovers over the keyboard. You hadn’t been saying anything, but sure, you’ll consider yourself shushed. “Fuck off,” she whispers. “What? What is it?!” “Guess who got a FUCKING FIRST?!” Florrie slams the laptop lid closed and jumps to her feet, holding her arms in the air. “You?!” “MEEEEEEE!” Florrie launches herself off the bed and into your arms with a velocity that you have come to expect, but holy shit, it knocks the wind out of you every time. You catch her, spinning in circles as she squeals into your shoulder, and you pepper kisses through her hair. It’s purple now, but no less vibrant and no less Florrie. Even with her feet on the ground, Florrie doesn’t let go. “Nope,” she sniffles against your chest, arms still wound tightly around your neck when you try to step back, “Not ready yet. Still hugging.” “Take your time.” <<include florriesnips>>

Florrie wiggles her nose, flouncing back and forth past the mirror in what might be her seventeenth outfit change of the evening. You’re growing later by the minute, but she remains unsatisfied. You watch quietly as she pauses on one side of the room, huffing irritably to herself, before passing the mirror again. “You look great,” you venture from your spot on the bed, where you've been scrolling your twitter feed and fielding the various ‘where are you???’ WhatsApp messages that have already started rolling in. “Is this special enough, though?” Florrie groans, flopping face-first onto the sheets beside you. “You’re special.” You hope that your tone conveys the eye roll that she cannot see, face still buried in the sheets. They’re gonna be fucking covered in highlighter after this. Still, you know Florrie. You know how she likes her cereal (just enough milk to make it a little soft but not so much that it goes soggy). You know her favourite brand of makeup remover (that weird oily cream stuff from Body Shop). You know just how to slide your arm around her shoulders to soothe her when she’s having a nightmare. You know her. You know when she’s just preening, and you know when she really needs your encouragement. “Even when you’re not trying.” You add, gaze flicking across to her prone form on the bed. A rare moment of sincerity among your usual teasing. Her face peeks up from the sheets. You were right, there is fucking highlighter all over them. “Do you mean that like special cute or like…” she pulls a face, “special dorky.” “Guess.” “Special cute?” She grins, and you can’t help but smile back. “Special ‘I’m-in-love-with-you-whatever-you’re-wearing.’” And, as if it was even possible, her grin gets even wider. <<include florriesnips>>

“What do you think about couples costumes?” Florrie is terrible at asking ‘innocent questions’. Her tells are simple – if she’s avoiding eye contact, fidgeting a lot and trying really hard not to smile, then it means she has an agenda. Judging by the way she’s hopping from one foot to the other at the foot of the bed like she’s about to piss herself, she definitely has an agenda here. “Florrie, what are you holding?” “…Guess?” She finally meets your gaze and a smile spreads across her pink lips. “A couples costume,” you answer, straight faced, because what the fuck else would it be? “No.” She pauses for just long enough for you to breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s a really cute couple’s costume!” <<include florriesnips>>

Florrie flops down onto the bed next to you, clumsily kicking off her shoes and fumbling with the clasp on her little pizza slice necklace. “Can you believe what they were saying? Like we would ever be into each other.” Your friends had been ripping you all night (as they often did) about how you and Florrie were obviously into each other and you’d clearly get together and you might as well just give up the charade and kiss already. In their defense, they were drunk. In your defense, so were you. “Right?!” You scoff indignantly, rolling over to face her, “They were talking such shit.” “They just make it sound like we’re, like, a fucking hair away from kissing at any given moment.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. Your cheeks still feel a little numb, sounds still feel distant and distorted, your hands feel a little less connected to your arms than they should do. And Florrie’s face feels close to yours. Your ears feel hot. You have a nervous wiggley stomach feeling. “We’re both too excellent, the world wouldn’t be able to handle it if we kissed.” “Ohmygod can you imagine?! If we did the world would just fucking implode.” “We could try it, though,” you scoff, and your stomach does a little flip. Are you going to throw up? No, it’s not that sort of flip. You’re not that drunk. “For science.” Florrie moves a little closer. The glitter in her face shines even in the low light and you breathe in the smell of her fruity perfume, the lingering hints of smoke from the juddering smoke machine at the edge of the dancefloor, the candyfloss sweetness from whatever cocktail she’d convinced some dumb rugby boy to buy her. For a moment you think about pulling back – that this is a horrible mistake, something you’ll both be embarrassed about in the morning, one of the many profoundly stupid things you’ve done at the end of the night out. Then your eyes flicker down to her smile, relaxed and confident and centimetres away from yours, and any doubts leave your mind. It’ll just be another funny story, right? You’ll laugh about it later, rub it in the faces of your mates over a Spoons breakfast, and then it’ll fade into night-out-legend. You take a breath and then Florrie’s lips meet yours, soft and sweet and a sticky from her trademark cherry lip-gloss. Your heart is beating so hard and you’re sure she must be able to feel it. If she does, it doesn’t give her pause and she doesn’t pull back. The opposite, if anything – her fingers slide through the hair at the nape of your neck and she shuffles a little closer, chest pressed to yours. When she does pull back, her cheeks are pink, eyes wide. She avoids meeting your gaze, clearing her throat. But her hand is still on your neck. “Well, that was…” you begin, and you hope that she’ll laugh and say something silly and that what you’d hoped would happen has happened. That this wouldn’t be an awkward, friendship ending regret. That she’d laugh about it and you’d tell your pals at breakfast about this stupid funny ridiculous thing you’d done and then you’d both move on with your lives and things would be normal. You hadn’t considered a third option, though. Florrie finally meets your eyes and gives you a feeble little smile, without any of the drunken confidence of a few moments before when this was just a silly experiment, and says “Wanna do that again?” And you do wanna do it again. So, you do. <<include florriesnips>>

<<link 'griffin + last birthday' 'griffinsnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'griffin + do you want to hear something scary?' 'griffinsnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'griffin + orpheus looking back' 'griffinsnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

their eyes meet, and he smiles. wider than he has smiled in weeks because he sees them, and they see him, and they’re both here. then their mouth makes a little o, and they disappear. griffin is left standing alone, hands stretched out in front of him where he had already begun to reach out to them. they fall back to his sides, limply. “where did they go? bring them back!” “that wasn’t the arrangement. you looked back. you broke our deal.” “you did it once. let’s do it again. we can do it again. i can do it.” “that isn’t how this works.” and then his voice cracks, his hands shake, he realises. “so that’s it?” griffin looks up at the demon beside him, face open, lip trembling. “that’s it?” “that’s it.” “i had to look back. i had to see them. i had to.” the demon does not answer again. they just look at each other as the realisation settles further, into his bones. “i had to.” <<include griffsnips>>

“Do you want to hear something scary?” Griffin tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he whispers into your ear. You’ve finally got his nieces to sleep – and after a night of swapping scary stories and roasting marshmallows, it had been quite the endeavour. “Hit me.” “You are just the absolute cutest person I’ve ever seen.” You shake your head because that was a fucking cheesy line, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. Even the cheesy lines seem to work on you when they’re coming from Griff. You turn toward him, arms around his neck. “That’s not scary.” “No, the scary part is how much time I spend thinking it.” He smiles against your neck between the kisses he lays there, trailing their way up to your jaw. “It’s amazing I get anything done. It’s becoming a problem.” “Ooo spooky,” is your feeble response, because now he’s doing that thing where he nibbles on your earlobe, which always renders you incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence. “I know, it’s terrifying. I can think of some things we can do to make us feel better, though…” <<include griffsnips>>

Griffin is woken by something thumping on his chest, followed by the series of squeaks and grunts that you would expect to hear from a toddler who is attempting to climb you. Opening one eye a crack is enough to confirm that, yes, he is indeed being climbed by a toddler. The tiny person’s chant of “Wabe up, Giff! Wabe up!” is yelled directly into Griffin’s chest which, thankfully, does muffle it slightly. Pudgy, sticky hands paw at his face as Luke attempts to rouse his uncle. He hasn’t quite mastered his ‘k’ sounds yet, but the message is still pretty clear – the time for sleep is very much over. “Alright little man, you’ve got me,” Griffin (or “Giff” as he is currently known) groans, shuffling awkwardly under the weight of the toddler on his chest to attain a slightly more seated position. “What are you doing here so early?” “Bufday!” comes Luke’s triumphant reply, sitting up and pressing his hands uncomfortably into Griffin’s abdomen as he shoots him a gap-toothed grin. “A birthday? Whose?!” Griffin asks, with the practiced enthusiasm of someone who has been woken up this way many times before. Fortunately, he has always been a morning person; Griffin is someone who falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow at night and wakes up the moment his eyes are open in the morning. It’s a skill that has come in handy on numerous occasions in his 22 years, particularly since his nieces and nephews became very fond of sneaking their way into his bedroom to wake him up. Luke thinks about the answer for a moment, frowning with concentration before he slaps an enthusiastic hand down on Griffin’s chest in response. “Yeeeah! That’s it, buddy, it’s me!” Griffin scoops up his nephew, ruffling his curly blonde locks as his tiny BFF chortles happily. Luke’s uncles and aunts number in the double digits, but Griffin has always delighted in being the favourite. He’s pretty much all of his nieces and nephews’ favourites, actually. “Aaaaaaaaah, here you are…” A blonde, dungaree-clad woman appears in the doorway, hands planted on her hips. Phoebe, the youngest of Griffin’s four sisters, stretches out her arms to Luke, who only grips the front of Griff’s pyjamas even tighter in response. “Came in here to bother Griffy, did you?” Luke nods decisively. “Well, what would you say if I told you that Aunty Evie and the girls are here and that she has cake?” Mention of cake is enough to capture both Luke and Griffin’s attention. Breakfast cake has been a favourite birthday tradition of Griff’s ever since he was old enough to register what a birthday even was (and, for the first few years, it was mostly characterised by being allowed to eat cake for breakfast). As the oldest sibling and most enthusiastic baker, the task of actually producing the cake usually fell to Eve. Griffin hefts Luke onto one shoulder, sending him into a fit of delighted squeals and giggles, and gets up out of bed. “Cake, you say? Lead the way.” <<include griffsnips>>

<<link 'imogen + make a wish' 'imogensnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'imogen + you are enough' 'imogensnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'imogen + you\'re so warm' 'imogensnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'imogen + orpheus looking back' 'imogensnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

“i’m so sorry,” she cries, and then they are gone, and she is alone. imogen covers her face with her hands, falls to her knees, shakes with sobs. “i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry.” it doesn’t bring them back. nothing will. but she won’t leave. she’ll wait. she’ll waste away if she has to. anything to see them again, to apologise, to try to deserve them. because they had followed her through hell, and as long as they aren’t on earth, she doesn’t belong there either. when she tries to think of a thing that she would not be prepared to do to earn back their love, she comes up blank. <<include imogensnips>>

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough.” “I haven’t.” Imogen lets out a shuddering breath, rubbing the back of her hand over her pink face, “Not always.” You follow the tear tracks on her face with your lips, salty kisses, and she lets out a breathy, feeble chuckle as your lashes tickle her cheeks. “You have always been enough for me.” You are adamant, insistent, and she tucks her head into the nape of your neck. “And anyone else is just an idiot.” You don’t know if you can mend a lifetime of painful betrayals with “anyone else is just an idiot”, but you’ve never really had a way with words. Maybe if you remind her often enough, it’ll start to sink in. You hope it does. You pull your arms around her shoulders. Rogue strands of red hair tickle your face as you rest it against the top of her head, but now doesn’t seem like a good time to squeal and/or writhe away, so you scrunch up your nose and bear it. Instead, you apply the sort of pressure that you were once told helps people when they are panicking. You don’t know how true that is, but her breathing begins to gradually steady from the juddering, panicked gasps of before. <<include imogensnips>>

“Mmm…you’re so warm.” Imogen’s hands slide under your shirt, her legs draped across your lap as she snuggles into your chest. The movie finished ages ago. You should really head home. “It’s late. I should go,” you whisper into her hair, making absolutely no moves to leave. You should head home – doesn’t mean you want to, or even that you will. Imogen grins up at you like she’s reading your mind. “Nice try. You belong to me and this sofa now.” “Just the sofa, huh?” Her grin darkens, expression taking on a wickedness that makes your heart beat a little quicker. “Alright, maybe not just the sofa,” she murmurs, and then your shirt is being tugged off over your head. Not just the sofa, but the sofa will do for now. <<include imogensnips>>

you crawl out of imogen’s bedroom window. there’s a stretch of roof that she escapes out onto sometimes when she can’t sleep, equipped with a mug of tea and eyes full of stars and absolutely no fear of heights. they are three things that you do not share; your stomach lurches as you make the mistake of glancing down to the street below while you carefully shuffle across the slate tile. it’s an inelegant method of transport, but you’re sure as shit not willing to stand. “did i wake you?” she asks, holding out a hand as you settle in beside her. you lean back against the cold stone, trying to keep as much of the floor as possible out of your field of vision. “it’s okay.” you mumble, tiredness permeating your every word, “i couldn’t sleep anyway.” you absolutely fucking could, but you aren’t about to sleep through imogen accidentally midsommaring herself off the roof. you rub your hands together, blowing into them in a feeble attempt to take the edge off the biting cold that is already settling into your bones. your breath sends a cloudy plume out into the night, and you feel quite vindicated that it really is as cold out here as you thought. when your hand slides into imogen’s, though, you realise just how futile your attempt had been. it’s warm and soft, melting you like butter, warmed by her mug of tea. “make a wish.” she instructs, after a lengthy silence, nodding her head up to the stars that twinkle overhead. you’ve lived in the city for as long as you can remember – you forget sometimes that in small towns like this, people actually get stars. “you still believe in wishes?” you don’t mean for it to sound snooty, but it probably does. here you are, crashing her alone time and soaking up her warmth and snarking about her wishes. it’s a wonder that chooses to spend any time at all with you. imogen thinks for a moment, sipping from the mug as she squeezes your hand a little tighter and glances across at you, the hint of a knowing smile on her lips. she seems to know an awful lot that you don’t. you wonder what it is this time. “if i stopped believing in things whenever something bad happened, i’d never get to believe in anything.” her voice is a gentle whisper, like talking any louder will wake the town. “you should try it, sometime.” there it is. just like you don’t share imogen’s bravery at altitude or her steaming mug of tea, you have never shared her belief. the wide-eyed sense of wonder as she gazes up at the night sky. the steadfast belief that things can be better - will be better. there are a few things you can count on, though. you could list them on one hand. “i believe in you.” you answer stubbornly. “and that’s enough for me.” <<include imogensnips>>

<<link 'nyra + don\'t look at me like that' 'nyrasnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'nyra + walking through a graveyard' 'nyrasnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'nyra + listening to the other\'s heartbeat' 'nyrasnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'nyra + orpheus looking back' 'nyrasnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

nyra was sure. she was so sure. because if she wasn’t sure, if she had thought that there had been any possibility at all, then she wouldn’t have looked back. but she did look back, and there they are. she barely has time to take a breath before they are gone, ripped away from her all over again. then she kicks herself for not looking at them, really looking, taking them in. it was the last time she would see them and she barely even looked, too busy reeling from her own failure to capture them, savour them. even in failing, she manages to fail double. she can’t help but laugh. bitter. angry. she laughs until the tears come. she presses her hands to her face, like she can barely believe that they have. on a normal day she might try to fight them, bury them, bury it all. but fuck it! there isn’t anyone to do that for anymore, is there? she did that. <<include nyrasnips>>

You meander between the gravestones, arm occasionally brushing against Nyra’s as she wanders along beside you. “If I hear pumpkin spice one more time, I’m going to scream. It’s just the relentless commercialisation of yet another season. Why can’t people just…” You sort of tune it out. Nyra has been ranting about the ills of capitalism for most of your walk, and she doesn’t show any sign of letting up soon. For someone who loves autumn, Nyra sure hates pumpkin spice. “Have I ever told you that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you?” you ask, with a grin, when she pauses for breath. That’s shut her up. She stops walking, digging her hands into her pocket, frowning. “No. You haven’t.” “Well, I’m in love with you,” you repeat, glancing back over your shoulder. You can’t stop walking, because that would make this a serious conversation and not a flippant remark. Nyra doesn’t fare well in serious conversations. After a moment, Nyra starts moving again. She catches up with you, and this time she takes your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly as she picks right up where she left off. “So anyway, Starbucks are…“ <<include nyrasnips>>

Nyra has never been a cuddler. It took months for her to even be willing to stay overnight at your place – she always used to make feeble excuses to slip away the moment you were finished. Yet, here she is. It’s after midnight and her head is resting on your chest, one arm draped casually across your midriff, fingers tracing circles up and down your side. “Are you alright?” You whisper, brushing the hair back from her face. “Yeah?” She yawns. “…What are you doing?” “Listening to your heart.” You snicker - you can’t help it. You just can’t stop imagining the woman that you met all that time ago hearing herself say those words. “Sorry, who are you and what have you done with Nyra?” “Oh, fuck off, you prick,” she laughs, drowsily, and moves to roll away. You pull her back, arm wrapped around her shoulder to keep her close as you nuzzle kisses into her hair. You could get used to this. <<include nyrasnips>>

“what do you want me to say?” she asks, raking one hand through her hair, the other wrapped defensively across her torso like she’s trying to hold her ribcage closed. part of the problem, really. you throw your bag over your shoulder. it’s light, basically empty. you’d wanted to make a show of collecting your things, like the spectacle might make your departure stick. you’d realised in doing it, though, that you barely had any things here anyway. nyra wouldn’t let you keep much more than a toothbrush at the risk of actually having to accept you as a permanent fixture in her home - a piece of the furniture. the truth is that you would just quite like her to say anything - any admission of wanting would do. wanting you to stay, wanting you in her life, fuck, even if she just wanted to watch a movie or grab dinner or something. and here you are, empty bag on your shoulder, fingers on the door handle, shoes pulled on, and still she can’t say any of the simple words that might change your mind. “don’t look at me like that.” “i wasn’t looking at you like anything.” “why do you always-” she begins, but her voice cracks and she turns away, one hand over her mouth. “i can’t be this mushy vulnerable person that you want me to be. i can’t do it.” and you want to be all cool and assertive and indifferent because she isn’t the only one here that’s hurt, but you crumble. turns out, you’re the mushy vulnerable one. you wrap your arms around her shoulders and the bag hanging off yours feels a little silly now. an awkward reminder of the anger that has since melted away. “why do you always need me to tell you how i feel?” she whispers into the crook of your neck, and the arm that was guarding her ribcage slides around your back instead, underneath your hoodie to clutch at the fabric of your t-shirt. “why can’t you just know?” “guess i’m just a terrible mind reader.” nyra takes a deep breath like she’s preparing to step out on stage at wembley or do a base jump or something else that’s equally terrifying. she isn’t doing any of those things, though. instead, she speaks. “stay. don’t- don’t leave.” it’s small and feeble and not nearly enough, but it does something to fill the hole in your chest and you just pull your arms a little tighter around her. maybe you will. <<include nyrasnips>>

<<link 'rowan + big sur' 'rowansnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'rowan + you don\'t have to be stressed out or busy to be important' 'rowansnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'rowan + did someone say party?' 'rowansnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

“Babe, have you seen my shoes? The purple ones?” Rowan hops down the stairs, one earring dangling out of her mouth as she tries to wiggle the other into her ear. Tonight is a… well, you can’t actually remember what it is, but Rowan has only been home for about 20 minutes to get ready and then you’re off out again to… God, you really should remember what this party is for. “You know, you don’t have to be stressed or busy to be important,” you wisely intone from the doorway. “Alright, motivational poster,” she scoffs, “What are you, my office wall?” You might have seen it on a cheesy quote-of-the-day memo pad, but it did resonate with you as soon as you read it. It might as well have been under a flashing neon sign that said “For Rowan.” She saunters past you into the kitchen, and you just turn in place as she pulls the cap off a pen with her teeth and begins scribbling a message into a card. Aha! It’s a birthday party! Wait, no, that’s tomorrow. Anniversary party? You try to subtly crane your neck to get a look what she’s writing. “I’m just saying,” you continue, a little distracted by your attempts to make out whether the image on the front is a baby shoe or a ring or just, like, a balloon, “don’t burn yourself out. You’re still important, even when you’re not doing anything. And you’re always important to me.” Rowan looks up at you, and your gaze automatically flickers away like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Ah, fuck. Rumbled. You adopt your most innocent expression and look back at Rowan. She’s just studying you, bemused smile on her painted lips. “Is that right?” she smirks – a challenge. You’ve never been one to back down to a challenge. “That’s right.” There’s a pause as she slides the card into the envelope and licks it closed, her eyes never leaving yours. God, you love watching her lick stuff. Your mouth goes dry, and for a moment you sort of resent this effect that she has on you even after all this time. She can always make you feel all flustered – it’s masterful. Then she sets the card down decisively on the counter and grins at you, smug, as she makes her way back to you. A single finger trails up the side of your neck, along your jaw, ghosting over your lips, before she lets it fell back to her side. “So, have you seen the fucking shoes, or not?” <<include rowansnips>>

Rowan strolls into the living room, a bottle of champagne held aloft in each hand. She’s a sparkly vampire – you thought she’d been kidding about the Twilight homage, but apparently not. “Did someone say ‘party?’” she cheers, and it’s amazing the way that the room roars into life – the kindling to Rowan’s spark. Suddenly, people are chatting and laughing, shuffling about to get glasses and mingle with new faces. Rowan perches happily on the arm of your chair, sliding an arm around your shoulders as you press a kiss to her cheek. “Actually, no one said party,” you murmur into her hair, and she pokes her tongue out at you. “Well, I’m here anyway. Pop the cork and get the festivities rolling.” <<include rowansnips>>

You slide out of the car, trainers crunching on gravel, wind whipping through your hair. The sound of the door slamming behind you sounds alien, breaking the silence and echoing off the cliffs behind you like a gunshot. Once you get over the shock of it, it’s actually kind of nice. A reminder that you’re here, that this is all really happening. The pinch that tells you you’re not dreaming. Rowan stands at your side, leaning out over the metal barrier that separates you from the ocean below. She is glistens in the golden hour sun like some kind of mythical creature; everything about her is luminous. You’d try to snap a picture if you thought it would come anywhere close to doing her or this place or this moment justice. Instead, you just pause, trying to etch every detail into your memory. You know it worked when you were a kid – you have a tonne of memories of lying in bed doing nothing and thinking to yourself that you’d remember that second forever. Now the power seems more elusive; maybe your former self wasted all your save slots. Still, even though you don’t know if you’ll retain the visual, it’s hard to believe you could ever forget this feeling. It’s cinematic – lens flare, salt air, roaring waves, rousing soundtrack, heart swelling until you aren’t sure how your ribcage is containing it. This is love as you see it in the movies, no doubt about it. “We could go anywhere,” she announces, looking out at the ocean like the idea has only just dawned on her. She glances across to look at you behind her ridiculous oversized sunglasses, unable to fully turn away from the pull of the water. “Wherever you are is fine by me.” If you were the lead in a movie, you’re pretty sure that this moment would be where it ends. Rowan would turn to you, smiling, and you’d share a look that told audiences that this is it. She’d lean in, you’d lean in, and you’d share a kiss that eclipses the sun as the credits rolled. Your life isn’t a movie. “Fucking awful line. Try again.” You slap her arm and she snorts, goofy and way too pleased with herself. “How about: I’d follow you til the ends of the earth?” you venture, hooking two fingers into the belt loop of her shorts to tug her back toward you. “Worse. Makes you sound like a flat earther.” Her arms slide around your neck, her Monterey Bay Aquarium t-shirt pressing against your chest (Rowan had gotten a little giddy in the gift shop, as the plushie sea otter lounging on the back seat of your rental car could also confirm). “Flew you half way across the world and you’re still remarkably hard to please.” Her lips meet yours, fingertips trailing sparks up the back of your neck. Your hand cups the side of her face, steadying, like holding onto her might be enough to keep this moment from slipping through your fingers. Then she pulls back, drifts away, straightening up to hit you with that thousand-watt smile. “You’re sorely mistaken if you don’t think I’m already about as happy as a person can get.” You could retort that this, also, is a pretty cheesy line, but you’re too busy being blissfully, dizzyingly content. And that’s why you’re glad that your life isn’t a movie: the credits don’t roll. The best is still yet to come, stretching out in front of you, waiting to be explored. Each moment slips by to make way for the next, and for the many others that will follow. And the amazing thing about being in love is that you feel just as excited about a future of loading the dishwasher and falling asleep on the couch and cultivating a repertoire of dumb inside jokes as you do about the golden hour cinematics, the adventures, the milestones. You could go anywhere. Or not. Whatever. <<include rowansnips>>

<<link 'syd + kissing their bruises and scars' 'sydsnip5'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + help them patch up a wound' 'sydsnip10'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + your lover is back in town' 'sydsnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + carving pumpkins' 'sydsnip6'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + wrap an arm around their waist' 'sydsnip9'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + turn the music up in the car' 'sydsnips8'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + i worry about you' 'sydsnips7'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + silently sit and comfort them' 'sydsnip11'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + iscariot' 'sydsnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + a kiss the morning after' 'sydsnip12'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + why don\'t you give a shit' 'sydsnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'syd + reassuring kisses' 'sydsnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

“I have to go,” you shake Syd awake, pressing a kiss to their forehead as they squint up at you against the midday sun streaming through the window. “Already?” they protest, stifling a yawn with one hand as the other grips the front of your shirt. Or, more accurately, their shirt that you have borrowed. “Syd, it’s been three days.” “Make it three more.” They lift their head to catch your lips with theirs, pulling you back down onto the mattress beside them. “I need my own clothes,” you remind them, gesturing to the shirt that you’ve had to steal. “Are you saying you don’t like my clothes? Cause you look pretty hot in them.” You arch your eyebrows in their direction, and they roll their eyes. “Alright, fine. Maybe just… I don’t know, bring your clothes here?” “Sydney Alexander, are you asking me to live with you?” Syd scoffs, cheeks turning a little pink as they shove your shoulder indignantly with the tips of their fingers, jolting you back slightly. “No, obviously not,” they insist, “Just… keep your things here so you don’t have to go back and forth all the time. And maybe redirect your post, so you don’t have to go back for that, either.” <<include sydsnips>>

You find Syd out on the curb, legs crossed, head in their hands. The sleeves of their suit jacket are pushed up to their elbows, their tie hangs loose around their neck. You’d had to talk them into the jacket; they’d insisted that their dad wouldn’t have cared, that he hadn’t been a jacket kind of guy. When you’d arrived, though, their mum had run a hand appreciatively over their lapel and given them a feeble little smile that said shecared a great deal. Syd had squeezed your hand, hard, and you knew that was as close as they’d get to a “thank you”. You squeezed theirs back. Now, you go to join them on the curb, smoothing your clothes as you carefully take your seat. Their jaw clenches and they turn their face away from you, rubbing the back of their hand over their cheeks and clearing their throat. You sit like that for a little while – Syd pretending not to cry and you pretending not to notice. “Are they going in?” they ask you eventually, voice a little hoarse. “When you’re ready.” Syd nods their head slowly and turns back to face you, eyes bloodshot, although you know better than to acknowledge it. “Will you come with me?” “Of course.” <<include sydsnips>>

“Ow!” Syd yells, sharp and overloud, wrenching their arm out of your grip and splashing you with antiseptic solution. They shake it, which you know is a mistake, and the way that they hiss sharply and clutch it to their chest tells you that they may have learned the hard way. You are stood between their legs, hands coming to rest on their thighs. “Thought you said it didn’t hurt?” “It didn’t,” they snap back, “Til you started fucking around with it.” You arch a sceptical brow at them, and they continue to scowl down at you from their seat on the kitchen counter. “Are you gonna let me wrap it, or are you going to keep hissing and whining like a lil bitch?” At that, Syd laughs – spluttering and reluctant, while trying and failing to maintain their scowl. “Well, I guess not the one where I’m a ‘lil bitch’.” They groan, holding their arm back out for you to dress. <<include sydsnips>>

From across the room, you watch as Syd holds court for a group of LA-types – the sort of people that they’ll absolutely want to shit-talk the whole way home. Looking at them now, though, you’d never have guessed what a fuss they made about having to come – the hour spent arguing down the phone to their agent and then the next hour that they’d spent throwing around jackets and ties and shirts and refusing to actually put any of them on. They’re wearing jeans, because of course they are, but they still manage to look at ease surrounded by a gaggle of suits and ballgowns. A laugh erupts from the group as you reach them, leaving Syd looking a touch smug they turn to greet you, arm extended to welcome you into the group. You slide an arm around their waist, and they wrap theirs around your shoulder, turning their face to your ear. “Wanna get out of here?” “We just got here.” “We’ve shown our faces.” “Your agent will lose her mind if she finds out we left so soon.” “I’ll send her a picture of you, and I’m sure she’ll understand.” <<include sydsnips>>

“What are you doing?” You glance across at Syd, although you are trying to focus on the road. They have tipped back further than you think could possibly be comfortable and have spent most of the journey happily reclining. Now, though, they are sat forward; one foot up on the dash, the other stretched out in the footwell as they fiddle with your radio in flagrant disrespect of the “driver-chooses-the-music” rule. “Trying to find a decent station,” they grumble, tapping through each station with such speed that they couldn’t possibly actually be listening to the music on each one – a few beats at most. They smirk across at you, cranking the volume dial up to somewhere between headache-inducing and ear-splitting and sit back, satisfied, hands behind their head. “Britney? Aw, Jesus Christ, Syd, really?” You half-groan half-yell over the thumping pop beat. “She’s a pop icon!” Syd calls back, like that alone is justification for your bleeding eardrums. They look between you and the stereo for a moment and then lean forward again, reluctantly turning the dial back down to a tolerable level. “Guess I like you and your stupid ears more than Britney,” they grumble, folding their arms in their seat. “You love Britney, though.” Your gaze is fixed on the road ahead, but out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Syd looking across at you for a moment. “Yeah, I do.” <<include sydsnips>>

“I worry about you, you know.” “Like… my mental wellbeing?” Syd rolls their eyes. Their hand twitches towards the remote but they change course at the last second, instead casually slinging an arm over the back of the sofa. Pausing the movie might mean acknowledging this as a conversation that is actually happening. “I’m being serious,” you tell them flatly, and they scoff. “You’re never serious.” “Well, I am now.” You’re 40 minutes in to The Fifth Element and you’ve spent the whole time repeatedly glancing down at the fresh dressing on their thigh. Replaying the image of their sheepish grin as you picked them up from hospital. Remembering how your heart pounded when you got that call. Again. “I worry about you getting hurt and I worry about you getting yourself in trouble and I worry about you not coming home.” “I’m never going to be some pedestrian 9-5 desk jockey,” they frown, and you feel their arm tensing up behind you. Syd is good at arguing – their voice gets all hard and defensive and they can wave their arms about like nobody’s business. This isn’t that, though. Their voice is soft. Tired. Worn down. “I’m not asking you to be.” Your eyes meet theirs as they take a deep breath in, jaw set tight, frown sticking firm. You still expect resistance – a rebuttal. It doesn’t come. They sigh, turning back to the screen, drawing their arm back into their lap. Any silence that would follow is filled by the sounds of Bruce Willis and lasers. It’s another few minutes before they decisively get to their feet, snatching the bag of Doritos out of your hands. “I don’t like the idea of you being worried about me,” they tell you before they strut off into the kitchen. At least, you think it was supposed to be a strut – they clearly forgot about the recent injury to their leg, and seem quite surprised by their limp when they try to put weight on it. “Cut that shit out.” That’ll teach them to take your snacks. Might also teach them not to jump off rooftops, but you doubt it. Still, the way they glance back at you over their shoulder as they go makes you wonder if it might. <<include sydsnips>>

“That’s how you chose to carve your pumpkin?” You fix Syd with an unimpressed look. You absolutely can’t put that out for trick or treaters; Syd’s craftsmanship isn’t quite solid enough for you to be entirely sure what Skeleton A is doing to Skeleton B, but it’s good enough that you know it isn’t appropriate to be witnessed by children. “It’s the first in a series,” they tell you happily, holding it up to the light to admire their work. “And the series is titled?” You’re pretty sure you know where this is going. Syd is many things, but they’ve never been subtle. “Things I Would Rather Be Doing Than Carving Pumpkins Right Now. What do you think? Got potential?” They set it down on the table and smirk across at you, wiping the pumpkin off their hands. You just shrug. They can’t be argued with. “I mean… it does make some good points.” <<include sydsnips>>

“Tell me how you got this one?” You trail kisses along Syd’s jaw until you reach the jagged scar on their face. You’ve heard a thousand explanations for how it came to be, but you’re still waiting for one that might be true. “Vicious raccoon attack when I was working on a film in Toronto. They look cute, but they’re a real menace.” You follow the line of the scar, running your tongue down to their neck, where you feel the vibrations of a low chuckle. “Try again-” “Stray bullet from a gunfight at a casino in Macau. I’m bad at poker.” You know that one’s a lie – Syd’s great at poker. Their head falls back as your mouth moves down further, sucking at a spot just above their collarbone. Your fingers tease at their waistband and their back arches, hips grinding against your thigh. They aren’t laughing anymore. “Keep trying…” “Got knifed by Christian Bale. All the rumours are true, he’s a nightmare on set.” Syd flips you onto your back, hands on your wrists as they pin you to the mattress and smirk down at you. “You have a very pretty mouth – stop distracting it with all these questions…” <<include sydsnips>>

You pad across the kitchen with your tragic little ready meal for one in hand, jab your fork into the film cover and toss it into the microwave. The familiar whirring sound starts, but you’ve done that thing where you slide it in a biiiit too far so it doesn’t properly rotate. You look on as it catches on the wall as the glass plate slides off underneath it. Fuck. It doesn’t matter, and it’s not the sort of thing that would cause you any concern at all on any normal day. But you’re tired and alone and feeling shit and something about watching your stupid fucking ready meal pressing itself against the wall of your microwave not spinning truly has you about to lose your fucking mind. Syd’s been away for weeks, you’ve spent most of that time alone in your shitty little apartment eating your shitty little ready meals while they’re doing god knows what with god knows who in god knows where. You might know if you ever managed to catch each other’s calls, but between time zones and their filming schedule… Well, you’ve not been particularly successful. You’ve got your head in your hands on the counter when you hear a knock at the door. You ignore it, because the last thing you need right now is to answer the door to some random cold caller while you’re all teary eyed. Not that you’re teary eyed. That would be lame. Then the knocking continues, and you groan over the sound of the microwave whirring round. For fuck sake, fine, but you’ll be giving whoever this is a piece of your mind. When you open the door, though, the rant you’d been rehearsing as you’d been walking over dies in your mouth. Syd leans with one hand on the doorframe, backpack slung over their shoulder, mouth quirked up in a lopsided smirk. And you just gawk at them. “What are you doing here?” They laugh. “Just kiss me, nerd.” You take their face in both hands and crash your lips into theirs, hard and desperate and clumsy and you hope that your teary eyes aren’t too obvious but you think that they probably are. Their bag thumps to the floor immediately, arms closing around your back to squeeze you closer until you think they might crush your ribs. “Okay seriously though,” you mumble between kisses, absolutely 0 regard for the neighbours that could leave their apartments at any second and see you making out in the hallway, “What are you doing here?” “Made an excuse.” Syd nuzzles their face into your neck, trailing kisses up to your ear. “Finished early.” “Sydney Alexander, are you trying to say that you missed me?” “Don’t be gross.” Their head falls back exasperatedly, rolling their eyes as their grip on your waist loosens. “Now are you gonna let me in, or what?” That’s a yes. <<include sydsnips>>

you toss your keys onto the counter and discard your jacket onto a chair by the door. “are you still being aggy?” syd groans, closing the door behind them harder than is probably necessary. you’ve sulked the whole way home in the uber and they can bet you’ve got more sulking in you. you just raise your eyebrows at them, arms folded across your chest, and they let their head fall back as they groan again. “you’re fucking ridiculous.” they take a step forward, resting their hands on your shoulders, and they lean in to kiss you but you turn your face away and give them the cheek. that’ll teach them. they just laugh, forehead resting against your temple. “what do you want me to say?” syd rolls their eyes as you scowl at them, “that I love you and you’re the only one for me and i couldn’t live without you.” their tone is deeply sarcastic and they turn away, wandering back across the kitchen to kick off their shoes and pull off their jacket. still, those were some very specific statements to be only grounded in biting sarcasm. “why, would those things be true?” you probe, a smirk on your lips (because you’re actually not very good at sulking and you’d only made it so long in the uber because you’d been focused on your phone). “get fucked.” syd snaps, realising their error, and then they leave the room. that’s a pretty unmistakable yes. they love you. you follow them into the bedroom where they have flopped down onto the bed, glancing up at you with a pink-cheeked scowl as you join them. you straddle their hips, pinning them down by their shoulders as you dip your face to theirs. “well, i love you and you’re the only one for me, too,” you match their sarcastic tone, but you’re grinning. you press a soft kiss to their nose - the sort of sickeningly sweet gesture that usually makes them mime throwing up. “i didn’t fucking-” syd begins, and then they role their eyes. “you know what, whatever. if that’s what you want to believe.” and then you kiss them, and they let you, which is all the confirmation you need. <<include sydsnips>>

when you complain that you’ve worn this one outfit for about as long as you can justify, syd just tips their head to one side as they smirk up at you from the couch and says things like “wear mine” or “who needs clothes anyway”. but that isn’t really enough when what they actually mean is “i don’t want you to go”. when you tell them that you care about them, they wrinkle their nose and roll their eyes and their cheeks go a little pink as they say things like “ew, gross” and “alright, keep it in your pants”. but that isn’t enough when what they actually mean is “i care about you too.” and then when you leave for good, they slam doors and say things like “you’re being really fucking petty” and “i don’t understand what you want from me” and “fine, fuck you” when what they really mean is “please, please, please stay. i’d do anything to make you stay.” and that isn’t enough, either. <<include sydsnips>>

Syd never spends more time in these fancy parties than they have to. The best they can manage is a brief appearance to show their face - anything more than that is just out of the question. The moment an event has the word “gala” in the title, you know there’s going to be quite the battle to get them to even attend. Judging by the way they’re determinedly turning away from the gaggle of swanky film industry bigwigs, their time at this one is up. They catch your eye and nod their head towards the door, already striding towards it. You can’t help but laugh at the sea of shocked faces you’re leaving behind as you make your way out, and you’d love to know what wildly inappropriate joke or comment they’ve just made to warrant this response. In truth, you have no idea why their agent still sends them to these fucking black-tie parties – it always just makes more work when they inevitably have to clean up the mess afterward. You’re pretty sure that at the last one Syd told Tom Cruise he was a cunt. They grab your coat from the check desk to toss it at you, and then they’re out the door. You’re kind of in awe of them. Syd has that amazing ability to not give a fuck, to just live so authentically as themself without being deterred by the opinions of others. It must be quite freeing, you think. You can’t say for sure, because it’s a trait that you absolutely don’t share. While Syd had spent about 10 minutes getting ready for tonight, you’d been agonising over what to wear/say/do for about a week. “Why don’t you give a shit?” you ask once you’re out on the street, pulling on your jacket as you try to keep pace beside them. “I just don’t,” they shrug, as if that’s totally answers your question. When they glance across at your rapt expression, they roll their eyes, fiddling with the collar of their beaten leather jacket. “There was only one person in there whose opinion I cared about, okay?” “You mean me, right?” you grin, and they walk a little bit quicker, like they might be able to escape this conversation. You jog to catch up. “Syd! You mean me, right?!” “No, I meant Jessica Chastain,“ they snap. You’re pretty sure they meant you. <<include sydsnips>>

<<link 'vinh + is that a drawing of me' 'vinhsnip1'>><</link>> <<link 'vinh + you look dead' 'vinhsnip3'>><</link>> <<link 'vinh + i\'m glad you\'re here' 'vinhsnip4'>><</link>> <<link 'vinh + we\'ll face this together' 'vinhsnip2'>><</link>> <<link 'vinh + holding hands in a museum' 'vinhsnip5'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the snippet menu' 'main-menu'>><</link>> <<link 'take me back to the bonus hub menu' 'Title2'>><</link>>

vinh’s fingers loop casually through yours. it’s not a tight grip - just enough to keep you linked together. they’ve been a little distracted all morning, mind wandering and you don’t know where to. there isn’t a day that goes by where you wouldn’t love to see inside their head (in the metaphorical sense – their actual brain would probably be gross and mushy). they walk slightly ahead of you, while you dawdle behind and make comments about the exhibits, largely met with silence. they don’t seem as willing to discuss as they normally would be – you just get a little hum of agreement (or doubt) every now and then before they usher you on, eyes wandering like they’re looking for something else. eventually, you come to a large square room with a high ceiling, and vinh squeezes your hand. they wear a hint of a smile as they look at the exhibit at the centre and then back at you, searching your expression for your first impression in a way they haven’t for the others. it takes you a second to realise why. “holy shit, this is yours?!” you squawk, drawing a look of ire from a bystander, and they just smile a little wider. of course, you haven’t seen any of it before – vinh keeps most of their passion projects totally secret before you see them for the first time. “what do you think?” their hands are clasped behind their back, grin focused on you as they watch your reaction. you pace back and forth in front of the structure, taking in all the details before you turn back to them. “i love it,” you reply, after you’ve studied it for long enough that vinh will believe you’re being sincere; they wouldn’t accept it if you had said so right away. you cross back toward them, hands resting on their chest. “it’s really brilliant. your best work.” they dip their head forward, resting their forehead against yours, smile still lingering. “it’s about you.” <<include vinhsnips>>

You gasp awake, heart pounding, sitting bold upright like you’ve been roused from the dead. You feel like you might have been, too. You’re clammy, shirt sticking to damp skin, throat raw, mouth dry. “Hey.” Vinh runs a hand over your arm. Their voice is soft, reassuring, accompanied by a little shake of their head. They were already sat up in bed beside you, waiting for this part. You aren’t there. It’s December. You’re at home. You’ve been home for months. You’re safe. All the things they’ve told you so many nights before, and now they can convey them with a simple look. “Hey,” you breathe back, a little shakily, as you look around to take in your surroundings. You’re in your bed, a sliver of yellow light streaming in through the crack in your curtains from the streetlamp outside your window. “Everything’s fine,” Vinh whispers as they settle back down into the sheets, eyes firmly closed, facing up to the ceiling. Unlike you, they are a very still sleeper. You must be really annoying to share a bed with. “Go back to sleep.” You let your head flop back into the pillow and hum in acknowledgement, tossing and turning to find a comfortable position. You settle facing them, one hand resting on the sheets between you. If you weren’t as sure you’d already been a nuisance tonight, maybe you’d reach out to them. “Sorry I woke you.” “Don’t be.” There is a silence as they turn to face you, fingers closing the gap between you to lace with yours. Grounding. Steady. “I’m glad you’re here,” you add after a moment, searching your sleepy little brain for the right words to let them know just how glad. Try as you might, you never seem able to find them. Perhaps they haven’t been made up, yet. “I’m always glad you’re here.” Vinh just lets out a sleepy little chuckle, eyes still closed, and they give your hand a little squeeze. “I’m glad, too.” <<include vinhsnips>>

Vinh stops abruptly in the doorway. “You look dead.” You’re stood at the mirror having just spent a solid hour perfecting your ghost/zombie/miscellaneous dead thing makeup before you head out. It’s not a particularly clear concept for a costume, but hey, the effort is there. “That’s the idea,” you shrug. Then you glance across at them. They’re gripping the doorframe with one hand, stance rigid, and your eyes trail your eyes over their ghostly pallor. “I don’t like it.” They take a step backwards, knocking into the door. They look like they’re about to throw up. “I can take it off? I’ll take it off.” You scrabble around for a makeup wipe. Suddenly, the time you’ve spent getting ready couldn’t be further from your mind – you wash it away in an instant. You don’t wait for Vinh’s answer before you start scrubbing. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just going to-“ and then they back out of the room, letting the door swing back shut. <<include vinhsnips>>

it’s 3am and you’re in your pyjamas, standing under a flickering fluorescent light and staring vacantly at the crisp aisle. you aren’t entirely sure how long you’ve been stood there – longer than most people probably spent choosing a bag of crisps, and the guy behind the counter is eyeing you with some suspicion. a mournful, mechanical jingle sounds when the door opens and closes. “you’ve been gone a while.” comes the voice from beside you after a moment, and you force your face to turn. “yeah.” is your only, slightly distant reply. vinh carefully reaches out to rest their hand gently on your shoulder. “come back upstairs?” vinh’s tiny apartment is somewhere above this little shop – that’s how you find yourself in there so often. there isn’t really space in there for when you can’t sleep, and sometimes you just… wander. you feel your head nodding dimly, and vinh leans forward to grab a packet of space raiders. the quiet rustling sound somewhere off in front of you is actually quite grounding. “come on. we can face it together.” they smile gently, pressing a delicate kiss to your cheek. “the snack aisle?” you feel yourself smile back, and the dull, empty feeling in your chest begins to ebb away. your eyes come back into focus as you shake your head a little, blinking yourself back into existence. “and all the rest.” <<include vinhsnips>>

You climb up the iron staircase, doing your best to ignore all the little creaks and groans that it makes under your feet as it spirals up to the top floor. Staircase included, you aren’t particularly quiet in making your way up to Vinh’s studio, but they seem oblivious to you arriving anyway. They are sat at the desk by the window, curled up like a pretzel into a little wooden chair that they’d found on the street a few months ago and hauled up here. It’s a space that is seldom occupied in favour of the higher ceilings at the centre of the room. Vinh takes up a lot of space when they’re working – it’s one of the few times that they could be accused of being extravagant. They love big shapes, bold colours, stark silhouettes. If they could, you’re pretty sure that they’d be making artwork that could be seen from space. Today, though, they aren’t doing that. Vinh stares dreamily out of the window, head propped up on one hand. The pencil between their fingers dances breezily across the page. They just make it look so easy. As you wander closer to them, you spot the comically large headphones over their ears – like they’re a 90s radio DJ or something. For a moment you stand at their shoulder, just observing them. The page is a collection of faces and bodies, some more complete than others. They’re currently working on a delicate little sketch of some lips. “Is that a drawing of me?” you ask, tapping them on the shoulder, and Vinh practically jumps out of their seat as they fumble with their headphones. It’s hilarious. Hilariously adorable. Adorable. You’re pretty sure that they’re all you, actually. “Oh! You’re here!” they observe, breathlessly, as they shuffle round to face you. You’re still busy giggling at their shock. “You’re drawing me,” you repeat, nodding towards the book as you hold up the takeout you picked up on the way. It’s always a safe bet that Vinh won’t have eaten before you show up - it’s become a bit of a tradition now. You arrive at their studio around midday on a Thursday with lunch, and then you don’t normally leave again until Monday morning when you run out of clothes. You’ve never discussed or planned it. It’s just sort of how things happen. You aren’t very good at being apart now. You’re getting worse. “Yeah. I was… thinking about you.” A bashful grin spreads across their face, and you feel a smile of your own to match. “Lunch?” “Lunch.” <<include vinhsnips>>

<<set $openness to 50>> <<set $conscientiousness to 50>> <<set $extraversion to 50>> <<set $agreeableness to 50>> <<set $neuroticism to 50>>  <<set $mcname to "Dorian">> <<set $surname to "Blake">> <<set $mcstudy to "Art">> <<set $motive to "blah">> <<set $mcman to "man">> <<set $mcguy to "guy">> <<set $mche to "he">> <<set $mcHe to "He">> <<set $mchim to "him">> <<set $mchis to "his">>  <<set $entrancemeet to "blah">> <<set $nyradeal to "">> <<set $gkiss to false>> <<set $charlie to 50>> <<set $charlierom to 0>>

<<link '<div id="splash"></div>'>><<run hideMenu()>><<timed 3s>><<goto "Title2">><</timed>><</link>>

<<nobr>><style> #interface { grid-template-columns: 0vw auto auto; transition: all 0s; } #passages {width:100%;} </style> <</nobr>><div style="text-align:center;">Welcome to the little //Body Count// bonus content hub! Pick your poison: <<link 'minigames' 'minigamestart'>><</link>> <<link 'snippets, drabbles and fixed-mc stories' 'snipmenu'>><</link>></div>

Minigames are created to play with your own main character, so I'll just ask you a few questions about them and their role in the story so far before we start. First name: <<textbox "$mcname" "Name">> Surname: <<textbox "$surname" "Surname">> Pronouns: <<cycle "$mcpronounset">><<option he/him>><<option she/her>><<option they/them>><<option xe/xem>><<option ze/zir>><</cycle>> To revisit the likert scale, how would you describe your main character on a scale of 1-5 in the following attributes (with 1 being low and 5 being high)? 1. Agreeableness - <<cycle "$agreeableness">><<option "1" 25>><<option "2" 40>><<option "3" 50>><<option "4" 60>><<option "5" 75>><</cycle>>. 2. Conscientiousness - <<cycle "$conscientiousness">><<option "1" 25>><<option "2" 40>><<option "3" 50>><<option "4" 60>><<option "5" 75>><</cycle>>. 3. Extraversion - <<cycle "$extraversion">><<option "1" 25>><<option "2" 40>><<option "3" 50>><<option "4" 60>><<option "5" 75>><</cycle>>. 4. Openness - <<cycle "$openness">><<option "1" 25>><<option "2" 40>><<option "3" 50>><<option "4" 60>><<option "5" 75>><</cycle>>. 5. Neuroticism - <<cycle "$neuroticism">><<option "1" 25>><<option "2" 40>><<option "3" 50>><<option "4" 60>><<option "5" 75>><</cycle>>. <<link 'Next' 'minigamestart2'>><<if $mcpronounset is "she/her">><<set $mche to "she">><<set $mcHe to "She">><<set $mchim to "her">><<set $mchis to "her">><<elseif $mcpronounset is "he/him">><<set $mche to "he">><<set $mcHe to "He">><<set $mchim to "him">><<set $mchis to "his">><<elseif $mcpronounset is "they/them">><<set $mche to "they">><<set $mcHe to "They">><<set $mchim to "them">><<set $mchis to "their">><<elseif $mcpronounset is "xe/xem">><<set $mche to "xe">><<set $mcHe to "Xe">><<set $mchim to "xem">><<set $mchis to "xyr">><<else>><<set $mche to "ze">><<set $mcHe to "Ze">><<set $mchim to "zir">><<set $mchis to "zir">><</if>><</link>>

Nice to meet $mcname! Now, some questions about $mchis role in the story so far. Did Charlie hug $mchim before $mche entered the villa? <<cycle "$charlierom">><<option "Yes" 2>><<option "No" 0>><</cycle>> Did $mcname have a panic attack when $mche first entered the villa? <<cycle "$entrancemeet">><<option "Yes" vinh>><<option "No" ganda>><</cycle>> Did $mche go on a speed date with Griffin //and// kiss him in the pool? <<cycle "$gkiss">><<option "Yes" true>><<option "No" false>><</cycle>> Who did $mcname choose at the coupling? <<cycle "$coupledwith">><<option Adegoke>><<option Arthur>><<option Ellis>><<option Florrie>><<option Griffin>><<option Imogen>><<option Nyra>><<option Syd>><<option Vinh>><</cycle>> [[Next|minigamestart3]]

You're currently playing with $mcname $surname who uses $mcpronounset pronouns. $mcHe <<if $charlierom gte 2>>did<<else>>didn't<</if>> hug Charlie before $mche entered the villa, <<if $entrancemeet is "vinh">>did<<else>>didn't<</if>> have a panic attack once $mche made it inside, <<if $gkiss is true>>did<<else>>didn't<</if>> kiss Griffin in the pool and ended up coupling with $coupledwith. Time to choose a minigame! (Okay, there's only one choice right now, but there will be others eventually xoxo) <<link 'Alternative Perspective Scene - Charlie\'s Interview, Chapter 1' 'charlieshort'>><</link>>

Snippets are organised by the relationship option who features - choose your RO to choose your snippets! Don't worry, you can totally navigate back to this page after. Please be aware that there is a very inconsistent number of snippets for different ROs, but I hope to even that out over the coming months! The casing is also a bit inconsistent between snippets depending on where I initially published them, so please don't be too affronted by a distinct lack of capital letters. <<link "Nell I get it just give me the snippets!" "main-menu">><</link>>

<<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Adegoke</div> </div>' 'adegokesnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Atticus</div> </div>' 'atticussnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Arthur</div> </div>' 'arthursnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Avery</div> </div>' 'averysnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Charlie</div> </div>' 'charliesnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Ellis</div> </div>' 'ellissnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Florrie</div> </div>' 'florriesnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Griffin</div> </div>' 'griffsnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Imogen</div> </div>' 'imogensnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Nyra</div> </div>' 'nyrasnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Rowan</div> </div>' 'rowansnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Syd</div> </div>' 'sydsnips'>><</link>> <<link '<div class="character-select"> <img src="https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/853248522577248289/963500619266666527/bc_logo_500x500.png" class="gallery-img" /> <div class="char-name">Vinh</div> </div>' 'vinhsnips'>><</link>>