#!! * WHAT AN ABSOLUTE BANTER BUS. ( CRACK )

[taytriestohardd]

Can you do reader and kp are rival’s and they both like each other and when y’all play against each other her and reader flirt the whole Time.

No Snarky Remark?

Kelsey Plum x reader

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Summary: Reader plays for the Indiana Fevers against the Las Vegas Aces and continues her flirtatious rivalry with Kelsey Plum.

Warnings: a few jokingly mean comments? Let me know if I missed anything

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Readers POV:

Kelsey and I are two of the greatest basketball players in the WNBA. With that being said the media has had us against each other since my Fevers debut. We’ve had many games against each other, making sure we keep the media entertained with some playful banter.

Today, we have a game at 7pm against the Aces so all the Fevers have been shooting around for about an hour before we decided to get something to eat before the game. We all agreed on something simple and quick as we made our way to the restaurant.

As I pull out the seat between Caitlin and Aliyah, I hear someone next to me ask “So Y/N, how are you and Kelsey doing?” I look to where it came from to see Caitlin smirking as I sit down. “Um the same as always. I still think she’s annoying and over confident and I plan to show her that at the game tonight.” While yes, I do think Kelsey is absolutely gorgeous and a great ball player her ego plus her attitude do not mix well with such.

“Oh I see you just wanna show off for your girl tonight. I’ll make sure to pass you the ball a few extra times tonight.” I hear Caitlin say as I see a few of my teammates laugh and nod along as if they agree. I look at them confused before saying “Okay woah one, Kelsey is not my girl and I don’t think she ever will be, two you won’t have to pass me the ball because I��m gonna get way more rebounds than you.”

After a few more jokes were cracked and dinner was finished we all made our way back to the team bus to head towards the arena. Along the way me and Caitlin agreed that whoever got more rebounds in tonight’s game would get 20 bucks which I agreed to immediately, knowing I’d win that bet.

Once inside the gym me and Cait shot around with each other for a few minutes until the Aces arrived and she decided to go look at some film before the game. Leaving me to go stretch and fix my hair whilst making a mental note to slide my ankle braces on before entering the court.

Just as I slid my ankle brace and shoe back on a see a figure in front of me causing me to look up quickly. “You’re gonna need those braces for when I break your ankles tonight.” I see Kelsey standing there confidently as she crosses her arms across her chest. “Yea I hear you. What that sticking out of your shoe right there, is that an ankle brace?” I say slyly pointing to her foot.

She shoots her head down quickly as she goes to see if she was indeed wearing an ankle brace. “Made you look! Can’t remember if you put on ankle braces or not Plum? That’s not good might wanna stop by the memory doctor on the way to the E.R after I break your ankles.” I say patting her head as I stand up. Before she can get another word in Aliyah came and told me it was time to get on the court. As I’m walking away I turn around and ask with a smile “What no snarky remark? I must really have an effect on you then.” As I’m turning back around I see Kelsey’s flushed face as well as her teammate coming to tell her to get on the court.

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After jump ball, which we surprisingly got, Caitlin carried the ball up the court before getting double teamed. I ran up closer to give her an easy pass and caught the ball before planting my feet and shooting from right behind the 3 point line. As I let go of the ball I see Kelsey run up to block me a second to late as I blow her kiss right before the ball goes in. I can see a small pink tint on her cheeks before she runs to get the ball.

As she runs the ball up the court, I widen my stance as to guard a little heavier. She dribbles for a second before passing inside the paint giving an easy lay up to her teammate A’ja. I see her smile out of the corner of my eye and decide to step up my game just a little.

With about 3 minutes left in the second quarter I dribble the ball up the court before stopping in front of her. “You’re a little to pretty to be getting beat like this Kelsey. You’re not going easy on me are you?” I say smirking. “Never.” I see her eyes lock on mine but Aliyah has already set me a screen so I run to the left and shoot a three making the score 16-23. She looks like she’s ready to fight me but I just turn around as I smile and get ready to guard her.

As she brings the ball up the court I see her look to the left and the right observing her teammates. “Hey L/N, miss me already? It’s okay I’ll make a shot for you.” She dribbles to the right but passes left before going back to her starting spot and dropping a three and winking at me.

I was subbed out for the first 6 minutes of the fourth quarter but when I went back in Kelsey was already out. I smirked and waved as I brought it up the court seeing Caitlin wide open in the right wing. Passing the ball quickly, the defense went back up on caitlin so she passed to Erica who shot an easy floater.

By the end of the game the score was 56-63 in favor of the Fevers. As I walked to the locker room me and Caitlin stopped to sign a few things and take a few pictures with fans. In the locker room, we all cheered and celebrated a little before the majority of the team decided hang out at a local bar to celebrate. I of course agreed and told them I’d be there around 9.

After everyone else left the locker room I was headed towards the door before I saw Kelsey as she knocked on the wall. “Hey what’s up Kelsey? Come to look at all the posts about me whoopin’ your ass out there tonight with me?”

“Yea yea I made all kinds of shots out there tonight and you know it” she says smiling. “Yea but mine made us win.” I say putting my bag down on the floor right next to me. She walks a little closer towards the back lockers as I turn around to stand in front of her. “But I will admit you made some good shots.” I say looking down at her.

“We’ll beat you guys at the next game.” She says looking up at me. I nod my head slowly “yea?” before my eyes slide down to her lips and back up again. “Yea of course.” She whispers. I lean forward just a little as I see her eyeing my lips. “You know I meant it, when I called you pretty.” I admit. “I’m sure you did. It’s hard to miss tha-“ she starts but I cut her off by leaning forward and kissing her gently. She freezes for a second before kissing me back eagerly. I put my hand on the side of her face pulling her closer as my other hand reaches her hip.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” I say as I pull away. “I’ve wanted you to do that for a while.” She says smiling. “Oh well allow me to do the honors.” I quickly lean in again shoving her into the lockers kissing her harder than before. We stayed like that for as long as possible before breaking away for air. “Glad you feel the same.” “You have no idea. Give me a second.” I say pulling out my phone before calling Caitlin. “Hey Cait, yea I’m not gonna make it to the bar tonight, sorry. Also, I want my 20 bucks.”

[washymylifeaway]

MatsuHana fanfic recs

HI LOVES :D MatsuHana is one of my FAVORITE ships and I always love reading their fics! I’m procrastinating my other wips rn, so that do be why this is coming out rn LOL. Also that ask really made me get onto writing this, so anon thank you for sending it in LOL. There are some with VERY sensitive topics and they’re very BOLD, but I hope you all are safe while going through this list <3 (also matsuhana leans more to lots of drinking, spicy smut scenes, and teenage boy humor (like d*ck jokes and sexual innuendos) and sometimes I don’t remember to warn for that, so again CAUTION)

As always, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for fics before reading and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

CP:

plus one by orphan_account (G) 6.1k // this fic made me feel so warm and fuzzy inside LOL. It’s also hilarious and is definitely worth a read! When will I get to share a heart shaped bed with someone :( But I really love it when they just go with the flow of things, and other people are like,,, aren’t you already dating? BUT THEY’RE LIKE UMMM NO? HSAKJSH.

rated m for by orphan_account (T) 10.7k // I love this fic it made me laugh so much throughout the whole thing! The vibes in this fic are immaculate and give me life (we love a good reunion with mystery writers), it is SO good! That’s why you should never leave/stop listening prematurely (@ iwa when he was a single dad fic). 

This gets annoying fast, Makki by Ink_stained_quills (G) 2.3k // IM IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC PLS I COULD NOT STOP CRYING TEARS OF LAUGHTER. This AU needs more fics PLEASE. It was SO freakin’ funny and the other teams KILLED ME. Like how they all approached the problem differently and how some of them (KUROO) asked for help LOL. Please this is so freaking funny go read it.

quidditch gloves, parchment, and custard cream by h_lovely (T) 12.4k // THIS IS SO GOOD, I love this fic. It really takes you through the emotions, and I love all the development in it!!!! Their relationship with one another (but only as homies right? ofc ofc), and even their families loving the other, this fic is so good! Read it even if you don’t like slow burn, you won’t even notice <3333

call me maybe by totooru (T) 33.6k // okay yea another (semi) chat fic,,, fight me. MatsuHana are just funny in general but throw some other characters (like Kuroo) into it and it turns into a comedy show. But the main point of this fic was like the near miss meetings and I think that the misunderstanding were hilarious (as much as I hate misunderstandings LOL).

Magical Mishaps and How to Deal by plumtrees (M) 10.9k // I lost this fic once and I searched for it FOR THE LONGEST TIME. But that’s cause I wanted to reread this masterpiece. IT’S SO FUNNY AND CUTE AND DOMESTIC AND UGH. Also the small angst made me SO SAD. But the ENDING? THE KISSES AHHHHHHH. (I’m yelling a lot BUT that’s cause I really love this fic <3333)

hang out fall in love by carafin (T) 8.6k // I love the Makki hates Mattsun initially but then falls for the irresistible charm he posses trope. It might be my favorite trope for MatsuHana specifically LOL. Like I really love this fic and it has MAGIC. It’s like a magical version of the VA one LOL. But like no radio shows or reunited best friends in this one :(

THESE ARE VERY ANGST!!!!!!!

boiled frogs by reginagalaxia (E) 91.5k // is it possible to hate a character this much? I never realized how much hate/rage I had in me. Really. Like. Imma boutta fight this MF LIKE SQUARE UP. The way I tried to manifest a fake characters death like,,,, Anyway. If my RAGE doesn’t explain how good of a freakin writer they are, then idk what will. PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS, THERE ARE VERY SENSITIVE TOPICS!!!!

Even Though it All Went Wrong by plumtrees (T) 9.2k // THIS IS THE REASON THIS POST CAME TO BE. I love this fic with all my heart (or what’s left of it). Like LOVE as in, this fic really broke me beyond just breaking me. Like. When Oikawa says what he says to Mattsun after the thing (you’re sorry __ _____ __ ____) and the Iwa right after (we know __’__ ___ ______ to make you ____ __ ____) (if you’re wondering wtf I’m putting here, just ctrl F you’re sorry and you’ll see), you cannot believe how hard that hit. GOD. (I am okay if you’re wondering :’)) This is my #1 favorite angst fic of all time and if you are okay mentally and have read the tags and warnings and are fine with them, then please read it. PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS, THERE ARE VERY SENSITIVE TOPICS!!!!

The Truth Comes Out by Your_Friendly_Neighborhood_Pigeon (T) 10.2k // this made me so sad and empty after I read it. Like I just sat there being like wtf did I just read I’m sad now. Again read the tags, there is a suicide attempt but there’s also some cheating in this one. This one also ends happy. PLEASE READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS, THERE ARE VERY SENSITIVE TOPICS!!!!

New:

kiyala // this writer has a LOT of fluffy MatsuHana and I really love their works! It’s just all (for the most part) really cute and there’s a lotta blurred lines and boundaries that get cleared up (they define what their relationship is but with ~love~) in their fics :) My fav? Making Sense by kiyala (T) 1.5k // it’s very cute and I am one who loves when things just fall into place :D

tookumade // this writer has some of MY FAVORITE MatsuHana fics in it and I’m kinda really sad I don’t get to ramble on about them here :( (dw I will elsewhere LOL) If I had to choose, I would say Remind Me by tookumade (T) 28.6k and Zenith, Nadir by tookumade (T) 10.7k were my absolute favorites, but I cannot choose between them so don’t make me.

plumtrees // I LOVE THIS WRITER OMG. Again, someone who has written my all time FAVORITE fics (did I mention OF ALL TIME?) and I’ve obsessively read some of them too many times :’) Because I already recommended my other faves above, Captured Light by plumtrees (T) 3.5k will be my acting favorite rn. It’s really cute and depicts some really sweet moments between MatsuHana too!

h_lovely // this writer has SO MANY GOOD FICS! I really love their series and their getting together fics are all SO GOOD UGH. I recommended my favorite teen one above, but the other ones I loved are explicit so just check out this writer in general LOL. (I REALLY love mirror flower, water moon, it’s my favorite but it’s E cause some smexy scene happen, but it’s really SO good omfg. Also the roses series IS AMAZING as well!!!!)

cream puffs and carnations; by crossbelladonna (series) 11.6k // AU SERIES!!! I love the AU’s in this series and I really liked the prompts they chose for this MatsuHana week :D My favorite from this series might’ve been there he is again by crossbelladonna (T) 1.6k cause a) I love the mattsun hc in this (for his appearance) and b) IT’S CUTE :D I definitely related to Makki and his not very subtle crushing, and also I like the IwaOi + Makki as friends trope (and then they meet Mattsun), if you couldn’t tell yet LOL.

on the anatomy of crushes by carafin (T) 2.3k // (kinda cp but not LOL) it’s very short and cute and I love it a lot LOL. I love medical AU’s (even though it’s very back burner LOL), but also, like Mattsun saves the day is the move. Like the dedication he has even going on the bus? Especially for a guy? Amazing. I could never :’)

Parallel Lines by orphan_account (T) 16.3k // IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE CONSTANTLY. I hate math. Just putting that out here. And while it’s a math fic, IT? IS? SO? GOOD???? And like I love it when characters are smart, like I love intelligent characters so like this was just ajndf. (also same Mattsun, I am allergic to normal math.) 

live it up, drink it in by punybastard (T) 2.1k // GAH this one! This is a pretty iconic fic in MatsuHana hell (in my personal opinion) and if I didn’t have that two fic limit on my staple fics, this would be there. I really loved the ending of it (v cute and v well done), but also the small side stories that were inserted made it all the more entertaining :D (aka the volleyball) But they are drinking underage, so if you’re not about that BE WARNED.

it's cold out here by bishounen_curious (M) 8.6k // PLEASE I LOVE THIS FIC. YES READ YESYESYES READ. OKAY FIRST check tags and warnings, there’s a lot going on in this fic. Like don’t be stupid like them, drinking underage, and don’t do drugs not a good idea very very bad. Aside from that, I am in love with sad sad sad Makki (along with stupid IwaOi) and him being a sad drunk made me ajhkjdfs. Just read it and feel the akfnakjs with me LMFAO.

poolside by tothemoon (T) 4.1k // I’m starting this out with I LOVE the ending and I REALLY LOVE the way this confession panned out. It’s such a great concept and it made me ajhfldshf inside!!! Also, recursive endings are some of my favorites (if you couldn’t already tell LOL), and I think it really makes something so nostalgic and adds depth to a fic.

The Courage of Stars by FairyLights101 (T) 7.1k // AHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS FIC YES!!!! OKAY TW CANCER THERE’S CANCER IN THIS NO DEATH JUST PAIN and chemo (which basically is pain). Some controversy, but the angst part of me wanted him to die DONT GET ME WRONG, I’m glad he lived, but like imagine. I really love this fic, and his efforts in the bucket list were admirable :’)

we could be the greatest team by anyadisee (T) 5.7k // it’s my crack fic :D Yes, this is just Seijoh messing around, boys being boys, relationships being compared with other relationships. No pining, just me with my established relationships (and Iwa fanclubs cause those are a thing. ALWAYS).

Wet Your Whistle by darkmagicalgirl (E) 5.4k // SMUT ALERT okay but like while it’s a major plot point (lmfao I can’t believe myself), the storyline itself is good. Also, I’m all here for bartender Makki and tattoo Makki and not subtle at all Makki and basically everything Makki. I like banter and stupidity okay?

[obnoxious clucking noises] by parenthetic (renaissance) (T) 3.4k // some more crack fic for you <3333 Literally, just idiots being idiots. That’s the fic. LMFAO but seriously, I would like to participate as well,,,,, I have yet to lose a game of gay chicken cause of my lack of fear akdjaslk.

that's what you get (for waking up in vegas) by skittidyne (T) 4.2k // THIS IS SO FUNNY. I love Elvis cause he’s always officiating marriages in my fics LMFAO. But also IwaOi in this added some real nice comedy, and overall another crack fic but I really liked this one (AGAIN LMFAO).

A Bouquet of Flours by guyfierimpreg (G) 5.2k // first I want to know how they got the flour to scream, I just can’t figure it out so if anyone would like to send me pictures that’d be great. Second, they would do this bs and this is all canon. I said what I said, and I don’t take criticism. Like, matsuhana best parents proven by the magical mishaps fic (LMAO).

texting (with a capital S) by parenthetic (renaissance) (M) 2.1k // okay I just wanted to say that the accuracy in the math stuff being mentioned makes me feel like this writer was in calc ab or something and that’s trauma right there. Anyways, it’s a texting fic kinda sorta getting together kinda sorta not? Idk how to explain it, but it was funny and then smut LMFOAJIAHFSJS (the derail was just like IwaOi in gay chicken, someone call the police LMFAO).

nebulas by tothemoon (T) 10.8k // I like the casualness of it. Like the confession was just so casual (smooth Mattsun) and like the progression was GOOD. Like, it’s a very poetic fic and there’s lots of thinking of deeper meaning, but its still got some comedy sprinkled throughout. I really loved the flow of it!!!!

my heart beats for contract law by orphan_account (T) 4.4k // I too would have a breakdown over school (me pretending like I haven’t already done that ahaha), but I really love so many things about this fic! Everything was just so ajsdfljdsn and I really love the 3 part plan Mattsun comes up with :DDDD (esp pt 3). Also, to propose while having an emotional breakdown at 3am in a McDonalds drive through. A mf dream.

Reflex by hiuythn (T) 2.3k // PLEASE IF THEY DIDN’T MEET AT HS THIS WOULD BE CANON ASF. You cannot tell me you don’t think this would not be cannon asf. They would meet like this. Also poor Teuchi stuck in the middle of all of this. I haven’t watched naruto, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is random emotional sexual bonding over something. That is important. (THE ENDING AJKFHKJ)

You're in Pink (and I'm in blue) by Hyeyu (T) 4.4k // whooooo Hanahaki whooo anyway, despite how it seems, I like the hanahaki trope. I don’t fully understand it sometimes (most of the time tbh), but it adds some nice angst and desperate confessions, and I do appreciate those :D Honestly, I really liked the way this fic panned out, and I felt really bad for Iwa LOL.

stranger things by tinypersonhotel (G) 10.2k // I really like this one :D:D:D I love Makki + Oikawa friendship and they’re really the best to each other :’) The ending was satisfying, and the PLOT omg. It was SO good. I feel like I say this a lot though LOL, but I’m just really into fics with good plot progression (or else I don’t read them OOPS).

something of a disaster by latenights (T) 1.4k // chaos ahahhaha. Another crack fic? I hope no one is surprised LOL. It’s just a really short and simple, cute getting together fic with a LOT of insults LOL. I love this one in particular, “Tooru’s dinner special”.

snakes, meth labs and something like love by orphan_account (G) 3.6k // THE ROOMMATE AD PLEASE. I honestly would never think Oikawa would get a snake, but that doesn’t matter LOL. This was me indulging myself in the makki IwaOi best friends and mattsun stranger agenda but it’s a great agenda okay? It’s a good fic and there’s a microwaved fish :D

Lemonade by carriecmoney (T) 4.1k // okay once again, responsible drinking and don’t drink underage bad idea smh. But MatsuHana just making out where they want? I could see that. Yeah. Anyway, as much as public make out seshes make me *gag* feel embarrassed, what made me feel more *gag* embarrassed was the fact that the girls? just? stood? there? Like why are you watching this. Is that just me? I feel like they should’ve left smh.

surprise, surprise by airblends (T) 7.6k // some more pining and dancing around the issue whoooo. As much as I hate them not getting to the point (almost as much as I hate misunderstandings), it was a great fic. This is nosebleed c*ck block (idk if I needed to censor that but I did fight me).

A God for Every Season by timkons (T) 18.4k // I love the Hades and Persephone trope! Okay, I just love mythology leave me be, but anyway I really love a lot of this fic. Like how Mattsun thinks it’s a little brighter with Makki? CUTE I LOVE. But also, the fish funeral is ridiculous but also very on brand for Oikawa. And some BokuKuroo (idk is that their ship) in here as well :DDD

The Best/Worst Places to Cry in the City by AngryKitten (T) 4.4k // literally it is the title. Just you know, looking for the best place to cry in the city,,,, I’d like to say, don’t cat call people cause we’re not about that here. Even if it worked out for them, just don’t do it :/ Also don’t follow strangers. I feel like that’s a given but jic ya know?

this isn't exactly how i thought i'd be spending my adult years by jadedpearl (NR) 7.5k // okay petty Makki is yes and so is my Makki + IwaOi agenda LOL. (I’m thriving here can’t you tell? Yes regular skype/phone calls constantly) Anyway, blackouts and sickness really be here getting people together. (I’m asking nicely, nike.) And Makki is smooth with his words. (SHORTER MEN MADE ME LAUGH)

chocolate by tellalie (T) 3.6k // the dedication in this fic was amazing. Like making a whole a cake? Someone go do that for me. (For mankind.) Fake dating is really something else, but fake dating to out gag your best friends? Seems like I need to step up my game (but no seriously, my best friends are PDA monsters I hate it here). Also practice confessions are wack.

FINALLY I MADE IT. You don’t know how many times I almost gave up on finishing LMFAO. Is this my longest list? Idk. But I just know that I would’ve finished faster if I didn’t end up rereading almost every fic on this list LMFAO. Like no seriously I almost had to make a post saying this wouldn’t be coming out cause I got distracted by one of the longer fics (I’m blaming Mirror Flower, Water Moon specifically). But I hope you enjoyed this, and once again go thank that anon for spurring me into finishing this list LMFAO (am I a horse? Yea, probably but if one thing, I’m not sturdy).

[foundcamera-blog]

taaaag dump !!

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (8)

Hello, hello, hello! Here’s chapter 8 after a long break since chapter 7! If you haven’t all ready, make sure you go check out the prologue to Sweet Home Alabama once you’re done here, as I may post the first chap very soon!

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2178

Warnings: Some language? I can’t think of anything else

% approximately the 3rd week of October %

You hadn’t really told anyone what you’d been doing Sunday, and especially left out the part where you were with Tom.

Once getting home the previous night, you’d quickly taken off your makeup and brushed your teeth before essentially passing out on your bed. You’d also snoozed your alarm enough times that you’d had to rush to school that morning, getting to class with only a minute to spare.

In the afternoon, your friends sat around a lunch table discussing how your weekends had gone.

“Mine was pretty boring. How about yours, y/n?” Caroline asked.

“It was fine. Mostly did homework. Oh, and I took some senior pictures yesterday, but that’s it.”

“Oh that’s why your hair is straight?” someone else asked.

“Yeah, I got home late and woke up late so I just tossed on some jeans this morning.”

“Where even were you? Your snap maps said you were at the lake,” Alexis stated. 

To say that question made you nervous was an understatement. You didn’t want to give anything away so you tried to keep it vague.

“Oh, yeah. The photographer knew of a place out there we could go so I said yes.”

“Who was your photographer? I’ve been looking to get pictures done,” Caroline said.

Well, there goes ambiguity.

“Hah, well, Nikki Holland.”

“Isn’t that Tom’s mom?” Alexis asked, squinting at you. You sighed.

“Yes. I’ve been at their house a lot for the project and her whole career is photography so she asked me if I wanted her to do my pictures for free. I couldn’t turn that down.

“So that’s why you and Tom were at the same location yesterday!” Alexis exclaimed.

“What! Keep your voice down!”

“So it’s true? You and Tom took your senior pictures together? I was waiting until you’d admit why you were together.”

“Okay there are so many things I need to address but firstly, we did not take them together, we just did them at the same time. And secondly, since when do you have Tom on snap?”

Alexis rubbed the back of her neck and looked away. Everyone else looked surprised and kept quiet.

“Remember sophomore year when I went to that party while you were out of town? And I told you I made out with someone? Well….”

“ALEXIS!”

“I was drunk, okay? By the next day I realized how gross it was, but I kept him on snap so I could keep tabs for when we talked trash about him.”

You folded your arms across your chest and stared blankly across the table at your best friend.

“And you just didn’t think to tell me that you, I don’t know, made out with my mortal enemy and have had him on snap for the past 2 years?”

“I thought you’d be mad at me! Obviously it was the one time, and we’ve never sent each other a single snap. This was about you anyways and how you and Tom spent yesterday together. Where were you, actually?” Alexis asked, looking at you expectantly. You rolled your eyes.

“His grandparents have a lake house, okay? His mom planned the whole thing and the leaves were pretty colors, so it was whatever.”

“Hm, I guess so…” Alexis trailed, giving you one final look of “this conversation isn’t over” before someone brought up a different topic.

%

With volleyball regionals that upcoming weekend and Tom having an away game, you and he decided to work together that Thursday at his place.

You quickly rinsed off after practice and headed over to his house where he was waiting at the door. 

“Took you awhile,” he commented as you came up the sidewalk.

“Yeah, sorry. I got caught talking to coach about this weekend. It also takes forever to get these leggings on right out of the shower,” you joked, gesturing down at your athletic pants.

You got to work pretty quickly as there was a lot to do as compared to normal. By the time you finished, it was almost dinnertime.

“Oh, I think my mom finished all those pictures if you want them. Let’s go find her,” Tom suggested, leading you downstairs.

Her and Dom were in the kitchen cooking together. It was sweet watching them interact.

“Hey, mom? Did you say you had that flash drive done?” Tom interrupted, causing both parents to turn.

“Yes! I’m glad you reminded me. Dom, hold down the fort while I go get that.”

She led you to her office, then dug around her desk until she found it, handing it to you.

“You know, dinner will be ready in probably 10 minutes. You’re free to eat with us tonight,” she offered.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You never impose on us! And absolutely, we always make more than enough food so the boys can take leftovers to school.”

Well if you’re sure… I’ll text my mom and make sure she doesn’t mind.”

She didn’t, so as you waited for dinner, you sat down on a living room couch, Tom taking a recliner nearby. From the corner of your eye you saw Paddy walk in the room and freeze when he saw you.

“Y/n! Lovely to see you on this fine evening,” he greeted, sitting tentatively on the other end of the couch. You held back a chuckle at his word choice.

“And you as well, sir. How was your day?” you asked, trying to get him out of his shell. 

His eyes widened as he told you all about his school day. You prepared to reply when Dom came and announced the food was done.

You followed everyone to the dining room and stood watching, not wanting to accidentally take someone’s seat.

“Oh, you can sit here, y/n,” Paddy said, pulling out a seat for you in the middle of the table. You glanced to Tom, who was rolling his eyes.

“Thanks, Paddy. What a gentleman you are,” you complimented as he helped tuck in your chair. He took the seat on the left of you as Tom sat on your right. Directly across from you were Sam, then Harry and Dom on either side. Nikki took the head.

“Y/n, why don’t you get what you want first,” Nikki suggested, gesturing over the food. There was spaghetti, salad, and bread. You got only a little bit of each thing, trying to be polite.

“That’s all you want? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you eat more on the bus to soccer games than that,” Tom commented. You raised your eyebrows at him and nudged his knee with yours.

“Thomas! Don’t be rude! Y/n, you’re free to however much or little you’d like. You can always go back for more later, too.”

Dinner went relatively smoothly aside from that, most of the conversation being centered on you as different family members wanted to know different things (Paddy especially as he’d trained his eyes on you almost the entire evening). For the most part, Tom was quiet except to crack a few jokes or answer something you asked him.

As everyone was finishing their meals, you offered to help clean up.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s Tom’s job to do the dishes tonight,” Dom told you.

“I don’t mind helping him. I can dry if nothing else.”

After being reminded a few times that you shouldn't feel the need to, you went with Tom to the kitchen anyways, holding a towel. 

“You really don’t have to help me, you know. You’re technically our guest,” he said as the sink filled with water.

“Seriously, I don’t mind. I have nothing better to do anyways since I finished my homework.”

You worked together pretty much silently, falling into a comfortable rhythm. As you set down the last plate, Tom spoke up.

“Hey y/n, think fast.”

“Wha- TOM!” you exclaimed, as he had shot water at you, making the front of your shirt wet. “Oh you are so dead for that!” 

You jumped on his back, pressing your wet shirt against him, causing his own shirt to dampen. He thrashed around, the both of you laughing.

“What the hell is going on in- oh,” said Sam, who entered the room. 

You both froze in place, you quickly sliding off Tom as Sam looked at you skeptically.

“Your brother just sprayed me with the faucet, so I was getting back at him,” you tried to convince him. It is what happened after all.

“Right... I was just coming to grab something from the drawer, so I’ll leave you all to it,” he said awkwardly as he dug around the drawer and quickly made his leave. 

You and Tom both looked at each other awkwardly before bursting into laughter.

“You know you’re lucky this is a dark shirt,” you said after a moment.

“Am I though?”

“TOM!”

%

When you got home a little bit later, you decided to plug in your flash drive and look at all the pictures Nikki had taken. You were marveling at her work when your phone started buzzing. It was Alexis.

“Hey, what’s up?” you picked up, confused as to why she’d call on a Thursday night.

“Hey. I saw that you were home so I figured I was good to call. Are you alone?”

“Yes, and why do you need me alone?”

She paused.

“Look, y/n, I’m sorry for bringing that stuff up about Tom in front of the girls Monday, but, since I don’t know when I’ll be able to get you alone again, I need to ask you something.”

“Okay what is going on?” You’re scaring me a little.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this, because I know you and we came up with that whole revenge thing at the beginning of the semester but… do you… have feelings for Tom?”

You were taken aback at her question.

“What! Me have feelings for Tom? Are you crazy?”

She sighed.

“Well it’s just that, you two are always together now, your usual bickering has turned into normal banter, and you literally traveled to take pictures with him last weekend. It just seems like something else is there, and the whole school is starting to pick up on it.”

Ironically, you had frozen on a picture of you and Tom from Sunday, one of you standing in your sports uniforms back to back.

“Okay so maybe we’re kind of friends now, but that doesn’t mean I like him! And how many times do I have to say that the pictures were just at the same time?”

“Then explain to me why his mom’s website has multiple pictures of you two together?”

Your blood ran cold and stomach dropped.

“Wait, what?” you breathed, immediately going to pull up her page. Like Alexis said, a picture of the two of you posing was at the top of the home page. It was the same one you’d been looking at before. “Oh, no,” you whispered.

“Are you seeing it?” she asked.

You gulped.

“Yep. But, it’s not that bad, right? I mean she takes tons of sports pictures and we look super serious. It’s not like we’re standing with our arms wrapped around each other or anything.” you rationalized, half joking at the end of your sentence.

“You might want to scroll down, then…”

You went past a photo of just you on the dock railing in your jumpsuit to find one of Tom lifting you over his shoulder, but of you laughing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered.

“Are you sure you’ve got nothing to tell me? I’ve had lots of guy friends and most of them don't do that to me.”

“Yes, Alexis, I’m sure. He was getting back at me for something and acted like he was gonna throw me in the lake. I didn’t realize Nikki took any pictures of it. I’ll ask Tom about it.”

“If you say so… I’ll believe you. But you do know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course I do, and I’m telling you right now that nothing has happened or will ever happen. We’re just friends, okay? Now I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow?” you finished.

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” she signed off, ending the call.

You felt another pit in your stomach thinking about how you’d lied to her. You definitely didn’t have feelings, but why didn’t you tell Alexis about that moment you’d had in his room a couple weeks back, or how you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder Sunday night, or even how you’d accidentally seen him naked?

Because she’d think there’s something there.

But there isn’t.

But..?

You shook the thoughts away as you texted Tom, asking him to take a glance at his mom’s website.

“Omg I have no idea why she used the third picture. I’ll see if she’ll change it” he answered. 

You were glad he would save your asses like that, but felt a twinge of sadness for it to be replaced. You almost didn’t mind it being there.

%

A/N: another long awaited marriage project! I have been working so hard to get this out while going through rewrites and working on sweet home alabama, but hopefully this will hold y’all over for now. As always, thank you so much and feel free to hit up my asks any time!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Story tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, 

[jeogiyall]

To The Beat; P.SH

Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)

Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU

Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader

Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive

A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!

There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.

But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.

“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.

“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond. 

“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.

People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.

“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.

“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.

After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.

“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.

“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.

“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.

“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.

Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.

But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.

So maybe this won’t be so terrible.

*

Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.

The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior. 

But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared.. 

And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.

“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.

“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”

“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.

“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.

“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.

“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.

“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass. 

Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.

“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.

*

He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.  

“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose. 

“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.

“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate

“Oh you piece of-”

“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.

“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.

“I don’t take orders from you-”

“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.

“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.

“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs. 

“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.

“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!” 

They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.

*

The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it. 

“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.” 

“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.

“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly. 

“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.

“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.

“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.

“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.

“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.

“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.

“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.

It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.

And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.

“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.

“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm. 

“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.

“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.

“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.

“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.

“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.

*

Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.

But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.

And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.

*

Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.

But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.

*

Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’ 

Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.

You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.

For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?” 

“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.

“(Y/n,) can you hear-”

“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you. 

“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.

“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.

You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.

“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.

“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.

“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.

But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.

The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.

The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa  is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least. 

“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn. 

“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly. 

“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet. 

“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”

And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.

*

It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.

“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.

“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.

“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’  

He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look. 

“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”

“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.

“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”

“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.

“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.

“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.

“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”

*

It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.

“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching!  Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.

“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.

“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”

“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.

“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.

“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.” 

You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.

“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.

“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.

He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

*

In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)

But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.

“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’ 

“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”

“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.

“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.

“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.

“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.

“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.

“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.

“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”

“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.

“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.

“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’  You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head. 

“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.

But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.

That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.

*

Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.

“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.

“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.

“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.

*

“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.

“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.

“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”

“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”

“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.

“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked. 

“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”

“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”

When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.

“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.

“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.

“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.

“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.

“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”

“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.

“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.” 

You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.

“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.

“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.

“I-I just thought that-”

“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”

“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”

“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.

When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before. 

But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.

After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.

An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.

“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.

“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.

“(Y/n-)”

“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat. 

Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.

When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.

*

There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.

Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.

Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.) 

You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.

“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.

“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.

“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.

“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.

“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.

“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.

With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.

*

The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.

“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.

“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.” 

The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”

* 

It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..

Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes. 

“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.

“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.

“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”

“San that’s not what I said!” 

“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.

“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!” 

“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.

“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.

“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.

The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come. 

“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry. 

“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)

“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.

“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.

“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.

“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.

“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.

“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.

“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.

“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.

“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.

“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.

“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.” 

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.

“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.

“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.

The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.

Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed. 

“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands. 

“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.

In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”

“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”

After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.

*

“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone. 

“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.

Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.

“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod. 

“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.

“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’ 

“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)

Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.

[soundwavereporting]

Is it alright if I requested deadceptor with “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion" in the context of some rude bar patrons? (if not, feel free to use creative liberty if you'd prefer to) Thank you for accepting requests!

I’m still doing these! This one is long enough that I’m posting it as it’s own thing, rather than a part of that prompt-fill fic. 

ao3 link in source!

93. “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion"  Deadceptor + rude bar patron

Astrotrain’s return was preceded by the biggest dust storm post-war Cybertron had ever seen, and uncomfortably dry winds continued to pummel Iacon with grit as Dead End worked.

He had already spent a good part of the morning scraping piles of sandy debris away from the front entrance to Maccadam’s before it opened. His engine hitched—some of the dust had found its way down his intake, and he had no doubt that the spaces between his plating and protoform were absolutely packed with dust.

Inside Maccadam’s, Perceptor was attempting to repair the jukebox. While Dead End had been in the back grabbing more subspace-filtered engex, Soundwave and the Tetrahexan had gotten into a fight the night before last, ending with the latter bot’s horns skewering the machine.

Until then, they had done a pretty good job enforcing the ‘no fighting’ rule—and Dead End was pleased to know that he proved an effective deterrent if Perceptor’s matter-of-fact reminder didn’t do the trick.

The door mostly cleared, Dead End stepped inside Maccadam’s. Perceptor was still working on the jukebox, which was now operational, but played only one song.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Dead End crouched beside Perceptor. When he was certain the Autobot had registered his presence, Dead End reached out and placed a hand on Perceptor’s frame. It came away dusty, leaving a faint imprint on Perceptor’s armor.

“You ready to open?” Dead End asked.

“As soon as you are.” Perceptor replaced the jukebox panel and stood. “Soundwave has requested we hire him to curate the bar’s entertainment.”

“You’re not seriously considering saying yes?” The thought of Soundwave, ever-present, playing his obnoxious songs, watching knowingly as Dead End and Perceptor cleaned up after closing…Dead End grimaced. “Aren’t he and Hot Rod trying to take over Cybertron or something?”

“They are attempting to organize a new ruling body,” Perceptor said. “Which is why I told him no.”

“Good.” Dead End listened to Hot Rod slightly more than he listened to Soundwave, and to hear the bot speak—he was doing the equivalent of fighting a legion of Air Hammers armed with nothing more than acid pellets and witty banter. Dead End hadn’t participated in any of the protests that were taking place outside the newly rebuilt Imperium, but then, he had never been one for politics.

Politics were for bots like Soundwave and Hot Rod, who’d been sparked with either the charisma or the bolt-headed stubbornness to make a difference. It didn’t matter who won—if Optimus got his way or Hot Rod and Soundwave did, chances were, Dead End would still be here.

He wondered if Perceptor believed the same thing.

“Astrotrain messaged me earlier today,” Perceptor said. “He told me he had met someone who could track the Insecticons and was transporting him here.”

“I thought he was supposed to be keeping Megatron X prisoner,” Dead End muttered. “Not working as an multiversal space bus.”

Perceptor shrugged. “I am sure he will explain when he arrives.”

“Yeah.” There was already a line forming outside the bar—mostly the early afternoon regulars, but there were a few new bots. Probably here early because the dust storm had prevented them from working. Dead End gave the place a final once-over, then went to unlock the door. “He’ll probably dump the poor idiot into the Argon Sea.”

“Not if he does it to you first.”

“Ugh.” Dead End stepped aside to let in the dust-covered bots who’d been waiting outside, and immediately regretted bothering to clean the place last night.

He spent the next hour taking orders and helping Perceptor make the drinks—rather, watching Perceptor and his dexterous scientist hands make drinks so quickly and smoothly Dead End couldn’t do much but watch.

Just as the sun had begun to peek through the oppressive dust clouds, the door opened, and a stranger walked in.

Dead End would never admit it to anyone else—he barely admitted it to himself—but over the last few months, he had become attuned to Perceptor. He had begun to notice the other bot’s small, unconscious moments; the way his back straightened incrementally whenever a ranking Autobot walked into Maccadam’s, the tilt of his head whenever he was trying to figure something out.

Now, he was on edge. His grip on a bottle of subspace-filtered engex tightened, so much so that Dead End feared he might crush it.

He looked up.

The bot was dressed like a Senator—with a woven cloak, and head covering clearly based off of organic fashions, he looked more suited to an evening in the Grand Imperium than a Maccadam’s.

Almost instinctively, Dead End came to stand beside Perceptor. He was trying to loom, but considering he was shorter than Perceptor, Dead End wasn’t sure the effect was entirely accurate.

“I’m lookin’ for Optimus Prime.”

Dead End wondered if he had just imagined the blank spaces of Perceptor’s optics narrowing.

The stranger’s hand had been lingering on the holsters strapped to his waist, but without waiting for a reply, he lifted a hand—the universal gesture for ordering a drink, Dead End had learned.

“Don’t even think about it,” Perceptor said. Dead End looked down. The stranger’s free hand had been inching towards the revolver.

“Weapons are allowed in this joint, aren’t they?” He jerked his head in the direction of a group of heavily-armed bots who were no longer pretending not to stare. “Where’s Maccadam?”

“You looking for Maccadam or Optimus Prime?” Dead End snapped.

“I’m not talkin’ to you, ‘con.”

“Dead End is as welcome here as you are,” Perceptor said evenly, and slid the drink over the counter.

It sat untouched.

The stranger’s free hand twitched.

He shot three glasses before Dead End’s body caught up with his processor.

He sprang into action. Ignoring Perceptor’s shout, he vaulted over the counter to tackle the stranger, who stood unmoved by Dead End’s actions. What he did do was grab Dead End and slam him onto the nearest table. It cracked under the sudden pressure, and Dead End felt his spinal struts protest.

“I’m not asking again.”

Dead End kicked him in the face. The stranger stumbled back, giving him enough of an opening to sit up and rummage through his subspace for his weapon. A blast hit his hand—at this range, it wasn’t enough to destroy his hand completely, but it was enough to burn completely through his plating.

“Come here.”

He grabbed Dead End by the foot, dragging him out of the bar. Dead End struggled to orient himself, catching a glance of Perceptor reaching under the bar for his own rifle.

Dead End groaned as fresh grit and dust worked its way under his plating as he was tossed unceremoniously onto the ground.

“Optimus Prime. Where is he?”

“How should I know?” Dead End snarled. Pit. With the amount of dust getting into the circuitry, his hand would need more than some nanites. “You’ve got some nerve, coming into Maccadam’s and—”

“It’s a real shame I never asked for your opinion.” Dead End jerked his injured hand away as the stranger moved to grab it. “Talk. Or my next shot will be aimed at your spark.”

Dead End saw the impact of a shot hitting the bot’s shoulder. The stranger stumbled back, more surprised than injured, Dead End thought.

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Try me.”

“I have shot a hand off a Phase-Sixer,” Perceptor said. “Do you really want to question my competence with a weapon?”

The bot hesitated. The hole in his shoulder smoked.

“You win this one.” His optics narrowed. “But I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother.”

Dead End didn’t look away until the bot was out of sight. He groaned and sat up.

“It appears to be superficial damage,” Perceptor said.

“Yeah, but it hurts.” Dead End gave in and deactivated the nerve sensors in his hands. He moved to get to his feet. Obligingly, Perceptor held out a hand. Dead End accepted, cradling his injured hand against his side. “You gonna help me fix it?”

“Of course.” Perceptor intertwined his fingers in Dead End’s. “I can’t have you capable of holding only one of my hands.”

Dead End snorted. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

“I am reasonably sure of his identity,” Perceptor said. “But I would like to confirm it independently. Shall we go back?”

Dead End smiled. “Yeah.”

[bottleofspilledink]

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter V

"Class dismissed."

The moment those words were spoken, the girls gathered their books and their bags, eager to leave and enjoy their two day holiday.

"And don't forget to read the book of leviticus over the weekend!" Sister Dolores followed up before leaving herself.

Unlike most other girls in her class, Eve didn't feel the need to rush. She wasn't reliant on the school bus. Her aunt had given her an adorable bike with a darling woven basket on the front, her name delicately written in cursive on a sign that hung from it.

She had to get home soon, however, for she would need to laundry her gym uniform to have it dried and pressed by Monday to accommodate the change in schedule.

The girl made her way to the bike rack near the school's gate, only occasionally slowing down to step on a crunchy looking leaf.

She had just stomped on another one, but instead of hearing the crackle of the leaf, all she heard was a very familiar laugh.

"Having fun?"

"Lilith!" She said, whipping her head up to look at the other, smile wide and cheeks flushed.

"Took you long enough," The girl said teasingly, grin just as wide as the other's, if just a bit more knowing, a bit more aware.

She hopped off of Eve's bike and began to unchain hers from the bars. "Lemme guess, you have Dolores as last period?"

"Yeah, sorry." The blonde couldn't help but notice how sweaty her hands shook as she undid the locks of her bike. "If I knew you were waiting, I would have hurried."

"Aw, really?"

"Yes, really." She plopped her bag into the front basket. "It's not polite to keep people waiting."

"Good point, but," Lilith got up from the ground, dusting off her skirt to shake the loose gravel out of it, "am I not also being rude for showing up announced?"

"Okay, but what's the point in being rude to someone even if they were rude to you first?"

The other chuckled, loud and musical and magnificent. Eve couldn't pry her eyes away from her if it meant salvation itself.

"Well, even if it was rude, I'd still wait. At least, for you I would."

Those words reached into Eve, stealing the breath from her lungs and taking the ever-present fear in her mind along with it, leaving only hellfire in her heart and her cheeks.

"Okay. Calm down, this is perfectly fine." Eve tried to reason to herself.

"It's just some friendly banter... with someone who's rumored to be a... That."

Eve mulled over her this, weighing the pros and cons in her mind carefully.

She wasn't doing anything wrong.

After all, there wasn't anything in the bible that forbid her from chatting with a friend, right?

It could maybe count as a sin if they spoke about inappropriate stuff, but they weren't talking about anything close to that so they should be fine, right?

Right?

"Wait how long has it been since I said something?"

"So why were you waiting for me, anyway?" Her voice was hushed, response clipped and snappy in tone, despite not wanting to come across as such.

Lilith's smile faltered, if only momentarily.

"Oh, I spilled soup over my envelope while looking over it during lunch so I was hoping to copy yours."

"Right now?"

"I could come over tomorrow if you're really rushing, but I don't know where you live."

"Do you know how to get to Eden Street? Ours is the seventh one on the street with the pale blue walls."

"Crap. I'm sorry, I've never been to that side of town."

"Okay, you know what, why don't you just come home with me and copy it when we get there?"

"Oh God, why did I say that?!"

"I have to get home by 4:30 and it's Friday so I'll be doing laundry."

"That works for me," The redhead said, beaming. "Lead the way!"

The ride to Eve's house was spent in silence, the speed at which they went and the occasional gust of autumnal wind, refreshing as it may be, was not the friendliest when it came time to hold a conversation.

Eve was ahead of Lilith, more familiar with the roads and all it's twists and turns and cracks.

She slowed down, however, when she realized that it had been more than a minute since she heard the metallic ringing of Lilith's bicycle bell break through the silence. But even then her ears still hadn't picked up on anything other than the breeze.

Eve didn't stop, rather, she hazard a look back and was immediately mesmerized.

Just a bit or so behind her was Lilith, her long, fiery hair flowing in the wind along with her pleated, blue skirt, the partially obscured sun that beat down on them made the girl's soft skin gleam, her-

"Fuck!"

Before Eve could do a thing, she went flying off her bike, courtesy of a large rock in the middle of the road, hands and knees skidding on the asphalt as she tried to brace herself.

"Eve!"

Lilith pulled the brakes and rushed over to the fallen girl, leaving her bike.

"Holy shit, are you okay?"

The adrenaline of all that had just happened had diverted her attention away from the pain, her scraped up palms clapsed firmly over her mouth.

"What's wrong? Did you hit your lip? Your hands?" She gently pried Eve's hands away from her mouth, to observe the damage.

"I said a curse word..."

"What?" Lilith asked, incredulous. "Of all the things you should be worried about, that's number one on the list?"

"It's against the rules!"

"So?"

"So I broke the rules."

"No, you didn't."

"What? Yes, I did."

"Eve, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"You were right behind me, how could- oh."

She laughed, despite the violent sting in her hands and the aching in her hands, she laughed, carefree and unhindered by the expectation to be quiet, dainty and delicate, unhindered by the need to be ladylike, she laughed like she hadn't laughed in years.

They sat in the middle of the road, letting loose in each other's company, snorting and cackling like madwomen, inelegant, and nowhere near refined or graceful.

And they didn't care.

"Eve, we gotta get up. Like now. Before we get hit by a bus."

"Yeah. I should probably get home and put some band-aids on these too."

She tried to get up by planting her hands on the ground to push her up, barely stopping herself in time.

"Need some assistance?"

"Yes, please," Eve said, arms going out towards the girl with her palms facing down, as if she were to be handcuffed.

Lilith grabbed the other by her wrists, careful not to let her fingers brush against any raw skin, and yanked her upward, muttering a quick apology as Eve had to bend her knees a bit too much for her comfort.

"Can you still ride the bike? Or do you just wanna walk the rest of the way?"

"We're too far for walking, so I'm gonna have to stick it out." She shrugged, walking over to her bicycle to try and turn it over.

"Let me get that for you." Lilith propped it up, picked up the book bag by it, and chucked it in the basket.

"You can barely bend your knees, I think it's better for us to share a bike."

"What about the other bike?"

"I think I have an idea."

Lilith had begrudgingly revealed that she had yet to get rid of her training wheels, which meant that all they needed to do was attach the bikes with a chain and they would be on their way.

"Hop on and hold on, blondie!" She sat in Eve's seat and patted the small, metal rack in the back. "I'm getting you home by 4:30 if it kills me!"

Eve smoothed out her skirt and took a seat, laughing. "Okay, we're ready to go!"

"Not yet, you're not."

Lilith reached behind her, soft hands seeking out the unscathed parts Eve's arms, making them wrap around her petite waist, her back pressed flush against the other's front.

"There we go!"

Before she could protest, they took off, making her clutch Lilith even tighter than she had been earlier.

"Focus." Eve told herself. "You have to give her directions, so you can't space out."

"It's what got you into this situation in the first place."

She didn't know whether or not that was something she should be grateful for or not, though she certainly didn't mind the gentle caress of her soft, red hair or the faint scent of the other's apple shampoo fillings her senses.

...

"She's so warm..."

The thought popped into Lilith's mind unprompted, the thin fabric of their uniforms doing nothing to lessen the feel of the other's soft chest and heat.

"Take a right," Eve whispered to her, breath tickling Lilith's ear ever so slightly.

She could feel the other's fingers shift every so often from where they rest on her waist. All the could do was clutch at the bike handle, trying to suppress the violent shiver that tried to make it's way through her.

"Another right by that street sign."

Her ear was less than a centimeter from Eve's lips.

The space between the two was simultaneously too close and too far for Lilith's liking. A small bump in the road could easily close the infinitesimal yet gargantuan gap between her ear and her lips.

It would be so easy to just-

"No." Lilith steeled herself. "If ever I get a kiss from Eve, it can't be an accident. I'm not that kind of person."

"Go straight ahead until we reach the post box then take a left."

She slowed ever so slightly during turns, taking special care not to jolt them too much when they drove over the rare speed bump.

She wasn't going to get a kiss from Eve in such a backhanded manner.

"Not like this."

Despite her rather turbulent thoughts, the streets here were serene, silent save for the crunch of leaves under the wheels of the bike and a dog bark every so often.

"Lilith?"

"Hmm?"

Eve laughed, chest rumbling against her back, breathy and barely above a whisper yet Lilith knew the noise would play over and over in her mind.

"You still have your training wheels."

She spoke in a hushed voice, akin to how they did in the library, as if they were sharing secrets.

"Yeah."

Lilith couldn't help but chuckle as well. While it wasn't something she bragged about, the way the other said it made it sound like it was some salacious piece of gossip.

"'S there a problem with that?"

"Nope." She could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Will you tell me why you use them, though?"

"I use them because I need them." Lilith teased. She was going to make her work for the answer to this.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Yeah? Tell me what you meant, then."

"I meant, why do you need them?"

"I never learned how to ride without the training wheels."

"And why is that?"

Lilith chuckled once more.

"Is this an interview?"

"No fair! I was specific, so now you have to answer."

"Do I?"

"Hmph." Eve huffed playfully, but didn't press on.

Or so Lilith thought, til the girl's fingers began moving up and down her waist, deathly light movements ghosting over her sides in an attempt to make her shiver.

"Tell me or I'll tickle you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Eve wouldn't dare... would she?

"You shouldn't though." Lilith added for extra measure. "We'll end up falling off and I don't think you can handle that so soon after your last tumble."

"I can take a lot more than you think."

"Oh fuck." She gripped the handlebars for dear life, cheeks tinted a light pink. "That's hot."

Lilith could only hope that Eve couldn't feel her heart hammering with how close she was.

"We're here!"

And with that, her mind was unceremoniously yanked out of the gutter.

Even with the day half done, Lilith could tell it was gonna be a long one.

____________________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @littlemisscalamity @melpomenismask @phillyinthebathroom

[spidermecc]

Unintentional love (Elu fake dating AU) Ch. 5 - Not so brave

Chapter 5 is up, it was an absolute bitch to write, but I actually think it turned out pretty good. I appreciate all the messages, feedback and comments I get, and it literally keeps me going and gives me motivation, so please feel free to send me some of that! Find it on AO3 here.

The next two days went by too slow. It was like time had decided to be a bitch and drag everything out as much as possible. Even the nights were slow. Sleeping was hard and all Lucas could do was stare at the ceiling or look through Instagram and Facebook for the hundredth time, going through the same boring posts from the same boring people.

All he wanted to do was talk to Eliott. There was something about the boy, who sat alone at the library drawing raccoons like an actual dork, that made Lucas’ heart flutter. He wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. He was sweet and beautiful but also the but also the cheekiest guy Lucas had ever met. Just thinking of their conversations and their bantering back and forth, made him blush and bury his face in the covers. Fuck, when did he get so whipped for a guy he barely knew, and definitely didn’t stand a chance with?

It was just past 1am Tuesday night when he heard his phone buzz.

@curtisno1: Hey, remember me?

To be honest, Lucas didn’t remember much from Friday, but he remembered the basics. He’d screwed up by getting drunk and accidentally telling some stranger, Curtis, that his relationship with Eliott was fake. Lucas sighed as he typed in a reply.

@lucallemant: How could I forget, you almost poisoned me with all those shots!

If Lucas was being honest, he found it pretty weird that this guy was texting him in the middle of the night. But still, he was curious. As far as he remembered, the guy knew Idris and apparently Eliott as well. So what if Lucas wanted to get some intel on Eliott, after all, he was his pretend boyfriend, right?

@curtisno1: Haha, sorry about that, how was I supposed to know you’re such a lightweight?

Damn this guy had no chill huh? Lucas puffed, offended. He definitely wasn’t a lightweight, but beer, weed and shots were bound to be a really shitty combination, right?

@lucallemant: Rude..

@curtisno1: Sorry haha. So you’re still up for that date you promised me?

Shit, it all came back now. He’d said yes to a date with this guy. But to be fair, Lucas had been pretty sure that the guy was just fucking around, he hadn’t actually thought that he would follow up. What was he supposed to say now? He couldn’t just go on a date with some random guy, when everyone thought he was dating Eliott. Curtis was cute and all but, Lucas had no real interest in going out with him. He was too busy dreaming about Eliott twenty-four-seven.  

@lucallemant: Uhm, not sure, I mean everyone thinks I’m dating Eliott, so that would be pretty weird, you know?

Smooth Lucas, see? This way, he wasn’t flat out rejecting Curtis, and going back on their deal, but he was still finding a way to get out of it. He could be really smart when he wanted to. He almost patted himself on the shoulder, when his phone buzzed again.

@curtisno1: That’s cool, I’ll just wait until your little show is over, I don’t mind!  Just let me know, yeah?

Fuck, okay so maybe he wasn’t as smooth as he’d thought he was. And what was he supposed to answer, other than..

@lucallemant: Sure   __

“What are you guys doing later, wanna hang out and play some FIFA?” Yann asked, shoveling an obscure looking rice dish into his mouth.

It was finally Wednesday, and Lucas had been a shell of himself all day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited, yet nervous, at the same time. He and Eliott had agreed to meet up at Eliott’s place around 4pm, giving Lucas time to go home and take a shower after school.

“I can’t today, I’m hanging out with Eliott” he said, poking his rice dish. The cafeteria food had always grossed him out. They always mixed the weirdest ingredients. Today’s dish was actually rice with pear, mint and cinnamon. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to mix rice and cinnamon unless they were making rice pudding?

“Really?!” Arthur beamed, looking at Lucas like a proud mother hen. “You could invite him as well? It would give us a chance to get to know him better, we didn’t talk that much on Friday” he continued, looking expectantly at Lucas. Lucas looked over at Yann and Basile, who were both nodding their heads like crazy. Even though Lucas had been looking forward to spending time alone with Eliott, he couldn’t get himself to say no to them, he already felt terrible for lying, so his conscience got the better of him.

“Yeah sure, I’ll ask him” he said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt, while pulling out his phone.

Lucas: Hey, is it cool if we hang out with the boys later instead of going to yours? They’re really keen on getting to know you some more.

Eliott: Oh, yeah sure! Just text me the time and place.

Lucas sighed as he put his phone back in his pocket “he’s game. We’ll be there”.

“Cool” Yann exclaimed “meet up at my place at 4pm?”

“Sure” he answered, grabbing his tray, with his untouched lunch “see you then”. __

“Hey Eliott, Lucas never told us when you guys met” Arthur said out of the blue, looking curiously at both of them.

They’d arrived at Yann’s half an hour ago, playing video games and chatting, Eliott immediately getting comfortable with the guys, joking and talking, while collectively kicking their asses in FIFA, which made Lucas crack a secret smile. Yann was probably the worst loser Lucas knew, but he didn’t seem to mind that much when he was losing to Eliott. The Eliott effect, Lucas thought for the second time this week. He’d retrieved himself to the corner, mainly observing the guys and Eliott interacting, not having exchanged more than a quick greeting with him, which the boys hadn’t seemed to notice.

Shit, Lucas hadn’t thought of this. What was their cover story? He couldn’t tell them that they’d met at the foyer meeting, because as far as he remembered, he’d told that guys that he’d seen him a few times before that Friday. But Lucas didn’t have time to start spiraling and panicking for long, because Eliott answered quickly, without hesitation.

“I actually saw Lucas on the very first day of school” he said, locking eyes with a shook Lucas “I just didn’t have the guts to speak to him before a while ago”.

Okay so Lucas had already established that Eliott was a pretty good actor, but this? This was just too fast, too well-thought out, to be a lie right? Could it be true that Eliott had seen him on his first day? If so, that must mean that he’d noticed Lucas, really noticed him. Just like Lucas had noticed Eliott at that foyer meeting. His heart was racing, and he was pretty sure he was blushing down to his toes. The thought of Eliott seeing him on his first day, made him shiver. The belief that maybe, just maybe, Eliott had also felt what Lucas had felt when he first saw him, that undeniable attraction, unable to look away, made his heart race as well as scaring the shit out of him. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t get himself to look at Eliott’s. He was a coward, so what of it?

“Holy shit, really?” Arthur said, putting down his controller and focusing completely on Eliott now, “that’s so fucking romantic dude”.

Eliott shrugged, giving Arthur a shy smile.

“It’s what our Lulu deserves” Yann chimed in, looking fondly at Eliott, then Lucas, who was still looking anywhere but at Eliott.

“But Lucas, you didn’t see Eliott back then did you? You never mentioned anything?” Basile asked, looking utterly confused.

“No, I didn’t” Lucas muttered, scared that if attempted to say more, butterflies would start swarming from his stomach and out of his mouth.

“But I saw him.. I only saw him actually” Eliott finished, still not taking his eyes off Lucas, whose continuous blush hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Putain, I hope I meet someone like you some day” Arthur said, looking absolutely in awe of Eliott.

Be brave, Lucas thought to himself as he forced his gaze to catch Eliott’s, and what he met almost gave him a heart attack. Eliott’s eyes had darkened, he was staring so intensely at Lucas, that he was scared he might disappear underneath his gaze. He wasn’t sure what his eyes were trying to convey; lust, admiration, love?... Okay he really needed to snap out of it, this wasn’t happening, Eliott was just making up some shit to help out Lucas, yet again, just like he had done at that bus stop. Eliott was quick on his feet, that’s all it was.

“Anyways, are you ready for me to kick your ass Arthur” Lucas said reaching for the controller, desperate to get away from Eliott’s haunting gaze. ____

“Okay Eliott, hear me out here” Basile said suddenly, forcing Eliott out of his staring competition with Lucas. It was like they had a silent agreement to stare at each other all night, without ever talking. Not that they got the chance, with the boys constantly asking him personal questions from what his favorite color was (which was blue, Lucas noted) to what kind of hair products he used. They’d been eating pizza and playing videogames for almost two hours now. Lucas didn’t understand how none of them seemed to get tired of playing the same game over and over again, they were all, Eliott included, like fucking machines, taking turns at playing, only stopping to take a bite of their slices.

“Mhm” Eliott said absently, still locking eyes with Lucas.

“What if, I told people that you and I used to date? Like, that we got real freaky, you know? That would score me so many points with the ladies, I’m fucking sure of it” Basile continued, looking very pleased with his newly found idea.

Lucas snapped his head up. That sounded dangerously close to what he was currently doing, lying about being with Eliott.

“Don’t be a fucking dumbass Basile, just each your pizza and shut up” he said, trying to end this conversation before Basile began escalating, as he usually did when he had a dumb idea.

Eliott chuckled as he took another bite of his pizza, finally tearing his eyes away from Lucas, “you know I’d totally let you man, but then you’d have to explain how Lucas stole your ex-boyfriend, and I think it would get pretty messy, yeah?”

“Shit you’re right, I didn’t think of that. You’re so smart man” he replied, patting Eliott on the head as if he was a small child.

“Basile stop touching his fucking hair with your greasy fingers” Lucas all but yelled at Basile, getting riled up. This wasn’t how this night was supposed to go. He was supposed to be alone with Eliott, he was supposed to be the one asking him what his favorite colour was.

Lucas couldn’t wait to leave. Being in Yann’s apartment with his best friends and his fake boyfriend was proving to be too much for him. One minute he wanted to come clean and tell the guys that it was all fake and how sorry he was, the next he wanted to kiss Eliott, you know, just to make it more believable, nothing else. Also he desperately needed to go home and process what Eliott had said earlier, his last two brain cells were really working on overdrive here.

“Geez, calm down pissy pants. I won’t steal your man, don’t worry” Basile cried out, pulling his hand away from Eliott, who didn’t seem to mind, but was now watching Lucas closely, having noticed the shift in Lucas’ mood. Eliott wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

“As if that would ever happen Basile, keep dreaming” Yann said, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey Lucas, we’re out of beers, maybe you and Eliott could go down to the supermarket to buy some?” he said, trying, and succeeding in being a fucking amazing friend as usual. He must have thought that Lucas was on edge because he wanted to be alone with Eliott, which, yeah he did, but that wasn’t the only reason.

“Oh could you get me one of those dark root beers, please” Arthur looked at Lucas with his adorable puppy eyes, which he knew Lucas wouldn’t be able to resist.

“They’re so fucking expensive, why have you got to be so extra” Lucas said, as he got up, and winked at Arthur whom returned the wink with his signature smile, which meant he knew he’d already persuaded him. ___

As Eliott and Lucas walked towards the supermarket, Lucas finally said “so the guys seem to like you.. a lot”, trying not to sound bitter.

He was really happy that Eliott got along with the guys, they were practically like family to him. But he didn’t quite know how to deal with it when they inevitably found out the truth, that not only Lucas, but Eliott as well, had been lying to them. It would break their hearts; they had really taken a liking to Eliott.

“Yeah they’re really great” Eliott said, not sounding all that excited as he pulled a leaf from a near-by bush and began to tear it apart, scattering the pieces on the ground.

“I think they’re having fun, how about you?” Lucas continued, not sure of what to say.

“Yeah it’s fine” Eliott answered, focusing very hard on the leaf in his hand.

“You don’t like the boys?” Lucas asked nervously. Was he starting to have second thoughts about their arrangement? Was the lying getting to him as well? Lucas was spiraling again, but not for long, as Eliott reigned him back in.

“No no! It’s not that! They’re great” he answered frantically.

“Then what?”

“Honestly?” he asked, looking at Lucas for the first time since they’d left the apartment.

“Yeah, honestly”

“I was uh- I was just.. you know-  looking forward to spending time with you… alone” he trailed off, not leaving Lucas’ gaze.

Lucas was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating a while ago, and he had died and gone to heaven. Eliott wanting to spend time with him alone? Sounded fake, but okay. Was that really why he’d been so weird with Lucas all day? Because he was disappointed that they weren’t spending time alone? Lucas felt like tap dancing, singing and burying himself underground at the same time, all of his emotions rushing to the surface, threatening to overflow. Not knowing what to say, scared that he might say or do something he’d regret if he kept looking at Eliott, he turned around on his heels and started walking in the other direction.

“Where are you going?” Eliott asked confused “the supermarket is that way” he said pointing at the opposite direction of where Lucas was heading.  

“I know where the supermarket is” he said rolling his eyes “but we’re not going there” a smile forming on his lips.

Eliott’s lips curled into a smile as he started following Lucas.

After walking for fifteen minutes they arrived at a park. Lucas sat down on one of the swings, gesturing Eliott to sit down on the other one. He knew this park like the back of his hand. How many times had he sat on this exact swing? There was no use in trying to count it, it had been his refugee for years, as long as he could remember.

“This is my favorite place in the city you know?” Lucas said, a smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah?” the taller one answered, willing Lucas to continue.

“Yeah.. I used to come here when I was younger. Whenever my parents were arguing, which was a lot towards the end, I’d come here, sit on this swing and imagine what the Lucas’ in parallel universes were doing in that exact moment. I’d make up so many stories in my head”. He started blushing. He’d never told anyone that before, he’d never brought anyone to this place, his safe place, before. But something about Eliott, his honesty and genuineness made Lucas want to share this place, share a piece of himself with him.

“Parallel universes?” Eliott asked, lifting his eyebrow with a coy smile.

“Yeah” Lucas said, a blush beginning to spread “whenever I have a choice to make, I always imagine that the other Lucas’ in parallel universes made other choices” he continues, looking at Eliott, who nods as an encouragement for Lucas to proceed. “That way, I get less anxious of whether or not I’ve made the right choice, because even if I didn’t make the right choice, there are other Lucas’ that did.”

They sat in silence for what might have been seconds, minutes or hours, Lucas wasn’t quite sure. Eliott looked lost deep in thought, and it felt like Lucas was intruding on a very private moment, when he finally said “what do you think?” desperate to know what Eliott thought of his theory.

The parallel universes had been a part of Lucas’ life ever since he could remember, he never shared it with anyone, afraid they might laugh or brush it off, but something about the earnesty of Eliott made him say things he’d never thought he’d share with anyone.

“So, do you think that there are any of the Lucas’ and Eliotts in the parallel universe, that are in a real relationship right now?” Eliott asked with a curious look, as if he hadn’t just stopped Lucas’ heart mid-sentence.

“I-uhm.. uh- maybe” Lucas stammered, shook by Eliott’s blunt question. Eliott chuckled at Lucas obvious discomfort, as he got up and positioned behind him, gently nudging the swing Lucas was sat on.

Lucas had probably sat in this exact spot a hundred times. Sometimes he would just sit there for hours, not moving, other times he’d swing a little bit and try to enjoy it. But in all honestly he felt more alone when he was actually swinging, than when he just sat there, not moving. There was something too miserable about swinging on your own in an empty park.

Eliott started to pick up the pace and was now full on pushing Lucas’ swing, making him go higher and higher, the wind catching his hair, and a giant smile forming on his lips. It felt so intimate.. So natural. Lucas started laughing for real now, as Eliott was pushing him, making the swing go really high “I hope you’re not afraid of heights” the taller one almost yelled, the laugh evident in his voice.

Lucas turned his head and yelled back, mid-air, “Me afraid? Pas peur”.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive, so free. No worries, no nothing, just the wind in his hair and Eliott, it was absolute bliss.

Finally, Eliott grabbed the handles of the swing and brought it to a holt, still hovering over Lucas, pressing his chest to the shorter boy’s back. “Pas peur?” Eliott whispered, he was so close to Lucas right now. He was painfully aware of Eliott’s heartbeat, thudding on his back, and it felt like his entire body was about to catch fire.

“Pas peur” Lucas whispered, closing his eyes, glad that Eliott couldn’t see his face.

Eliott chuckled, still holding the handles, still standing behind Lucas. Even though Lucas couldn’t actually see Eliott’s face, his smile had burned itself into his memory, he imagined what Eliott looked like right now, beautiful as always, he thought to himself.

Pas peur, Lucas thought to himself as he mustered up the courage to ask the question he’d been dying to ask all night.

“Did you mean what you said earlier” he finally asked nervously, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, thanking the Gods that he had his back to Eliott.

“What did I say?” Eliott answered, well-aware of what Lucas was talking about, but unable to stop himself from torturing Lucas a little bit.

“About uhm- seeing me.. on the first day?” he could still feel Eliott’s presence behind him and instead of making his head spin as it had been doing up until now, it made him feel weirdly grounded, like his simple presence and touch was all it took for Lucas to be brave.

“You don’t get it, do you Lucas?” Eliott sighed, the frustration in his voice painfully evident.

“Get what?” he asked genuinely puzzled.

Eliott didn’t answer him right away. He slowly started pulling Lucas closer by the handles of the swing, Lucas hadn’t thought it was possible to get closer than they already were. Suddenly he felt the taller boy’s chin resting on top of his head. Lucas was pretty sure that if Eliott hadn’t been standing behind him, he’d have fallen off the swing, given that his entire body felt like jell-o at the moment. He could feel the boy’s breath on his head, causing his hair to move slightly every time Eliott exhaled.

But he was brave, Eliott made him brave. So he slowly, but surely tipped his head backwards until it was resting on Eliott’s chest. To any outsider they must have looked like two people madly in love. He felt Eliott’s body starting to relax, digging his chin deeper into Lucas’ scalp. Their bodies were melting together, they weren’t Eliott and Lucas anymore, they were one.

Lucas could feel Eliott’s heartbeat racing. He was glad that he wasn’t the only one whose heart had decided to say fuck it at just go rouge. The moment was so tender, like nothing Lucas had ever experienced before. For a moment, he let himself believe that his feelings, which he couldn’t deny anymore, were reciprocated. This thing with Eliott didn’t feel platonic anymore. This position they were in right now, wasn’t just two boys helping each other out, right? He couldn’t be imagining all of this could he? Gosh, his brain was going a hundred miles per hour, one thought replaced by a new one, every second, waiting for Eliott to say something.

“I don’t want-“ Eliott finally began, as he was interrupted by Lucas phone ringing. The volume was turned up so high that it startled both of them, making Lucas jump and crash his head up, smashing Eliott’s jaw shut. The sound was inhuman, and Lucas momentarily thought he’d actually fucking broken the boy’s jaw. He got up quickly and turned around, facing him.

“Shit, are you okay? Fuck I didn’t mean to do that” he said frantically, searching Eliott’s eyes for any indication of how badly he was injured. His head hurt a bit from the collision with Eliott’s chin, but he didn’t care.

Eliott simply stroked his chin a bit and grinned “it’s fine Lucas, I’m fine”, but by the looks of his face he wasn’t completely fine, Lucas thought.

“You should probably get that” he gestured towards the phone in Lucas’ pocket where the Peaky Blinders theme song, which he’d thought was a great idea to have as a ringtone at the time, was still playing. Now that song would forever be ruined for him, damn, thanks universe.  

“Right” he muttered as he dug out his phone from his pocket.

“Dude where the fuck are you? It’s like Sahara here, we need fluids, and by fluids I mean beer” Basile was crying into the phone.

Fuck, Lucas had completely forgotten that they were supposed to go to the supermarket. He noticed that the sun was beginning to set. How long had they been at the park? It had only felt like minutes, but he was pretty sure it had been a lot longer than that, judging from Basile’s tone.

“Yeah uhm, the supermarket next to Yann was closed so we had to go to the next one” he said, surprised by his ability to make that up on the spot, “we’ll be back in twenty minutes” he finished as he hung up and looked up at Eliott, who was still standing in the same spot as before.

“So.. uh- we should- uhm, we should probably go” Lucas said unwillingly, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t too evident.

“Right” Eliott said, a tiny smile playing on his lips, as he started walking, motioning for Lucas to join him.

Lucas was itching to hear what Eliott had been about to say before they were interrupted by Basile, but the moment had passed, and he wasn’t that brave, that he was going to ask again. Pas peur my ass, he thought as he followed Eliott out of the park.

[kristen-lockhart-blog]

Book Review of “(Im)Proper Nouns” by Donna Sparrowhawk

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Kristen Lockhart (Im)Proper Nouns By Donna Sparrowhawk Book Review

In the collection of poems, (Im)Proper Nouns, poet Donna Sparrowhawk utilizes an effortless flow and rhythm within and between her poems. Some of my favorite literary tools she uses throughout her poems are imagery and metaphors. Her collection is split into three sections, that are the nouns persons, places, and things. The poems within each section complement each other nicely as well as the three sections to form the whole collection. Sparrowhawk’s themes and imagery gives insight to a well-rounded and fulfilling life so far as well as holds hope for a fulfilling life to come. In the section titled Persons, Sparrowhawk has an array of poems, some dedicated to someone by use of their name, others with a more metaphorical title. The poem “Even Now I Listen,” is a pretty straight forward poem about the speaker’s dad. I really appreciate the glimpse into the speaker’s relationship with her father growing up. She hones in on the relationship between her and her father through her diction and metaphors.

“I know what tone you would use Soft, sliding your words under The door of my pain-induced silence.” I like the imagery that this stanza creates. I imagine a teenage daughter distraught and not wanting to talk to anyone, but her dad is the one who can truly reach her in these times. As if gently whispering through the crack of her door or sliding a letter with some heartbreak advice on it. In the last stanza, the speaker is reminiscing on times when her father could give her advice in person.

“Would you lift your eyes to mine and gently with your Fatherly tenderness, sweep the hair fallen in my eyes Remind me

To lessen fear…love more.”

She is admittedly fearful and doubtful of something throughout this poem. Perhaps, felt she was not ready to take on some things in her life without her father always being right there with her. All she has is these memories and can only imagine the advice that her father could give her now. Because of the vulnerability, I feel like this poem is a lovely and intimate glimpse into the speaker and maybe even the poet’s life. Moreover, in the poem “Not Quite a Sonnet for Susan on Her Sixtieth Birthday,” Sparrowhawk has a very compelling free form as well as great diction to portray the speaker’s feelings towards “Susan.” The poet reflects on her own use of form in which she originally intended a sonnet that actually became a free form poem.

“I tried to write you a sonnet for your birthday… abab cdcd efef gg but the fact of the matter is you are definitely free verse and otherwise and wise.”

She admittedly switches gears from a sonnet form to a free form. Moreover, I like the analogy of comparing her friend, Susan, to a free form poem herself. As well as the wordplay in “…you are definitely free, verse and otherwise, and wise.” Moreover, she utilizes lots of little comments inside of parentheses throughout the poem.

“extraordinarily fun deliciously irreverent outlandishly chi-ful (and I love it that you know what that means)”

The use of her parenthetical inserts creates more intimacy between her and the friend receiving this gift. She adds some fun, witty inside jokes and personality. And the way she describes Susan; the words she uses, “extraordinary, deliciously irreverent.” She is describing a deep admiration of everything that makes Susan the way she is. While keeping few elements of a sonnet throughout the piece, the author iterates that her Susan cannot be described in any one form. She reminisces on the first time they met recalls specific details with her imagery and describes the instant connection the friends had. I love the final line of the poem, comparing Susan to a child, having the same whimsy and wonder as a newly Sixty year old woman. And ending the poem on an ellipse as to say that her and Susan’s friendship and story is far from over. Much like in the poem about her father, the speaker creates an intimacy between not only her and the person the poem is dedicated to, but also her and the reader. She does so through the use of parentheses, her imagery in describing her memories, and her witty metaphors. The first poem in the “Places” section of the book is one of my favorites called, “Musings on a Train.” I find the setting of this poem so refreshing. She truly captures what it is to feel like you are in the story itself with this poem. “I glance out as sheep newly shorn And young, bolt as the train Whistles, and the old ewes lazily graze, Ignoring the fray.”

I am fortunate to have ridden on a train in England as well, especially as someone who lives in Florida with very few, if any, passenger trains. This poem describes to calm whimsy of riding on a train traveling past hills and grassy fields. A quite relatable stanza in this piece, is as follows:

“I doze in strange comfortable discomfort Drifting in and out, nestled against my Ferdinand’s Jacket, crumpled on the table under my head.”

Though, not all readers might have had the experience of riding a train, the images she creates can certainly come to life in the reader’s imagination. I particularly love the phrase, “comfortable discomfort,” to describe falling asleep on a train. Again, maybe not all readers would know this as exactly as described, but I feel like the sensation of trying to fall asleep on a bus or car even, can be a strangely calming scenario in a not quite so comfortable vessel. Especially if you are riding in said vehicle with a loved one. The scene described in this poem is that of a comfortable, daily event that is intimate between the speaker and a loved one. Sparrowhawk’s imagery allows the readers a glimpse into the speaker’s life because of her descriptions of this sweet life. Another one of my absolute favorite pieces is “Ballad of Equeurdreville.” Sparrowhawk’s effortless rhyme scheme creates a hilariously witty and whimsical story in this poem. I love how while reading this poem the reader gets a scene laid out in front of them of this funny banter between a traveling couple.

“My, what a pleasant urban walk! said he As she dodged the biker […] I’m sure my mate said repast was just beyond this hill A lovely place for dinner, in lovely Equeurdreville.

Why, yes, my love! cooed she to he Somewhat loudly over the roar of the passing lorry.”

From the very first line, the setting is being described as “urban” and disruptive with the biker needing to be dodged, as well as the “roar of the passing lorry.” Yet, the positive attitudes of this couple is already creating a humorous build up.

“I fear a restaurant I will never see, said he. Her reply reassuringly whispered, perhaps more a shrill— Do you think we’ll ever bloody find this Equeurdreville?”

“[…] I dare say one can look from here to eternity, said he. But no sign, no hope of food, nor drink—no, nada, nil In this, this, uh…lovely…Equeurdreville.”

The couple have a shift in attitude the longer it takes for them to find this restaurant. I particularly love the last line of that stanza; it makes it seem like a sassy narrator is reading this poem aloud to the reader. “Oh my, said she. Oh my, indeed, said he As they walked and pondered what was the key Don’t know, said she, but make out a Will Next time you suggest to me Equeurdreville!”

The final stanza after the couple had finished their long awaited meal in Equeurdreville, we get the final round of witty commentary. The poem ends on a silly joke as well, adding to the fun nature of the rest of the poem. This poem reminded me of the whimsical ways of rhyming of Dr. Seuss. This poem is different from the other poems in the collection due to its playful theme. Yet it still holds the particular style especially when it comes to Sparrowhawk’s romantic diction and intimacy between characters. The contrast in playfulness from this poem compared to more mature themes in other poems, as well as her consistent rhyming scheme shows how talented and versatile Sparrowhawk is with her writing. Finally, in the section “Things,” there is a poem entitled, “Twilight,” that has just more of that calming scenery that Sparrowhawk paints.

“It’s that time of day again… The light, in its fade Softens… Well, softens Everything.”

This opening stanza creates such a lovely setting with just a few simple phrases, which is magical. I also love the third stanza continues with this serene imagery and the fourth begins to introduce another theme into this poem.

“I wonder if the fox Will make his appearance tonight Now that you, Not I, Are absent.

“I’ve missed you today I should have been with you today, But, painfully I really couldn’t Because we You and I Know how to love.” The speaker is describing beautiful scenery yet is lonely or missing her loved one. Yet, I gather this is the type of missing someone when they are just out for the day, perhaps at work.

“I know you are on your Way back to me now.

Warm soup is waiting And music, and me,

The words can wait.”

The lines of her poetry feel comfortable and familiar. Sparrowhawk has been able to take sorrow in her poems such as this one and spin it around into hope. This entire collection of poems by Donna Sparrowhawk reflects on a life filled with beauty and love for these persons, places, and things. She uses wonderous imagery and metaphors to describe these loved ones and locations in such intimate detail. The warmth, wit and charm in her words are the ties that carry over and connect all her poems in this collection, (Im)Proper Nouns.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Graphic description of BLood and Violence. A Mild description of Panic/Anxiety attack .... 

And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 3

Chapter 2

Word count : 2.4 k

From time to time their hangouts on Fridays become less frequent. Tim had already made meeting with Jason -a regular civilian- hard enough with his lifestyle. Back then, Jason would always seek Tim, just taking him out of that busyness for a chill night out. Or just because he misses Tim, and wanted to see his face.

Jason doesn’t do that anymore.

They used to meet once a week, that turned into once in a while, and it’s been two months since Jason saw him last. They would still text regularly though, because even though it’s hard to meet Tim face to face, Jason never wanted to cut Tim off, never. So texting and calling it is, and it’s so much easier than seeing the person physically.

Jason loves when Tim sends him pet pictures. Tim would send a picture Titus the great dane snuggling with Alfred the cat, and it was the cutest sight he’s ever seen.

Sometimes he would check on Tim, asking if things are well. They would call and chat about petty things at work or things they’re mildly annoyed with. Or sometimes just banter about politics. None of them know how they got into that, but they did.

Jason would ramble about novels and Tim about a newfound manga. Talking and chatting like that is easier than meeting Tim, but it gets less and less easy for Jason.

Sometimes their call will be interrupted by someone. Sometimes Tim sends a couple of pictures with Superboy. Sometimes Tim didn’t reply for a month because of a mission, and Jason can’t do anything but to pray to the void and the universe that he’s alive at least.

He hated those days without hearing from Tim. There are times that his hands will start to shake whenever he was reminded that he hadn’t heard about Tim. His mind just whirls into the worst possibility ever and it’s swirling down too fast for Jason to stop.

It gets dangerous when he would drop heavy things in the middle of work. A car engine, a box of tools, his phone, and as a bonus, sometimes they land on his feet. Or when he sees bad news from a villain on TV, the world would spin a little and it’s harder to breathe.

He wanted to check up. He just wanted to walk to Wayne manor and demanded to know where he is.

To calm himself, he reminds himself that Tim has superheroes friends on his side. A Kryptonian as a soulmate too. Tim will be fine.

But sometimes those train of thoughts backfires.

They really have grown up after all. Jason promised himself that he’ll never let Tim grows away from him, but knowing the path he takes, and the soul mark on his body, some things are inevitable. Even so, Tim will be fine. With or without him.

As ridiculous as it sounds, Jason is anxious because there’s nothing to be anxious about.

“Jason!”

The ground is so close to his face. When did he get down on his knees? No, not on his knees anymore, he’s sitting on the side of his hips. He sees his open hands on the grease-stained ground, and they started to double into four.

“Breathe, Jason. Come on, follow my lead.” It’s Mrs. Knope’s voice. Feeling her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and following her commands to inhale and exhale.

Jason is getting his composure back, enough to look back to the TV hanged on the wall.

A swarm of robots attack in central Gotham. Red Robin is the first to respond. Tim’s bleeding, thrown to the ground, but he keeps getting back up. Jason wanted to run there, to help, to do something.

His friends came in. Superboy carries Red Robin away.

And Jason sighs at ease.

Tim is safe.

Tim will be fine.

++++++++

[Two Months ago]

Tim

Saw you on tv todya

Today

I rly thought you gonn die if not for your bf saving your dumbass so many times

Get back to me after you’re conscious you mad lad

[One Month ago]

I hope you’re on a mission rn and not purposely ignoring me

Or are you still recovering? you better be having some fingers cracked for not replying to me

Jk tho heal faster bitch I need some Alfred’s fluff belly pics

[Three weeks ago]

Tim what’s going on?

[Two Weeks ago]

Hey, dude, I’m just checking in

Saw you in crime alley

You’re dressed as a girl but you ain’t fooling me

[Two weeks ago]

Nvm it’s not you

Where are you tho?

[Yesterday]

Tell me you’re okay at least

Just something

Anything

Tim

++++++++

It struck like a bad feeling. Like a ghost going through your body, sending chills down your spine that can only mean nothing but bad. He’s started shaking like a scared rabbit. The ground under his feet feels like moving like a boat through a storm, he lost strength in his grip and his legs.

He lands himself on the side of the car he was working on, leaning there until he gets his ground again. From far away he can see Mrs. Knope coming over to him.

“Jason, it’s okay,” she turned the TV off, knowing it’s one of Jason’s trigger.

It’s not. Not this time, and the reason is something Jason couldn’t explain. He holds on to her, and regain his breath like the practice she taught him.

“Mrs... Mrs. Knope,” Jason said after finally catching his breath, “I have to go, right now, I’ll work on weekends in return.” Then Jason takes off without looking back.

“What- oh you better!” she scolded before she’s out of Jason’s hearing range.

Running aimlessly, Jason found himself in the depth of Crime alley, trying to look for Tim there and it is as crazy as that sounds, but his mind is awry from rational thoughts to think any differently. So, there he goes running like he’s a scared tourist. Then, after regaining some of his sanity, he calls and texts Tim even though his chat from two months ago hasn’t been read yet. Unsurprisingly, Tim didn’t pick up.

Bearing no fruit from running around, the only reasonable place he can look for Tim is the Wayne manor.

He has absolutely zero fucks at the moment that it’ll make Batman know that Jason knew about their identities. That’s a problem he’ll deal with after he calms his sudden anxiousness. It sounds like a petty reason but currently, Jason feels like dying.

There’s no public transport to the rich residential area, but there’s a stop near there so he takes it. Annoying the people on the bus with the tapping of his foot. He calms himself, thinking about good things, positive things. That maybe he’s just imagining things, that Tim is fine and maybe on a prolonged mission, and he’s making a fool of himself.

That must be it. He just needs to know that Tim is fine, even though going to his home is stalker-ish, it’s just something Jason needs to do. His embarrassment will have to wait.

Jason runs there as soon as the bus’ door open, powered with adrenaline and anxiousness. Soon, Wayne Manor came into view, and he spams the bell by the gate until someone finally speaks from the speaker in a British accent.

“Wayne Manor, state your business.”

“I need to see Tim,” Jason demanded.

“I’m sorry sir, but Master Timothy is still at work.” Oh, that’s good, now he just needs to go there.

“Where? Tell me the adress.”

“And what is your business with Master Timothy?”

“I just need to see him, he’s not returning my calls and texts the past two months. So, just tell me where he is!” Jason is getting impatient.

“Pardon me, but I don’t like your threatening tone, please contact Master Timothy himself if you’d like to meet.”

“No! Mr. Pennyworth I’m sorry just listen to me,” Jason called his name, and the static noise means the butler hasn’t disconnected yet.

Jason felt like his breathing is getting hard, but, oh god, not now...

“I need to see him,” Jason’s breath is getting shallower, he doesn’t want to do this, but Pennyworth is stalling, deflecting, now Jason knows something is wrong. “I know you know who I am, and I know...” Jason gulps, “I know.”

There’s a pause from the other end, and the gates open.

“Please come in Mr. Todd.” The speakers say before it’s off.

Jason runs through the pathway to the grand 4-meter tall door. A butler opens it before Jason has a chance to knock. Face stoic and head high. A balding drey hair, matching thick mustache, judging eyes and dressed in a pristine black suit and white shirt. The old butler moves away from the door and gestured Jason to come in.

The room inside is warm and cozy, but so big that it feels uneasy for Jason that used to tight spaces. Carpeted floor, a high ceiling with a chandelier in the middle of it and a massive family portrait at the end of the wall. Tim is in it, along with Bruce Wayne, the first adopted son Richard Grayson, the second adopted daughter Stephanie Brown, and the blood son Damian Wayne.

“Master Tim had gone off-grid for an hour,” Pennyworth informed, “The others are trying to find him at this moment, we could wait together if you’d like, to calm yourself from having an attack.” The butler eyes him knowingly, eyes fond and understanding.

Jason grits his teeth, impatient, “No, where is the last point he’s offline.”

“If you have any intentions to find him, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“You have to,” Jason stares down at the butler with fist clenched, “Depends on the area, he may not make it.”

“I assumed you knew about Master Timothy’s capabilities, I guess I assume wrong.” The butler shows his deprecating face towards Jason, and he’s not having that.

“Oh I know Tim can kick-ass, but I know these people even more, and their reputation underground. You don’t know how deep those villains connection runs. The people down there will do anything, only for a few bucks, or just something to eat. And you bet they would kill and conspire, and they won't care who they kill.”

Then, the butler’s expression is finally something else than calm stoic, but he stays silent.

“You don’t need to tell me anything else, just what his alias is, and the last time he’s visible. Please,” Jason begged, and it’s hard to control the croak threatening at the back of his throat.

“He’s last seen on Fulton street,” that’s near Crime alley, “his alias is Cal Corcoran.”

Jason sighs a relieved breath, “Thank you, and one more thing, don’t tell them that I’m looking for Tim.”

“Why is that.”

“Because he won't like my way, and I don’t want him to hold me back.”

Pennyworth’s face twisted in regret, but before the butler can say anything. Jason holds his arm in a firm grasp, eyes sharp the other’s pair of old wise eyes.

“I know you don’t trust me, but you have to believe in me. I’ll find him.” He’s filled with unshakable tenacity, newfound courage and an absolute determination to do anything. “Even with my life on the line.”

Pennyworth doesn’t move even a muscle on his face, then he holds the hand on his arm.

“Please bring him home,” the butler finally says.

Jason nods gratefully and runs towards the city. He knows exactly who to see first.

++++++

Jason had never been back here for years. When he left, he never looks back. How many years has it been? Yet everything is still the same. Still so easy to pick the door open. The room still smells foul, and the furniture is just as old and scarce.

An old man sprawled the couch, a beer on his hand and the tactical gear on his body means that he just returned from ‘work. He looks even older as if that’s even possible compared the state Jason last seen him.

“What are you doing here,” his dad slurred in his speech, not even bothered to stand up.

“You are going to tell me the list of your friends and where I can meet them.”

“And why do you think I would tell you?” He smirks, and he laughs, like a drunk. Then he throws the bottle of beer, aiming for Jason’s head, which he gives credit to his dad it was pretty close.

But he avoids it with ease, and the bottle breaks on the wall behind him.

“Get out! Get the fuck outta--” His dad finally shuts up, thanks to Jason’s knife against his throat.

His dad twists his face in outrage, “You don’t have the balls to--” Jason takes the knife away, leaving a red mark on the neck, and sink that knife on his dad’s right hand and through his thigh when Jason sees it grabbing into something in his pocket. The man only screamed for a millisecond before Jason shoved a bundle of cloth on his old man’s screaming mouth.

There are tears rolling down his sunken eyes. Jason never saw him cry before, not even when his mom died.

Jason left the knife there, and pulls another one and place it on a red line on his neck. His dad twitch away, he tried to, but Jason’s knife presses his neck hard against the couch. There’s no compassion left in him for his dad, not ever fear or guilt when looking at the man’s terrified and pained face.

“I will and can kill you if you’re not useful. I can get the names from anyone else, but I figure... You’d like a chance to do your son at least one favor, wouldn’t you?” Jason doesn’t frown, doesn’t show any expression. He doesn’t want to grace his dad with any expression. The knife sinks into the think fled on his neck, and Jason mercilessly drags it towards his Adam's apple like cutting a cake, leaving a trail of red that leaks blood.

“Wouldn’t you?” Jason says more firmly, pressing the knife even deeper.

His dad is shaking, eye blown wide in terror, and finally nods.

“Good, and along with the names, I’m going to need your guns and stash of drugs.”

[on-a-permanent-hiatus]

Mend (4/4) [p.p.]

Summary: If he trusted you, he had a crap way of showing it. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2049

Warnings: same as the other three I guess, except this one is cuter

A/N: Order in the court! This is the last part! I hope you enjoyed! Please leave some feedback in my messages or ask box or comments! 

callyourMasterlist

Break (Part 1) Bond (Part 2) Salvage (Part 3)

Peter knew it was wrong, keeping his twin sister in the dark. It had been almost a year since he’d started the internship, since he’d become Spiderman. And you had no clue, the whole time.

The apartment was darker than Peter would have liked. There was a single light on in the entire home, a yellowish lamp down the stairs and in the far corner of the living room, next to the sofa. Peter had never liked the dark, never. It meant secrets and lies. He knocked on the wall like one would knock on a door. He wanted to talk to you, to make sure that you were okay. The first thing he’d done when he entered through his unlocked window was change. Spiderman was the problem here.

God, he couldn’t even imagine what you were going through. He tried to wrap his mind around it. How would you feel? After the - what was the right word? -the incident. And then, he’d just come in, verbal guns blazing. He’d yelled at you, he’d just- what was he thinking?

He wanted to hit himself. Seriously, what could have been going through his mind? Yelling at you, in your state? It was stupid and downright brutal. I was mean and inconsiderate. It wasn’t what a big brother should have done, even if he was only older by a couple of minutes.

There wasn’t a reply from you or Aunt May, and he knew what that meant. Quietly, he made his way to his room, shutting his door with an audible *click* so you knew that if you came up the stairs, you wouldn’t have to see him. ‘It’s the least I can do,’ he thought to himself.

You sat with Aunt May for a while, your head against her chest and her arms around you. If you were asked how long, you wouldn’t be able to place it. It felt like hours, but you suspected it’d only been thirty minutes, maybe.

It was hard to wrap your mind around what had happened, or more specifically, what your brother was. You’d seen the news, the youtube videos. You knew now that he’d done some pretty incredible things: stopping a bus with his body, preventing bank robberies, fighting with the fricken iron man.

You supposed you couldn’t really hold it against him, him lying to your face. You’d asked if he was safe, and he wasn’t, but it was Peter. Even if he was in danger, you should’ve known better than to think that he’d tell you that.

But that didn’t entirely excuse his actions. Every time you tried to convince yourself it was okay, you just remembered he kept this from you. You tried to tell yourself that he still loved you, that he still trusted you, but the truth was, he. kept. this. from. you. If that was his version of trust, then the two of you were seeing out of very different lenses.

✶✶✶

The next few weeks were horrible, for both you and Peter. Word had spread to your friends about what had happened to you, and they tried to visit. You turned them away each time.

As the days of summer became fewer, MJ and Ned dropped by more often. Most days, MJ would sit outside your locked door with a book while Ned sat in Peter’s room with an unsolved Rubik's Cube, peering over at your door every so often. They’d both talk as if their favorite twins were still functioning members of society. They’d long since passed the point of trying to get you talking.

Peter never said anything you could hear, but you figured he was probably sitting on the top bunk of his bed, staring up at the plastic stars on his ceiling, like he always did when he came home from a rough day of interning- err- of Spiderman-ing.

He was probably wallowing in his guilt. You didn't know how to feel about that. The twin part of you screamed for you to forgive him. Just put this whole thing in the past and run over to his room shouting comforting words until he smiled. But the other half of you knew he wouldn’t get out of this easy. Peter had ruined your trust in him. When you found of MJ and Ned already knew? God, that was a blow right to the heart.

You missed him. You knew it. Even when he’d forgotten you for nine-ish months, you still had more contact than you did now. You missed going to Delmar’s with him. You missed messing with his legos and waiting for him to spot the piece that was out of place. You missed just being able to talk to him about anything and everything.

Deep down, you knew you loved him. That you would trust him with your life and certainly with everything else. He was your brother, your twin, seriously, c’mon. You knew you’d have to forgive him eventually because you needed him.

But you didn’t know if it was the same for him. If his past actions were anything to go off of, it wasn’t. Did he love you? Ehh debatable. Did he trust you? Absolutely not. Did he need you? You could seriously take that point to court. And you would win.

It was a Saturday. You’d both finally come out of your room and were sitting silently in the kitchen. An untouched bowl of cheerios sat in the middle of the table.

“Hey Y/N?” Peter called timidly. You looked up from your hands, almost startled. It’s been a while since he tried to talk to you.

Normally, you wouldn’t respond, you’d just look back down at your hands as if he hadn’t said anything at all. But all this banter was childish. The silent treatment? You would’ve glared at yourself. You hadn’t even given him a chance. Clearly, Peter was the better person. He knew this had to be sorted out. He was always better.

“Hey Peter,” you said, wincing when your voice cracked.

And then it was silent.  It was ironic, you thought, all these days of silence and we can’t even think about what to talk about.

“I was thinking we could hang out today,” he said, finally. Somehow, the words sounded borrowed. Maybe you’d said it before. You thought about it for a while. It had been almost a month. You’d healed from a bit from the incident. And you still needed answers.

“Okay,” you said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I dunno, I was thinking that we could just hang out, maybe go to Delmar’s and pick up a sandwich like we used to,” he said carefully. Those words were definitely borrowed. You cracked what could almost be considered a smile.

“Sure,” you said tentatively. “That sounds nice.”

✶✶✶

Aunt May wouldn’t be home tonight. You sat next to Peter on the outside fire escape, and you both picked at your sandwiches. It was awkward, and it should’ve been given the recent events. But that didn’t mean that you liked it.

“Look, Peter-” “Y/N, I can explain-” You both stopped, embarrassed, for some reason, that you’d spoken at the same time.

“You first,” you suggested. He said he could explain, and that was what you needed.

“Y/N, I- I know that this was all... not good- err- bad. It was bad,” he started. “You just- I didn’t want you to know not because I didn’t want to tell you, ‘cause I did. I just- I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You could understand where he was coming from, you were twins after all.

You didn’t say anything for a while. You knew you couldn’t be mad anymore. You were hurt, yes, but it was time to be done with being hurt. This was your brother for heaven’s sake, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You smiled, but only to yourself. Days ago, you’d promised yourself; you were going to fix your relationship. And maybe it was time to let go of the grudge you held against him. Maybe it was time to forgive him out loud. But he couldn’t get off that easy. He was still wrong. 

“Peter… Peter, you hurt me. I mean, after the incident and you just came and yelled at me, and, granted I didn’t know you were Peter at the time, but once I found out- I mean, how would you feel in my shoes?” you asked. He let out a hesitant chuckle.

“Uncomfortable, I guess. I don’t think I could even stand in those uncomfortable flat shoes. No support whatsoever.” Peter was talking about your vans. You cracked a smile. “But I know, Y/N. I know I was wrong. And I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know, Peter. I know you are. And- and I’m sorry, too. But, I mean, I worked so hard this summer to become siblings again. And- I mean, you just- I don’t know how you could not tell me. I- I feel like you don’t trust me.” This was pure emotion, right here. You needed to get this out before you told him everything was okay. You needed him to know.

“NO! No, no, no Y/N that’s not it, that’s not it at all. I- I do trust you.” he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah, well you have a crap way of showing it.”

“I know, Y/N, I know what this looks like. But I swear to God, to Thor, Loki, I swear I didn’t keep this from you because I don’t trust you. I trust you, I do, I promise, I swear on my life that I trust you,” his words were jumbling together, and you briefly wondered how fast someone could talk. “Y/N, I trust you. I know you would keep my secret, I know you would keep me safe. I just- I don’t trust myself. I- I didn’t- I don’t trust myself to protect you if anything were to happen- If you were in danger because of me. I just-” He stopped to catch his breath. His breathing was almost hysterical.

“It’s okay, Peter-” you started, a little worried, but it seemed he had really worked himself up.

“No, it’s not! Look, Y/N, with everyone else, I’d be broken if something happened to them. If they were hurt, if they died because they knew me and my secret. But you- If you were to get hurt, if something were to happen to you, if you died I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I- I didn’t want you to know, it’s true. But not because I don’t trust you. I don't want you to know because I don’t trust myself to be able to protect you. You mean too much to me.”

“Peter…” you started. He was blowing your mind. Before, your emotions had been all over the place, but you knew where they lied now. 

“I hurt you, I lied to you. Y/N, I’ve been a broken man with you ignoring me. You’re my twin sister. I need you. I need you. Because you’re my rock. You keep me sane. I don’t know how I went almost an entire school year shutting you out, but I could never do it again because I love my sister. I love you.” You smiled a real smile, cheek to cheek.

“That was so heartfelt, Peter,” you smiled. “I was gonna forgive you anyways, you know.” He smiled back at you.

“I know, but I just needed to let my little sister how much I appreciate her,” he responded, reaching over the pinch your cheeks. You scrunched up your nose but laughed a moment later.

“You’re only older by a couple of minutes.” 

The past few weeks had been bad, hard, rough even. But you were going to be okay. Both of you were. You could get over it. Peter being Spiderman? Psht, it was practically old news already. The incident? Someday you’d be able to call it ‘attempted rape’. That day was not today, but you couldn’t help the massive smile that plaster over your entire face regardless. Auntie was right. It would be painful, but you were stronger. You would survive.

And Peter would be there with you, every step of the way, just like twins were.

Thank you for reading!! If you liked it or it made you smile, please leave some feedback and go check out another work of mine, Surprise!

[magma-paint]

Well, I think I finally figured it out. The constant anxiety attacks over school and tests, the frustration that I can’t retain information like I used to and the vitamin supplements I’ve been taking to fix my memory and focus just aren’t working, the constant fear of failure as a result, all of it, it traces right back to my job.

Working retail, while it’s given me job experience and pays the bills, has NOT had any positive effect on my mental health in the three years I’ve worked it (though you could probably bump that up to 5 years if you count my first job working at the truckstop food court). It’s had an astronomically bad effect on my ability to focus and especially my ability to retain information, both of which I’ve been needing increasingly as I work toward finishing my degree and the courses get harder and harder and more and more demanding, with both Structural Geology and Linear Algebra being prime examples of this and the consequences coming from reduced memory and ability to focus. I found that I work best on assignments when I have some kind of quiet or have some kind of sounds I like going on in the background, such as relaxing music from Pokemon, Homestuck, Jak and Daxter, quiet piano or Celtic music and absolutely hate it when I’m trying to study on the bus or in the library or another designated classroom because it’s way too loud and disruptive. However, the problem starts coming in when cashiering gets involved. It’s noisy, the acoustics of the building amplify the most grating sounds, it’s a sensory overload nightmare I have to tough out for up to eight hours (probably nine because the sound can’t be escaped in the break room and the annoying medley of coworker banter, text ringtones, and videos and mobile games plague it because apparently no one’s heard of headphones and I’ll probably be seen as an asshole if I say anything about it). In response, I’ve developed a kind of autopilot I just switch to when it’s insanely busy where all of it becomes registered as ignore-able background noise and you need to speak loud and clear to get my attention. Cashiering is also insanely monotonous and brainless; all you’re doing is standing there, scanning things, pressing buttons, and that’s it. All the calculations are being done for you. There are no opportunities to do something else related to the front end or seek the department manager of wherever you’re trying to transfer to. It’s just one continuous stream of nothing that will surprisingly exhaust you physically though mentally is the target. And the final piece is the setup. Once the customer leaves, the slate gets wiped clean so the next one can be taken care of and the previous one isn’t occupying your attention any longer. They’re out of the picture once the transaction is completed and the bags are gathered. Rinse and repeat until the end of the shift.

In order, the noise problem still affects my ability to study, but it’s bleeding into my focus in the lecture as the autopilot kicks in and registers the lecture as white noise, even when I’m paying attention to what’s being written on the board or shown in the powerpoint. I’m at the point where I cannot accurately register what is important information that needs to be kept and what’s auditory garbage that can just be filtered out. So that one formula or important facet of geologic structures that’s absolutely key to doing good on the exam is most likely going to be registered as trash and filtered out. This is especially bad when you take into account that I can’t write notes fast enough and neat enough that they’ll make sense later, and if you’re like my current math teacher, good luck finding that information again because it’s nowhere in the book and I can’t find any sites that address it exactly without demanding money (instructors, please stop including problems on homework that never get covered in class and are hard to get access to if we don’t understand it). The monotony and brainlessness that comes with cashiering should go without saying. It’s wired me to do the task quickly and move on if it’s taking too long to sort out. As a result, if I’m not grasping the concept immediately, I’m going to abandon it entirely which will make it even harder to revisit if it’s going to be on the test and I’m still struggling with it. That’s how my grade starts suffering. As for the exhaustion, I obviously can’t work on homework at the register even when it’s completely dead in the store and we might only see one or two customers in an hour and a half. I try to work on it during breaks but idiots will make you want to clear your head and not even think about cracking open the book. Some people have suggested reviewing the concepts mentally while scanning, and I have tried it. It didn’t work and on top of that it only made me more exhausted and wore me out much faster than if I was completely blank or retreating into my mind to sort out my characters and their stories. In fact, it only made the information even harder to recall. And the final nail in the coffin is the new customer, dump old information setup. After doing this for so long, you cannot expect me to pick up a book, do the assigned reading, and be able to remember a thing I read or a concept within once I put the book down any more. No joke, I’ve forgotten important notes I’ve taken and concepts covered in class entirely within five minutes after class is dismissed. I’ve forgotten assignments that covered stuff that was going to be on the test even after focusing and working on the problems diligently. And that’s even factoring in essential oils and brain health vitamins I use for the sole purpose of helping me focus on schoolwork. That is how awful my memory and focus have become as a result of three years of cashiering.

I suppose it gets even worse when the only anchor for my sanity, drawing and exploring my characters’s stories, have become a double edged sword if not an outright curse. While I quickly exhaust at work if I think about my school stuff, thinking about my characters, their stories, and some headcanons I have about the world that Cuphead takes place it tends to keep me steady and from wanting to just rip off the vest and leave with a deadpan “I’m out of here” right in the middle of a rush or outright collapsing into a tired pile of frustration that just ran out of patience for your stupid “It won’t scan? Must be free today!” jokes. But it quickly becomes a vicious cycle when the stress of everything escalates and the only thing I know how to do is retreat into fantasy, which ends up becoming the least productive thing I can do to what really matters. What it comes down to is that working retail has left a disastrous impact on my academic abilities, especially in areas where focus and concentration are an absolute necessity, and during the semester has turned my favorite pastime and sanity anchor into an absolute hindrance to my studies. It’s going to take me down and take everything else with it just for the sake of keeping a reliable worker drone in the company.

Retail is a dead-end job and the only benefit I can see to it anymore is that it does pay the bills. The 10% employee discount isn’t enough of a perk to keep me there (funnily enough, when my older sister worked at Walmart part-time when she was in college years ago, the discount was 20%) and I don’t want to put down for the health/retirement/vision care plans because it’ll just keep me there longer and make it harder to leave and more of a hassle to get a new plan together after leaving. And with what it’s doing to my ability to get through the rest of school, it’s not even worth it to stay with Walmart. This is why I launched commissions and have planned to make a webcomic that could bring in fan funding from those who wanted to support the project. If I could get both off the ground and enough people coming in who’d like to pay me to make them some art, I could quit the retail job and cut out all the problems that it’s been causing me. In fact, I’m about to send out my priceboards again and get those circulating to see if I can get some business. In the meantime, I’m also going to try and get a position on campus as a TA for one of the earlier Geology courses offered or something productive that would help with my studies and reverse the damage retail has had. If you want, you can check out my commissions page to see how you can help out--I’m even gonna offer a Christmas discount for orders through January 7th if you wanna take advantage of it--or you can always support me at Ko-Fi if you don’t have enough for a full-blown commission.

And now, with that off my chest, I’m going to get back to studying for the time being and finishing my Studio MDHR portfolio. I know this post has been insanely long, but it’s something that’s just been building up and building up until I can’t ignore it anymore.

[disinvited-guest]

3/13/18 Recap

Here is the first one! This show was truly fantastic.  It was banter heavy and they played a lot of songs I had never heard live before. I also got to meet @forktailfarmer for the first time at this show.  Yay!

So it turns out Missouri is huge.  I drove through it for the vast majority of the 7+ hours it took me to get from my uncles’ house in Indiana to the venue.  When I finally got there, I parked in the wrong place, went around the side of the building and Curt was just coming out of door.  I pretended not to notice him, and I think it worked since I was wearing a jacket over my tmbg shirt.  I then realized I was in the wrong parking lot and went back to move my car.  I parked in the right place after a trip to a bathroom and went around side of the building again.  Curt was  walking out that same door as I went by.

I got into line and waited with the other fans who soon showed up.  We saw Linnell walk in front of building briefly and listened to them soundcheck Let's Get This Over With and Music Jail. They seemed to be having some trouble with the former, playing one bit over and over, and I made the comment that it didn’t sound like we would be hearing it that night.

An hour before doors, they checked us all and moved us to an inside waiting area.  Curt was just wandering in and out of the space, once or twice with Scott and the new lighting guy.  They then let us in to the room, which was basically a warehouse with absolutely enormous fans on the ceiling and windows along the top of the walls.  While we were waiting in there, Flans did a vibe report, which I tried to watch, but couldn’t really hear.

Some general notes from this show:

I was right in front of Flans’ mic, and so he got up super close at several points in the show.

Curt was absolutely FANTASTIC! He seemed much more comfortable with everyone else than when I saw them in February, and it really boosted his performance..

The guys came onstage and immediately shattered my prediction by jumping into Lets Get This Over With.  It didn’t go entirely smoothly, but it was exciting to hear anyway and I liked that they had Linnell on accordion for it.  Flans gave us a quick greeting and told us they were playing two sets. Linnell responded snarkily. I can’t remember exactly how, but their back and forth went on long enough that Flans told the audience that them talking was all the show was “the second set is all spoken word”

From there they went into Ana Ng, and then straight to Damn Good Times.  The audience supplied quite a bit of the backing vocals for the latter, I saw Linnell grin and move back from the mic because of it.  This  was  when Danny recognized me and I got a big smile!

Flans mentioned the venues name, The Truman, and said that adding to the number of venues they had played at that were named after presidents.  He started to list the presidential places they had played, but only name the Lincoln Theater before someone from the crowd shouted “Trump Hotel.”  

Flans responded they hadn’t played there, then moved his mic stand closer to the crowd and made several comments that weren’t quite criticisms before deciding “We’re not gonna get political, we’re just gonna assume everything we think in here”-pointing to his head-“is what you’re thinking, it’s like television” and started into Racist Friend.

Curt came on in the middle of the song and blew everyone away, and then the band went straight into Hey Mr. DJ, ending with the crazy fast, shouty ending.  Afterwards Flans said that he was tempted to shout “one more time” and try to do it again at the new speed.  He then introduced Curt, adding that he was from Kansas City!

It turns out that Mark Pender, the other trumpet player who worked with tmbg, is also a Kansas City native and the Johns riffed on that idea for a while.  Flans said that trumpet players must be in bloom here, and Linnell suggested that only cities that stretch across 2 states can have so many trumpet players.

Apparently the crowds’ laugher at this was unexpected, because Flans complained that we were reacting too quickly “It’s a Tuesday night, it's not even that late, there’s no reason for you to be drunk, but we expect it anyway.”

Linnell chimed in, saying that this was the point of the show where a guy would start shouting random things at them.  He did a great impression of drunken gibberish then added “And you realize he would be shouting those things even if he was the only person in the room.”

This reminded Flans of a time when he saw a Reggae band and everyone in the crowd was high “I, unfortunately was not” and whenever the band did something cool, the crowd would shout “Rewind!”, and the band would do whatever it was again.

He then told us about the only other time he saw that happen. He was in a movie theater (he told us the movie, but I don’t remember what it was) and there was a scene where a bus and a train crash into each other and the crowd all immediately stood up and shouted dewind!

“But the projectionist was not as kind as the reggae band” Flans finished.

The rewind thing became a running joke, and was shouted by the crowd at several points, with varying degrees of success.

I believe it was After All Time What when they mentioned the rearview mirror, which was fixed to Linnell’s keyboard.  Apparently it was newly purchased from a truck stop in Kansas.  Flans tried to explain to us what it was for, saying there were parts of the show where Linnell needed to see Marty. “It's all part of our ongoing effort to improve the quality of the show”  Linnell told us that he had the idea onstage but it took a long time for him to remember it when he was offstage.  He told us that the real reason he needed it was to see when Marty was making fun of him.

Somewhere around this part of the show, the guys discussed Young Marble Giants, another band who had been on Electra at the same time they had, made up of two guys and a girl.  Apparently when they were touring Europe the first time, all of the “cigar smoking interviewers” would ask them where the girl was.  They of course had no idea what they were talking about and would answer “what girl?”  Linnell thought that was good, because it made them seem mysterious.

Flans asked Linnell to introduce the next song and Linnell told us “This song is about a Pencil Rain, but I’ll leave the title a surprise.”

During these past few songs, Dan Miller had been on and off the stage.  He was having trouble with his guitar, but it also looked like he was filming something on his phone.  Eventually he switched guitars for a bit and let the crew fix whatever was bothering him about the first.

They went straight into Music Jail from Pencil Rain, then paused because Flans didn’t know what came next.  Linnell started the keyboard part for Everybody Conga, but Flans stopped him and had Marty go straight into No One Knows My Plan.

After the song Flans said that the mirror must not be working and asked Linnell if they needed to put a light on it.  Linnell said they didn’t.  The mirror worked and he and Marty had used it to do a thing on Music Jail.  Flans joked that if the mirror didn’t work, their other option was walkie-talkies and demonstrated to us how it would work “kssh-are you stopping the song now Marty?-kssh” Linnell then brought up the band Phish, who apparently has ipads to text each other onstage with. Flans thought that those texts “should be a matter of public record” and needed to be projected onto a screen onstage.

They played Dead and I Left My Body, and then Linnell went to get clippy and Danny put down his bass and walked towards the keyboards in preparation for Cloisonne.  He couldn’t get there though, because Linnell had gone back to the keyboard mic so he could argue semantics with Flans.

Flans said that the audience might “notice Linnell playing an incredibly large piece of metal.”  But Linnell interrupted, saying “I’m not playing it yet, I’m holding it.”  Flans corrected himself, then told us “You don’t recognise the Contra Alto Clarinet because it stayed in its case at your high school concert band recital, next to the bass clarinets.”

Then Linnell, still at his keyboard mic, took a complete left turn and told us “contra alto clarinets are like bitcoin, if you get one now, you’ll be set later on.”  Flans cracked up, and agreed that they would be “worth a lot in post-apocalyptic future with no electric,”  then Linnell moved away from the mic and Flans introduced Danny on the keyboard, telling us we should note how he “plays with incredible precision.”  Finally making it up to said  keyboard, Danny peeked over it and grinned at me before they started the song.

After Cloisonne, Linnell started to introduce the Mesopotamians, telling us about when he “was watching TV three thousand years ago.”

Flans interrupted him to say that “TV was better then” and launched into a bizarre tangent about the fourth version of I Love Lucy, where she was a dinosaur.  After Flans did his best Dinosaur Lucy impression, Linnell (who was getting over a cold) said that he thought he sounded like her.  

Flans responded in the same voice “Where’s the girl?” (referencing the Young Marble Giants thing from earlier) and then continued on his I Love Lucy theme with “My name is Lucille Ball and I love the taste of Menthol cigarettes.”  This fell a bit flat with the crowd, and Flans told us “some jokes we make for ourselves.” and continued on “Have you seen my dinner? It was a bunch of menthol cigarettes.”  Apparently this was one of the jokes for them not us, because the Dans were both grinning and when Flans added “ And they were lit!” they cracked up.

Bringing things back to the song at hand, Linnell said “Anyway, this is what I watched on tv 3000 ya when i was hallucinating!” and they started The Mesopotamians.

Afterwards, Flans told us that the first set was winding down, and he forgot to make some stage announcements.  He delivered them while ticking off items on his fingers “ We have a new album. It’s better than it has to be. People have noticed.”  The then asked anyone who bought a vinyl copy of the album to hold it up.  Several copies popped up around the room and Flans told us “See, it’s like a calendar but it has a record inside.”

The last song of the first set was Spy.  For the ending, Linnell had everyone play opposite several sound effects, including a doorbell, buzzer, and sawing sound.  When Flans got control, he stopped everyone but Curt (he had to clarify he wanted Curt to keep going). Curt would play long blast, then there would be several beats silence.  Flans built everything else up around that and it sounded absolutely wild and amazing. Eventually he added in the audience for a bit.  Linnell would play a choir note on the keyboard and Flans had us match it to...mixed results.  Flans brought everyone on stage to a crazy crescendo and they left the stage to thunderous applause.

The second set was preceded, of course, by the Last Wave Video and the guys didn’t even wait for the outro to go onstage.They went straight into Older with no preamble, then Flans started to introduce Tippecanoe  “people always want us to play old songs, so this one is from 1840” but Linnell interrupted, saying that wasn’t what was next on the setlist, Flans was confused and Linnell said they could play it if Flans wanted, but instead Flans turned back to us and said “People always tell us they hate our new songs”, he called on the theatre majors in the audience to fake their enthusiasm and they played I Like Fun.

They then moved on to Tippecanoe.  Flans told us we had “Probably heard the title from the one time you woke up from your nap in 9th grade history” and that it was “actually sung in bars,” very controversial, and the “song that was sung before your great-great grandfather was punched in the face.”

After Tippecanoe they introduced Marty playing the school bell For Shoehorn.  The bell apparently “induces a strong Pavlovian response” and Linnell went off on a small tangent about it making us want to knock over chairs and throw books.  Marty stood between them for the song, he would lift the bell to just over his head, hit it at the appropriate time, pause, nod, then lower the bell and stand with his eyes closed, head bowed, and hands in front of him.  It was hilarious.

Linnell introduced Self Called Nowhere by saying it was a song his grandmother taught to him.  He then clarified that he had taught it to his grandmother first, then she had taught it back to him when he forgot it.  Goof.  

Flans then had Marty play “the best part of a Phil Collins show” eventually, Flans told Marty to stop, but he was so into it, it took him a few seconds.  When he did he looked at Flans and asked “Rewind?”  The crowd picked up on it and started shouting “rewind!” and so Flans had him do it again.

Linnell then started the accordion part for How Can I Sing Like a Girl while Flans introduced it.  “This next song is from our...Factory Showroom album and its about being in junior high school choir.”  

After that, the Dans returned to stage, and Marty moved back to the drum riser, where he ate a snack while watching Curt’s intro to Istanbul. Once again, Curt used both the regular trumpet and the valve trombone, which was fantastic.  Flans had the guys do two fake endings, which fooled most of the crowd both times.

I believe it was here that Flans asked everybody where Omaha was.  The crowd shouted “North” back at him. He was slightly confused by their response and many people in the crowd pointed which way North was.  Eventually Dan and Danny pointed in the same direction from stage.  Flans then complained “who booked this tour?”  Since they had traveled such a long way to get here, he explained, he had kinda thought they would be going in the opposite direction.  He then turned to the crowd and stated “As you can see ladies and gentlemen, I have no idea where I am.”  Everybody laughed and he leaned into the mic to add “God is done with me,” which made everybody on stage completely lose it.

They then launched into a run of songs with no banter: Number Three, Wicked Little Critta, and Twisting.  Wicked Little Critta was noted on the setlist as “no words” but Linnell did the words for it, so I’m not sure why. Dan and Danny were really goofing around during that song, since there are large sections they don't play during.

Flans introduced Mrs. Bluebeard as another new song then shouted “Theatre majors, we’re counting on you! We’ll accept lit majors too, just fake your enthusiasm!”

Linnell then told (with Flans chiming in) the Amy Schumer show story with the “I hope you go to see your favorite band and they only play new songs!” line and Flans told us “We tried to start a conversation with her on twitter about it but it didn’t happen.”

I’m not positive, but I think it was after Bluebeard that Linnell told us all a story about how someone at a show made eye contact with him, flipped him off, and nodded. And how he didn’t know what was happening.  Flans said that the lady who had flipped Linnell off was “the definition of a diva,” since she believed everyone else understood what she was going for.

Linnell demonstrated how the lady had flipped him off, and Flans warned him that it would be all over the internet now  “I did that at a show, now you can search on the internet and find that picture everywhere.”  Apparently, this upset his mom, and when he told her “I’ve done a lot of shows mom” she said (he did a great voice for it) “Yes, but why did you have to do that?”

Linnell then decided that it was actually Flans’ mom who flipped him off and that it was all payback.

They played When Will You Die, with “us and Curt” wondering. Afterwards Linnell got his accordion, and there was an issue with a bit of feedback.  It didn’t seem like a big deal, but Flans said they dreaded a little bit of feedback because it could build up.  Linnell chimed in that “it’s like an air raid siren to us.”  Flans then announced Turn Around as Turning for some reason.  I’d never heard it live before, and it was truly fantastic.

Then it was time to Introduce the Band.  After Marty’s solo, we all shouted rewind and he did it again.  After introducing the guys in the band, they thanked all the crew members, including the lighting guy, who was new for this leg of the tour.

Flans then decided he was going to look in the crowd for beards.  He decided that there were “40% less beards than average, but the ones that are there are very prodigious” and announced he was going to make eye contact with the two best beards.  Danny came to the front of the stage to point out the ones he thought were best, although Flans made different picks.  With the beard matter settled, they closed out the set with Birdhouse in Your Soul, with an especially awesome “interruption” of the guitar part by Curt.  

The cheering and clapping for an encore quickly morphed into a chant of “Rewind! Rewind!” that lasted until the guys came back on stage.  Flans went straight up to the mic to tell us  “We just had a very interesting band meeting... We’re never telling that story again.”  This was greeted with laughs, cheers, and even a shout or two of “rewind.”  Flans then told us “We’re gonna play some songs and then we’re gonna leave again.”

Linnell told him that that was actually a good segway because that's what the two songs were about.  They then played End of the Tour and New York City, which I suppose could both be about that.

The cheering for the second encore didn’t include many shouts for a rewind (it’s a really hard word to chant guys).  Marty was the first one back onstage, and he started the beat to Particle Man as the others joined him.

Linnell put on his accordion as Flans started us clapping, and then told us “Don’ts stop clapping, no matter what happens onstage, no matter how much we beg!” then in a much calmer voice “I was just kidding, you can stop clapping.”  Most of the audience kept on going, but a few stopped, L pointed one person who did shook his head.  The interlude this time was Here You Come Again.  After Particle Man was over, Linnell stayed on the accordion and they played Doctor Worm for their final song of the night, the big highlight of that was a big Linnell jump at the end of the solo.

They were right back out with a case of stickers, and Flans handed me a big stack of them.  I did my best to stay out of his way while holding onto my spot in hopes of a setlist.  The girl next to me then started begging Danny for a setlist.  He told her he couldn't, so I assumed they were saving them for something and turned to move out of the rest of the crowd’s way.  Not a second later though, I heard the same girl scream “thank you” and turned back just in time to miss getting one of the two remaining setlists that Fresh was giving out (which I assumed were the last ones).  

Danny noticed and caught my eye, looking mildly concerned, and I shrugged and smiled at him because it wasn’t that big a deal.  But then he walked back and got a setlist from the side of the drum riser and brought it over to me.  I took it with my left hand and handed him his mini with my right.  He looked at it and smiled at me before leaving the stage.

I tried to give Flans his mini, but he said he wasn’t signing anything, and I gave up.  I met briefly with Amber (the other Amber obviously, I didn't meet myself) and her entourage (husband, sister, sister’s husband) and then they headed over to the merch stand while I went to the circle forming around Marty (who had started signing) to give him his mini.

I was standing pretty far back, watching the crew start to pack up when Danny came back onstage and motioned me over.  He said he loved the mini and wanted a picture.  I was slow on the uptake that he wanted a picture with me and it (since I am both a complete ditz and was starstruck), but once I realized I pulled out my camera and a very kind fan waiting on Marty offered to take the picture.  

Sanny sat on the stage with his arm around me and his head leaning on top of mine and we both smiled at the camera.  After I got my phone back he told me he wanted me to send him the picture.  “Are we friends on Facebook?” I nodded.  “Just post it there and tag me.  What’s your name again? Ashley?”

“Amber”

“Ok, Amber” and a smile.

I grinned back like a idiot and there was a brief pause (nice, not awkward I think) before I mentioned I had made minis for the other guys.  He said he could take them back for me.  I asked if he was sure, since I didn’t want to make him carry them all, but he was ok with it so I pulled the rest from my purse.  He seemed impressed, especially that I had made a Curt, and asked if I had made them all.  I babbled for a bit about that as I got every one out, telling him how I had a lot of energy after the Cleveland show and had driven home and started on his at 3am, and how of course I would make one for everybody.  I got another radiant smile, and then he took the minis backstage and eventually out to the bus, which I later learned to my delight through several social media posts. I give myself a B- on how I handled this interaction.  I am kinda embarrassed because I think I acted like a ditz, but I was at least semi-coherent.

Since I had given Danny all the minis, I figured I wouldn’t waste Marty’s time and left the venue walking on air.

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds XI

It wasn’t long after he moved to the ‘Haven. So many people around him were dying, his father already gone, and B figured out there was no Uncle to keep him out of CPS (and those little tips helped, thanks Bruce). It was before the adoption, before he felt like he could breathe again without his chest caving in.

It was just after Cass left for Hong Kong, and he was running free in Blüdhaven, not giving much of a shit if he kept moving to the next ass hat or not. Kon and Bart were in a constant state of pissed off with him because he wouldn’t just stop and mourn, wouldn’t let them be good boyfriends, wouldn’t let them comfort him.

(At the time, he didn’t understand why it mattered so much to them, why they couldn’t let him fight out his pain like he’d always had to do.)

Dick...showed up at the terrible flophouse he was in, amazing him because after losing everything, Dick was the last person Tim expected to see anywhere near the ‘Haven. But, when his “big brother” refused to take get the fuck out for an answer, he hadn’t had the energy really to fight anymore.

(He’s been fighting for so long, hasn’t he?)

Instead, he got trapped in the whirlwind of activity that is Dick Grayson.

(It’s not the first time he’s saved me)

And Dick had gone the good brother things; he had tried so hard to get Tim out of the funk, to make sure he wasn’t going to shove the .45 in his mouth and blow his fucking head off or something.

(What a wasted effort)

A night of tolerating Dick’s presence, his light and witty banter, of being the Cindy to his Marsha, and something in his broken chest caved way.

He couldn’t have known at the time how stupid he was for kissing his long-standing crush in the first place. A year later and he would def find out.

**

Because at almost twenty, he’s fucking done with everything except the group of loveable assholes shuffling along around him, keeping him moving with their sheer momentum. He follows Cassie’s excitedly bouncing ass and slowly drifts to the side, just enough to slide a finger into the side pocket of Bart’s jeans while they walk through the brightly lit aisle of IKEA.

It feels stupid to do something like that, but really, the speedster is too busy talking and looking around to notice anyway. (His other best friend, however, isn’t, and does notice, a corner of his mouth quirking up.)

Gar’s shirt stretches tight over his shoulders when he points out the Dyfjord over the Hemnes since Rachel is still on board with the Tyssedal.  Really, as long as it does things like hold stuff in drawers, he’s good either way (because things that will eventually hold dangerous vigilante weaponry? Those things he makes himself, so just raw materials. Seriously, he needs something that can withstand a small explosion and most of the stuff here? Would stand a chance in hell). But this gives him time to idly work on his phone, playing with the code for the first training loop while holding on to Bart’s pocket with the other. His body operates on auto-pilot as he’s balls deep in the numbers and commands, making vague noises at towel racks. As he’s been informed, he has to put all the shit together himself anyway, so he’s about to drop the Koppang and end all the mayhem.

There, mindblown.

Well, after this next span of code (because some people need special guns with the right tracking capabilities to make it, you know, a challenge. Speed and such).

He’s riding on over twelve hours of sleep before this little team-building exercise (and nice try. He knows exactly why they’re doing this, not just because Oh, since you have exercised sensible decision-making, we will reward you with shopping. Yup, sure.) But...playing along is so, so much good times that it makes him the right kind of nostalgic. Not something painful, something to choke on, but something lighter, something building all over again in those steps of affection and a mutual love for beating the ever-loving shit out of bad guys.

And it was...different, finding himself immersed with his old team to do movie night in celebration of his agreement to stay and rejoin them under new management (you know, their own). And yes, he was stupidly touched they went out on a limb and picked up the new Star Wars because, well, he’s the ultimate nerd of the group and probably always will be.

(Some people remember the little things.)

Still, much heckling and throwing popcorn at the screen is absolutely rote.

Falling asleep was definitely not his intention and should have been damn near impossible considering his sleep pattern has only become more sporadic, short and sweet bursts, in the time he’s been out on his own vigilanting it up.

The fact Conner was able to lift him without waking him, that his painfully sensitive instincts didn’t immediately alert him, kick his system into fight mode was far too telling for his peace of mind. It’s something at the very bottom of his priority list, something he can’t think about (because now is not the time for any of it, any of the should-have, would-haves, to feel like utter shit about how wrong he did them, how they should have just turned their fucking backs on him—just like Dick— because he made a fucking choice—the wrong one as it turns out) since there’s a whole lot of ‘shit we still need to do before we’re ready to break criminal heads.’

So he’s totally not thinking about the span of footage he caught from the new and improved communal floor proving that yes his system works and is crystal-fucking-clear because he saw the smirk on Rave’s face, he saw Gar snickering at him, he saw Cassie gently touch his hair, he saw Bart lay a throw over him with absurd gentleness just before Conner eased arms under him and lifted.

He shouldn’t have been shocked to wake up in the room Cassie showed him on day one (it was his from the get-go, wasn’t it?). The room for the guy they wanted as their strategist, their intel source. The two rooms are at the top of the new HQ, the secondary one prepped with a boss system (that is oddly similar to the one he built from the ground up in his Perch at the old Titan’s Tower. Hm. Coincidence, right?), work station, compact lab for analysis, and a meeting room with conference table.

All the nice things.

When he blinks owlishly around the separate bedroom, it takes too long for his brain to get with the ‘holy shit this is comfortable’ groove. It’s the first real bed he’s slept in since his last night in the Manor, not a cot, a couch, a seat, or the floor, it’s soft and perfect, molding around his body, more comfortable than he can remember being in a while. It’s enough that he really doesn’t want to get up. Is pretty good sinking back down for a few more…

When he finally manages to get somewhat conscious and use the impressive shower, he digs in the stacks of boxes in the walk-in closet, looking from something he can throw on—

And pulls out his last pre-everyone-dying Robin suit with green sleeves on the tunic and those reinforced green tights (before Conner and Bart died, before his ident was compromised, before Dad was murdered, before Bruce died, before Dick betrayed him). The sight leaves him weak-kneed, choking, trying very hard not to throw up because that shit was seriously a little out of left field.

(And if he sat in that closet for twenty minutes while his eyes got hot and full, holding that piece of his life while thinking about how Dick’s hands pulled this very tunic off him the last time before it ended up in a box, then no one would be the wiser because after he was done, he pulled his shit together, stood the fuck up, and closed that suit back up in the box to gather dust again when he should really send it straight to Dick with a huge fuck you sign attached. But nope, it’s his last vestige of the life he used to love, so until he could even take it, the damn thing would stay.)

The unlabeled boxes are full of his old things, things he’d apparently left in in the Tower before the last good-bye from the Justice League. Which is another thing he is not going to think about, but shoves those moments, out of his sight, and digs in another to pull out a pair of slightly too-small sweats and a nerd t-shirt that smell like Kevlar and spice, one that hangs off him because taller yes, but lacking some pounds apparently.

And yes, he realizes the bathroom is stocked with his brand of shampoo and body wash (and fuck, there’s even a can of that shitty hair gel—no more of that fuck-you-very-much). Yes, he realizes the sheets are blue instead of red (but not that blue, Nightwing blue, thank God). Yes, he realizes the yoga mat under the bed is worn and have-I-seen-that-before? Yes, he realizes the medicine cabinet has his favored brand of tape to wrap his hands so the owfuck isn’t so painful after a night cracking heads together.

(There’s antibiotics there—someone found out about the spleen thing, right?)

Really, he doesn’t need any more evidence—they planned on adding him to the roster, made a place for him, made sure his stuff wasn’t just tossed out in a dumpster when the new team started moving in.

(He wouldn’t have even blamed them for it, really.)

It’s a tough enough realization to make him facepalm for several long moments because these guys.

Seriously.

Coming downstairs to the team gathered for lunch, a plate set out for him, and excited chatter while a po’ boy is absently set in front of him along with a grape fucking Zesti (grape is always the best).  All the plans they already have mapped-out, their contingencies and safe houses, their contacts and info sources, layers the conversation around him while he scarfs his food down, moving in time with everyone else chewing rather than really eating. Instead, he listens to how they’ve started gathering their own network of crime fighting and superheroing.

Within the fire few bites, he was done for.

The bus tickets out of New Orleans he’s had carefully stowed away were thrown in the trash an hour or so later before he started down to look at the training room on the lower level Gar had half-rigged up, a mess of wiring still needed to be run, lights needed to be connected, the AI that had been adapted from an old team project needed to be installed, and just the vents, man. How could you forget to booby trap the vents?

(Okay, so they need him for shit like this)

But it’s odd and comforting to have the them pause, gazes swinging to him to when he starts talking, laying out the power grid and system configurations, when they take his opinions as that’ll work, how long until we can get started?

As much as he’s freaked out by the attention after being his own team, it eases the raw and jagged edges he refused to focus on, to give power to anymore.

(It’s time to start moving again, asshole, in Robin’s old voice in the back of his head, the voice of variable reason. Except in matters of Dick Grayson apparently.)

But it’s fine because it’s not like he didn’t expect more of these little things to look forward to. You know, the whole team bonding thing. He gets it, he really does because most of it is them trying to figure him out all over again, sizing him up. The last few months of playing the game, being the nameless, travelling vigilante, had taken its toll. He knows he’s different, he knows he’s not the same Robin, not even Red, not even Tim in too many respects. When they get done with this little outing, he has every intention of sitting them down and laying the plan right out.

(And fuck, he has a plan again—he has plans.)

For now, he’s just raises a brow at Conner and nods his head to the Koppang. The super winks behind his fake, dark-rimmed glasses and subtly veers off from the group. He’s the smart one, not getting in on this little argument.

The group shuffles, pulls him along with the forward momentum. He’s already decided how he’s going to lay out their systems once the immediate needs are identified, then get scans up and running, get their basics ready to fill in the gaps between the other superhero groups. A database of their baddies, strengths and weaknesses, bolt holes and last-knowns. He needs algorithms to track credible sources for any kind of intel they might need to keep track.

He starts when Conner lays a hand on his shoulder, the conversation running around him lost in the multiple contingencies he’s got running in his primary processes as warm-up.

“Tim? Food after this, dude, since you’re driving the truck. Gar’s license is expired and I don’t trust Bart behind the wheel of anything that goes over ten miles an hour.”

He immediately bites down on his lip before Bart even does the speedster double-take with an offended squawk, “wh-wh-what?! I am totally trustworthy driving—“

“—off a cliff,” Cassie fills in, humming to herself while pushing the flat cart with the boxes all loaded.

“—into a wall,” Gar seconds with a wink.

Rave just pats Bart’s shoulder but doesn’t even try.

“All of you suck,” Bart bickers back, “that one time was totally not my fault, dammit—“

And it’s just so crazy that he’s laughing under the cover of one hand while looking obediently at the bathroom towels Cassie is asking about while she shakes her head in mirth at all the antics or stands in front of the full-length mirror Raven suggests he could use.

“Okay, so next we need—”

“Wall cabinets.”

Gar, Raven, Cassie, and Bart pause in the mission, turn to blink at him because he’s been pretty quiet since coming down to breakfast after pulling a Rip Van Winkle.

“I need some wall cabinets,” he specifies with a half-shrug.

“Righteous.” Gar grins wide, the projectors taking away the slightly longer canines along with the whole green thing. He seriously looks like a surfer from Cali, and that? Is completely believable. “They have, like, the mirrored ones, dude. I totally had to have a set.”

“I already know my ass looks fantastic in tights, man. We can go practical on this one,” he deadpans back, moving to lead the way without taking his finger from Bart’s pocket.

It’s telling when Rave is the one that laughs out loud, but, well, he gets the mirrored ones any damn way.

**

A few days later, he takes a tour of a nice place in Faubourg Ste. Marie on Marseille Street for his daytime pseud (and...he’s really going to be Tim Drake again, like, being back in the real world, isn’t he?) to do crazy things— like start establishing residency.

It’s been awhile since he’s been that guy, but still, the knowledge never really left his brain pan. The suit is cut perfectly (reminding him of another life), and he falls back into the old space, charming the realtor with stories of Gotham City (the most crime-ridden in America. “Oh my! The things you must have seen.” You really have no idea), and bringing another industry to the booming town.

He doesn’t take the first place, but circles four more he wants to look at in her handbook, smiles when he hands it back, and she’s slightly breathless when she guarantees she’ll have the keys for them tomorrow morning.

He also mentions being in the market for office space—something large to house a substantial crew for the newest main office of Drake Industries.

HQ is closer to 60% up and running (because at least someone can get everyone moving when things like wiring and panelling needs to be done—some of you can fly, do this thing) when Miles Kelsey comes down from Gotham with the official paperwork. It’s three small letters that have already been attached to his name under the Wayne Enterprise heading (just a formality to keep Bruce’s legacy out of the hands of Hush and Ra’s). But it mean more now. Not a deflection, not a ploy, not because of do or else. It’s his choice this time since, well, the reason for those hint drops in his voicemail? He’s going to turn twenty-one in a few months, and the whole shebang is going to be offered up, get a Drake back in control of the company. Miles is the one that wanted him to know in advance, maybe start early, get a jump on everything, and figure out if this is what he wants.

Thanks for looking out, man. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.

Miles hasn’t changed at all since he last visited the offices in Gotham. The guy is and always was a powerhouse, one of the reasons he’s been on the Board of Directors for so long.

In addition to being one of his dad’s good friends, Miles has always been a voice for the interest of the people (at times, over the business model), and it’s bittersweet seeing the older man again when they meet at a cafe in the Business District to go over the details.

Tim has a smart three-piece suit on that made Cassie whistle appreciatively while the others give him the equivalent of cat calls when he gets back—you know, because they’re assholes.

He’s giving them the half-smirk that is desperately familiar and heats up his coffee from this morning (previous night whatever really).

The convo he walks in on is at—

“It would be such a bitchin’ reality show,” Gar grins, sharp and wide from his spot on the island. The littering of wiring, motherboards, random drives, parts and pieces laid out in front of him like a variable buffet of tech. There’s a bin on the floor by his stool with completed comm units ready for use. He’s got about seventy-some so far because, well dude, we go through so many of these, you don’t even know.

“No way,” Conner argues while he presses down the panini maker gingerly (the last one was not as reinforced—the parts are in the trash by his hip), “there’s no island or anything.”

“I’m thinking more Real World versus Survivor, dude.”

“With the way our lives go, Survivor would probably be more fitting.”

And yes, that’s him, hiding his grin with his mug, and shaking his head at the antics of crazy superheroes.

Cassie is still out doing research on the local universities, thinking about History and Anthropology. Raven is taking the nice background docs he “made” to establish her a real ident to the DMV so she can have a picture ID all her own (she’s been using the Rachel Roth pseud for, well, forever, but he totally gets the whole let’s make it legal kind of feel.) Bart left to go for an interview for (wait for it), a bike courier position.

(He totally didn’t facepalm. Promise.)

When he’s putting his mug in the sink, buttoning his coat regardless of the heat, Conner (now Conner Kesel, thanks to a little bit of magic, or well, shameless hacking) leans in bump their shoulders together in such a familiar move. Those blue eyes are crinkled down at him, wide and bright and—

Fuck.

“Hey Mr. CEO. This,” and there’s a finger wiggle at the suit, “not bad.”

He smirks because, well, it’s all sinking into his bones at this point. The new digs, the company, the team (his team), and things are coming together in a way he hadn’t expected it to ever again. The worst part is the slow warm coiling in low in his belly when Conner or Bart smile at him again.

Double fuck

“It’s supposed to be a cover story.”

Conner just raises a brow at him and hums.

It makes the point.

His sigh is ignored for the smoke screen it is really is, “okay, so it’s a good cover story. Establishing a believable pseud is a good rule of thumb. Cassie is going to college, Bart is working, Gar is being the lazy, rich degenerate—” earning him a “hey! Well, yeah, so true,” from said degenerate before he goes back to the comms— “Rave might start a business once she had a real ident, and…”

He waves a hand absently, “someone has to pay for it all. Why not be me?”

And Con does that thing. Crosses his arms over his chest and gives him the stare down, totally seeing the utter bullshit without fail. The question of who would fund them has never been an issue; all of them have moved and maintained a financial cushion long before they broke it off as Titans.

Tim is trying to carve out a place for himself, something that can’t be taken away, a new ident, a new set of rules and how to live’s, and the meta-human can recognize it before Tim himself really can.

It’s one of those crazy moment where, if they were still that Superboy and that Robin, he would cuff the vigilante on the shoulder and tell him not to be a dumb ass (or when they were that Kon, Tim, and Bart, he would grip those hips and talk his ex-boyfriend out of his own headspace of insecurities). Instead, he lifts a hand to the back of the CEO’s neck, squeezing gently and turning Tim to look him in the eye.

“Don’t think you have to do it for any other reason than you want to.” Conner admonishes, “we’ve got plenty of resources, and you know it. People are grateful when you save them and the donations have always been put aside. If there’s one thing we don’t need, it’s money, Tim.”

And Conner watches those eyes blink quickly in surprise, the head tilt just slightly when the guy with the plan is faced with a fact he hadn’t considered.

Conner just leans down a little, raising a brow, “there’s nothing wrong with making your mark outside the mask. You want to be the Drake running your Dad’s company, then have at it. No one is going to judge you for it.”

“Conner…”

The expression on Tim’s face is so utterly painful in that moment, like his best friend is expecting some kind of admonishment, some kind of humiliation, something, that Conner just can’t stand there waiting on the outside anymore. He’s been treating Tim from some imagined distance for too long as it is.

And slowly, easily, without disturbing the two, Gar Logan slips easily out of his seat in front of the still-playing flat screen and strafes down the hall until he’s far enough away to hit the staircase (sure, Con had super hearing, but something tells him Blue might be a little busy at the moment).

He doesn’t see the super shake his head in old exasperation and pull this dumb ass in by the back of his neck, letting Tim rest his forehead right on the curve of Conner’s collarbone.

Hands are hesitant, light, high on his hips in such a familiar way that the super grins to himself because dammit Tim.

“It’s...fucking stupid isn’t it?” The vigilante asks quietly, keeping his head bowed.

“To want something to hold on to? I don’t think that’s stupid.”

The laugh is not one of those ha-ha funny ones, it’s something a little more bitter, “everyone gave their idents up, dude. What the fuck am I doing?”

“Making it your choice this time,” Conner replies easily, knowledgeably.

And for the fucking life of him, he can’t even get in a breath.

[cafephan]

dan and phil play golf with friends #2: a summary

DanandPhilGames caddy lads "you loved it, you were like yes the golf lifestyle, i'm wearing expensive polo shirts i'm sipping an overpriced drink, im nattering with the business fellows and hitting that ball" says dan whilst well in the knowledge most of us are shut away in our bedrooms in our pyjamas with not a penny to our name and sipping on tap water "so we're here in the dan and phil golf club and there is a certain dress code, dan" i like to take this as phil foreshadowing the beautiful fashion choices dan is making during this singapore trip even though he clearly isn't foreshadowing anything moment of appreciation for the singapore trip's outfit choices tho please moment over thirty three seconds in we get the first fond glance, hopefully the first of many "the only short sleeved short i have is creased, phil" the look that he's giving phil reeaaalllyyy makes me wonder how it got creased... "i don't care, just go get it on" says phil the fashion meister helllooooo moth shirt my favourite my best friend my one true love "we had green shit in our hair for like three hours after we put these on" who needs context amirite "dan thought i threw these away but no i've been secretly hiding them" ok but how is that so domestic "look how erect my flag is today" / "list of things you should like never say again...." (unless they're off camera to me) ((i finished the quote that the jumpcut edited out)) "you know the rules. we can only do one dan vs phil per game" is that a rule? have they said that before? okay sure let's roll with it they're playing for the burger socks from a few liveshows ago "i ordered this for a friend but they sent two" sure phil a company would clearly go out of their way to send two of the same product meaning they'd be out of profit,,, your friend definitely didn't just give them back to you "do i want to eat them or wear them?" i'm certain that this is not the first time that sentence has come out of dan's mouth "are you excited by that? do you want that? on your feet?" / "i so want the cheese on my foot." *jumpcut* *phil says literally one word and dan is already grinning at him* f o n d "this is something to watch like a sport, and enjoy like a sport" unless you're making a summary of this video meaning you have to rewind every two seconds thanks phil "lingering banter... just enjoy the time between jokes" *both giggle like the dorks they are* "you liked the last one, so strap yourselves in for some golf" "we need to customise our balls" can dan go one gaming vid without dragging tumblr like i go through all of this effort for you pls don't drag me you little curly haired shit "[about the colour of his ball] i would call that moonlight dolphin" dan has gone for plain white this time does this represent him emotionally who knows at the time of filming i like symbolism and connotations they're fun "oh my gosh, it's like... goodness has returned" phil why are you so cute "i'm calling our room dogs9000 today" / "very appropriate" first of all why is it appropriate second of all is that what they called their room on the tour bus "stop. they just do what they want. stop telling them what to do." / "i guess that's valid. i'm sorry, butterflies, you do you." "i'm like so oasis right now" "ancient egypt is my favourite historical period so i'd like to delve into there" i think i've found the next fic trend why are they using the chatroom when their chairs are literally touching and from the front angle it looks as if their hands are too "my pole is so tall you can't even see the flag" again my gut instinct is that it isn't the first time those words have come out of phil's mouth "... and other sentences that phil will never say again" (unless they're off camera to me) ((i finished his quote for him again he should pay me for this)) "beginnu" / "golf it up" dan has more fluidity in his hand movements than phil does take what you will from that information "here we go" / "here we golf" tag urself "oh you're inside my ball again" / "we're already freaking out inside each other" *phil laughs a lot and grins then followed by a mysterious jumpcut* "bit too much power for danny there" dan is already being a sore loser but he can't help but be all smiley that phil is all smiley and jokey phil cheers him on still "if i can get it in now, it'll be okay" i've said it once and i'll say it again... definitely not the first time those words have been said by danny boy they clean up the whole two computer debacle "i'm deceived by the curves" joint vibing and dancing to the music "you're in africa the hole is in antarctica" mister geography "you absolute cheeky little twit" a new addition to the list of fond insults from dan to phil sore loser dan continues to thrive phil manages to screw up literally the easiest shot in the world??? i love you boy but oh how you suck at this game and now dan is smiling again what a sadistic lil tot "welcome to the land of pain and misery" thanks dan for my new bio dan's lovely lady gaga rendition gets cut short by a jumpcut wtf give me the good stuff i deserve it oh he finished the rendition what a pair of lungs on that kid *phil definitely says 'oh shit'* "i didn't swear then" yes you did just accept your potty mouth perfect opportunity to kick the old branding to the curb a girl can dream ok "oh you're going to be stuck for ten hours, phil, how is this going to go" "i can't even see myself... oh i went in" seriously how many times in one video can my gut instinct tell me dan's said these sentences before in his lifetime "the power of wobbling knocked me in" "that felt good to me" "my lovely philly lumps, check 'em out" what a beautiful rendition phil i would buy it on itunes / "...things you should never say again, volume twelve" cocky dan strikes again "you okay there?" / "i'm feeling very emotional about this" "par? more like cheat" / "that's par for the course" please stop talking over each other this summary takes long enough as it is without having to rewind ten times "oh we're the same now" / "now we're even" / "i was so happy with my lead" / "guess we're going to have to cut our feet in half" / "yeah..." *phils cute laugh* "that's obviously just saying go for it... but how much power?" / "smack it" i imagine this is phil's outlook on life six minutes fifty four seconds in... rip headphone users "we're gonna take like eleven goes at this" not if you both strikeout, my guy "this is so much harder than the last one" phil please don't make this too easy for me "please release us from this hell" i'd like to thank the universe for the occasional slivers of dan skin we see through the gaps in his shirt buttons "i'll happily sit here for three and a half hours now whilst phil gets it in" ... oh come on it's definitely not the first time he's said that sentence drinking game: take a shot every time they say 'yes' or 'yeah' that'll get you drink awfully quick "get out of my zone! stop touching me!" / "knock. knock." stop talking over each other please i beg of you "i'll touch you when i please..." okay dan you are aware of the camera pointing at you right phil's reaction is all of us at dan just saying that sentence "... don't say that again" (unless it's off camera to me) ((now i'm apparently finishing phil's sentences for him, he should pay me too)) "i'm so sorry for this whole video" ty dan cocky dan is here to stay, it seems like dan got so cocky that he fucked up i love life "that's what you get for being cocky!" i love phil "i'm out of strokes? that's how bad i was?" i don't know why my gut instinct is telling me phil's said that before but... anyway "you are now... eight over my score, phil." look at dans hands he's dying to do a mr burns impression and say excellent "that was a mystery adventure if i ever saw one" "*sigh* oh phil" "phil, phil, dear me" in all the videos of this game i've watched before nobody managed to make that pillar shot and yet dan does it on his first try...... sure okay "king of golf. yes." / "shush" phil made it too yay "guys if you're feeling like i'm just going to lose, i'm really going to try from now on" he looked at the camera like he meant it *dan looks over* "phil's gonna take this so seriously. no more bants, just solid golf seriousness" dan do you just stop listening to yourself when you talk "solid whacking" / "okay in the list of things that are serious, saying 'solid whacking', that's- that's not up there" *dan two seconds later* "so i'm just gonna whack it" "boom... slide... crack" i'm not even trying to analyse that "how would anakin do this" "i was using the force! did you see?" / *dan smiles fondly* "no i didn't" "if you whack me over the edge i'm going to bury you alive" "shit fucking wank fuck" "how did you get that wrong?" i'm still asking that question to phil about that other hole dan i feel you "that was sexual" / "that was the most erotic math based experience i've ever had" / "i liked that" "the skateboarding teenager inside me wants to go back and do this" / "could skateboarding teenage phil ever have skated around that?" / "he would have said that he could do it, but he would've fallen off... and hit his head" / "it's the trying that counts" "oh philly philly two whack" the game either wants phil to win and keeps sabotaging dan, dan wants phil to win and he keeps sabotaging himself, or dan is just that bad at the game he keeps fucking up i'd put my money on the latter "i want to have children with this course" first of all there will be fics of this and i will turn over in my grave, secondly poor janice :( "shitty fuck no i need to be in a straight line" "i wouldn't trust that with a barge pole" king of the english language "miss miss" phil being the ever supportive best friend "lara croft would... love this" "remember that you owe me two strokes" / *sassily* "no i don't" / "yeah you do, the game broke" / "that's-that's your fault" / *laughs* "no it's not!" this is literally the conversation that defines their friendship and it is beautiful "he's the one that's trolling me by stopping my ball" dan pls "i'm going in" / "do it, phil" you're just making it too damn easy for me "i would watch golf on tv if phil commentated it" dan you would watch anything that phil was even remotely involved with dan the sore loser back again dan is doing some kind of animal impression and if sounds as if it's a bird in heat or something "you wanna say that's not count (*literally dan wtf*) see the comments. they'll be- they'll be ju-thirsty for justice." not considering you drag us every chance you get you lil shit #teamphil also dan is tumbling over his words so much this video is he okay dan makes up a stupid penalty for phil to do because the game apparently hates him but in reality he just sucks, and phil goes along with it because he's phil how the hell did dan manage to jump over the high wall "i just left clicked and i bobbed.. i wasn't supposed to bob" "that's definitely not in- okay you did it" oooh one point difference "oh i didn't get some dinghy time then" "how ya doin? nice to see you there" "believe in the power" "you did a much more satisfying one than me" "your non-gender specific caddy gimp would need to be fanning you..." / "caddy gimp?" / "yeah" / "i'd just want them to put me on a camel, give me a pina colada, play golf for me... and i'd just be like this on my laptop" we all know phil loves his pina colada *wink wink* "... yeah that's the dream" well we know dan's opinion on pina colada don't we *wink wink* "leona lewis would hate you" shots fired "yes i did just cheat by looking at your bar" / "you can't look at my bar!" / "oh well i just did!" cocky dan back with his questionable sounds "he's thinking about how tasty your ball is right now" "yes sphinx daddy, let's go" "climbing inside the pyramid vagina" "you've got a mystical glow about you" "you're kind of ruining the vibe" "look how much you're illuminating the whole" dan the cocky sod literally looks like a child rn "i don't know what's happening but i'm excited by it" did phil just channel his inner chandler from friends bc that is all too similar to the chandler quote "tease it in" / "never say that again" "that deserves extra points that was incredible" proud bf phil "ooh toasty ball" they're helping each other along aw "i mean fuck the dan vs phil board... this is a prize worth playing for" *dan shakes the burger socks* the game broke so they restarted it and they now have the same score wooow "this is not how god wanted it but this is what's happening" phil says as he takes his two shot penalty "i don't think, erm, if god does exist, in any form, that He would give a shit about this game, phil" / "i think he would" dan gives phil a full rundown on his math-based plan "you copied my strats!" "let me just sniff these socks" / "ew" "are you more of a leftie or a rightie?" / "i'm gonna be... rightie as that is what i write with" rip all you leftie philgirls "how do you know? you don't know left and right" bloody hell dan calm down "it's a bridge to cleopatra's bedroom" *phil lands on the pyramid* "is he wearing any underwear?" "everyone who doesn't know math right now is just like... whirring with calculations right now" actually i'm just sat here typing this so screw you howell you don't know me "i'm just going to max power it over here" did anyone else think of the simpsons? when homer changes his name? anyone at all? okay then "that means i win!" phil shouts enthusiastically and claps his hands together phil continues to clap it ends as a draw!!!! "so does that mean we've gotta share the socks?" "i want the cheese- i want the lettuce" phil bless you "it'll be like those people that get like best friend necklaces that complete each other except for us it's burger socks." *modelling the socks* "look at those dank socks" "the best bit is when you went through the sphinx's mouth and when you went through the uterus" they'd be up for another vid yes please i need one!!!!!! n e e d!!! the twilight course would be next "now we're gonna pick the green stuff out of our hair... go on phil, groom me like a monkey" dan. "get that moss out" seriously. dan. danisnotsandy auterusphil (which of them did this) also phil pretended to eat whatever he just supposedly groomed from dans head okay eventful video.

[nyxelestia]

I don't know if this helps your view of 6A, but I never thought while watching the season that Lydia was upset simply because of Stiles. For three months she knows something is true and everyone around her, even the fabric of reality tells her she wrong, she's crazy, she unbalanced. Her story was about a girl who was essentially gaslighted by the entire universe, fighting against that manipulation, finding clues and eventually proving to herself and others she was right.

That's an interesting perspective, and I do get where you're coming from. "Gaslighted by the universe" is an extremely apt description of how the Ghost Riders/the Wild Hunt works.

The thing is, though, she's been through psychological trauma, brainwashing, and even gaslighting before, and yes, she's broken down crying before - but those were always mere moments, in the process of her continuing to be herself and dominate her surroundings.

In Season 2, she had a mental breakdown and was publicly humiliated (due to her naked, 3-day run in the woods), but strode into school with her head held high. In Season 3, someone strangled her and she refused to hide the bruises. In Season 4, with her grandmother's house going up for sale and her powers wreaking havoc with her perception of reality, she never became this melodramatic. In Season 5, when she was catatonic and trapped in her own mind, we also see her fighting her circumstances, learning how to utilize her powers, and it was Malia being in danger that brought her out of her catatonia.

Season 6 undermines a lot of that. She talks about Stiles to the other banshee, who has no reason to know who he is, and at a point where bringing him up in the conversation was almost nonsensical and definitely unnecessary. Contrasted with the fact Malia and Scott were drowning in the basement, it was particularly jarring - and this was the episode in which we saw the least melodrama from Lydia. Ranging from a truly, unnecessarily excessive number of crying scenes, to the way her voice seems to always crack when she's talking about Stiles as if she's about to cry, the entire Stydia arc in Season 6A was extremely melodramatic - which is frustrating, given that snarky banter "normal"/human/non-superpowered badassery has always been among the defining hallmarks of their relationship.

I suppose complaining about her "turning into a crying wreck" is a bit of a simplification, because it's not actually her crying scenes (alone) that bother me. It's her overall conduct and the way she's handling herself/the way her character is being handled this season. It's like all she cares about is Stiles, even in the face of other problems.

I really hate this for two reasons:

1.) Again, the melodrama. I've mentioned this before, but what ticked me off the most about the memory montage episode wasn't the fact that it was Stydia, but that instead of all of the moments that defined Stiles and Lydia's friendship/relationship, it was only the ship-teasing, "romantic" moments. Trying to bring up that 3A kiss as being "the moment when everything changed" was particularly grating, given that nothing between them really changed with that kiss (and both of them went on to have relationships with someone else as if that kiss never happened, anyway). And why did there have to be so many of those long, soulful gazes? Why not show the two of them in matching outfits on their way to investigate the Dread Doctors, or Stiles yelling at Brunski to try and keep Lydia from having to listen to her grandmother's death? How about instead of the awkward, ship-teasing hug between them after Stiles got Lydia out of the animal trap, we see Lydia encouraging Stiles as he gets her out it?

Why is it that instead of a memory montage about Lydia and Stiles - two characters who started out as being almost stereotypical tropes and then subverting them - we got a memory montage of a Standard White Female Damsel and White Male Love Interest?

2.) The Stydia narrative also really threw Stiles' other relationships under the bus to prop it up. I was furious when Scott and Malia both went on about Stiles having some kind of Special Connection to Lydia. I would've understood if her memory montage broke Stiles out because she's the banshee, or because it needed to be ALL of them remembering. But not only did they imply that Lydia's relationship with Stiles was somehow more special than Stiles' relationships with Malia or Scott, but the next episode, when we see Stiles approaching the rift, it's only Lydia's voice we hear - and it's about them kissing, despite (again) how irrelevant that kiss had been. If it had just been Lydia calling for Stiles in general, I would've understood it - she's the banshee, and it makes sense that she would have a special capability to pull him back into their world. But the emphasis on their romantic relationship is what really ticked me off.

And while I'm generally irritated by the fact this entire season has basically been a love letter to Stiles that sidelined all the other characters, and made Scott into a side-character on his own fucking show, I feel like a lot of this was very specifically tied to Stydia. Like, it would've been one thing if Scott and Malia had said, "we have to focus on the Ghost Riders/immediate danger/bigger problem" right now. But the script instead having them start to doubt Stiles' existence was purely to leave Lydia as the last 'believer', and put Stydia up on an unnecessary pedestal. I would've happily cut out 2/3 of those scenes of Lydia crying, if it'd meant some decent attention on Malia's relationship with Stiles. They went through all the trouble of showing that Stiles was still Malia's anchor...and yet we never got a reunion scene between them, and never even saw them together until the very last moment when Stiles is lampshading the anticlimactic ending of the season/school year.

Not all of it is Stydia related - i.e. I love Stilinski Family Feels as much as the next person, but I would've much preferred the entire Claudia arc had never happened, and that instead seeing more of the other families (Lydia and Scott with their moms, Malia and her real dad Henry, etc.), and that the Sheriff's need for Stiles were demonstrated in him falling apart without his son there, rather than him nonsensically conjuring up a famiscile of his wife (with absolutely no explanation given as to why only he did that, or how he did it when he isn't a banshee like the lady in Canaan, or basically any kind of explanation at all).

A lot of my frustration with Stydia is tied into my frustration with the fact Teen Wolf basically became the Stiles Show in 6A. (It makes me deeply and darkly amused that most of the Sterek fans have long since stopped watching - I feel like they would've loved this season, for how Stiles-centric it is.) While the excessive Stiles-centrism isn't limited to Stydia, it's primarily a corollary of Stydia.

I'm not saying it was all bad - Lydia did get some awesome moments this season, and most of my frustrations with this seasons weren't really evident in the final episode, including Lydia. But overall, throughout the season, the bad (irritating, annoying, or even downright infuriating) Stydia moments far outweigh the good ones.

And after the fact the excessive Stiles and Stydia centrism meant sidelining most of the other characters, the other tremendously annoying byproduct of the Stydia arc is the fact this season seemed to really undo a lot of Lydia's character development, in the name of remaking her back into a stereotypical female love interest for Stiles.