#^joke retelling in that no one was annoyed. the 'yeah we can Fucking Tell' was 100% accurate tho.

[crimeronan]

last night at writing group after critiques were finished, we got to casually chatting about abusive/coercive/high-control relationships. and like, the circumstances and headspaces and struggles involved in them, how it feels to be in one, what makes people stay when sometimes from the outside it looks like you can "just leave," etc. and i was like oh yeah!! i honestly find this topic more interesting to write than anything else ever :)

& everyone else was like "....YEAH, KITKAT. WE KNOW."

[bigskydreaming]

That last reblog is very informative and useful in figuring out where to find certain storylines. Purely on a personal recommendation note, for anyone looking for good reads and who tends to like my take on things, my recs from that list (and not saying that others I don’t rec aren’t good, just what immediately popped into my head) would be:

Batman: The Long Halloween (yes. its a good)

Batman: Birth of the Demon (if you want to set canon on fire, as many people are wont to do, a good place to start is aggressively ignoring Morrison’s take on Damian’s birth and origin and instead treating this story as his origin and just building off the idea that Talia lied at the end which is waaaaaaaaay better and just like...go from there)

Batman: The Killing Joke (kill it with the fire. we’ve had enough of the killing joke. it can die. even alan moore hates it and he wrote it and alan moore usually loves everything he writes and hates everyone ELSE for like, liking it the wrong way, so I mean, that should tell you a lot)

Batman: The Cult (holy shit I totally forgot about this story and now am off to go reread it again myself)

I have Issues with how ADITF AND A Lonely Place of Dying play out and most popular takes on them, so like, I’m not like, recommending RECOMMENDING them, but I mean like, they are pivotal.

Batman: Knightfall, Legacy, Cataclysm and all things No Man’s Land related have some good stuff throughout all of them. Like, things I don’t like, sure, but overall, there’s a lot of good material in them. Also, a good way to get a strong sense of actual canon Tim, who is not fanon Tim, and who would probably take one look at fanon Tim and go LOL nerd, and kickflip away on his skateboard to go tell Nightwing about this AU version of himself he just met, as like, he actually likes and respects Nightwing, among other differences.

JLA Tower of Babel (its a yawn from me, lads. the source of pretty much all “Batman can beat all of the JLA because he has the greatest superpower of all: PREP TIME!!!” hot takes and I mean, yeah that’s pretty core to Batman and who he is at this point, but the story itself its just like. Eh. Could you not. Idk. Basically I just mean this is all part of an era of JLA that for the most part I actually tend to LIKE Bruce’s interactions with the rest of the team, but then there was this and it was just like. Eh. Could you not).

Bruce Wayne: Murderer? and Bruce Wayne: Fugitive (Quality reads IMO that emphasize the Detective part of the Batfranchise and contain good moments for the whole currently present Batfam, lots of great Cass and Dick stuff in particular. Idk. I havent read them in awhile but I have fond memories)

Batman: Hush (this gets a bad rep and not entirely deserved IMO. Like, its not the greatest story in the world but I like how it portrays Bruce as having flawed dynamics with a lot of his loved ones but not shying away from his role in that but also without overly vilifying him....he’s an appropriately complex character in this, is what I mean, and I also like that this is another story that emphasizes the often lost-and-forgotten Detective part of his core concept. Also, it utilizes some of my fave villains in ways that bring home how much potential certain combinations/team-ups of villains could have if they were utilized more instead of overlooked in favor of ITS TIME FOR THE JOKER AGAIN WHEEEEEEEE!)

Batman: Under the Red Hood (hahahhahaha no. like could you imagine me reccing this? LOL its not realistic. Nah, stick with the animated movie retelling. At least Bruce doesn’t slit his son’s throat in that one to save the damn clown again)

Batman: R.I.P (I reluctantly rec this not because I like it, cuz I don’t, its Morrison back on his bullshit in a most I AM THE MOST GALAXY BRAINED OF ALL THE GALAXY BRAINED AND ALSO IM A CHAOS MAGICIAN DID U KNOW THAT HUH DID YA DID YA, like, fashion. Its. A lot. The story is A Lot. I don’t say that in a complimentary way. BUT I recommend it anyway out of pure stubbornness and Dick Grayson fanboy spite, as its set like, directly before Bruce is believed dead and gets lost in time, and like, A LOT happens to Dick in that story that SHOULD BE extremely relevant and crucial to examinations of his mental and emotional state at the time of him assuming Bruce’s role in the family and as Batman, but that just like....ISN’T, and that annoys me. Also, the primary villain of this, Dr. Hurt, like.....

his grand endgame involved torturing the fuck out of Dick to hurt Bruce specifically, and pretty much the first thing that happens when Bruce DOES come back from being lost in time is Dr. Hurt pops up out of nowhere and shoots Dick in the head, like FIRST THING, like this is the absolute first thing Bruce has to deal with when coming back, and this is just like....NONEXISTENT in most fics about that era. Because lolol how can we blame Dick for everything that went wrong and make Bruce be mad at him for how Dick wronged Tim and Jason and all of Gotham probably, if we’re going by actual canon and thus dealing with the fact that Bruce is preoccupied with hovering over his just-shot-in-the-head-specifically-to-fuck-with-Bruce son’s bedside and WORRYING about him. LOLOL hashtag Fandom Willfully Erases The Majority of Dick’s Canon Traumas Not Because They Want To Set Canon On Fire - they’re usually fine with sticking to every instance of canon in which Dick does something even in the ZIP CODE of wrong - but rather because if we acknowledge Dick’s traumas then eww, he might come across as....sympathetic? No, we can’t have that. ERGO HE WAS NEVER SHOT IN THE HEAD HAHAHAH WE FIXED IT, WE FIXED CANON).

But I digress.

Battle for the Cowl (another reluctant rec because like, its dumb and its bad, but its one of those things that I’d still rather more people read than didn’t, because like it is pivotal and relevant, and it contains key plot points like oh Idk, Arkham literally blowing up as all the currently locked up inmates escape, which led to Dick having Wayne Enterprises rebuild it himself, and like, the only villains present in it when he was Batman being the villains he and Damian CAUGHT while he was Batman, which did NOT include the Joker, and thus all the hot takes about how Dick locked up Jason two doors down from his murderer like the uncaring bastard that he is, like.....instead of the reality that Dick pulled strings to have Jason put in Arkham instead of Blackgate when the POLICE ARRIVED ON SCENE AND LOCKED UP THE ANONYMOUS RED HOOD BECAUSE HE WAS CLEARLY DEFEATED AND CLEARLY A WANTED CRIMINAL AND THUS LIKE, HIS IMPRISONMENT LITERALLY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH DICK OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT DICK DEFEATED JASON RATHER THAN LETTING HIM KILL HIM AND DAMIAN.....

like, its literal canon that Dick explains himself for having Jason put in Arkham instead of Blackgate because it allowed him to keep Jason OUT of gen pop where he had literal dozens of enemies that he, Jason, WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR PUTTING THEM IN THERE HIMSELF, and it was to keep Jason SAFE, and it WORKED as Jason’s only actual canon complaint at that time was that he was BORED. So in conclusion, AS ALWAYS, you can do what you want, but when you literally manufacture the fake fanon - and completely fail to make any effort to establish that this is NOT actual canon and that you’re not actually riffing off of an actual canon moment - that Dick callously locked his brother up a few doors down from his own murderer (the dude that Dick himself literally once beat to death because he killed Jason).....like, inquiring minds would like to know, why are you trying so hard to make Dick look like THIS MUCH of an asshole, hmm?)

Batman: The Gates of Gotham (a weird, but fun little read IMO, that delves deep into the backstory of Gotham, the Waynes, and also Dick’s ancestors the Crownes, and establishes a lot of the history revolving around all of the above, and like, it actually has Dick as Batman and being competent and respected by the rest of the family in that role, and its also one of the only times Cass and Damian interacted one on one, stuff like that)

Batman and Robin Eternal (eww no, kill it also with the fire, burn it, I hate it, uggggggh why is this series so praised, its so baaaaaaaaaaaad, its like what if literally every character involved in it is an asshole to Dick for no valid reason whatsoever.....huh, weird thought, wonder if the fact that its so praised as being so good and Dick’s so hated for weird reasons by a lot of fandom are connected....almost like.....the fiction influenced how people viewed his character....and thus....critical commentary of how the fiction was bad is....relevant....HMM I MUST PONDER THIS STRANGE AND NOVEL THOUGHT).

[hellyeahheroes]

Dylan is a Mary Sue

*look I know that the symbiote has a name and Venom is both it and Eddie. So I hope you don’t get annoyed when I refer to the symbiote as Venom because writing symbiote 100 times gets annoying and I hope you get what I mean when I call it that.

I’ve been trying to write this like nine times because I don’t want to bash this character. When I wrote the post about how I didn’t want Dylan Brock near Miles, I intentionally left out the reason why because I like the character. I hate the purpose and narrative mind behind him. And plus I don’t want to seem like I bash white cis het male characters when the characters I do trash on are bad because writers tend to make them intentionally bratty. I don’t like Spider-kid, Damian Wayne when written without consequence(he is white passing), Jason Todd,or Alpha. Like giving a character a shitty attitude doesn’t make him endearing especially on a male, I’m sorry. Characters like Tim Drake, Alex Power, and Dick Grayson work because there is something genuine in them that they want to be the good of the world.

Anyways, Dylan is fun to me because he has this precocious roguishness that isn’t malevolent nor out of place. His abuse is actually abuse that isn’t made to serve as his training or whatever nor does it warps his views. And his fandom in Eddie/Venom actually makes sense because he is a kid that was abandoned by his mother and left with an emotionally and physically abusive man who would cut him down. A dark passenger like Venom appeals to him because Venom is like the codifier of misguided anger for misguided teens.

But there is a reason why he is written that way: he is a Mary-Sue. Now I don’t care about the gender preconceptions of Mary Sue vs Gary Stu nor do I try to prescribe to reclaiming Mary Sue in some vain attempt at liberal feminism. Mary Sue is bad writing unless everyone gets to play(Mary Sues work in video games). Mary Sue is something writers in most mediums that tell stories should avoid if they want said character to succeed or evoke if you want said character to be disliked. And Dylan Brock is an example that doesn’t work and is largely getting away with it because he is cute.

1. The Immaculate Conception of Dylan Brock

This is when I knew some Sue shit was unleashed on Venom fans. I don’t have to google it but I can guess that Cates has a Catholic background. Whether he is one or raised one, it is apparent in whatever meaningful writing depth he provides outside of meaningless action. And it works because Eddie Brock, being anti-Peter Parker, is Catholic. Hence the brooding and self-loathing and abusive paternity and motifs of redemption and suffering and shit. But this was not only fucked up, but a little too on the nose.

Dylan wasn’t conceived naturally. In fact, Anne Weying was raped by the symbiote and impregnated with Eddie’s DNA. So Dylan is actually the child of the Venom and Eddie Brock. “But Anne is his mother.” Look, Cates didn’t actually consider Anne so I won’t either. Outside of the fact that it doesn’t make sense chronologically since Peter was like in his early 20s when he had the Symbiote and is at most 29 now, Anne is just a vehicle for Cates’ to necessitate the purity of Dylan Brock. Dylan is the pure child of Venom, born from the womb of Eddie’s first girlfriend/fiancé/wife/whatever and the first human woman to wear a symbiote, I think. I mean she didn’t even have sex with Eddie and boom, mini Eddie Brock is wrapped in cloth and left at the meager doorstep at the sacred house of Eddie. Praise Venom, y’all.

Jokes aside, I don’t know how Venom fans just didn’t go, “Iight, Imma head out” after reading this page. Just shows the conviction of fandom.

But I digress. Now let me regale you just how improbable this is which again only serves to ordain Dylan is the truest son of Venom in all the ways possible and also highlight the very unfortunate implications of this fuckery. Symbiotes bond is how they reproduce. When they reproduce with their host, the end result up to this point has always been a symbiote. For Mass Effect fans, it’s the Asari thing except with goo. Before you ask, yes Symbiotes sexually satisfy their hosts unlike the majority of human men*cough*. Point is that Dylan should be biologically impossible but somehow he is a human symbiote hybrid. And the unfortunate implications of such of incident shouldn’t go unnoticed either. Venom and Eddie have several children and prior to this, all of them have been symbiote. Cletus and Red also have children too and again symbiote. In fact, all symbiote bonds produce symbiotes as far as male hosts are concerned...except for the brief bond of Ann Weying and Venom Symbiote. Gee I wonder why she got a different result? Well there are a few female hosts and surprising none of them have spawned a symbiote child. So logically it can be assumed that woman + symbiote = forced impregnation of symbiote. Well this shit got dark. The symbiotes just became the Jeffrey Epstein alien species. But since Cates swears up and down that is not what is happening, he is going for the God/Virgin Mary angle for some reason.

It’s almost like he is the descendent of the Symbiote God. If only there was such a thing.

Welllllll shit.

2. Dylan is incorruptible and all-powerful without knowing why or how

Okay, backstory time because I never properly explained Knull, another of Cates shoddy creations. Knull is the galactic god emperor of the Symbiotes who created the Symbiotes as a weapon to rule the galaxy. Aside of the fact that his existence retconned the previous backstories of the symbiote, he has the ability to domesticate the symbiotes and make them subservient to him.

Guess who else has this ability.

Dylan is symbiote Jesus, hallelujah. This explains the Church of Carnage/Knull/Grendel/who gives a shit. He is the true son of Abraham and Carnage is the false prophet of Venom. It’s what Christianity considers Islam to be or some shit and both Dylan and Sleeper are about to nail the 95 thesis on the door of Carnage in the form of the greatest mixtape you ever heard.

Look, I too am astounded of the sentences my mind comes up with when I so thoroughly hate a writing like I hate Donnie Cates’ Venom.

Dylan goes beyond being just a special snowflake that was forcefully and crudely implemented. He is the pre-ordained established opposite of the nature of corruption that Knull created the symbiotes for. To Knull, the symbiotes are his thralls. To Dylan, the symbiotes are his pets. To Knull, the symbiotes are a tool to become omnipresent. To Dylan, the symbiotes are individuals who need to be liberated if good. To Knull, there is no such thing as a good symbiote. To Dylan, there is and it’s Venom or sleeper or what have you. Dylan is the forgotten son and the New Testament for symbiote kind.

And he doesn’t know yet.

Okay, this is a common Mary Sue trait to absolve culpability of a Mary Sue character. It’s to say that they are not to blame for being special. It’s like the writing form of don’t hate me because I’m beautiful except somehow more obnoxious. Dylan’s obliviousness to this what is essentially an entire alien species religious revelation is like trivialized because their prophet is a 12 year old. It’s like waiting for a savior only to be told he is a carpenter.

Imma let that last one just marinate for a minute.

Look, Cates did a lot of rewriting and retconning just for his self-insert to become his favorite series and hero to be the second coming. He created this lore for Venom only for his avatar to be the prophet. The intentionality of his obliviousness to how important this is just glazed over the fact like it isn’t a big deal. Just like Cates glazed over the whole rape and forced impregnation thing because somehow that doesn’t warrant a follow up.

3. Dylan Brock is fanboy Cates

Okay before I begin, self-inserts aren’t bad nor are they inherently Mary-Sues. Kong from Ultimate Spider-Man is Bendis’ self-insert. Boomerang from Amazing Spider-Man was rewritten to be Spencer’s self-insert. JJJ is a self insert for Stan fucking Lee like...self-inserts are great. To the degree that they aren’t unnatural to the narrative or overbearing.

Dylan Brock’s previously stated precociousness comes from the idea that Donnie is writing the inner teenager that he was as a kid reading Maximum Carnage for the first time. And I get it, man, live your truth and all. Like yeah, force and subjugate other fans of this series to your childlike inquiries like how Symbiotes poop, I mean it’s not like their fandom is important or anything.

First Dylan is a fanboy of Venom just like he is. And while that makes sense meta-wise, in-narrative it doesn’t because...okay Venom fans are about to tear me apart for this but it’s like someone being a fan of Ted Bundy. His heroics usually came with a body count is all I’m saying and I doubt it would be praised but then again Wolverine has an in-universe fandom so what do I know. Back on topic, Dylan’s fandom and praise of Venom to get him out of the dark place that is his father’s abusive household.

And this is why it’s so hard to hate him because of all the fucked up shit Cates put in this book, Dylan feels like the one character that is genuine and pure in that innocent kind of way. No one hates Dylan and how could you? We all get it. And it helps that Dylan has a completely different voice than every other Cates has written from every other character. Like I can hear the excitement in his voice when he pesters his hero for questions and I’m reading his words. The idolization is pure when he meets Normie, the god son of Spider-Man, and it creates this dynamic of Spider-Man fans vs Venom fans. It’s fun in a way.

But it’s just that. When Cates writes Eddie, he is not only writing to retell Cates own personal past demons but also in the lens of how he viewed Eddie as this tortured soul who just got the wrong interview from a copycat that costs his job. The second banana of a greater and more prominent hero. Born to the wrong person. That none of what happened to Eddie was his fault or really his doing even when he was at his worst wearing Venom, it was Venom who tempted him.

Dylan is that pre-teen who sees the best in everything Venom is: The dark avenger of the abused and neglected. And I don’t want to speculate whether Cates fits the category or not because that ain’t my business, I can see why Dylan would be a compelling self-insert if it weren’t compounded on top of Cates’ forceful insertion into Venom and subsequently Spider-Man lore.

Like you remember Carly Cooper? Dylan is exactly like Carly Cooper. And this is why I like to think of Cates’ run as the equivalent of One More Day. Cates’ retconned a crucial element of Venom to make Dylan necessary to the core of Venom. He retconned the one thing that made Venom and subsequently Eddie go beyond just being a twisted revenge story.

The erasure of Mary Brock, Eddie’s sister and Eddie’s cancer. One is the motivation and the sole good Eddie has ever known. It’s his motivation to move past is mistakes. And Cates then turns the one bond in the series into something...horrific.

Okay, Dylan replaced his sister and Venom itself. His being becomes Eddie’s motivation to be a better person rather the struggle to see himself as more than his upbringing. It’s like reading Spider-Man and finding out Uncle Ben was on crack. Uncle Ben didn’t die. He faked his death. Yeah, that is what this was. So he could evade taxes or some shit. This is exonerated Eddie in the worst way and turned him into a manipulated pawn of Venom. Let’s completely retcon the marriage of MJ and PeterVenom and Eddie, Cates pitches to editorial.

Dylan becomes more than just some kid who idolizes Eddie. He becomes the sole motivation of Eddie himself now. Eddie’s past is now completely erased or made irrelevant to uplift Dylan’s importance to Eddie. It’s too a point that the Symbiote kids of Venom aren’t Eddie’s kids anymore. It’s like Eddie was in an interracial relationship and the one non-brown baby with blue eyes is his one true kid and others are mulatto chocolate eugenic mishaps or some shit that his ass don’t want to deal with anymore. I mean disowning Carnage I understand but come on?

Cates’ self insert changed the entire nature of the series. And for what purpose? To give Venom a legacy just as Peter has one. And that is the problem with Dylan.

@ubernegro

[mere-mortifer-writing]

Dean Winchester/Reader ❧ Sweet Apology

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader; Dean Winchester/OFC Word count: 3250 | Chapter 2 of 3 Warnings: None for this chapter Tags: Fluff & Smut, a smidge of Angst; Misunderstandings; Porn with Feelings; Arguing; Reader has a crush on Dean Summary: The plan was to watch a movie in Dean’s room, but without Sam to help her feel less awkward, it’s no surprise that she ends up saying something stupid - and make Dean think she dislikes him, of all things, when she has a gigantic crush on the guy. They start yelling at each other, soon enough they’re kissing, and then - well, Dean’s bed gets put to good use. It kind of sucks, though, that as soon as they’re done Dean puts his clothes back on leaves her like nothing happened. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Well, not really. He’s just absolutely clueless. I swear, if these two don’t open their mouths and talk…

Beta’d by @mostly-shawn - Thank you so much for the help and the brainstorming session

Read on Ao3 | Chapter One | Chapter Three coming soon! 

It’s been two days, and she still can’t stop feeling…used.

She loathes using that term for something like this. Having incredible sex with the man that she loves shouldn’t, in any circumstance, make her feel so empty and cold – and yet, here she is. Rationally, she knew from the start that Dean isn’t in love with her; it’s not like she was living in a fairytale land where they would fall in bed together and never leave each other. It doesn’t sound much like the Dean she knows, anyway.

She angrily pours some sugar into her teacup, stirring the honey–brown liquid for far too long, trying to distract herself from her line of thought. She fails miserably. It’s just – the sex was not the problem, she wants to make that clear: it was good, it was with Dean, it probably ruined her for any other man. But he left. He left her immediately, when her emotions were still so raw and close to the surface she just wanted to curl under his weight to hide. She drinks down a scalding sip of tea, reminding herself not to be so stupid. Jody needed help, of course he had to go! So… where’s the problem, then? What has left her shaky and feeling ill at ease in her own skin? “He seemed happy”, she answers herself. Dean put his clothes back on, winked at her and walked out of the room, all with a smile on his face. He didn’t even kiss her goodbye, which she’s pretty sure is common courtesy even between strangers who hooked up. How? How could Dean have had such a drastically different experience that he was happy he could immediately hop off the bed and go, no problem?

Hell, she’s heard from other women how damn sweet he is in bed! A barista from a pub close to the bunker saw her looking with moon eyes at Dean and encouraged her to shoot her shot with him ‘cause, and she quotes, “I know he looks all mean and rough, but he’ll treat you like you’re the only woman he has ever wanted.” Another girl, a hunter she spent some time with researching for a case, confessed that the sex was awesome – but the way he couldn’t stop touching her everywhere, for the entire night, was even better.

So, yeah, had Dean been pissed off that he needed to leave immediately, she would have been fine. Some longing in his eyes, a “fucking werewolves” muttered under his breath… anything, really, and right now she wouldn’t feel like a toy he played with and then threw in the trash. And that thing he said, about how he “missed the feeling”, and how he “always forgets how good it is”: very nice words to hear in the heat of the moment, and she admits she found them very fluttering when he murmured them with his lips pressed on her skin.   But now, in the cold of the bunker’s kitchen, they are just points added to the ‘He Wanted To Get Laid And You Were Conveniently There’ list.

Well, there’s at least one silver lining.   She passes a hand to her neck and feels the familiar ache of pressing on a bruise – Dean left some marks. Hickeys, from under her jaw down to her breasts, an angry purple that is slowly fading away. Sometimes she runs to the bathroom just to see herself in the mirror – and some may call them ugly and trashy, some would even be pissed he left them there in the first place…but she honestly doesn’t give a fuck. They’re a physical reminder of what happened, a proof that Dean wanted her and was as carried away as she felt.   She loves them. They’re helping her feel a bit less lonely.

Which is, in her opinion, why what’s about to happen happens. Just to add insult to injury.

Hours after she’s done with her tea, she hears the main door to the bunker open and someone who’s by far too silent to be the Winchesters come down the stairs. Sure enough, it’s Castiel.   (And she’s still struggling with the whole “angels are real” concept, by the way, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Castiel? Hi, Sam and Dean are not here”, she says when he arrives to the war room. His whole existence is so baffling to her, her brain kind of forgets that she’s usually awkward as fuck around men. She can almost have a normal conversation with the guy. “I know”, he replies, voice gruff but kind. “I’m here to retrieve some ingredients for a spell, Dean informed me you would be home. He said to, uh, ‘check how you’re doin’.” She smiles at how squinty Cas gets as he repeats Dean’s words. “I’m doing great, thank you”, she says. You know, like a liar, pops up in her brain in John Mulaney’s voice. “You okay?” “Yes, I’m well, thank you – but you have some bruises on your neck, do you want me to heal them?” Uh oh. “Mh? No, no, I mean–” Can’t he recognize they’re hickeys? “They’re nothing, you don’t need to waste, uh, energy or whatever.” "It’s only going to take a second, it’ll be painless”, Castiel explains, and before she can find some valid excuse he’s already put two fingers on her forehead. A pleasant tingling down her spine later, aches she didn’t even know she had are gone. She’s sure she doesn’t even have a chipped nail anymore, let alone hickeys on her neck – which shouldn’t be so damn sad to think about, and yet.

“There, all done”, Castiel says with a small smile tugging at his lips. And because she like him, and it was objectively a very nice thing of him to do, she smiles back warmly. “Thank you, Cas. I feel better.” She said, you know, like a li- yes, okay, thank you brain, we get it. “You’re welcome”, and he’s off to take the bone of a virgin nun or something from the basement. Man, spells are weird.  

And she misses Dean. What else is new?

❧ ☙

“Sammy, get on with it–”

Sam slaps him on the arm, still fumbling with the bunker’s key. “Dude, we slept like four hours, give me a break – ok, there you go, it’s open.” Dean wrestles his way through the door first, more to annoy his brother than anything. He’s actually feeling pretty good all things considered: the case went well and nobody got hurt, which is all he asks for. He’s just excited to be back home, is all.

Okay, yeah, and he’s excited to see her again.

Both Jody and Sam teased him for three days straight because his eyes kept glazing over every time her name came up in conversation. Dean had made the mistake of admitting to Sam how exactly the “movie marathon” was going when he picked him up to go to Jody – queue the continuous Dean–has–a–crush jokes. Thank fuck Claire wasn’t on the hunt with them, or he wouldn’t have survived her added teenage snark.

He realizes that Sam was just happy that he stopped moping after her, but still – leave the guy some dignity.

“Sam, it’s your turn to unpack this stuff” – he pats the bag he just put on  the war room table – “and clean the weapons.” His brother stifles a yawn just to shoot a heartfelt “...dude” in his direction. “It’s so your turn, Dean”. “Yes, but I’m still pissed you cockblocked me the other day.” “You said you guys were already done!” Dean scoffs. “What, you think I would have stopped at one round?” “Okay, no,” Sam says, noise scrunched up while he shrugs off his jacket. “TMI, Dean, come on.”

He’d deserved a too–graphic retelling, to be honest, but she’s also Sam’s friend and he doesn’t want to embarrass her just to get back to his brother. Also, it was, you know…kind of special for him, too, and he’s not one to kiss and tell.

Well. Not this time, at least.

Dean has had a soft spot for that girl for a while. She’s unlike any other woman he got to know during the years – the hunter life makes for a completely different personality, more brass and outgoing; and apart from various female hunters he’s met in his life, the other women have been mostly one night stands. It’s not like he knew them, not for real. Meanwhile, she’s more on the shy side (which by the way he finds adorable, especially when she’s doing research for a hunt and stays huddled up with her books for hours. Very sexy librarian of her); a calming presence, level–headed and serene when a lot of things in his life keep falling apart. She reminds him of Charlie, sometimes, especially when she shows what she’s truly passionate about and gets a bit nerdy. He thought the similarities would make for a painful reminder that Charlie is gone, but with time it just made him more fond of her.

He wishes, though, that he didn’t need Sam as a constant buffer between the two of them when they hang out. Dean has learned more about her by listening in to her conversation with his brother than any time it was only the two of them. He’ll admit that was starting to be bitter about it, and that’s why he snapped at her the other day – but thankfully things worked out great. Really great. Like, super great. He’s still riding that high.   Admittedly, the fact that they got interrupted before a much-deserved cuddle session (and he’ll shoot you if you go around telling people he’s a cuddler) sucked, but he left happy knowing that they could make up for lost time when he came back.

God, she’s smoking hot. The moment when he slid off her panties down the curve of her ass played in his mind in repeat often during the hunt, keeping him distracted during the boring witnesses’ interviews.   Jesus Christ, he swears the way she arched her back when she was finally naked was the hottest part…Oh, perfect, now he’s getting hard in his jeans just thinking about it–

“Dean.” Sam throws to his face one of his dirty flannel shirts taken from their bag. “You’re done for, man. Gross. Go say hi to her!”

Yeah, he’s gonna do just that. She’s probably in the library, that’s her favorite spot.

And while he appreciates Sam’s support, he flips him off anyway while he leaves the room.

❧ ☙  

Dean enters the library and immediately spots her on an overstuffed armchair, wearing headphones and scrolling on her phone. The bobbing of her head in time with the music explains why she hadn’t heard them arrive.

He takes a moment to observe her from afar, his eyes falling on the curves of her bare legs. It runs hotter in this area of the bunker, and she’s down to shorts and a tank top. Fuck, he’s missed her.

Dean decides to sneak up on her from behind, 'cause he’s a bit of an asshole and he wants to scare her, and when he’s close enough he sneaks an arm around her shoulders. She immediately jumps up with a yelp, and he takes one of her headphones out before planting a wet kiss on her neck. “Dean, holy shit”, she pants when she recognizes him, “what the hell?” He laughs while he goes to stand in front of the armchair. “We just got back. Sorry, it was the perfect opportunity to do that.” “Sam would never.” It’s obviously supposed to be a joke, but there’s an edge to her voice that makes him frown. “Yeah, well, Sam’s boring like that. Is – is everything okay?” She gives him a tight-lipped smile, so very different from the warm, inviting one she usually reserves for him.

Dean’s confused, to stay the least. He thought she let go of the awkwardness around him somewhere between kissing and telling him a detailed fantasy of how she wanted to fuck him in a diner’s bathroom. I mean, there’s no coming back from that…right?

Maybe she doesn’t know where we stand now, Dean thinks. It’s not like we had time to talk about it. And actions speak louder than words, in his opinion, so he ducks down to kiss her. She stays frozen for a second, the leather of the chair creaking under her grip. Dean cups her jaw to angle her face better, and she kind of…melts into him, warm lips moving on his. Dean’s heartbeat quickens the more she responds to him – he can feel it shaking his chest under the layers of cotton and flannel.   He sinks to his knees in front of her, tugging on her legs until she’s sitting on the edge of the chair, caging him between her knees. He breaks off the kiss to attach his lips to her neck – and, wait, didn’t he leave some marks there? He remembers getting, uh, a bit carried away, last time. She didn’t seem to mind, though… Maybe they already healed. Whatever, he has other things to focus on.

“Dean”, she says, and sinks her hands in hair. He sighs at the feeling of her fingertips on his scalp, and he loses focus of what he’s doing. “Dean, wait a second–” Her grip turns less kind, and he gets the hint. He sits back on his haunches but leaves his hands on her thighs. “Yeah?” “I– Dean, I can’t do this again.” He blinks, surprised at the sudden shift in mood. She looks so damn uncomfortable he has the urge to hug her, but he sets his hands on his lap instead. Did he do something wrong? He knew he would fuck things up eventually, but not so soon. “We don’t have to do anything now, sweetheart,” he reassures her. Maybe he came off too strong. “You’re not feeling okay?” "That’s not really the problem. Last time” – she avoids his gaze, looking down at her hands – “last time wasn’t good for me.”

It’s like she dumped freezing water on his head. He thought – he thought the sex had been awesome, and now she tells him she didn’t enjoy it? But she came, he thinks, immediately followed by maybe she faked it – which, ugh. Oh God. He’ll drive straight into the ocean. “I thought–” he starts, face burning up in mortification. He even told Sam they were amazing together, and that he couldn’t wait to do more – earning a “spare me the details” from his brother.  "Well, nevermind. I’ll leave you to your music”, he grumbles.

He’s not making this any better, is he? It’s just – what the fuck is he supposed to say? Something mature, probably. Not his forte.

She opens her mouth, but Dean stands up before she can say anything – he doesn’t want to hear her soften the blow with some excuse. “I’ll see you at dinner”, he quickly adds while he dusts off his pants. And then, bruised ego in tow, he leaves the room.

As he hurries down the hall, he can’t help thinking back to what he did differently, with her, that didn’t work like it always has on other women.

Of course, he knows that everyone is different, that there isn’t a universal how-to guide for pleasing a woman in bed…but still, he did pick up a thing or two during the years. Dean would like to think that he got way better than his first time stumbling in bed with a girl, back when he was seventeen, arrogant but unbearably self–conscious under all the bravado.

He did the things that he usually does, warming her up before the main event, going at her pace 'cause he knows that it takes girls longer to really get into it. And he likes drawing things out – the undressing, the exploring of each other’s body; letting the desire turn desperate and all-encompassing. So? What was the problem?

He thinks about it some more, losing himself in the memories from time to time, but then his steps falter as he remembers something. Which is that he did, in fact, skip one of his favorite steps: he didn’t eat her out. He forgot, alright? He was worked up because of all the arguing and the kissing and the weeks of tension between them before that…and she was so wet and responsive, he let it get to his head, and then…then…

Arrived to his room, Dean glares at the door like it stole his money and scratched his car. When he yanks it opens it creaks, offended at the rough treatment. As he face-plants into his bed, he wishes he could make a similar sound that to properly express what he’s feeling at the moment. He’s so fucking embarrassed that he gave this girl – that he’s genuinely interested in, that has always been kind to him, that he lives with and has to see every day – less attention than he would a one-night stand.

But the problem, he reasons, can’t possibly be only his lack of cunning linguistics – as his smartass, clever-world-play lover of a brother once called it – even though he’s sure it helped lessen the overall experience for her.

Well, there was also a moment where he accidentally hurt her – but it was just the position, he probably went too deep, and he knows damn well that the first time with someone you’re bound to fumble, to have some awkward moments. That’s why he was excited to be with her again: he doesn’t have the opportunity to try a second time very often. They could get better, fall in tune with each other until it all becomes natural and effortless and good.

Yes, the thrill of the first time, of something new, is amazing – but the times that he got to feel the familiarity seep in, to see that sense of performing instead of just enjoying disappear…? God, he wants that again. He hoped– Well, nevermind what he hoped. If she doesn’t want him anymore, good riddance. The only thing he prays for is that things won’t be oh so terribly tense between them. If nothing else, because Sam would get caught in the middle.

Then he remembers he left her with a “see you at dinner” –   which means he only has a few hours to decide if he wants to face this whole thing like a man, or just drive into the ocean like he was thinking about earlier.

He loves Baby too much to let her rot in the Atlantic, and that’s all that’s stopping him.

He groans in his pillow, defeated – give him a nest of vampires, and he’ll know how to deal with it. This whole mess? Not so much.

Taking a deep breath, he realizes the fabric still faintly smells of her – that flowery shampoo that she uses; the natural scent of her skin. Predictably, snapshots of how she looked tangled in his sheets flash behind his closed eyes, details soft and hazy in his memory. Despite everything, it makes him smile and snuggle deeper into the pillow.

“Oh my God. I have feelings for her”, Dean mumbles with his face still squished in the fabric. “Fuck my life.”

❧ ☙ 

Every comment is cherished and/or framed and put on a wall to read when I’m sad

Tags under the cut :)

Sweet Apology Tag List @perpetualabsurdity @thatgirl1456 @boredtotearz100 @sister-winchesters99 @fuckthealarm @fangirlanotherjust @deansgirl79 @sparklypandemonium 

[artificialqueens]

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter eighteen (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 4710

AN: The penultimate chapter - it’s hard to believe that this fic will be over by next week. This fic has really pushed me with plot development and storytelling, and I’m so grateful for it. Enjoy this doozy of a chapter. Thank you all for the sweet sweet feedback and reviews, they truly motivate me so much and make me so happy. Writ is the best beta one could ask for <3

(then)

It’s just a Skype interview.

Vanessa can do it.

A Skype interview. She doesn’t have to fly to California or anything for it, either. She just has to wear a nice button down shirt and a blazer, do her makeup and sit in front of the webcam on her computer to try and impress an admissions committee approximately four thousand kilometers and three timezones away.

She’s more confident this time around. The humming in her veins is less so that of nerves about embarrassing herself, and more so her brain running through possible questions that she’s already practiced, her potential answers already rolling off her tongue.

Vanessa’s done this once already. She’s been through this process.

This time, she’s going to do it right.

She doesn’t have to worry about being interrupted, either. The kitties are asleep on the bed and Riley’s resting by her feet, and Brooke, well…

Vanessa doesn’t know where Brooke is. Probably class? Maybe the library?

There’s a tiny voice in Vanessa’s brain that reminds her of how her and Brooke always used to be hung up on each other, even when they were busy. Constantly texting, sending each other funny pictures from things they encountered on campus. The way that Vanessa would always snap a photo of the weird foods the guy in front of her in organic chemistry would always bring to lecture, just to brighten Brooke’s day while she was stuck in her human biology lab.

Hell, the last person she’s texted is her mom. Before that, Silky. Before that, A’keria.

She hasn’t texted Brooke since three days ago when Brooke told her to clean out the fridge when she had time.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke for this interview. She doesn’t need any help in preparing, she’s done it herself.

And she’s going to keep doing it, too. Because she’s strong enough, smart enough, if the last year has taught her anything.

If it doesn’t work?

Well, there’s always nursing school.

“Thank you, Vanessa. It’s been wonderful talking with you and hearing your perspective, especially from the lens of being part of our neighbours to the north, with a differing healthcare system. You absolutely possess qualities that we value in prospective students.” The woman from the panel on Vanessa’s screen sounds happy, actually happy, and Vanessa has to press her palms onto her knees to keep herself from pumping her first.

She’s done well. First interview of many, and she’s done well.

It feels like retribution. Like she’s reclaiming what’s been taken from her, but doing it with her own spin. Making her mark. Staking her claim on what she’s been working so hard towards.

Vanessa’s going to get it. One way or another, she’s going to start med school in the fall.

She looks underneath the couch cushions, trying to find her cellphone. She’s gotta call her mom, tell her that she did well, that things are finally, finally coming together. If she’s done well with this Skype interview, who’s to say that she won’t with the interviews in person at all the Ontario universities? Vanessa feels like the Skype interview has given her a boost of confidence, pulling her off of the ground and towards the ceiling that’s been holding her back. And now, she’s going to break through it.

Vanessa grumbles when Riley gets up from his spot on the floor, because of course her phone had fallen on the ground earlier and he’d been sitting on it the entire time. Typical.

Her phone is already up to her ear and ringing when the front door bursts open, and there Brooke is, waltzing in and dropping her bag in the entrance and opening the fridge while…some strangers wait in the doorway?

Vanessa hangs up as Brooke turns to her, biting into an apple. “Oh, hey. Came to drop stuff out before heading out again.”

Vanessa wrinkles her brow. “Where are you-”

“The second year med students are planning some prank on the third years, apparently. Supposed to happen soon. We’re gonna go watch.” Brooke throws out the apple core as she finishes it, turning back towards the people at the door still shouldering their own backpacks.

“You ain’t even gonna introduce everyone?” So what if it comes out saltier than Vanessa intends it to be? It’s been a semester and a half that Brooke’s been in med school and Vanessa feels like that part of her life is completely separate, untouchable to her.

“Oh.” Brooke pauses. “Well. Steve, Jon, Aurora, Courtney. In that order. Everyone, this is Vanessa.”

The guy farthest on the right (Jon? Steve? Vanessa’s missed it), his arm around the guy beside him, lets out a noise that makes the normally loud Vanessa want to plug her own ears. “You! You’re Brooke’s girlfriend!”

“The one and only.” Or so Vanessa hopes. Not that she wants to go down that spiral.

“Honestly, we were beginning to think that you didn’t exist, from the way we’ve never seen you.”

“I may as well not.” Vanessa mutters it under her breath, so that they don’t hear. As much as she’d love to start shit right now and as much as she loves mess, she’s not gonna stoop low.

“Well, come along with Brooke to our library study sessions sometime. We get stuff done. Occasionally, at least.” The girl with the bleach blonde hair turns towards her friends. “Remember that time that B ordered pizza to the library? And we snuck it in and-”

“We ate it and hid it from the security guard under the table-”

“-that was hysterical.” They’re all cracking up, the lot of them, and Brooke is too, and Vanessa wants to disappear into the couch. More inside jokes that she’s not a part of. Probably will never be a part of, at least not in the same way that a group of friends sharing a med school class are a part of.

It’s fine.

“Yeah, sure, maybe.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips halfhearted, because really, does she want to go and hear about people that she doesn’t know and classes that she’s not part of, and generally feel like she’s still on the outside looking in?

Not really.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah?” Brooke looks surprised, almost, that Vanessa’s calling out to her. It could be due to the fact that they haven’t been speaking much over the last few weeks, or maybe not.

Who’s to know for sure, really?

But Vanessa’s interview went well, real well. And she kinda wants to share it with someone. Someone there in person, not just on the phone. “Can we talk for a sec?”

Brooke bites her lip, looking between her friends and her phone. “Um, can it wait? Just got the text from a girl in our class that everyone’s meeting outside Convocation Hall to watch. We gotta go.”

Sure, Vanessa expects it, because the two of them aren’t each other’s highest priority anymore. But it still fucking stings. She patches up the hole in her chest, the one looking for Brooke’s pride, Brooke’s approval, the one that preens under Brooke’s appreciative glance because she’s not going to get it anytime soon. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

She could fight right now, yell at Brooke for being flippant. But does it matter? When Brooke probably won’t even give a shit?

It’s not like she really does these days, anyway.

The door closes behind them and Vanessa pats the couch, letting Riley jump onto it and curl up beside her. She buries her face into his fur as the sounds of talking get softer and softer down the hallway.  

Vanessa doesn’t feel like calling her mom anymore, either.

Brooke comes back when Vanessa’s already climbed into bed, reviewing her notes for her upcoming microbiology exam. Vanessa doesn’t want to look up, she really doesn’t, when Brooke climbs in beside her.

They don’t automatically snuggle into each other the way they used to. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between their sides of the bed, and Vanessa’s not sure which one of them keeps on adding the bricks on to it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Vanessa flips to another page of her review, trying her hardest to focus on the virus that she’s supposed to be studying, but can’t help pulling her eyes up.

“The second years set a bunch of chickens loose on the lawn in front of Convocation Hall as they left their lecture. It was hilarious.” Brooke lets out a small laugh, evidently remembering the sight in front of her. Not that Vanessa cares.

“Fun.”

“Yeah.” There’s an awkward pause, one that makes Vanessa want to fidget before Brooke speaks again. “You wanted to tell me something earlier?”

Oh. That.

“It doesn’t matter.” Vanessa mumbles the words as she turns another page over, because it really fucking doesn’t. Brooke didn’t care enough a couple hours ago. She doesn’t care now.

Vanessa doesn’t need any reactions or cheering from her.

“What? Just tell me.” Brooke shifts on her side, raising an eyebrow. “What was it?”

“I ain’t gotta tell you anything,” Vanessa snaps, suddenly annoyed. The interview feels like it happened ages ago by now, anyway. She’s already told her mom and Silky and A’keria and celebrated how well it went by ordering in Postmates and why should she have to retell it, when Brooke didn’t even want to hear about it in the first place?

“Fine,” Brooke huffs, crossing her arms. “Don’t say I didn’t ask, later.”  

“Fuck off.” Vanessa doesn’t want to deal with this, doesn’t want to end up in the shitty mood that Brooke always manages to put her in. She’s tired of it. “Not like you actually care.”

Though apparently, Brooke isn’t. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Excuse me?” Vanessa feels her voice raising as she finally puts her review down on the bedside table because is now the time that Brooke is going to come for her? Really?

“I don’t actually care? You’re the one who never talks to me anymore, you never want to come to things with me or meet my friends and, you know what? I’m tired of trying with you.” Brooke looks cold, real cold, in a way that Vanessa’s never really seen directed towards her. The kind of closed off expression that she only gets when she talks about her parents, or when she’s ranting about one of her professors. The kind of Brooke that Vanessa’s not quite so used to, not when the Brooke that she normally gets is soft and open and not so closed off.

Vanessa’s about to run her mouth, though Brooke isn’t done, cutting her off before she’s able to say anything. “All you’re doing is pushing me away. Like the past three years have been bullshit and don’t matter anymore.”

“You’re the one who’s left me behind!” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, because how doesn’t Brooke get it? Brooke’s moved on, moved onto other things and left Vanessa floundering in the dust and they’re supposed to be a team.

That’s what they’re supposed to be.

“No I didn’t, and you know that. I’m still trying, I’m the only one that’s still fucking trying between the two of us because you can never bother to even give me the time of day anymore.” Brooke’s jaw is set and she swallows hard, as if she’s trying to push everything back down and it’s not fair. Because Brooke is acting like this is solely her fault, when it isn’t.

“You’re never here anymore, how do you expect me to even do that? You’re always in class or hanging with your own friends or doing some med school event or the other. Not like I can even come to those.” Vanessa crosses her arms. She’s not going to follow Brooke to the ends of the earth to try. Not when Brooke wouldn’t even do the same for her.

“It always comes back to med school, huh?” Brooke lets out a bitter laugh. “Always the thing that makes you snap.”

“Don’t-”

“You still blame me because you didn’t get in, don’t you? Or at least, you take it out on me. Because I’m here and the admissions committees don’t exactly respond well to any sort of threats.” Brooke hasn’t raised her voice, not really, but the words still set Vanessa on fire, make her angry because Brooke’s so damn calm while she says them.

“You think real highly of yourself.” Vanessa doesn’t care about being quiet anymore, unlike Brooke. Not when she’s being like this. “You ain’t that important, bitch.”

“Believe whatever you want.” The ice is back, the tendrils beginning to creep along Vanessa’s skin from her words. “We both know it’s true. That’s when things started to get like this, when you stopped trying to actually talk to me about things. When you didn’t get in and I did.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe try a little harder for this next year and you don’t have to be so bitter anymore.” Brooke has a smirk on her face, the bitch. As if it’s all a joke to her.

“You really think I didn’t try hard? Like I didn’t put in as much effort as you, didn’t deserve it like you did? Like I wasn’t supporting you that whole fucking time?” Vanessa’s mad, real mad, because how dare Brooke even say that she didn’t fucking try hard, when Brooke was the one who was there, and saw her. “Maybe the reason I didn’t get in was because I had to spend so much time trying to make you feel better. Holding your hand constantly when you got anxious and stressed and had to put my books down to make sure you didn’t fucking blow a gasket on me.”

It’s a low blow and Vanessa knows it, by the way Brooke’s eyes darken because this isn’t something that they make light of, or joke about. Either of their mental health. But part of it is true. Sure, it comes with being in a relationship, supporting your partner. But maybe, just maybe, it’s taken away success from Vanessa too. Or at least, that’s what she’s going to tell Brooke, to drive that knife in just a little bit deeper.

There was a time when the last thing that Vanessa wanted to do was to hurt Brooke.

That was a long time ago.

“I didn’t realize I was such a huge burden to you.” Brooke narrows her eyes, and Vanessa can see the way that she’s covering up her heart, reinforcing it with every brick that she puts in front of it for protective armour. “You know what, though? I’m doing just fine. Just fine without you, don’t you think? Meanwhile, you look like you’re falling apart.”

Vanessa wants to scream and tell Brooke that she’s not, that she’s just fine, but the words don’t come. Because Brooke’s right.

And Vanessa hates it because it means that Brooke really has moved on.

“What, you don’t have anything to say, now that you don’t have anyone to blame anymore? Now that you actually have to take responsibility for something, for once in your life with no one to pick up the pieces for you?”

Vanessa doesn’t.

“Fine.” Vanessa’s off the bed, grabbing her coat that’s hanging on the back of their bedroom door, because she’s done. “You win.”

“Can you just fucking listen to yourself for once? It’s not about winning!” Brooke’s following her and she doesn’t care, she’s not going to stop even with how frustrated Brooke sounds. Because she’s wrong.

Brooke’s won, left her in pieces the way that she’s so good at doing again and again.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke to build herself back up.

(now)

The light of dawn makes Brooke glow in shades of gold.

It’s 5:45 a.m., and Vanessa’s unable to sleep anymore because of the rays of sun that are beaming directly into her eyes from Brooke’s bedroom window.

Their surgery starts at 8 a.m. sharp. They’ve done the practice run, have had consult meeting after consult meeting. Vanessa would probably be able to do the procedure with her eyes closed. Even if the surgery is approximately four and a half hours long.

Vanessa’s done longer. They both have. She’s not worried.

For now, her thoughts are solely drawn to the woman lying beside her.

There’s something about Brooke in sleep that continues to be absolutely mesmerizing to Vanessa. The way her lips are slightly parted, the way the worry lines etched into her face smooth themselves out while she’s dreaming. The slight twitch of her fingers and the soft breaths that she lets out as the sheets brush her skin.

She’s beautiful.

Vanessa gets up as slowly as she can to not wake Brooke up, and pulls on one of Brooke’s sweaters before she heads to the kitchen. She can’t help the little curses she lets out as she tries to get Brooke’s Keurig to work, different from her own at home.

“Stupid, damn machine-”

Though she doesn’t have to grumble to herself for long, two steaming drinks in her hands before the clock strikes 6:00.

When she heads back to the bedroom Brooke is awake, a hand running through her hair and her eyes wide as she sits up. Vanessa can see the palpable relief in Brooke’s eyes when she spots her in the doorway, along with the way that Brooke’s grip on the sheets begins to lessen, her body releasing the tension that had began to build up.

“You okay?” Vanessa hands Brooke a mug before sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I-” Brooke draws in a breath, looking down at the sheets. “Thought you’d left.”

The words lie heavy in Vanessa’s heart, because she knows she’s the one that’s made Brooke so afraid of it.

“I ain’t gonna leave, B,” Vanessa starts, voice soft, “Unless you want me to.”

Brooke looks up at her and Vanessa can see a vulnerability in her eyes. Neither of them are talking about this morning anymore. Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke knows it.

Vanessa’s not going to leave.

“You know it’s different now, right?” Vanessa puts her hand on top of Brooke’s on the mattress, feels Brooke’s hand turn over to grab hers. “It’s not like it used to be. We’re not like that anymore. We’re different.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Brooke’s just as soft, her voice on par with the way the sun is beginning to rise even more, lighting up the room.

“We’re not gonna end up like that again. I won’t let it.” Vanessa won’t. She can’t, because she’s already lost Brooke before, slowly and then all at once. Ripping off the band-aid at a torturous pace.

“How, though? How do we know we won’t end up like that again?” Brooke’s voice is almost pleading and Vanessa gets it, she does, because the tug in her heart is asking the same question. Waiting, just waiting, to catastrophize and concoct scenarios of how they could go all wrong.

“‘Cause we’re not gonna let that resentment build between us. We’re killing it in our own fields, both the heads of our departments. We’re not competing against each other anymore. We’re cheering each other on.” It does make a difference, it really does, when Vanessa thinks about it. Not having to vy for the same opportunities, same goals.

Brooke’s success isn’t a detriment to Vanessa’s own, and vice versa. She knows that now.

“Plus, I’m not a bitch ass, immature, twenty year old anymore.” Vanessa is sheepish as she says it, watching Brooke giggle. “You succeed now? I’m gonna have my phone out to record everything with a proud fucking grin on my face.”

“Same.” Brooke tilts her head and the sunlight glints off of her hair and Vanessa’s never seen a more beautiful girl in her life. “I want those memories with you. I want them to happen.”

“Look at you getting all soft on me, B.” Vanessa leans forward to kiss her, cutting off the half hearted protest on Brooke’s lips (‘I’m not that soft’).

But it’s true, Brooke is. So soft and open in a way that Vanessa loves, in a way that she feels so lucky that she gets to experience, since Brooke likes to keep that part of herself hidden away, not showing it to just anyone. Vanessa had been lucky enough to have that version of Brooke in university in the early years. And now here Brooke is, trusting her and letting her see the most beautiful parts of herself again.

Not the fact that Brooke’s a great surgeon, even though she is. Not the fact that she’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant, a fact that everyone already knows.

But rather, the fact that Brooke’s grip on her hand always tightens when she’s happy, and also all the little kisses that she presses to the crook of Vanessa’s neck whenever they snuggle as they’re about to fall asleep. The way that Brooke seems to remember little flippant things that Vanessa says, ever so thoughtful, like when she brought coffee before their consult meeting with the entire team yesterday and Vanessa’s had a dash of vanilla, just the way she likes it.

The softer parts of Brooke that contrast from the tight ship she runs as a surgeon, the rigidity that she imposes. The parts that make Vanessa realize that she really still loves her, so so much.

Brooke’s alarm clock blares as the numbers shift over to 6:30, making them both jump. Brooke turns it off, and Vanessa can’t help the way she leans against her side, revelling in how Brooke wraps her arms around her and rests her chin on top of her head.

“We have to get ready.” Brooke mutters the words into her hair before pressing a kiss there, and it makes Vanessa want to squeeze her eyes shut tight.

“No, we don’t.”

“We have a surgery scheduled at 8:00 a.m. sharp.”

“Who said that?”

Brooke snorts. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

The term of endearment makes Vanessa’s heart flutter more than she wants to admit, as if she’s eighteen again and crushing on the girl that sits beside her in anatomy class with two french braids in her hair.

Except, now? She knows, really knows, how much this girl actually means to her. And how hard she’s going to work not to lose her again.

“Tie up the back of my gown for me?”

Vanessa dries her hands and turns to see Brooke standing with her back towards her, scrub cap already on along with her face mask, surgical gown on top of her scrubs but untied.

“Sure.” Vanessa double knots the ties on the gown the way she always does with her own, always remembering the one unfortunate instance when she hadn’t tied her gown properly and it promptly came off on top of a patient’s open chest. Not one of her finest moments.

“All done. Anyone tell you how fucking adorable you look with a scrub cap covered in cats?”

Brooke’s mask is covering half of her face, but Vanessa can still see the way she blushes, the top of her cheeks glowing pink. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! It’s cute.” Vanessa protests, pointing to her own covered in puppies. “Besides. We kinda match.”

“That’s true.” Brooke grins behind her surgical mask, and Vanessa can tell by the way that her eyes scrunch.

The charge nurse for their surgery yells out a timecheck, and it makes Vanessa remember that they’re really about to do this together. After so much planning, so many late nights. So many fights in the early stages, which seem almost comical now, looking back at them.

She and Brooke are both too damn stubborn sometimes, though it’s something that Vanessa hopes never ever changes.

“You ready?” She reaches out, squeezes Brooke’s hand before letting go. They’re still at work, after all, but she knows how Brooke can get, how an extra check in never hurts.

“Yeah. Now c’mon.” Brooke tilts her head towards the operate suite, at the way their team is finishing their set up for the surgery. “It’s a beautiful day to save lives.”

Vanessa gapes. “You did not just quote Grey’s Anatomy at me-”

Brooke cackles as she follows her into the suite. “I’m quite the McDreamy, aren’t I?”

“You wish.”

Vanessa massages her own shoulder as they stand in the line for Tim Hortons, neither of them particularly keen that morning on packing lunches for after their joint surgery.

“I’m fucking sore from being hunched over.”

Brooke looks over at her with an adorably furrowed brow. “You’re a surgeon. You do this for a living.”

“And you’re supposed to say you’ll give me a massage.” Vanessa pouts, though it morphs into a grin when Brooke wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“If you’re patient and can wait until the end of the day. Can you do that?”

“It’ll be real difficult.” Vanessa lets out a fake sigh as they head to their table, where some of the neuro and cardiac surgeons have already began to eat. “I dunno if I’ll have it in me.”

“If you’re good, you can have something in you-”

“Bitch-”

They’re both giggling as they sit down at the table, and Vanessa can already see the incredibly curious faces of their coworkers.

“You two aren’t fighting?” Kameron points between them, squinting her eyes as if she’s attempting to solve a complex math problem.

Brooke shoots Vanessa a look, almost asking permission. Vanessa nods, because what the hell. It’ll be funny to see everyone’s reactions.

“Considering she woke up in my bed today, no.” Brooke takes a sip of her coffee as their table erupts into chaos.

“Goddamn! And y’all say that I’m the loud one.” Vanessa yelps when Yvie grabs her hand to high five it, ducks out of Kameron’s bear hug directed towards her. “Absolute animals.”

“So. Tell us.” Plastique looks delighted as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “Was the sex good? After that much fighting, it must be good.”

“A lady never kisses and tells.” Brooke smiles faux demurely before stealing a Timbit from Vanessa’s lunch.

“Hey-”  

“Sorry, baby.” Brooke doesn’t look the least bit sorry as she pops the Timbit into her mouth. “I’ll make it up to you later.”  

She’s so cute that Vanessa can’t even be mad about it.

Yvie wrinkles her nose. “You two are already gross. Unbelievable.”

Brooke grins. “Says the girl who wouldn’t shut up about her date with her girlfriend during the temporal lobe tumour removal last week.”

Yvie sticks her tongue out at both of them. “Hateful.”

“Truthful.”

Vanessa’s about to chime in, when she’s interrupted by the slam of Asia’s tray on the table, Asia herself looking out of breath and quite smug.

“You all won’t believe the tea I have on these two from yesterday.” Asia looks positively delighted as she points between Vanessa and Brooke.

Vanessa can’t help herself. “We already told everyone else. It ain’t breaking news no more, Anderson Cooper.”

“Damn. And here I was actually excited about something for once.” Asia scowls, before pausing. “Wait, how do you know who Anderson Cooper is?”

Vanessa scoffs. “I watch shit sometimes. Nah, I’m playing. It was on the TV in the cardiac outpatient waiting room the other day. I prefer 90 Day Fiancé, myself.”

Kameron snorts. “A woman of culture.”

“That I am, bitch.”

Brooke nudges Vanessa’s side. “Gotta go. Consultation with a patient in ten.”

Vanessa gives Brooke her best fake pout. She knows that they’re at work, surrounded by coworkers and patients and families, but sometimes it feels like time spent with Brooke passes by too fast, like it’s in fast forward.

“Don‘t give me that face.”

“Hmph.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a meeting in ten, too?”

Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe so.”

“You’re something else.” Brooke reaches over to ruffle Vanessa’s hair and Vanessa yelps, because her curls don’t stay this nice with anyone messing them up.

“I’ll see you soon?” Brooke’s eyes are expectant as she stands up, gathering her things from the table.

“That you will.”

It’s true, in more ways than one. Vanessa doesn’t want to let Brooke go anytime soon.

[a-third-attempt]

Raising Bell (pt. 1)

 * * *

Defamation, Libel. 8 cts: First Presbyterian, Chittenden County &c. (see Appendix C)

 * * *

“We’ve got her”, I said.

“Jason. I’ve told you a million times not to barge in here after— Who?”

The boss’s desk is big, but he makes it look small. Tall and fat, he always wears a dark brown coat that somehow makes him an even more imposing presence. You'd never catch him during working hours without a cigar in his mouth, and even then you’d never catch him for more than a couple seconds at a time. He wasn't the easiest guy to get along with, but the only reason this operation was still in the black was because that man worked around the clock to make it go. At the moment he was busy with paperwork, a task that he never started until 7:00 at the earliest, because “the real work goes on when the sun is up, kid!”

“Dorothy,” I said.

“Dorothy McAdams?”

“Dorothy McAdams.”

His eyebrows raise and he offers a breathless “Dorothy McAdams...” in reply. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She came to town because of her brother, and the word on the street is that she’s sticking around for a year or two. Besides that,” I smile broadly, “I suppose it’s just to your credit for hiring such a charming talent agent, that got her to call you back before St. Anthony.”

He grunts. That was a little too showy for any other day, but with Dorothy in my pocket he’d damn well better cut me some slack.

“How much did it cost me?”

“Well, sir...”

“Snap it out Jason, I haven’t got all night.”

“Sorry, sir. Salary isn’t worth writing home about, double what the other four-in-handers get. And no signing bonus, just a condition.” I pause. He removes the cigar from his mouth and waves it in a circle, annoyed that I'm talking so slow. “We have to take on a kid named Timothy Courtson.”

“Who the hell is Timothy Courtson?”

“Does it matter?” I say, confidently.

“It might,” he snaps back. I guess he's right. Could be an arsonist, he always says. That sure would be bad for business, you know. I glance down at the file in my hand, and swallow hard.

“It doesn’t.”

“He any good?”

I’m sure the millisecond of silence was answer enough, but I answered him. “He can play C and D4.”

He puts the cigar back in his mouth and smirks. “So, no.”

“Positively dire, sir. But it’s no bonus with the kid; 2.5 without.” A second of silence is all it takes to get the words spilling out of my mouth. I spent too much money on her and if I lost the cash back… “Look, we just double up Karen and shift down the bass. The kid can sound like a dying cat and nobody’s going to know the difference down there. Garrett can teach him to mart properly and he’ll get the rest in the extra lessons from Tanya.”

He waves away my explanation. “Yeah, yeah, Jason. You made the right call. Good work.”

I bow my head, and take the opportunity to collect myself, knowing that the goodwill won’t last long. “There— sorry, there’s another thing. Louis told me to give you this.”

I hold the file out to him, and he recoils. “Does it look like I've got the time to read this thing?”

“Please, boss. It's important.”

He snatches the file in one hand, and with the other he grabs a pair of comically undersized glasses. Plopping them on his nose, he opens it and starts reading. It takes about three seconds for the color to drain from his face and his mouth to twist into a bitter scowl.

“What the SAM HELL is this, Jason?” I shrug. Could have been worse, if we're being honest.

“Just a list of notes that Louis kept when he had her, and everything he could find about her past behavior.”

He starts to shout at me again, but thinks better of it and rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“Language.” It’s instinct, but I know it’s a bad idea from the instant the word comes out of my mouth.

“Jesus Christ have mercy on this woman’s soul,” he snaps back. “But judging by this rap sheet, there’s not much chance of that.”

“She’s a genius. Every genius has some quirks.”

“Hell with quirks, Jason. This is a problem.”

The words hang silently in the smokey air of his office. He tosses the folder to the side and turns away from me, looking out the window at the view of nothing, just a few yellow streetlamps and the broad side of the next concrete building.

“You still want her, though, right?”

He’s quiet, still facing away from me, but there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“We’ll just have to keep a tighter leash than Louis did.”

“Take your good-for-nothing file and get out of here,” he grunts softly, and I oblige. As frightening as Boss can be when he’s a swirling rage, I know he’s much scarier when he gets that quiet.

 * * *

A/N: As usual, you can see the entire writing process below the break.

==========

==========

Second Draft

See savefile-1 for suggested edits. I don’t think we need to do a full rewrite of this, but if you get inspired, this would be the draft to do it. I think the original was pretty inspired, though, and it went though a lot of revision with all the retellings.

 * * *

Okay, I’m just going to let this one go through on the second draft. It’s fine and I’m too drunk to do real edits. Maybe if I can stay sober for a whole night I’ll make it work, but fuck Coronavirus, amirite?

==========

First Thoughts

Okay, let’s do the first person thing.

What does Jason notice in their narration? They notice Boss, first and foremost. Boss is tempermental and demanding, so this is a survival mechanism. And with such sensitive information that he’s bringing, he needs to be hypervigilant. 

What does he miss? Emotions, for anyone except Boss— and even then, only as they’re written in his face and serve as tells toward his behavior in the immediate future, or things that he does(n’t) want to hear.

Also, it’s not that he misses it, but he’s not going to wax too poetic about the office; he works there, and he works long hours too.

From all these outbursts, especially with Boss— forgivable because of the situation, but not ideal— we can tell that Jason doesn’t have much impulse control. Even though I don’t like the ‘not even for’ line, this characterization might not quite come through without it. Play around.

Dropping the F bomb feels just a little off. It's not about the “Language” outbust (that's part of what makes the joke); it's just that Boss is someone who commands enough respect that they don’t have to lash out to get what they want. And yes, this McAdams’ rap sheet is pretty wild but it just seems like he would say it a tad more eloquently.

You should probably, at some point, actually draft this rap sheet. For the extended version I can easily see each chapter starting with an item from the sheet, when the chapter is about shenanigans in that regard.

If we’re going to call this Chap 1 instead of Prologue, I could easily see the line item here being:

Defamation, Libel. 8 cts: First Presbyterian, Chittenden County &c. (see Appendix C)

I mean obviously I’m making this citation style up wholesale, which is okay because the real citations are in the appendix, duhhhhh. Also obviously I don’t need it to be Chittenden County, Vermont; but wherever it is, is presumably where Louis runs his empire.

==========

First Draft (written over multiple sessions)

“We’ve got her”, I said.

“Jason I’ve told you a million times not to barge in here with— Who?”

[Exposition]

“Dorothy,” I said.

“Dorothy McAdams?”

“Dorothy McAdams.”

His eyebrows raise and he offers a breathless “Dorothy McAdams...” in reply. He looks up at nothing in particular, visions of fame and fortune surely filling his head. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She came to town because of her brother, and the word on the street is that she’s sticking around for a year or two. Besides that,” I smile broadly, “I suppose it’s just to your credit for hiring such a charming talent agent, that got her to call you back before St. Anthony.”

He grunts. That was a little too showy for any other day, but with Dorothy in my pocket he’d damn well better cut me some slack.

“How much did it cost me?”

“Well, sir...”

“Snap it out Jason, I haven’t got all night.”

“Not even for Dorothy McAdams?” Probably shouldn’t have said that; my wit got the better of me. He glares.

“No.”

“Sorry, sir. Salary isn’t worth writing home about, double what the other 4-in-handers get. And no signing bonus, just a condition.” I pause. He removes the cigar from his mouth with his hand, that he then waves in a circle, annoyed at my slowness. “We have to take on a kid named Timothy Courtson.”

“Who the hell is Timothy Courtson?”

“Does it matter?” I say, knowingly.

“It might,” he snaps back. I guess he’s right. He always is.

“It doesn’t.”

“He any good?”

I’m sure the millisecond of silence was answer enough, but he’s clearly not in the mood for games. “He can play C and D4.”

He puts the cigar back in his mouth and smirks. “So, no.”

“Positively dire, sir. But it’s either 0 bucks with the kid, or 2.5 without.” He doesn’t answer, and my words start spilling out. “Look, we just double up Karen and shift down the bass. The kid can sound like a cat on meth and nobody’s going to know the difference down there. Garrett can teach him to mart properly and he’ll get the rest in the extra lessons from Tanya.”

He waves away my explanation. “Yeah, yeah, Jason. You made the right call. Good work.”

I swallow, knowing that the goodwill won’t last long. “There—there’s another thing. Louis told me to give you this.”

I pass over the file. He grabs a pair of comically undersized glasses, glaring sarcastically at me. Putting them on, he opens it and starts reading. It takes about three seconds for the color to drain from his face and his mouth to twist into a bitter scowl.

“What the SAM HELL is this, Jason?”

“Just a list of notes that Louis kept when he had her, and everything he could find about her past behavior.”

He starts to shout at me again, but thinks better of it and rubs his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

“Language.” It’s instinct, but I know it’s a bad idea from the instant I say it.

“Jesus Christ have mercy on this woman’s soul,” he snaps back. “But judging by this rap sheet, there’s not much chance of that.”

“She’s a genius. Every genius has some quirks.”

“These aren’t some fucking quirks, Jason.”

The words hang silently in the smokey air of his office. He tosses the folder to the side and turns away from me, looking out the window at the view of nothing, just a few yellow streetlamps and the broad side of the next concrete building. I look at him. He doesn’t move.

“You still want her, though, right?”

He’s quiet, but there’s no hesitation. “Yes.”

“We’ll just have to keep a tighter leash than Louis did.”

“Get the hell out of here,” he grunts softly, and I oblige. As frightening as Boss can be when he’s a swirling rage, I know he’s much scarier when he gets that quiet.

==========

Who needs Brainstorming or Freewriting?

What actually is happening here is that I wrote this almost four months ago so the writing process looks a lot different than I’m trying to do now. But I really wanted to get this polished up a bit, so I committed to posting it soon.

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER THREE] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. He seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex 

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Ao3]

True to his word, Phil asks Amanda out that very same day. He begs and pleads with Dan to come with him for ‘moral support’, so Dan is forced to watch the entire shit-show unfold. The only upside is that Dan is able to bum a cigarette off Lee, the annoying Year Ten kid who constantly hangs around him. Lee seems to be under some mistaken impression that Dan is someone to be idolised. Dan doesn’t condone underage smoking, but he’s desperate; watching Phil ask Amanda Jones on a date is going to require some kind of narcotic. Lee offers a full packet to him while they wait on the low wall outside school, watching Phil dither in the parking lot. He’s decided to wait for Amanda by her friend Lilian’s car, because now that she and Hardy are no longer speaking, Amanda will almost definitely be travelling home this way. Dan drags on his cigarette, just about resisting the urge to moan as the nicotine rushes through his veins.

Phil’s plan is stupid, in Dan’s opinion. Lilian is a stuck up bitch, possibly the worst of all the Elite girls; if she’s there to influence Amanda’s decision, then Phil's slim chance of actually persuading Amanda to go out with him will be drastically reduced. Dan's advice was to find Amanda alone somehow, but as she’s literally the most popular girl in the entire school, Dan understands that this might be a bit difficult. Besides, as Phil keeps reminding him, time is of the essence. Dan's blowing a long, satisfying stream of silvery smoke out through his nostrils when Amanda and Lilian swan past him, chattering away, books clutched to their chests. Lilian sends Dan a dirty look as she passes, waving the smoke out of her face in disgust. Dan just about manages to stop himself giving her the finger, and instead watches in pained silence as the two girls cross the parking lot to Lilian’s peach convertible, their skirts swishing about their skinny thighs. They slow to a stop in front of Phil, eyeing him warily, and Dan holds his breath. Dan can’t hear what Phil’s saying, but he’s talking directly to Amanda, ignoring Lilian completely. The corner of his mouth is tilted up in a cute half-smile, and he shrugs his shoulders in a bashful way. Dan wants to be sick, suddenly. He stubs his cigarette out on the wall.

“Hey, uh, was that one no good or something?” Lee pipes up from beside him, sounding anxious. “I’ve got a whole pack here, did you want another?”

“What?” Dan asks, barely listening to him. “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Oh, ok,” Lee says, sounding disappointed by the answer. “So that’s your mate Phil over there, right? What’s he doing talking to Amanda Jones and Lilian Clarke? Are you gonna disown him or what?”

Lee chuckles loudly, forcedly, as though he wants to make clear that it’s a joke, but again Dan barely hears him.

“He’s got a crush on her.”  Dan’s not sure why he says this, especially as hearing the words aloud are not helping his nausea.

“Really?” Lee asks, snatching up the information greedily. “Which one?”

Amanda's polite titter resounds throughout the parking lot, turning several people's curious heads.  

Dan grimaces, turning away from the spectacle. “Amanda.”

Lee laughs. “Woah, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He knows Lee is only saying it to suck up to him, but he’ll take the validation where he can get it right now. “Like, what does he see in her, y’know?”

“Fuck knows,” Lee answers obediently, sounding ridiculously pleased to be asked. “She’s just one of the clones.”

Dan turns to Lee. “Right?” He nods in agreement. “She’s so… boring.”

“Totally,” Lee says. “So, is he asking her out then?”

“I guess,” Dan says, frowning. “She broke up with her boyfriend at lunch today.”

“I know,” Lee says too quickly. “I mean, oh. Yeah, I wondered what everyone was babbling about.”

A semi-smile forms on Dan's lips at Lee’s transparency. Just then, the growl of an engine sounds, and Dan turns just in time to see Hardy’s car pull up beside Lilian’s, idling there as he watches the proceedings. Dan’s on his feet in seconds, terrified for Phil’s safety, but to his surprise, Hardy doesn’t even open his door. Phil glances at the Porsche, and then focuses back on Amanda, nodding at whatever she’s saying. Dan perches back on the wall, tense and ready to sprint over at the first sign of trouble. Suddenly, Phil is grinning widely, ridiculously pleased about something. Hardy’s engine revs furiously, and he speeds off, tyres screeching as he glides through the exit, out onto the road. Phil waves to Amanda as she hops in the passenger seat of Lilian’s car, then they too are driving away. Phil stares after the car for a moment, then turns slowly. He jogs back over towards Dan, eyes wide and rounded.

“She said yes,” Phil says mutedly once he’s close enough. Then, the realisation seems to seep in. He fist pumps the air, Breakfast Club style, and Dan rolls his eyes. “She said yes! I can’t believe it!”

Something twists and coils in the pit of Dan’s stomach; a wet, thick snake knotting itself around his organs.

“Congrats,” Dan spits out, not meeting Phil’s eye.

Phil just laughs, wrapping his arms around Dan and shaking him.

“C’mon grumpy, don’t be mad just ‘cause you were wrong.” Phil looks to Lee. “Can you believe Dan tried to talk me out of this, Lee? He thought I’d never be in with a chance!”

“Er, right,” Lee says unsurely.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Dan says, shrugging Phil’s arms off him and standing up.

“Aw, man,” Phil says, seeming disappointed. “I’ll come see you later on, then we can brainstorm about Prom-plans.” He grins in utter delight, spinning around on the spot.

“No,” Dan warns him uselessly, like always. “We’ve been over this – don’t come to my work, you’re gonna get me fired.”

“Your grumpy attitude is what’ll get you fired,” Phil says, pinching his cheek so that Dan swats at him. “Can you imagine this guy serving you coffee, Lee? I think I’d be too afraid to drink it if I didn’t know what a big old softie he is.”

“Shut up,” Dan growls, rolling his eyes.

“Bye Lee! See you later on, Dan!” Phil calls as he skips off towards the school gate, not a care in the world.

“No! Phil, I mean it, don’t- oh, fuck’s sake.” Dan trails off as he realises Phil is out of earshot. “Lee, I’ve changed my mind, gimme a cigarette.”

Lee scrambles to comply as Dan sticks out his hand, impatient. He’s late already and Louise might be annoyed about it, but he couldn’t exactly say no to Phil begging him to stick around. Dan grabs a cigarette from the pack Lee offers him at once, sticking it between his lips.

He jabs a finger at Lee, irritated.  “You’re too young to start smoking,” he growls. “I’m taking these.”

Dan snatches the whole packet from him, then shoves it into his back pocket. He brings a lighter up to the one in his mouth, inhaling deeply. With a final nod towards Lee, he heads for the school gates.

*

When Phil inevitably shows up to the café, he’s still grinning. He flops down on one of the stools beside the counter, chin in his hand as he watches Dan make a macchiato.

“I cannot believe this is real,” Phil says. “I told her that I thought she seemed like a genuine and lovely person, and that I’d liked her for a while, and she was so sweet about it.”

Dan is really not up for a retelling of the event he saw not three hours ago, but it seems he doesn’t have much of a choice. He begins to froth the milk, not watching the spout, and spills some over his hand.

“Ow, shit!” Dan hisses.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks, sitting up straight, face suddenly full of concern. “Be careful.”

Dan rolls his eyes as he cradles his burnt hand. “Thanks for the advice, Phil.

“Let me see,” Phil says, holding out his hand.

Dan stares at it for a moment, then warily places his own into it. Phil tuts at it, frowning. “Silly billy. Do you have any ice back there?”

“In the freezer,” Dan admits, waving vaguely towards the kitchen.

“Go get some and wrap it in a tea towel. It’ll stop it swelling,” Phil instructs him.

Dan smirks. “Thanks, Nurse.”

Phil flaps his hands at Dan until he does as told. Unfortunately, once Dan’s hand is safely chilled according to instructions, Phil is back on Amanda again.

“I was terrified when Hardy pulled up,” Phil tells him. “You should’ve seen his face when Amanda agreed to Prom. I was so sure I was about to be beaten to a pulp.”

“So was I,” Dan mutters, placing the macchiato on to a tray crammed with several other drinks.    

He walks around the counter and over to Table Ten, a group of older women wearing tennis gear, and begins dishing out the drinks they ordered. Some of them thank him with cautious smiles, and some of them eye him judgily, lips pursed, noses upturned. When he returns to the counter, Phil is gone; immediately Dan is ready to murder him. He pushes through the door to the kitchen at the back, and finds Phil exactly where he knew he would, sat up on one of the metal countertops, nibbling a flapjack.

“Phil! For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t allowed back here?”

Phil just smirks at him, amused. “At least once more, it would seem.”

Dan rolls his eyes. Then, after a perfunctory glance out into the café floor to make sure there are no new customers, he hops up beside Phil on the counter.

“Give me a bit, then,” Dan says moodily, holding out his hand. Phil breaks off a bit of flapjack, which he then proceeds to feed directly into Dan’s mouth. “Oi! Mmpthhh.”

“Yummy, right?” Phil says, biting off another bit. “Did you make these?”

Dan nods, reluctantly admitting to himself that they’re pretty good. “I have to whip up a big batch of them every Friday.”

“I’m gonna enter you in Bake Off,” Phil says dreamily, swallowing another bite.

Dan shakes his head. “I swear too much for the BBC.”

“True,” Phil agrees, feeding Dan another morsel. This time, Dan just lets him. “So, where should I take Amanda on Prom night? Before we get to the dance, I mean.”

The flapjack starts to curdle in Dan’s stomach. “I dunno. Where d’you wanna take her?”

“Somewhere… unusual,” Phil says contemplatively, leaning back against the wall. “Where would you wanna go, if someone was taking you on a romantic first date?”

Dan snorts, his cheeks warming. “Dates aren’t really… my thing.”

“No?” Phil asks. “Have you never…?”

“The kinds of people interested in me don’t tend to want romance, Phil.”

This time, it’s Phil’s turn to blush. “Oh.”

Dan chuckles at his reaction, hopping down off the counter and brushing crumbs from his apron. “Just take her to a fancy restaurant or something. That’s what she’ll be used to.”

The customer bell pings. Dan sighs, retying his apron as he walks back out to face the public. By the time he’s finished serving, Phil has found his way back to the stool he’d been sat in earlier.

“I don’t wanna take her somewhere she’d expect to be taken,” Phil says. “I wanna show her something different.”

“She’s one of the Elite, Phil,” Dan replies, eyebrow raised. “She’s gonna want an expensive night out somewhere glam. The pricier the better.”

Phil smiles, brushing flapjack crumbs from his lips. “We’ll see.”

*

“That’s nice,” Phil says, softly. “Who wrote that?”

Dan stops playing abruptly, fingers snatching themselves off the keys so fast that it’s almost comical. He balls his hands into fists, embarrassed that Phil’s been paying attention.

“I was just messing around.”

“You mean you just made that up off the top of your head?” Phil asks, peering at Dan over the top of his sketchbook.

Dan shrugs without answering, wanting to change the subject. “What’re you drawing?”

Phil smirks, turning the page around. There are several rough sketches of a girl on the page, all of them action shots. She’s swinging a tennis racket in a tiny, pleated skirt. She’s dancing with a faceless figure, being spun on her heel. She’s running down the school steps, her long curls floating behind her. It’s obvious who Phil is depicting here, even if the sketches lack detail.

“Cute,” Dan says with distaste. “Are you gonna slip little creepy drawings of her into her locker?”

Phil laughs, a soft, tinkling sound. “I was thinking of painting her, actually. Do you think she’d find that creepy?”

“Only one way to find out.” Dan shrugs. “Hey, you’ve been drawing for ages, you can’t have been sketching those little figures this whole time.”

Phil winks enigmatically, closing his sketchbook and tossing it onto his desk. “It’s pretty late,” Phil yawns, glancing at the clock. “Are you going home, or…?”

“Is that a hint that I should hit the road?” Dan asks, heart thudding.

Phil smiles warmly, patting the space next to him on the bed. “No, I was just wondering. Do you wanna stay the night?”

Dan shrugs like it doesn’t mean a lot either way, but he feels the tsunami of relief from his scalp to his toes. “Sure.” Then, because he feels like he should: “Thanks.”

“You can stay here whenever you want, you know,” Phil says for the hundredth time, then lets out a yawn. “Just don’t hog the covers this time.”

It doesn’t matter how many times Phil says it, Dan will never really believe him. He’s very glad that Phil seems to understand he needs an actual invite before he can allow himself to inconvenience the Lester household yet again. In an ideal world, Dan would just wander home after a few hours with his friend, have a nice dinner made for him by loving parents, and be tucked into bed. Instead, the idea of sneaking in the front door of his house and dealing with… everything he’ll find inside is sometimes just too much to bear. Phil’s house is so lovely and homely. His mum is a proper mum, warm and sweet. She makes wholesome dinners for Phil every night and always invites Dan to join them if he’s round without complaint.  Phil’s room isn’t big or particularly luxurious, but he’s got a double bed, and his walls are covered in posters of his favourite bands. He has a falling-apart piano in the corner, which Dan likes to experiment with, and a huge collection of DVD’s, built up through a lifetime of charity shop and boot sale purchases. Phil heaves himself off the bed, heading for his chest of drawers. He pulls out a pair of pyjamas, and turns to Dan.

“Do you want something to sleep in?”

“Okay,” Dan says quietly, because despite having stayed here a zillion times, he still feels like an annoyance. “Thanks.”

Phil throws a big ‘Sunnydale High’ t-shirt at him.

Dan holds it up for inspection, snorting at the design. “Fucking Buffy nerd.”

“Says the guy who practically wept with joy when I got him the Angel box set for Christmas,” Phil counters, and Dan stands up to whip him with the shirt.

“Did not.”

“You’re in love with Angel!” Phil laughs, bringing his Elmo pyjama trousers up to defend himself. “Which is way more embarrassing than being in love with Buffy.”

“Angel is the best character,” Dan says defensively.

“Who chooses Angel over Spike?” Phil says, sounding incredulous. “It’s madness! Spike is so much hotter-”

Just then, Phil’s bedroom door opens, and Phil’s mum stands there, holding two mugs in her hands. “Sorry to interrupt, boys! But as it’s a school night I think it’s bedtime, don’t you? I brought you some hot chocolate to help you doze off. Dan, I assume you’re staying?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping over,” Phil tells his mum, for which Dan is eternally grateful, because it means he doesn’t have to. Phil takes one of the mugs and hands it to him, then takes the other for himself.

“I-if that’s alright Mrs Lester,” Dan says, his blush deepening. “Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

“Don’t be silly, Dan, love!” She exclaims, laughing. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“I keep trying to tell him,” Phil says, slurping hot chocolate.

Dan rolls his eyes, nudging Phil with his foot.

“Well, I’ll let you two get settled then.” Mrs Lester beams, giving them a little wave. “Night, boys.”

As soon as the door is closed, Phil plonks himself down on the bed, sipping at his drink. Despite the interruption, Dan can’t help but rewind to the conversation they’d been having just before Phil’s mum entered the room. Phil described Spike, a male character on a TV show, as 'hot'. While that may be a very accurate statement, it throws Dan a little.  Unless Dan has been very inattentive, he’s pretty certain that Phil has never expressed his attraction to a guy before, fictional vampire or not. He stares at Phil curiously as he sips hot chocolate, wondering if he can bring it up without sounding like a weirdo.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Phil asks. “Waiting for me to strip off?”

Dan flushes without meaning to. “Shut up, rat. I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

He can hear Phil giggling to himself from out in the hall.

*

“What do you like about her?”

Phil rolls over to look at him, and Dan doesn’t have to turn his head in order to know there’s a crease between his best friend’s brows.

“Amanda?”

“Yeah.”

He feels the covers shifting as Phil draws his shoulder up in a shrug. “Lots of things.”

“Her face?”

“Yes, I like her face,” Phil replies, voice tinged with amusement.

“Her body?” Dan asks.

Phil laughs softly. “Yeah, that too.”

Dan swallows around something sharp in his throat. It’s so quiet in Phil’s house. There’s no door slamming or shouting or footsteps pounding up and down the stairs. Usually, Dan leaves his window open so that he can hear the wind and the occasional murmur of a car rumbling by. Phil likes his open too, but in this quiet, suburban street, there’s virtually no sound. Phil shifts beside him, and Dan has to bite his lip. Tonight, laid in Phil’s bed, under his blue and green duvet, feels different to how it usually does. The air is thicker, weightier. Stifling. Phil’s body isn’t touching his, but it might as well be. The heat pours off him, like he’s a crackling bonfire, roasting Dan slowly. As he lies there, taut and unmoving, focused entirely on the body beside him, a slow, creeping realisation begins to spread through Dan’s limbs.

Amanda Jones has never been anything to Dan before now. She’d barely even registered on his radar. Just another boring bimbo in an obnoxious group of high school posers. Yet now, an intense, vicious hatred for the girl is spreading through him, finding every crevice of his body, clogging each pore. He loathes her, from her snub, pointed nose, to the twig legs shoved into clacky stiletto heels. A dawn is beginning to crest over the darkness from the blanket Dan has been holding over his own eyes. It’s only here, in Phil’s bed, with nothing to distract from the sight and smell and feel of him so close, that Dan is beginning to see the obvious. And the sight burns. A flush spreads over his chest, across his neck and shoulders as the weight of his own idiocy settles in. He should have seen it sooner. It should have been blaringly obvious. Dan’s been a fool, ignorant and dully predictable.

Falling for his best friend. How cliché.

A hand on Dan’s warm, bare arm makes him jump.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks. “You’re breathing all weird.”

Dan sends a prayer of thanks to the skies above that the deep scarlet of his skin is likely not visible in the dark.

“Yep,” he lies, trying to will Phil to remove his hand with the power of his mind alone.

Self-loathing courses through the synapses in Dan’s brain, and he curses himself for allowing himself to get into this situation. Phil Lester is the one person that tolerates him. He’s the one person that Dan actually likes, and that – absurdly – seems to want to be his friend. This crush could ruin that. Dan’s never been known for his level-head, nor his ability to keep his mouth shut. If he lets this jealous streak continue, and keeps attacking Amanda every time Phil brings her up, Phil could grow tired of it. He could stop hanging around Dan, could abandon him completely. It might be one of the cruellest tricks life has played on him yet. Not only is Dan now going to have to pretend he has no romantic feelings for Phil, he’s going to have to watch him date Amanda Jones of all people.  There’s no question whatsoever that this revelation must remain a secret. As far as Dan is aware, Phil is likely not interested in men, and even if he were, the two of them are best friends. If Phil knew about Dan’s feelings, it would drive a wedge between them, as Phil would no longer know how to act. The one thing that must be prevented at all costs is losing Phil, even as a friend. The thought is horrific.

Phil sits up then, switching on his bedside light. Dan squints and groans as the light blinds him, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. Phil apologises, turning down the dimmer switch.

“Dan, are you sure you’re alright?” Phil asks again, frowning. He places a hand on Dan’s forehead; it’s such a sweet, gentle touch. “Are you feeling sick?”

Dan shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m fine,” Dan says; reluctantly, Phil sinks back down into the mattress. “I’m just overthinking. You know me.”

“Unfortunately,” Phil quips, so Dan smacks him in the shoulder.

Phil grabs hold of his hand as it lands, and Dan actually has to hold in a squeak. He tries to pull away, but Phil holds tight.  

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Phil commands.

Dan swallows thickly; Phil starts to trace patterns into his palm.

“I’m worrying you’re making a mistake,” Dan decides to say, though he hates himself for it. “What if Amanda’s only agreeing to this to make Hardy jealous?”

Phil’s finger stops circling. A silence ensues, and Dan wonders if Phil is angry. It would be unusual, as Phil hardly ever gets mad.

“Maybe she is,” Phil says unexpectedly, starting to draw squiggles up and down Dan’s fingers. “But so what?

Dan blinks at him, turning so that he and Phil are staring into one another’s eyes. It’s not helping to quell Dan’s latent realised desires, but that can’t be helped. “What?”

“I can still show her a nice time,” Phil says with a shrug. “I still think she deserves to be treated well, and I still want to be the one to do it. You never know, maybe she’ll change her mind about Hardy once she sees how different it could be with me.”

Dan worries his lip ring between his teeth, and Phil’s eyes train on the action; it makes Dan want to burrow under the covers and hide.

“Phil… Hardy Jenns isn’t the kind of guy you wanna get on the wrong side of,” Dan says for the second time, trying to load his voice with the appropriate amount of urgency. “He’s scary and he has a lot of influence. If you go on a date with Amanda, you’re gonna be top of his hit list.”

“I’m not scared of Hardy Jenns, Dan,” Phil says, rolling his eyes.

“You should be, though,” Dan says. “Have you ever even taken a punch, Phil? ‘Cause he won’t hesitate to deck you if you piss him off.”

Phil smiles, squeezing a fist around Dan’s fingers. “You’re so cute, getting all concerned for my safety.”

Dan flushes, ripping his gaze from Phil’s. “I can’t protect you from him, Phil. I might be able to scare him off if he’s on his own, but he’s got all his fuckboy friends-”

“Dan, shh. You don’t need to protect me.” Fondness radiates out of every one of Phil's pores. Dan feels suffocated by it, imagines it pouring into his lungs, choking his breath from him. “I get that you’re tough and scary and you could probably kick Hardy’s ass, but that’s not why I hang around with you.”

“So, why do you?” Dan can’t help asking, his voice choked.

“Because you’re amazing,” Phil says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re ridiculously intelligent for a start. You read Sartre and Marx for fun. Your favourite films are all Godard and Truffaut.”

“That doesn’t make me amazing,” Dan says scornfully. “That makes me pretentious.”

“Maybe a little,” Phil says, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “But you’re also incredibly talented.” Dan makes a ‘pfft’ sound. “No, seriously. You’re the best pianist I’ve ever heard. I can’t understand how you can create something so beautiful out of nothing. I can’t draw a straight line without inspiration, but you just sit at that rickety old stool and play masterpieces off the top of your head.”

Dan purses his lips, wondering how on earth he can explain that he does have inspiration, obviously, without mentioning that literally all of his pieces are spawned from thinking about Phil.

“You’re sharp and witty,” Phil continues. “You have this spiky exterior to fend everyone off, and you hate almost everyone in school.” Phil pauses, his smile widening. “But not me.”

Dan glances away from him; his palm is so sweaty now, he has no idea how Phil isn’t grossed out from holding his hand. “You wore me down.”

“Maybe,” Phil agrees with a chuckle. “If that’s true, then I’m grateful.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He’s mortified from head to toe, probably bright red because he has no idea how to accept compliments and he never has. Phil is being sickeningly sweet for seemingly no reason at all, and honestly the timing couldn’t be worse, because Dan realised only minutes earlier how madly in love with him he is.

“Well, thanks,” Dan says gruffly, rolling onto his back. “You’re really lame sometimes, did you know?”

Phil laughs at him, just like always, never taking Dan’s jibes to heart. Dan’s so glad Phil understands that he never means it when he’s a salty bitch. God, he really, really needs to not fuck up this friendship.

“So, Amanda…” Dan says. He flounders for something to ask about this beaten horse of a topic, and clutches at the first thing he can think of, despite not really wanting to know the answer. “Is she the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?”

Phil sighs, and when Dan glances over at him, his eyes are shut.  “Prettiest girl, yeah,” Phil mutters.

Dan frowns. “What’s that mean? Is there another category?”

“Mm, o‘course,” Phil mumbles after a moment. “Prettiest boy.”

Dan feels his breath catch in his throat. Don't ask. You don't want to know the answer.

He's never been good with impulse control.  “Oh,” he says, forcing a small laugh. “And who wins that prize?”

Phil’s eyes flutter open briefly, latching on to Dan’s. “You, Dan. Duh.”

Phil’s eyes are closed again in moments, so he doesn’t get to see the astonishment on Dan’s face. Minutes pass before Dan can remember how to speak, or think of any sort of response, and by the time he opens his mouth, Phil is firmly in the land of dreams.

Chapter Four!

[darisu-chan]

Regrets

So, a long time ago I think I warned those pesky I//H anons that if they kept sending me hate, I’d write an adultery fic. Well, thanks to this anon I finally wrote that trash fic I had been talking about. Now, it’s not really as trashy as it could have been, mainly because I can’t write smut without cringing, but I managed to make it super crack, like I originally intended.

It was totally inspired by @dangerousbride and other fic writers and artists with their adultery works. You guys rock!

For any salty orgs, remember that if you come for me, not only will I expose you, but I will also get back for the shit you keep sending me.

Also, as if it weren’t obvious enough, I do not support adultery in any form and for any reason. This is a work of fiction, and it doesn’t represent my actual values. I was just having fun.

You can also read it here.

Summary: Ichigo and Rukia go on a double date. It doesn’t go as planned.

The moment the words left Orihime’s mouth, Renji knew it was a terrible idea. When Rukia clapped her hands excitedly, Renji started sweating profusely. He knew that he was doomed, however, when Ichigo half-heartedly agreed. The three turned to him, and Renji could only nod while gulping. What could he say? That it was a terrible idea? They would think he was going crazy, and hell, maybe he was. He could picture it. “Hey guys, you know, maybe we shouldn’t go.” Renji imagined himself saying. “Why the hell not?” Ichigo, who was always waiting for the perfect opportunity to one up him, would say. He’d try to explain things, only for Rukia to snort and dismiss whatever he was saying without stopping to listen to him. It would all be over the moment Orihime would give him her best puppy eyes. Yep. He was done for. It was better to remain silent.

So, that is why after leaving the kids with Ichigo’s sisters, Renji found himself walking the streets with his wife and two friends. Unsurprisingly, Ichigo and Rukia were walking ahead of him and Orihime, still bickering about… well, Renji didn’t exactly know what they were fighting about at this point ─he lost track when Ichigo pointed out Ichika’s drawings were better than Rukia’s. To make matters worse, Orihime was walking happily next to him, yapping about how wonderful a time they were going to have in their double date.

Yes. His worries were all about a fucking double date. Go on, laugh at him, you unsuspecting reader, but if you knew the nightmare Renji was trapped in, you’d have to agree with him on why going on a double date with his wife and friends wasn’t particularly the best idea.

“Ichigo-kun.” Suddenly, Orihime’s sickeningly sweet voice interrupted Renji’s inner musings.

The two in front of them stopped their fight at the sound of her voice. Ichigo turned around, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Where are we going?” She asked, moving her lashes coquettishly.

Renji internally faced palmed. You’re asking that just now?!

“To this restaurant I know.” Ichigo simply said, shrugging for good measure. Then, he turned around to keep walking with Rukia, when they were interrupted again.

“How do you know that restaurant?” She asked innocently. Renji started sweating again.

“I’ve gone with a friend before.” Ichigo answered. Rukia was looking at Ichigo. Renji was pretty sure a smirk was pulling on his wife’s mouth.

“What friend?” Orihime asked once more. Renji was starting to doubt these were innocent questions.

Ichigo shrugged. “Ishida. Once.”

Renji found himself gulping after listening to those words. Seriously? Ishida of all people?

Orihime pursed her lips and then… then she smiled her signature smile, and she even giggled for good mention. “That’s so great, Ichigo-kun! I’m glad you and Ishida-kun get along so well!”

The man in question scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, let’s keep going.”

Oh, thank God! Renji mentally cheered, and walked with a sprint in his feet. Meanwhile, Ichigo muttered something under his breath, which resulted in Rukia kicking him in the shin.

“What the fuck was that for, Rukia?!”

“Oh, don’t act innocent! You know you deserved it!” She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Bitch!”

“Asshole!”

Renji cursed under his breath. But of course the two would keep fighting until reaching the restaurant. After all, such was his luck. Next to him, Orihime giggled.

“They’re so lively, aren’t they?” She said.

Oi, don’t look so happy! “Yes. I suppose.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the restaurant. Renji gazed at the place. The façade was painted a mahogany color, and it had glass windows overlooking the street. Inside, he could see that the tables and booths were red, and that all waiters were wearing black slacks ─black skirts for waitresses─, white shirts and black ties. It looked cozy and elegant at the same time. Almost homey. And, he thought, not really a place you go to eat with a friend you barely see anymore.

“Welcome!” A woman said the moment they walked into the place. “Table for four?”

Ichigo nodded. “Yeah. Make it a booth.”

Unsurprisingly, Ichigo and Rukia sat right next to each other. Orihime happily sat in front of her husband, while Renji sat next to her. Whatever disagreement they were currently having shifted to talking about the food the place served.

“You really need to try the Gyudon. It’s really good!” Ichigo told everyone as they scanned the menus.

“The Udon noodles are excellent!” Rukia said, smiling right at Renji.

It took everything in his power not to start choking on air after that admission. He turned to look at Orihime as inconspicuously as he could. However, the young woman seemed unfazed, still looking at the menu she had in her hands.

“How about the curry?” Orihime asked. “Have you tried it yet, Ichigo-kun?”

“Nah. When I came here, I wasn’t in the mood for curry.” He said, and then sneaked a glance to Rukia. The woman had a devilish smile on her face.

“So you weren’t in the mood for that?” She smirked.

Ichigo returned the smirk. “Oh, no. I was in the mood for something else.”

Renji blanched in his seat. Are you serious?! In a panic, he turned to look at Orihime again, this time more directly. She looked as oblivious as ever.

“I think I’m going to order it.” Orihime said. “What about you, Abarai-kun?”

The attention suddenly turned to him. “Err… I’m not sure yet.” He stuttered, silently cursing himself.

“Give the Udon a try.” Rukia told him, smiling sweetly at him.

“No. I think Renji’s in the mood for chicken, don’t you think?” Ichigo grinned, and then yelped suddenly.

“Dear, are you okay?” His wife asked him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Ichigo said, and then growled something at Rukia who merely laughed.

Renji paled. What the hell?

“So, Renji, what’s it gonna be?” His wife asked him again.

He coughed. “Ramen seems nice.” Rukia nodded.

Before anyone could comment further, their waitress arrived. “Are you ready to order?”

Ichigo answered first. “Yes. We will be having Udon noodles, yakimeshi, grilled chicken, and matcha tea please.” Ichigo said, motioning to Rukia and himself.

The waitress smiled at them. “What about for you and your wife, sir?” She said, turning to Renji.

“Ammm.” He stuttered again, wondering if the woman next to him was going to correct the waitress. To his surprise, she nodded and started giving her order. “I will be having your beef curry please.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you add vanilla ice cream and strawberry jam to it?” She added, making everyone in the table nauseous.

The waitress blinked. “I’m afraid not. But you can order the ice cream as dessert.”

She looked disappointed but nodded. “Ah, and please bring me an orange juice.”

The waitress nodded and looked at Renji expectantly. “Beef ramen for me.” She wrote it down. “And beer.” He added as an afterthought. He needed at least a bit of alcohol in his system to go through this awful date.

After the waitress left, they started talking again. Though this time, finally both Renji and Orihime were included in whatever the other two were conversing about. For once, it all felt nice. Orihime told an anecdote about something that had happened in the market a week before, and they all chuckled. Next, Ichigo started telling them about an annoying client who kept visiting the clinic claiming he had a skin condition, when in reality he was suffering from wrinkles. Rukia then explained her very elaborate plan to finally get Kiyone and Sentarou together. Renji found himself laughing for the first time with his wife and friends. It was unlike the other times they had gotten together to chat over the years. Although, that sense of peace didn’t last long, for when Renji was retelling a joke Byakuya had finally managed to deliver correctly during training once, he heard it. It was a low sound. He would have missed it if his hearing wasn’t an ability he relied on when fighting hollows. He paused, and then shook his head. Renji kept talking, hoping it had been his imagination, but no, there it was again. Low. Husky. Almost like a growl. His eyes zeroed on Rukia’s face. She was smiling at him, encouraging to continue his tale. Then his eyes moved to Ichigo. He wouldn’t have noticed anything if he hadn’t known what to look for. His cheeks were slightly flushed. His jaw clenched. And his eyes… They had an intense look on them. Oh fuck no!

“Ichigo?” He suddenly said.

“Hmm?” The man simply muttered.

“Are you okay?” Renji asked.

“Oh… yeah. I’m fine. Totally.” Ichigo blurted out. Beside him, Rukia snickered.

“You sure?” Renji asked again, his eyes watching as Rukia’s hand kept disappearing beneath the table. Ichigo’s cheeks became even redder, and he coughed.

“Yeah, Ichigo, are you sure?” Rukia asked with a mocking smile on her face. Renji could see her hand moving back and forth from where we was sitting.

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. What were you saying?”

Renji opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Orihime’s loud squeal. “Look, our food’s here!”

Indeed, their food had arrived. The waitress started serving them their plates, while warning them they were hot. The interruption gave Renji a few minutes to breathe. Turning to Orihime, he could tell she was distracted again, excitedly telling them how tastier the curry would have been if she had been able to add ice cream on top ─oh well, sugar would have to do for now. Renji pushed down the bile which was threatening to come out from his mouth. Then, he looked towards Ichigo, who was back to normal. Renji sighed happily, and started eating with gusto. He could finally relax! Of course, that lasted but two seconds when he heard a very soft mewl, one he could have recognized anywhere. Lifting his head, his eyes found his wife, whose skin was now turning red. Also, Ichigo’s left hand was notoriously absent from the table. Oh fuck me!

Trying to ignore them, Renji dove right into his food. It was surprisingly good. He took a huge gulp of beer when the noise became particularly louder. Thankfully, Orihime remained none-the-wiser, thoroughly enjoying her curry. All conversation stopped too. It was all good, though. Renji didn’t want to talk or divert the awkwardness anymore. He was getting tired. As they ate, a sudden beeping sound distracted them from their activities. Orihime blinked and then she reached for her purse, from which she took her cellphone out. She tapped something, next another beep could be heard, and she tapped again.

“Who’s that, Orihime?” Rukia asked her. Both her hands were finally on the table.

“Ah, it’s just Yuzu-chan!” The other woman said happily. “She was asking me if it’s okay for the kids to have cookies for dessert. I told her it was, hope it’s alright with you, Rukia-san.”

“Yeah, it is. Ichika doesn’t get the chance to eat cookies often back home.”

“Great!” Orihime said, a little too quickly if you asked Renji, but she had always been a bit weird anyway.

They resumed their eating, although Rukia shuffled a bit in her seat. In the background, more beeping could be heard. Renji sighed. Well, it could be worse. He thought as he slurped his ramen. For instance, a year before they had all gone to the summer festival. It had been nice at first, until Renji got distracted buying Ichika takoyaki. When he turned around, he couldn’t even find his daughter. Looking around, she found her playing with Kazui and Ichigo’s dad. However, neither Rukia nor the other couple were anywhere. He walked around, trying to see if he could find them. Just before the fireworks started, Orihime arrived from behind a food stand, claiming she had gotten lost. Together, they walked to where Isshin and the kids were sitting. Around fifteen minutes later, Ichigo and Rukia appeared, clearly disheveled, saying they had been looking everywhere for them.

That wasn’t even the worst, though.

Just before Ichigo and Orihime had gotten married, the four of them had gone to this classy restaurant ─one that the captain would have certainly approved of and which was coincidentally Ishida-recommended. Orihime said she was going to be late, for she was taking care of something. So, that left him alone with his wife and friend. As they waited for their food, Renji went to take a very important call. When he came back, only Ichigo was sitting there, drinking from his glass of wine. “Rukia’s in the restroom.” He informed him. Renji nodded and attempted to talk with his friend, however Ichigo was completely distracted, answering with monosyllables. Renji enquired if he was nervous about the wedding, which got him a nod. As they waited for their girls, Renji briefly heard something which sounded like sucking. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Thinking he had had enough, he went to the restroom, thinking he’d find Rukia there. When he came back, Rukia was already at the table, her cheeks rosy. Before he could ask her what had happened, Orihime arrived, looking more radiant than ever.

And don’t even get Renji started on last week! A bunch of rookies had given him a hard time during training, Captain Kuchiki had made him redo all of his paperwork before Hisagi could recollect it, the Women Shinigami Association had made more money than them during their fundraising, as Nanao had constantly reminded them during the meeting they held, and Ichika had thrown a temper tantrum, questioning his authority as a father. The only thing he had wanted was to spend some quality time with his wife, but when he arrived at her office, he noticed that all of her paperwork was thrown around the room, and her robes were very much in disarrayed. Also, Ichigo was there, sitting rather innocently while drinking tea. Renji felt his eye twitching just by remembering it.

He finished his beer and ordered another, while the other three ordered ice cream. They started talking once again, sharing some of their woes of parenthood. Apparently, Kazui liked to sneak out of his house and wander around town. Ironically, Ichika had been disappearing from home too. Renji didn’t stop to think what that could mean, instead he focused on finishing his pint of beer.

“I’m going to the restroom.” He announced as he stood up. Renji narrowed his eyes at Ichigo. He sure hoped that he wouldn’t pull a stunt while Orihime was there.

They’re behaving better than normal. Renji thought as he did his business. Normally, by this point the two of them would have disappeared somewhere, and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. He didn’t know how Orihime hadn’t caught them yet. They weren’t careful at all. Maybe she was just oblivious, or trusted Ichigo way too much. Whatever. He thought. The date was almost over after all.

Just when he was about to exit the stall, he heard the telling sound of clothes shuffling and mouths slamming against each other. Next thing he knew, the stall right beside his own opened, the two people making out went in, and slammed the door shut. He waited for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. It was enough time for the people next to him to start undressing, or so he assumed by the soft thud of clothes hitting the floor. Moaning was quickly heard, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. He felt sick.

I’m fucking pissed!

Renji could take a lot of bullshit. He could take the fact that his wife hadn’t really been in love with him when they got married. He could take the knowledge that their first few nights together were utter shit, and the rest never improved to the point that after Ichika was born, their sexual life was non-existent. He could take the fact that the first time he had seen Rukia truly glow was after one of Ichigo’s visits to Soul Society (she had limped for a week after that). He could take knowing that Ichigo had been late to his very own wedding because he had spent “quality time” with Rukia on the room he was supposedly getting ready at. He could take the fact that Rukia had been more excited to see Ichigo again than for her own promotion to captain, (and god did that showed when they went to Karakura). He could take having seen Ichigo kiss Rukia that one time in his house, when no one was paying attention. He could take going to restaurants with them knowing what they did under the table.  He could take knowing Rukia regularly sneaked to Karakura just to see Ichigo. He could take finding his bed sheets a total mess after arriving home late, covered in a sticky substance he rather not name. He could take listening to things he really shouldn’t have as he passed by Ichigo’s former room at his parent’s house one day when he came to pick up Ichika and Rukia. He could take listening to them as he was watching TV on the other room. He could take Rukia kissing him while tasting like another man. He could take the two of them using their children as an excuse to see each other. He could take knowing Kazui’s and Ichika’s rooms had long since been defiled. He could take naming his own daughter after Ichigo when Rukia had suggested it. Fuck. Renji could take knowing that his wife and his best friend had been fucking around behind his back for years without seeming to end or get tired with each other. Worse, he could take the fact that they had been deeply in love all this time and their marriages were mistakes. The worst. He could take covering for them, least Orihime were to find she had been cheated on since way before she had even gotten married to Ichigo. But what he could have never been able to take, at all, was having the two of them fucking while he was inside the neighboring stall taking a dump! There was such things as decency and respect, thank you very much!

Fuming, he exited the restroom, uncaring if the other two had heard him or not. As he angrily stomped towards the booth, while muttering underneath his breath about backstabbing friends and cuckolding, he didn’t notice that the very own people he had been cursing were still sitting on the booth, talking rather amicably. As his eyes noticed them, he stopped dead on his tracks. Wait… What the actual fuck? How could this have been?! He had just left them behind, and there was no way in hell they would have gotten there before he did, taking into account they were in the middle of their gross lovemaking.

“Renji, are you okay?” Rukia asked after a few minutes of watching Renji gape at them.

“What… I mean… huh?” He said, ever so eloquently.

“Dude, are you having an aneurysm?” Ichigo asked, suddenly standing up.

“What?! No, no! I’m fine!” He said quickly. Just then, he realized there was one person missing. “Where’s Orihime?”

“She went to the restroom not long after you left too. I thought you might run into each other.” Ichigo answered, shrugging in indifference.

Okay. Now nothing made any sense! If Ichigo and Rukia had been here all this time, then who the fuck was having sex in the men’s restroom?! His mind then went blank. Orihime went to the restroom too. The woman mewling in the restroom had a very high pitched voice now that he thought about it, one that Rukia didn’t have. Orihime had also been texting a lot when they were eating.

Oh fuck!

As his mind was rebooting, Ichigo and Rukia started bickering again, this time the subject was whether or not Renji was feeling well. Rukia kept saying her husband was fine, while Ichigo said she had probably already tired him with her shit. That got him a kick in the sheen.

“Guys, look who I found on the entrance?” Orihime suddenly said. Renji turned to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swollen, but she was smiling radiantly.

“Ishida.” Ichigo acknowledged the man next to his wife.

“What are you doing here?” Renji blurted out before he could stop himself. Rukia scolded him for being rude.

“I wanted to grab something to eat.” The man answered matter-of-factly.

“And I was telling Ishida-kun that he should try the curry.” Orihime said.

“That sounds nice. I think I will.” Ishida said and the woman next to him beamed at him.

Ishida talked to them for a few minutes, before he left to order his food. Orihime sat down next to Renji, still speaking about how nice it had been to run into Ishida, and how unjust it was that they hardly saw him anymore. Rukia agreed with her, while Ichigo simply nodded. Renji remained quiet. Not long after, they paid for their food and left the establishment. As they walked home, Ichigo and Rukia went ahead, bickering about one thing or another, before laughing and taking quietly amongst themselves. Renji walked behind them, Orihime next to him like before. However, this time she wasn’t talking, she merely looked ahead, a soft smile gracing her lips. That was all for the better, Renji thought. He wasn’t in the mood for talking. Once home, they talked with their kids about what they had done that day. Then, they quickly said their goodbyes, after all the following day was busy for all of the adults. Opening the senkaimon, Renji looked at his friends once more. Orihime waved at them. Ichigo said something to Rukia, which made her smile. Renji shook his head as Ichika whispered something into Kazui’s ear, she then trotted happily towards her dad. When they are all set, they disappeared into the gate.

The events of the day flashed into Renji’s eyes as he prepared himself to sleep. Ichika was already asleep, and Rukia was taking a shower. He frowned, then sighed. The following morning, he asked Ichika if she had enjoyed the cookies Yuzu had given her. The girl had frowned. Turns out, she and Kazui hadn’t eaten cookies but chocolate ice cream. Renji felt like laughing. In fact, he did, ignoring the way his daughter looked as if he had lost his mind. It was all good, though. There was a reason, after all, why Ishida seemed lost in what to order in a restaurant he had already eaten at. Orihime’s texting hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

Man, Captain Kuchiki was not gonna believe it!

[joeck-trash]

One Year

Joe feels sick. Staring out the window at the passing cars, he can’t comprehend what he’s doing. One year, it had been since he was here. London. The place he finally felt at home. The place that offered him so many more opportunities then a small village ever could. The place that he felt he couldn’t go back to. The place where he got his heart broken.

Joe shakes his head, that’s the last thing he needed to think about right now. His plan had felt so simple before he got in the Uber. Travel to London and surprise his friends (where they his friends anymore?) on their night out, simple. Now, not so much. Joe knows Jack is going to be there. Why did he think this was a good idea? He has absolutely no idea.

Before Joe knows where he is, the Uber pulls over at his destination.

“This is you, mate,” the driver says, nodding at him.

“Yes, thank you,” Joe says, shaking himself out of his day dream.

“Have a safe night,” the driver says, kindly before driving off.

It takes Joe a second to get his thoughts together, before he makes the dreaded journey into the pub. For a second he doubts his memory as he scans the pub for any sign of his friends, finding nothing. That is until the unmistakable sound of Mickey’s bellowing laugh reaches his ears. For a second, Joe smiles letting himself forget for a second all his problems.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I always win.”

The familiar voice makes Joe’s problems hit him again like a bus.

“You’re over reacting,” Jack spits, annoyed

“Oh so it’s me who’s over reacting?” Joe shouts, his anger bubbling over, “I’m not the one who went out and kissed a girl as though you don’t exist.”

“This again? It was a fucking mistake, get over it,” Jack states in his ‘I don’t care’ tone he’s mastered over the years.

“Get over it?” Joe shouts, gripping the edge of the table, “how the fuck am I meant to do that?”

“It was only a kiss, it’s not like I slept with her,” Jack says, rolling his eyes.

“That makes it okay? Oh that’s fine then well done Jack for not sleeping with the first attractive girl you see,” Joe yells, running his hand through his hair, “I should print you a certificate or maybe get you a trophy-”

“Fuck off,” Jack answers, narrowing his eyes at Joe.

“Would you be fine about it, if I went out and kissed someone else?” Joe asks, his jaw clenched tighter when Jack looks away, “go on, would you?”

“I wouldn’t be acting like this,” Jack mutters, scowling.

“This isn’t working.” The words that had fallen from Joe’s mouth make them both freeze.

“What-what do you meant?” The scowl on Jack’s face had turned into a look of confusion and shock.

“This-us it isn’t working,” Joe feels like he’s on autopilot each word knocking him with how true it is.

“No-no you can’t be serious,” Jack says, his voice pleading, “y-you can’t leave me.”

“I need someone to want me and only me,” Joe says, his voice quiet but loud enough for Jack to hear him clearly, “I can’t share you with anyone.”

“I only want you. I love you,” Jack begs, silent tears falling down his cheeks.

“Yeah and I love you, but we’re hurting each other,” Joe briefly wipes the stray tears from his own cheers before moving past Jack to go upstairs.

“Joe-please,” Jack whispers, his voice breaking causing what’s left of Joe’s heart to break even more.

“I can’t Jack.”

That was it, the last words Joe had said to Jack before packing his essential things and leaving.

It takes all the will power Joe has to not walk away again. To not run again.

“Joe?” It is Caspar’s voice and Joe smiles warmly at his old friend and former roommate.

“Long time no see, mate,” Joe says, smiling when his friend pulls him into a hug.

“It’s been so long, how’ve you been? Good I hope?” Oli greets, hugging him as well after Caspar.

“I’ve been good, yeah,” Joe says, nodding, warmth spreading over him at his friends’ genuine joy to see him, “missed you lot so much.”

“And we’ve missed you too, mate,” Conor joins in, hugging Joe as well.

Joe was a bit sceptical at first with how Conor would react to seeing him again, especially due to the fact Joe had left because of his brother, but as soon as he sees the older Maynard’s face, he knows he shouldn’t have worried.

“So what do we owe the presents of mr Joe Sugg?” Josh asks, jokingly, “thought maybe you thought you were too good for us, mr 10,000,000 million subscribers.”

“Well you can buy me a drink, if you want,” Joe says, smirking at his ginger haired friend, “or a hug would suffice from my favourite ginger.”

“Aww,” Josh laughs, hugging the smaller man, “you’ll make me blush.”

“I better watch it or you’ll go the colour of you’re ginger barnet,” Joe jokes, smirking at the taller man.

“Oh how I’ve missed you Suggy,” Josh says in fake sarcasm.

Joe chats the his friends about the last year and what has happened in there lives and why. Much to Joe’s relief, none of them question why he left in the first place. That could either mean they are waiting for the right moment to quiz up him about it or that Jack has told them what happened already. Joe’s pretty sure it is the latter as none of his friends had ever been the type of people for waiting to know something.

Jack, Joe notices, has moved away from the group slightly. Looking at the younger man, he notes the changes about him since the last time he saw him. His hair seems to have been dyed blonde again fairly recently, as the colour is only just fading back into his usual light brown hair. A new tattoo graces his arm, hidden mostly by his jacket sleeve, but, of course, Joe notices it anyway. A light brush of facial hair litters his chin, outlining his jaw.

“What about love life? Anyone new?” Caspar asks, his enthusiasm of seeing his friend again after so long still there in full force.

“Nah, no one serious since I left,” Joe answers, noticing Jack’s shoulders relax slightly at his words.

“Shall we go back to our place, Caspar? I think we should just ditch the night out,” Josh offers, downing the rest of his first drink.

“I’m down for that,” Oli agrees, copying the other man.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Caspar says, leading the group as they leave the pub to go to Caspar and Josh’s apartment.

As they are heading outside, Jack catches Joe’s arm stopping the older man in his tracks. The touch felt like a burn, the same electricity shooting from it that it did before they were together.

“Joe, I-” Jack cuts himself off, looking deeply into his eyes.

“What, Jack?” Joe asks, taking a deep breathe.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Jack says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Sorry to disappoint,” it is aimed as a joke but it seems to sound bitter to Joe’s own ears.

“I never wanted you to leave,” Jack says, his blue eyes glistening with tears, “I didn’t think you’d leave.”

“You pushed me so far, Jack,” Joe shakes his head slightly, “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I know and I’ve regretted it everyday since,” Jack says, his tone changing to determined, “I made a stupid, stupid mistake and it cost me everything I cared about. When you left, I just thought he needs some time to cool down then we can figure it out later, but-but then I found out you’d gone. I’ve never felt so alone as I did then. You could have been anywhere, the only way I knew you were safe was the text you sent to Caspar telling him you aren’t coming back.”

“What did you tell them?” Joe asks, softly, “about why I left I mean?”

“We’d broken up, I’d fucked up and you’d gone,” Jack says, quietly, “the truth I guess.”

“I left to get you out of my head, but it didn’t work,” Joe replies, biting his lip, “All the time did was make me realize that you’re supposed to be with me and I’m suppose to be with you.“

"I won’t mess up again,” Jack mutters, voice breaking slightly at the end, “I can’t risk losing you all over again.”

“And I won’t leave again,” Joe replies, gentle brushing a tear from Jack’s cheek.

That’s all that it takes for Jack to step forward, their mouths meeting in a kiss full of familiar love and passion that has always been between them.

“Let’s go before the others wonder where we are,” Joe says, smiling at the younger man, “Caspar wants me to retell the last year word by word and Conor is adamant that I need a hair cut.”

“You’re hair is getting quite long,” Jack says, smirking"

“Says the Maynard with blonde hair,” Joe jokes, playfully pushing Jack.

“Oi, it was a dare,” Jack argues, running his hand through his hair.

“Sure it was,” Joe says, sarcastically.

“It was!”

They continue to bicker as though one year has not separated them. It might take them a while to get completely back to how they were but they are going to give it a damn good go. For the sake of themselves and each other.

You can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193338

[bellamythology]

as long as you keep comin’ round (2/4)

Rated: Mature Warning(s): Underage (Read on AO3)

part one・ part three・playlist 

“Dude,” Miller huffed, amused at Bellamy’s retelling of the incident. “I wouldn’t believe it, but it’s you.”

“Bellamy Blake, human disaster,” Raven agreed. “Come on. Just because she says she’s got a boyfriend doesn’t mean she actually does; that’s just what girls say. It’s basically an anti-douchebag reflex.”

Miller raised an eyebrow. “Like you’ve ever done it.”

She sighed dramatically. “In a perfect, non-patriarchal society, absolutely not. But some boys won’t take no unless it’s coming from another guy, so…”

“So — to return to the topic at hand, aka my actual crisis — doesn’t the fact that she said she had a boyfriend negate any signals she may or may not have been sending?” Bellamy let his head drop to the diner table. “Why are girls so complicated?”

“Hey,” Raven interjected mildly.

“Present company excluded. Raven Reyes, light of my life, you are the very opposite of complicated.”

“You calling me simple, Blake?”

He opened one eye to mock-glare at her. “There’s no winning with you, is there?”

“Tough luck.” Miller snorted. “Whatever happens with that girl, you’re still stuck with us.”

“I know,” Bellamy said, trying to sound more annoyed than appreciative.

After a minute, Raven sighed again and held up Bellamy’s own phone. (He didn’t know when she’d swiped it, and quite frankly he was a little scared to ask.) “This is her, right?”

Bellamy stared at the Facebook profile. “Do I want to know how you found this?”

His friends just exchanged a look.

“You could send her a friend request,” Miller pointed out. “Or just message her.”

“Way ahead of you.” Raven smirked, ignoring Bellamy’s protests as she typed away. Finally she set the phone down, turning it so they could read what she’d written.

hey it’s the nerd from yesterdays party.

what r u doing tonight?

“Fuck, Raven, she’s gonna think I’m a creeper and she’ll never talk to me again.”

But clearly he’d spoken too soon, because those taunting “typing” ellipse had just popped up. Seconds later, it disappeared. A pause. It reappeared. Then:

hey to you too

to answer your question, not much

movie w/ the bf

Miller raised an eyebrow at Raven, who shook her head. “The things we do for you, Bellamy. You owe us your firstborn or something. I mean, I’m not into kids, but I bet you guys’ll make really pretty babies. Probably worth something on Etsy, right?”

“What?” he said, still dazed at the fact that Clarke had actually texted back.

Raven and Miller exchanged another glance, this one more fond than exasperated and more resigned than anything else. “So what’s playing at the theater today?”

A flash of chestnut curls across the lobby caught Bellamy’s eye, and he did a double take as their owner caught sight of him at the same time. “Gina?”

“Bellamy, hey! And Raven, and Miller. How are you guys?” Gina’s smile was warm and sincere as she greeted them, but Bellamy couldn’t seem to focus on the usually stunning sight when he was still searching the room for a glimpse of blonde.

“Fine,” Raven said after a while, kicking Bellamy as discreetly as possible. “Hi, Luna.”

“Hello, Raven.” Self-contained as ever, Gina’s best friend barely spared the rest of them a second glance. “What movie do you guys plan to see?”

“We hadn’t decided yet. Miller vetoed Rebellion, he’s waiting to see it with his boyfriend, but everything else is fair game. What about you guys?”

Bellamy lost track of the conversation about then, because there she was. Golden hair twisted into a low messy bun, blue eyes bright as she laughed at something one of her friends was saying, slim fingers intertwined with those of a floppy-haired, douchey-looking guy who must be the boyfriend.

Then she turned, her gaze meeting his, and Bellamy’s sudden sharp annoyance melted away as she dropped the guy’s hand to cross the room to meet him.

“Hi,” she said, her voice low and warm.

“You’re here,” he said, then immediately wanted to facepalm. Good job, Captain Obvious.

“I did tell you I would be.” Still smiling, Clarke half-turned as her companions came up behind her. The boyfriend stepped up close to wrap a possessive arm around her hips, sizing Bellamy up contemptuously. Bellamy tried not to bristle too obviously, but luckily Clarke didn’t seem to notice. “This is Finn. My boyfriend.

“And this is Bellamy,” Clarke continued, leaning back into him. He didn’t say anything, but there was definitely smug arrogance in the smirk he directed at Bellamy now.

The guy — Finn — jerked his head in greeting. “Hey, man.”

Bellamy nodded in response.

“What movie are you guys seeing?” Clarke went on, still oblivious to (or maybe just deliberately ignoring) the tense atmosphere. “We hadn’t decided yet, maybe we’ll join you. If your friends don’t mind.”

“Oh, yeah, I think that’d be fine.” Turning back to the others, Bellamy found Gina watching them, her expression politely blank, and waved her over. “Hey, Gina, this is Clarke. I met her at the party last night. Clarke, this is —” He hesitated. Clarke already knew who she was, of course, but he didn’t exactly want to let his crush know that he’d talked about her to a girl she didn’t know. After a few minutes of struggling for a descriptor, he settled on, “This is my friend Gina.”

“Hi, Clarke.” Gina smiled, but Bellamy’s eyes were on Clarke and he barely noticed. “It’s nice to see that Bellamy’s capable of making friends on his own. We’ve all been a little worried about his prospects next year, away from home and all of us.”

When Clarke tilted her head at him, he explained, “I’m going to UPenn next year. Classics major, hopefully. Most of the others are staying closer to home, so they’ve been making fun of my inability to function socially.”

“Oh, wow!” To his relief, she didn’t ask what he planned to do with his degree. Instead, she just smiled. “That’s pretty cool. Do what you love, right?”

He was helpless not to smile back. “Exactly.”

“The movie’s starting soon,” Raven said, somewhat louder than was polite for a public setting, but Bellamy was simultaneously grateful for and annoyed by the interruption. His feelings for Clarke were unfamiliar, this eagerness to impress her mixed with a strange surety that she would believe in him even if he fell flat on his face in the attempt.

“Hey, Roan’s having a party later. Will we see you guys there?” Gina was looking at Clarke, and Bellamy couldn’t shake the unsettling idea that she was pointedly not looking at him.

Clarke glanced towards him, who did his best to look encouraging. After a moment’s consideration, she said, “Sure. Bellamy, text me the details?”

“Or I could give you a ride,” he blurted.

Her smile was soft, even apologetic as she explained, “Finn loves every chance he gets to show off his car, I don’t think he’ll pass this one up. I’ll meet you there.” With that, she rejoined her boyfriend, letting him slide an arm around her waist, and Bellamy had to look away.

“So that’s her,” Gina said quietly.

“Huh?”

“The girl you like.”

His head jerked up in alarm at that. “What? No, I —”

“It’s okay, Bell.” She met his gaze evenly. “Raven told Luna, and I overheard. She seems nice.”

“She has a boyfriend,” he said automatically, as much a reminder for himself as for her.

“Yes, and that’s unfortunate. I don’t know what she sees in him; of course you’d be a better choice.”

If you’d asked him just a few days ago, Bellamy would have said he wanted nothing more than for Gina to realize he’d be a great boyfriend. Now he found that it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d dreamed.

“Oh.” As she so often did, Gina seemed to guess his thoughts. “Bell, you’re not in love with me.” There was no surprise in her voice, just sympathy.

“I’m not.” He meant it to be a question, just echoing her words, but his voice betrayed his subconscious. “Oh. I’m really not.”

Gina hugged him, brief but tight, all friendly affection. “For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you.”

“Can you, um — I don’t think I can sit there in that theater with them. Will you tell Clarke I had something to take care of, but I’ll see her at the party?”

“Of course. Wear something nice, alright?”

“Anything for you.” He managed a grin, but the joke fell somewhat flat.

[jishwatylrandtop]

Perfect-A Josh Dun Imagine

Based off of Ed Sheeran’s song Perfect. Check it out my frens it’s pretty sick. I’ll get on with it. Hope you enjoy.

TW: slight cursing?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Josh had been best friends since you were little. You’ve been attached at the hip ever since he punched the kid that pushed you over and yanked your pigtails in first grade. You went to the same junior high and high school as well, and everywhere you guys went you always got the same question, “Why aren’t you two dating yet?”

At first it always bothered you because you and Josh were best friends and nothing more, and you couldn’t understand why society couldn’t just accept that guys and girls could be friends and nothing more. You were his wingwoman. always helping score dates or kisses with his crushes by talking him up to all the girls or distracting other boys. seduction seemed to be one of your greatest skills, as Josh once mentioned after you would willingly stick your tongue down a guys throat as a distraction. Over time, though, the question bothered you less and less.

Things got harder during college when you went to Ohio State and Josh stayed at home, but you always met up on weekends and days you weren’t stuck with shittons of homework. You were both in the same city, but heading on different paths, but despite that you two were still as close as ever. Soon, however, he got into twenty one pilots, and the friendship went worldwide. It hurt that your best friend was so far away, but whenever he got back in town, you were always the first on his list.

That brings you to now, sitting on Jenna’s couch waiting for the boys to come home while reminiscing about your elementary escapades with Josh while Jenna laughs out of pure entertainment while you retold the story of the previously mentioned make-out distraction which Josh calls ‘the seduction expedition.’ His words not yours.

“So you actually made out with this random dude from your class just so Josh could get some action, really Y/N?”

“We were freshmen, Jen. Would you have rather I strip tease as a distraction?” you laughed at Jenna’s reaction.

“OH gosh no!” She yelled while gasping for breath.

“Could you imagine, Jenna?” you began “little 14 year old me with no tits stripping to help my best friend score?” You both broke into hysterics again only to be interrupted by the doorbell.

“Y/n could you get that I have to grab something to show you.”

“Sure Jen.” You drag yourself off the couch and to the door. Opening the door while shout back at Jenna “Just wait ‘til you hear about Josh falling out of a tree to get a girl’s attention.” You chuckle to yourself turning back to the door. “Oh Tyler. Sorry I was just telling your wife embarrassing stories about our best friend.”

“It’s alright” he chuckles as he pulls you in for a hug. “It’s good to see you again.” You step aside and allow him in.

“Jen it’s for you” you call for Jenna, and she comes bolting down the stairs, and flings herself into her husbands arms. They hug for nearly a minute before they let go, and even then they just stare at each other. Feeling awkward for interrupting you decide to take your leave. “uh, sorry to interrupt this beautifully tearful reunion, but I’ll head out so you two have some alone time.”

“No please, y/n” Tyler begins “I would love to hear all the embarrassing things Josh did before I knew him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He didn’t?” Tyler giggled at the latest story about yours and Josh’s escapades. 

“He did! He jumped in the 5 degree water because he was trying to impress his crush.” You wheezed while you thought about the look on his face when he jumped in. You smiled to yourself.

“Did it work?” Jenna asked from her spot on Tyler’s lap.

“No that’s the best part. She was so unimpressed.” 

“Did it impress you?” Tyler asked, smirking for a reason unknown to you. 

“A little. I never would’ve done it.” You clutched your stomach, the three of you flailing around with laughter. You were happy with Tyler and Jenna, but you felt a hole because your best friend was missing. 

“You okay y/n?”

“Yeah, Ty. Just missing Josh s’all.” You shrug. “Where is he anyway?” 

“He had a rough couple of nights the past couple of weeks.” Tyler replied. “I’m sure he’s just catching up on sleep. He’ll visit soon.” 

“Is he okay? What happened?” 

“His anxiety spiked, but he’s okay. Calm down y/n”

“I know I’m sorry. I’m just worried about him ‘cause–”

“Cause you’re in love with him.” Tyler finished for you. 

“I-I’m” you stuttered shocked at the accusation. “I’m not in love with Josh. Are you insane?”

“Think about it y/n.” There you sat, thinking about Josh and how he is the only source of light in your life. You think about his smile and his crinkly eyes and his laugh. You think about the times when you hang out together, and how at those times it’s like nothing else matters. You think about all your romantic relationships and how none of them have worked, and you think about the cause and how none of them have made you feel like the way that Josh made you feel.

“Oh my God I’m in love with Josh.”

“Ding ding ding. We have a winner. Tyler you owe me five bucks.” 

“Guys this isn’t a joke! What do I do?” 

“You love him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go home after a couple of hours with Tyler and Jenna. The revelations taking their toll on you, and as soon as you get home you fall on your couch and fall asleep. 

You wake again, a couple hours later to an incessant and annoying pounding. You check your phone, noting the 3:00 shining back at you. The knocking continues, realizing its the door, you stand, fix your hair, straighten the dress you fell asleep in, and head to the door. “Who the fuck is at my door at 3 in the fucking morning?” you mumble on your way to the door. “What the fuck-Oh Josh?” 

“Y/n!” He grabs you by the waist and pulls you into a hug. Oh how you missed his hugs. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, Jishy.” You pull back. “What brings you here at this ungodly hour where no one should be standing let alone awake.” You giggle.

“Sorry,y/n. I know its late, or early, or…whatever, but I’m awake and jet-lagged as hell, but most importantly I missed my best friend. Come on, let’s go.” 

“Jish, it’s 3 am. Where could we possibly go? Nothing’s open.”

“I planned a picnic come on.” He smiles that crinkly smile, and your resolve disappears. 

“Alright, Jishy. Let me get my shoes.” You run upstairs to your bathroom to fix your makeup and hair. Grabbing your shoes, you rush downstairs and out the door, locking it behind you, and to Josh’s car. 

“Buckle up, buttercup.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Josh drive outside of town to a field on the edge of a forest. He pulls out a couple of blankets, a picnic basket, and a small speaker. “Josh this place is beautiful how’d you find it?” He sets a blanket down, and places the basket and speaker down on top of it. Plugging in his phone, he turns on his music turns toward you. 

“I found it a while ago when I needed to sort through some things in my head. I thought it was pretty refreshing.” 

“It wonderful” you said as you stared at the stars. There was little light pollution over the field so you could multitudes of stars, something you always loved to see. 

Josh stared right at you, “It sure is.” 

Unaware of his gaze you turn to the picnic. Slipping off your shoes and taking a seat, you begin to pull out the contents of the basket. “Hey drummer boy, are you gonna join me, or am I going to have to eat this dessert feast by myself?” 

“I’m coming, princess, calm down.” You laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh’s POV

Y/n and I spend the next hour and a half laughing, talking, reminiscing all while stuffing our faces with all different kinds of desserts. Y/n was in the middle of retelling a story about a hobo who she found chasing a rat when the song playing through the speaker caught her attention.

“I found a love for me.  Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead. Well I found a girl, beautiful and sweet. I never knew you were the someone waiting for me.”

“Oh my gosh I love this song.” She stood and began to twirl and sway to the music. 

I watched her dance lightly, unable to keep my love for her from showing on my face. Luckily, she didn’t notice. She just danced and danced to the music playing from my phone. “I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it. It’s all you talked about.” I replied. She stopped and stared at me. Her y/e/c eyes met mine, and I felt my heart speed up a little. God, she was beautiful. 

“Dance with me” was all she said. Pulling me to my feet and bringing my hands to her waist, we slowly rocked to the music playing softly from my speaker. 

“’Cause we were just kids when we fell in love not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time But darling just kiss me slow Your heart is all I own And in your eyes you’re holding mine”

“Can I tell you something?” she whispered looking up at me through her eyelashes. She took my breath away. God, why couldn’t I just tell her how in love with her I am. 

“Yeah.” I whispered back. I don’t know why we were whispering, it just felt right, like we didn’t want to ruin whatever moment we were trapped in

“I was with Ty and Jenna earlier, and I realized something” she began  “something that could change everything.” She glanced to our feet, blushing. 

“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark with you between my arms barefoot on the grass listening to our favorite song”

“Give me a second this is hard for me.” She let out a breath. “This thing has always been there, you know, and it really didn’t hit me til today…god, I’m a mess.” She let out a breathy laugh, playing with her fingers that were linked on the back of my neck. Why was she nervous. 

“When you said you looked a mess I whispered underneath my breath But you heard it Darling, you look perfect tonight”

“Why are you so nervous y/n? It’s just me.” 

“I’m nervous because this could ruin everything!” She stilled,but her hands remained wrapped around my neck. “I’m nervous because this realization changed everything and if I don’t say anything it’ll eat me up inside.” She sighed.  “I’m nervous because we promised that we will always be honest with each other, but this is the only thing that I have ever doubted telling you.” Then quietly, like I wasn’t supposed to hear, “I’m nervous ‘cause I could lose you.”

“Well I found a woman Stronger than anyone I know She shares my dreams  I hope that someday I’ll share her home” 

“You won’t lose me, y/n.” She looked up, surprised that I had heard her. “Whatever it is it won’t scare me away.” I smiled. “I’m here to stay.” 

“I found a love to carry more than just my secrets to carry love, to carry children of our own”

“Okay here it goes.” Her eyes met mine, once again taking my breath, and all my coherent thoughts, away. “I’m in love with you, Josh Dun. I’ve been in love with you for years. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t even remember when it began, and I know you don’t feel the same, and I’m sorry if this makes our friendship weird, but I’m so in love with you it takes my breath away, and I don’t want to be anywhere else when I’m with you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your POV

There was a pause. You held your breath waiting for any reaction from Josh. Still there was silence, so you unlatched your finger from Josh’s neck. “I’i m sorry I-I” You pulled away, readying yourself to run. This was a huge mistake. But you suddenly find yourself pulled against Josh’s chest with strong hands holding you still and Josh’s lips moving against yours. Bliss.

“We are still kids, but we’re so in love fighting against all odds  I know that we’ll be alright this time Darling just hold my hand  Be my girl, I’ll be your man I see my future in your eyes”

Josh smiled that Cheshire cat-like grin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” Relief flooded your face and you laughed. 

“Me too, Jishy. Me too.” You pulled him against you again. Chests meeting chests, lips meeting lips. Hearts meeting hearts. 

“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark with you between my arms barefoot on the grass Listening to our favorite song When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful I don’t deserve this  Darling, you look perfect tonight”

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Josh laughed looking at you like you tend to look at the stars. 

“Because we’re idiots.” You leaned against Josh, burying your face in his neck. He kissed your hair. 

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” 

“And I’m yours.” You smiled. Your lips meet Josh’s once again.

“Now that I’m allowed to do that I don’t want to stop.” Josh kissed all over your face.

“Me either.” 

“I love you so much, y/n.”

“I love you too, Jishy.”

“Baby, I’m dancing in the dark With you between my arms Barefoot on the grass Listening to our favorite song I have faith in what I see Now I know I have met an angel in person And she looks perfect No, I don’t deserve this You look perfect tonight”

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I hope you enjoyed this. I do take requests just hmu. Should I start writing more? Let me know. Feedback is appreciated.